Yeah, baby… now settle yourselves, because the name is Powers—Nigel Powers—and I’ve got a trios match coming up against Padre Del La Venganz, Reverend Blackheart, and Lux Bellator. Three men of deep faith, heavy robes, and even heavier opinions. Groovy.

Now people keep telling me, “Nigel, you’re up against religion.” And I thought, right, I’ve been there before. Because religion, to me, is a bit like going on one of those extremely organised church seaside trips. You know the ones. Clipboard. Whistle. Matching jumpers. Every minute accounted for. Breakfast at eight, prayer at nine, no swimming after sunset, and absolutely no fun unless it’s been pre-approved by the committee.

And then there’s me.

I turn up late, sunglasses on, drink in hand, no idea what the schedule is, but absolutely convinced I’m having the best holiday of my life.

That’s this match, baby.

Padre Del La Venganz is the one with the itinerary. He’s got righteous fury pencilled in between sermon and punishment. Reverend Blackheart’s enforcing discipline—stand here, kneel there, repent immediately. Lux Bellator’s the muscle, making sure everyone follows the rules and nobody steps out of line. They’ve trained for this spiritually, physically, emotionally.

But the problem with strict organisation is that it falls apart the moment someone ignores it completely.

See, while they’re lining up, praying, and deciding who goes first, Nigel Powers is already on the beach. I’ve nicked a deckchair. I’m feeding the seagulls. I don’t know what time judgement is scheduled for, but I’m certain it can wait until after I’ve said, “Yeah, baby.”

They expect reverence. I bring vibes.

Religion works best when everyone agrees what’s happening. When everyone follows the same rules. But wrestling isn’t a church hall, baby—it’s a pier in high winds. Things slip. People fall over. Someone’s chips go flying. And that’s where the clipboard brigade starts to panic.

Padre goes for holy vengeance? I pause. Smile. British Leg Sweep. Suddenly the schedule’s ruined. Reverend Blackheart tries to restore order? Do I make you horny?—low blow, confession delayed. Lux Bellator charges in like security at a quiet prayer meeting? Maximum Powers, running legdrop, and now the lifeguard’s down.

And the whole trip descends into chaos.

That’s the thing. Faith is powerful—but it’s very serious. And seriousness hates unpredictability. It doesn’t know what to do with a man who’s grinning, winking, and absolutely certain he belongs there despite having no idea why.

While they’re trying to save my soul, I’m winning a wrestling match by accident.

And when they finally realise the rules aren’t working, when the hymns stop lining up and the structure collapses, that’s when I really turn on the powers. Swinging Sixties. Shagadellic Slam. The Powers That Be. One by one, the organisers are face-down in the sand, wondering when the holiday went wrong.

So yes, baby. Say your prayers. Bring your scriptures. Follow your rules.

Nigel Powers doesn’t need a guidebook.

Because when the power is turned on, there’s no turning it off.

Oh, behave.