Bill Webb

Curly Bill is the proverbial tall drink of water. His youth has long passed him by but he's still an imposing figure. Tall, heavy, looking like the kind of guy who would shake your hand but punch you in the nose without hesitation. His jet black hair is nothing compared to his wild mustache that curls up on either end - hence the nickname. In the ring, he wears blue jeans with a wifebeater tank top. He also wears fingerless black gloves on both hands. To the ring, he'll wear a bandana pulled up over his face like a bank robber.

His heroes are gone. Blackjack Lynch and Patterson, Jim Watkins. The guys who were already legends when he was breaking in. And now his contemporaries are all gone too - Hardin, Thunder... the guys who got the stardom while he toiled in the territories and Japan, clinging to a system that was dying.

So here he stands - "The Last of the Cowboys." Tell him Jack Lynch is the King of the Cowboys and he'll chuckle, a twinkle in his eye as he takes a drag on his cigar. Tell him that the sport has passed him by and he'll nod politely and say, "They want my spot, they can kill me for it."

But he knows. Deep down, he knows he's a cowboy on his last ride. Saddled up and ready for a fight, Curly Bill rolls into town with two things on his mind - money and legacy - the two things he needs to take from the business to get him through the rest of his days. He's not interested in a blood feud - he doesn't have that kind of time left. He wants gold. He wants green. And along the way, if he has to spill a little red to do it - that's okay too.

The odds are going to be against him but never tell him the odds because, you see, there's something dangerous about a man on borrowed time. Something real dangerous

Blackjack Mulligan

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