Jimmy "Hustler" Alicea was my friend. I don't mean like "saw him at a few shows" or "booked me once for ABC Wrestling," I mean he was my friend.

I met Jimmy 5-6 years ago when I was commentating for Jac Sabboth's UCW and Jimmy had this dynamite vest he wore to the ring. I marked out for the vest and encouraged him to wear it everywhere. That is how we became friends.

Eventually, the vest (and the rest of his gear) got stolen out of the back of his van and we needed to base our friendship around other things. I can't remember how or why, but during late 2001-early 2002, Danny Demanto, Kevin Matthews, Jimmy and I were hanging out pretty regularly. These guys were a huge part of a lot of the memories I have from when I first started marking out working on shows.

Jimmy was quite the storyteller. You'd be sitting shotgun in his beat-up little two-door with North Carolina tags while he spoke of going drinking, starting and/or participating in a fight, getting rejected by a girl, drinking more, going to after hours, getting into another fight, fucking the girl who previously rejected him and then calling it a night.

Now, I liked Jimmy and he was fun to chill with, but I took all these stories with a grain of salt...until November 22, 2003, that is. Almost three years ago to the day. I remember the date because earlier that day, Danny, Jimmy and I had done a show for EWA in some town that was in the deep, pitch black of New Jersey. I remember it more for being in a battle royal that was my first actual match experience in which Jimmy tossed me over the top rope.

On the ride home, Jimmy was telling his stories again and how over he was at the club the night before and there was two Polish girls who were all over him, but he wasn't done drinking so he made them wait or something. All I could picture was this dingy, hole in the wall bar which played Enrique Iglesias music on loop and a bunch of Latinos getting down...oh, and the two Polish girls waiting for Jimmy. Finally, Danny and I are like, "OK, Jimmy, show us this place." He brought us to this club and as I looked around a packed club in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn, with the House music blasting and tons of hot, Polish girls running up to Jimmy, I realized that I would never doubt one of his stories again.

I can sit here all night and tell you crazy stories about times I've had with Jimmy and assorted others, but that's not really the point of this.

Jimmy wasn't the best wrestler. He wasn't the snazziest dresser. He wasn't the coolest kid on the block. What Jimmy Hustler was was just some dude who didn't give a fuck what anybody thought and just enjoyed whatever he did as much as possible.

I'm sure a lot of people will read this and be like, "Jimmy Hustler? Who the fuck is that?" But that's a perfect description of Jimmy. A guy who felt he "never got respected." You never saw Jimmy's name on a wrestling show poster, but he'd insist to you that "much, much more" meant him. This past Saturday, I wrestled Jimmy one on one for the first time at Gleason's Gym for WUW. When I caught up with him, I joked, "Don't worry, greenhorn, just follow my lead and I'll get you through it out there." He gave me the trademark sarcastic Hustler smirk and said, "OK, veteran, lead the way." We proceeded to enjoy four minutes of the most non-sensical, psychology-free wrestling you can imagine, but, to me, that was Jimmy's specialty and I enjoyed the hell out of it.

I'm upset, depressed and saddened today. I don't really know Jimmy's family but I offer them the deepest of condolences and thank them for allowing Jimmy to provide me with tons of great times throughout the past few years.

He'll be remembered by any and all who ever had the opportunity to hear even parts of his often ridiculous stories. Stories that could all of a sudden be proven true in between pulls on a Newport.

Everything seemed fine on Saturday when we left Gleason's. I never could have imagined that Tuesday, I'd be awoken at 4:15 in the morning by Demanto telling me that Hustler had died. It's just unreal to think that less than 72 hours before, I'd be the last match of the man who eliminated me in my first.

But that's just how Jimmy was. Making even the most unreal of situations become real.