Against all odds, Karl Fredericks found his white whale.
The young Northern Paiute boy from Lovelock, Nevada, has graced the cerulean blue ring and plied his trade under the auspices of WWE’s NXT brand, as Eddy Thorpe.
Thousands of dreamers compete on the American independent wrestling circuit every week, in hopes of signing with a major promotion. Fredericks made it. What he found, however, was that the squared circle offers little respite. Instead, its canvas reflects the world’s larger truths.
After months of frustration, Fredericks asked for his release from his WWE contract in May 2025, ending his two-and-a-half year stint with the promotion.
In the intervening months, he’s reckoned with his decade-long journey in professional wrestling — delineating where he’s been, so he can chart a course for the future.
“I grew up knowing Hogan, Piper, and ‘Macho Man.’ My mom was a wrestling fan, so she had been to the shows around Reno. She’s seen Andre the Giant. She’s seen Ric Flair multiple times. I got to see Ric Flair one time as well in ‘97 when she took me to my first show[…] My dad was a three-sport athlete in high school, and a collegiate track and field athlete. He was still in his late 20s or early 30s when I was born, working out and things like that. I can always remember him, you know, after he’d get a pump or something, he’d say, ‘Hulk Hogan,’ or shit like that.
“I had the ‘WrestleMania 3’ VHS. What hooked me was, as like a 6- or 7-year-old, was Sting. I was, and still am, a huge horror fan. I saw ‘Crow’ Sting for the first time, and then I had the ‘Sting Unmasked’ VHS. I think it’s only like 40 minutes or so. It’s pretty short, but it follows the story arc to get to ‘Crow’ Sting. I watched that daily.”
Like his father, Fredericks was an accomplished amateur athlete. His dedication earned him a brief foray in college football.
“In my freshman year of college, I was playing football in Kansas, and I dropped off watching wrestling on television because my obsession was playing football. And, getting out of my hometown, from a very small town in Nevada called Lovelock. I graduated high school with 68 kids in a big class. That’s with some kids left over from the class before me. It’s real tiny, you know? Your 11 starters on one side of the football are probably starting on the other side as well, and doing special teams.
“I didn’t want to just go to school in Reno, which is only an hour away from home, because a lot of kids ended up within a year or two right back at home, working in the mines, and I didn’t want that for me. You know? I wanted to — man. I wanted to live on a tour bus. I wanted to be a rock star. I wanted to be in bands. I’m a big daydreamer. So, football was my ticket for that. And, I got to where I got out of my small town and then was in Leavenworth, Kansas, which is a much bigger town than I am from, but I was still in Leavenworth, Kansas, playing football as a freshman.”
Interested in more artistic pursuits, Fredericks’ college football career came to an end after his freshman season.
“I honestly stopped playing football for two reasons, the first being that I wanted to start a band. I had started doing that like the summer before I left to go play. On Christmas break, I met up with a couple other musicians and had one jam session, and I decided that I was done with football[…] So, I transferred to the University of Nevada and started doing that. I was playing in a band for a couple years.
“At the same time, I fell in love with the gym for the first time. I wanted to do it, not because I had to, not because of sport or anything. Size-wise, I was in better shape, more adequate for sports, than I was while I was actually playing[…] Around that time, Netflix had randomly uploaded some of the WWE documentaries. And I love those. I’ll watch those more than I’ll watch matches. It was the CM Punk documentary, who I didn’t know a ton about at the time. I’d seen him before, but those were the years I wasn’t watching wrestling. I just knew that people loved him. So, the Punk documentary, and the Shawn Michaels documentary in particular.
“Then I found JR’s BBQ, that blog [Jim Ross] used to do. He was putting over Lance Storm’s wrestling school. It was 2012, I believe, that same year that Rock came back to fight Cena for the first time. I’m in college, we order, we, you know, my friends; we order ‘WrestleMania 28,’ and I watch WrestleMania live for the first time in years. And it was like, fucking no question. I’m going to get this degree, and I’m going to go be a fucking wrestler. Like, what are we talking about?”
Fredericks trained at the Reno Wrestling Factory, and made his debut in 2015. Adam Thornstowe, a veteran in the Reno wrestling scene, saw Fredericks’ apparent potential, and wasted no time shepherding him to greener pastures.
“I remember Adam Thornstowe from Reno Scum messaged me, and I’d only met him a couple times. He had come through training, and I knew that he’d never really expressed it to me because we didn’t have a relationship yet, but I knew he liked me. That night, he gave me… I believe it was John Cone’s email. He told me, ‘Hey, man, your star is bright. Get some good promo pictures taken, here’s the email for WWE. I’ll help you type it up, like, we need to get you the fuck out of here.’
“I got up early, because I’m on the West Coast. I sent the email at like 4 a.m. By 4:30, I got a response and I was invited to TV in San Jose. I had a tryout match there in front of the whole SmackDown roster that was abysmally bad. I thought it was all dead in the water there, but then on Adam’s advice, I talked to [William Regal] for about 30 minutes to plead my case there. Then, they flew me out to Florida the next month for my first official tryout with NXT. So just a couple months in, I had already peaked behind the curtain and went to Florida for a week. It was the same tryout that Bianca Belair got signed out of. So, there was a lot of cool, really good talent that weren’t wrestlers. I met a ton of other wrestlers that were in and out of TNA and things like that, but for the most part, it was just right away, in my head at least, you know, I could do this. I saw it. I saw it for real. I saw the competition. I saw what it was. I saw the coaches, how they took to me, and I was one foot in the door.”
Fredericks’ career continued to progress at a breakneck pace, earning more opportunities to test his mettle in Orlando over the next several years.
“I had been to Florida twice with WWE in 2017. I was told I was getting hired out of a [tryout] that was in February 2017. I leave Florida being told like, ‘Hey, you did it. You improved everything.’ It was only like a year and a half between the two. So, I remember they were like, ‘you did everything we told you to do. You improved on this, this, and this… We’ll see you soon.’ Like, fuck yeah. By April, I get an email that just flat out says, ‘Sorry, we don’t have anything for you.’
“I remember my response being like, ‘OK, so like, what exactly does this mean? What should I do now?’ And they’re like, ‘We’ll contact you if we have anything for you.’
“So, I was kind of dead in the water again, which is a pretty big letdown from where I thought I was exiting the tryout. And then, In September of 2017, I got a phone call while I was doing extra work in Oakland. I was staying with Will Hobbs, or Royce Keys, who’s a good friend, and we had been traveling a lot together. So, I got the call that they wanted to sign me and start the hiring process. Come July 2018, 10 months later, I’m still not in Florida. I’m still not signed. I’m just kind of waiting for the ‘report to Florida’ call.
Fredericks’ fortune changed in 2018, while he was spending a weekend in Los Angeles for a Bar Wrestling show. At the height of the Bushiroad boom, New Japan Pro-Wrestling was in the process of opening its LA Dojo, to expand its international footprint. Fredericks seized the opportunity.
“New Japan was opening the LA Dojo. They had been running camps since March, but this was the last camp they were doing. I remember I had to borrow the three hundred bucks from my uncle to do the camp. It wasn’t marketed as a tryout of any sorts. I just figured if they’re opening up shop in LA, and they’re doing this stuff, I’m sure they’re looking for talent in some aspect. Well, if I’m good enough to be signed with WWE, surely I’m good enough to impress here.
“I did that camp. and it was the same thing, like Shibata was — it was a yes for him immediately. By the end, so at the end of the camp, they asked me where I trained. At the time, I wasn’t. Our school had shut down, because there wasn’t really many students, but I was at least working every weekend[…] They’re like, ‘Well, no, come like you need to come here. You need to come train here.’ And, they offered me the deal[…] But, I told them, I’m supposed to be getting signed by WWE. I need — I should reach out to them, and see what they say first.
“So, I messaged WWE, and I kind of got the same answer: ‘Don’t sign anything. We have a meeting this week, and then we’ll get back to you.’ So this is July at this time. It’s been 10 months. And they tell me, ‘OK, don’t sign with New Japan. We’ll bring you over probably in January for $60,000.’ Whatever, you know, it was just like, OK, it felt like they didn’t give a fuck. That type of message. And I was like, ‘Well, look, man, I’m moving to LA on Sunday. I can’t wait any longer.’”
One of the driving forces behind Fredericks’ commitment to New Japan was his relationship with his mentor, Shibata.
“You know, you meet a coach, and I could just — same with Adam — I knew [Shibata] liked me. The way he communicated, well, through a translator, because he spoke zero English at this point; but, even then, I just knew this guy wants me on the field. Like, I can, I can go to the SEC and fucking sit for three years and hope I get that season where I start. This guy wants me on the field now, though. You know, Cam Newton. I can transfer and go win a title myself. That’s exactly what it felt like.
“Between that, and just the wrestling itself. Thankfully at the time I was a huge CrossFit. My conditioning was ready for it all, because it was my first time doing hundreds of squats every day and all of that stuff. Thankfully, I was in shape to do it, even though it was still killing me, the recovery and stuff like that. But then we’re doing just actual grappling, wrestling, jujitsu… We’re just amateur wrestling, and the intensity of it all — it was like sport, you know? We’re fucking wrestling. It was real. And I just, I remember falling in love with that.”
Fredericks credits his time in the LA Dojo as the most formative experience of his nascent career.
“It was invaluable. What it did for me, the people it introduced me to… obviously, the wrestling, I mean, where else can I get training with a coach, on the level of Shibata, one on one, like that?
“There were three of us, getting reps for five hours a day, six days a week; just wrestling, so on that end, what I learned there couldn’t be replicated anywhere else. The lessons that molded us into the Young Lions, how militant it was, and just the way we lived in the dojo while we were in that world. That was good for me too, being humbled down to that level[…] It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also the funnest thing I’ve ever done.”
Fredericks hard work paid dividends, and he quickly enjoyed the fruits of his labor. In 2019, he won the Young Lion Cup, an annual tournament held to showcase younger wrestlers.
Then, in 2020, New Japan unveiled its digital property, “NJPW Strong.” Like the LA Dojo, the series was designed to accelerate New Japan’s growth in the American market. As an inaugural member of the LA Dojo, Fredericks played an instrumental role in the brand’s launch. Unfortunately, the COVID-19 pandemic brought his forward momentum to a screeching halt.
“COVID messed something up for everybody. For me, it was that New Japan push. I was supposed to graduate from the dojo in the New Japan Cup against KENTA. He had just turned on Shibata, and that summer we did this whole angle[…] It ended up not happening until June and in front of nobody, because we were doing the [New Japan Strong] tapings, in an empty arena, like everybody was.”
In the ensuing months, Fredericks was unable to recapture the magic he’d found in the Young Lion Cup. Left with little recourse, he was forced to throw a hail mary.
“The last straw for me was in early ‘22. I had to talk like, ‘Hey, I need to start wrestling guys.’ And, they did start giving that to me. I got to wrestle Josh Alexander and guys like that. I was — you know, winning and losing doesn’t matter. I just need to be fighting these guys and proving that I can fight on their level. That’s all I needed. It was contract season, so I did an extension, but I wasn’t making any money. I’m living in Reno, which, for anyone that doesn’t know, rent in Reno, and the price of the cost of living in Nevada, is not too far off from LA[…] So, I’m scraping by, and I’m not getting, opportunity wise, I’m not getting much. Like, guys, I’m not doing well right now. So, I signed an extension that would get me through the — I think to August.
“What I was told when I signed was, ‘We’ll get you these things going here, and then once summer comes, we’re doing G1 again. We’re going to do real shows, in front of a real audience. Go show out in Japan, and that’s when we’re gonna get this thing rolling again.’ So, I’m still in, you know? Like, fuck yeah, let’s do it.”
The G1 Climax is widely regarded as the most illustrious tournament in all of professional wrestling. The month-long event traditionally includes 20 wrestlers, competing in a round-robin tournament. In recent years, the winner has received an opportunity to challenge for the IWGP World Heavyweight Championship at “Wrestle Kingdom,” the grandest stage in New Japan’s calendar year.
For Fredericks, competing in the G1 Climax would mean a month’s worth of sustained booking, against the promotion’s top talent. Unfortunately, that opportunity never came.
“It was probably May. I remember being in a hotel room with some of the tenured talent, the guys that I look up to, and the people we have these conversations with. One of them turns to me and says, ‘You’re in the G1, right?’ You gotta be. Well, I hadn’t been told anything at that point. So, I had turned to the people to ask, because they were in the room for those conversations, and I just got a sad look, and they shook their heads no. That’s when I knew I was out.
“This should be my second G1 by now, or at the very least my first. And, it was the biggest G1 ever; they added 10 slots to it. And, I see the guys, especially the guys from over here, or guys not from our company… American guys from over here. I’m like, look, man, you added 10 spots. If you want these guys, who aren’t bleeding for this company like I’ve been doing… You’re not gonna sit here and tell me that that guy’s better than me. You know what I mean? And, I feel that way to this day. I had no money, no money to fall back on. I wasn’t making enough to save anything.”
Fredericks’ time in the cerulean blue ring had run its course, and he was ready to ply his trade elsewhere.
“My contract was up on August 1st. I was working towards — I wanted to pop up at [Pro-Wrestling NOAH], and just do essentially what Shibata-san would. You know. Between being coached by someone like him, and also just, you know, perhaps being my father’s son, I’m a motherfucker. You know? If I feel like I’m slighted or whatever, like, all right, I’ll go fucking play over here. Trust me, I’ll be fine.
“My contact at NOAH called me. It was either the same day that I became a free agent or a couple days later, but he called me and he was like, ‘Hey, do you want to go to Japan or do you want to go to WWE, because WWE wants to sign you?’
“‘I’ll go to Florida.’”
When Fredericks arrived in Orlando, he was baptized as a sports-entertainer and rechristened as Eddy Thorpe. The significance of the pseudonym was integral to Fredericks, borrowing the surname of the legendary Indigenous athlete, Jim Thorpe.
“Jim Thorpe was a legend that my dad was telling me about since I was a child. My dad was a big track and field star, right? [Thorpe] played football and baseball as well. Football was my sport. But I remember probably being 6 or 7 years old, and my dad telling me about Jim Thorpe, and that I had to be successful; that I was going to be like Jim Thorpe in those ways. I also think that he wanted me to win the decathlon, you know, win an Olympic gold medal, but that wasn’t in the cards for me.
“Second best thing, I guess, is I can take his name, right?”
Looking back, Fredericks is grateful that the WWE endorsed his ring name. Left to their own devices, his new persona could have been disastrous.
“I was suggested names like Eddy Tate, and this is right around the time when Andrew Tate’s on the — his, his rise of, like, shitty internet fame. I was like, nah, hell no, it was that one. My middle name is Edward. I’m a junior, so I was named after my father as well. Karl Edward Fredericks Jr. So, that’s where Eddy came from.
“Thorpe was my first choice. They asked us to submit, like, I dunno, three or four names. I just gave them the one. Finally, they gave me a list of like, OK, ‘Well, what do you think about these just in case?’ I fucking hate them. And, then they just gave me Eddy Thorpe.
“I would say they wanted it as well. They wanted whatever type of cultural name they could get. And, that was the only name that had cultural significance of any kind, which is probably a good thing in hindsight. I can only imagine what the names would have been if they had tried to come up with a cultural name for me.”
During his time in Orlando, Fredericks’ heritage became intertwined with his television persona, in ways he’d never envisioned.
“I’m always fucking thinking I think back to to my first week in the [Performance Center], when I finally have a talk with [Shawn Michaels]. I’d sent them some matches, and he came over and he was like, ‘really cool stuff.’ Blah, blah, blah. He gave me a nice little pep talk. Then he was like, ‘I think you’re a baby face, you know, because you’re Indian! I think that’s cool!’
“Right off the bat, in my head, that was a red flag. I didn’t expect too much. out of Shawn[…] I could gauge where his awareness was with any of this shit is.
“I don’t want to be Tatanka.”
Fredericks’ greatest fears had come true. Michaels had done more than trivialize his culture; he was prepared to warp and distort it to sickening effect.
Professional wrestling’s sorted relationship with its depiction of Indigenous peoples is well documented. Caricatures of tribal leaders have adorned themselves in feathers and fringe for over a century. Chief Jay Strongbow is a chief offender of this archetype. In reality, Strongbow’s real name was Luke Scarpa, an Italian-American from Nutley, New Jersey. Fredericks was understandably afraid of falling victim to the same injustice.
Michaels did little to alleviate his concerns.
“I was doing my second or third pre-taped promo, and I’m standing out by a fucking fire. I can’t be out in the fucking forest. This isn’t a real person. This isn’t someone that my people know. You look at the internet. It’s always white fans. And, the internet fans, anyone, they’re all just saying negative shit anyways. That’s just how the internet works, right? But that’s where the backhanded racism comes from. They’re not going to get it, and understandably so. They don’t fucking know this character. This person doesn’t exist in the real world today anyways.
“I remember saying, like, I can’t be stuck out in the forest for too long, and I remember being told that I’m playing a character on TV. Yeah, I’m playing a character written by white man who don’t know anything about me. And here’s Shawn, ‘well, you know, I read a lot about Indian stuff. I think they’re — I think it’s real cool.’ Blah, blah. You know, that doesn’t fucking do anything for me. I’m glad you think it’s cool. You know, I didn’t say that, but that’s how I feel when I hear that shit. Like, great. It’s neat to you. What does that do? What does that do for me? Where do we go from here? Do you think that makes me feel better about it all?
“There were times where what I thought we were doing was cool. Then there were times, a lot of times actually, where I would get the scraps, especially towards the end. And I was struggling real bad, mentally. You can see it in my fucking physique as well, I was, not — I was fighting for my life working there. Doing the shit that I was doing… I remember getting scripts and just seeing the words, and just giving up. Like, there’s no way I can rewrite this. This must be what they want. If I rewrite this, it’s still going to be just this bullshit, meaningless cultural slop; using big, fancy words and sounding like an asshole.”
Fredericks’ frustration with the promotion reached its boiling point when a writer unwittingly used the word “assimilate” in a promo. Even if it was unintended, the language typified the promotion’s tone-deaf attitudes towards Indigenous people.
“I remember one specifically, that I was fucking hot about[…] The writer that wrote this particular promo — I was really close with him. He hands it to me, I read it, and I’m just like, abso-fucking-lutely not, brother. What the fuck is this?
“This man’s not even from the United States. He doesn’t know any better. That was the other hard part. I’m telling you the way it made me feel, but there was no malintent on his end. You know, it’s just what I deal with in my everyday life about my cultural identity. It’s either a joke to people or it’s just ignorance. They don’t know, because this isn’t shit we teach. That particular promo was about me wanting to leave the reservation and not worry about my people’s cultural expectations. To leave the reservation and assimilate to the wider world[…] To me, that sounds like I’m leaving the reservation, to go to a fucking assimilation school, to go to Carlisle, so I can be beaten, and raped, and all the shit that happened to those kids.
“Just the fact that the word assimilate was in there; I had to give him a little history lesson.
“I’m dealing with this bullshit. I’m passing sage over an injured arm, like what the fuck am I doing on television?
“I was giving up. I decided that I would just deliver. Every big match, every storyline, just deliver. And, they were happy. I just needed to get through this shit. We can get past this, and I won’t ever have to do it again. But I just never really got there.”
Michaels reasoned that Fredericks was playing a fictitious television character. “Eddy Thorpe” was a role; nothing more and nothing less. For Fredericks, it became increasingly more difficult to separate the performance from the person. That struggle, coupled with the tumultuous political climate, only exacerbated Fredericks’ dismay.
“I got the fucking vice president, lying on my fucking people. The same colonial bullshit and lies, that we’re fucking cannibals. ICE, at the time, was just getting going with this bullshit while I’m under contract with WWE. White men are writing for me. I got fucking immigration detaining, harassing, abusing my people. The fact that they’re doing it to anybody already has me hot, right? But then it’s the fucking natives, you know? My people. What the fuck do you mean immigration’s detaining my people?
“And, I got to deal with Paul Levesque going on TV and talking about Trump while this is happening: ‘Well, you know, here’s a guy that can generate heat.’
“What a stupid fucking thing to say. But, again, on my end, they just think my culture’s ‘cool.’ That’s who these people are. It’s all just stuff to them. It’s not fucking real.
“It was not the environment for me to happily thrive.”
There’s a contingent of Americans who harbor the escapist notion that sports and entertainment should be uniquely apolitical. They find relief in pro-wrestling from the world’s harsher realities. And, while the WWE might expressly share that sentiment, their actions have surely contradicted it. The intersection of Fredericks’ culture and heritage was interwoven in every major creative decision. And, those decisions were scarcely made on his terms.
The canvas of a pro-wrestling ring is a template for performers to express their artistic vision. For Fredericks, it became a mirror, reflecting the century-old racial stereotypes of Indigenous peoples.
Fredericks is ready to tell his own story.
“I was raised by a man who grew up without a ton of money, on the reservation. If you know what most reservations look like, they’re not… It’s land that couldn’t be farmed; land that you couldn’t do anything with. Some have resources, but even if they do, they can’t do anything with their resources without the government stepping in. So, that doesn’t exactly make you a sovereign nation, does it? I was raised by people, who were raised by a people, who were in those boarding schools.
“People don’t understand how trauma changes your DNA. Trauma changes the way your brain works, and it can be passed down through multiple generations. So, the trauma that was given to my dad, when he was being raised by people who were beaten and worse in these schools, was passed down to me.
“I’m from a community that has the highest suicide rates in the world. The lowest life expectancy. The health issues, the mental health issues; our women go missing at a rate far surpassing anyone else right now. You talk about trafficking My whole life, I’ve been told to shut the fuck up. Don’t say that.
“People forget how big America is, but we’re still just Indians to them. My people are from Utah and Nevada. A little bit of California, right? We didn’t know the Seminoles out here in Florida. Never crossed paths with them. You know what I mean? There’s 500 languages spoken between these tribes, but to everyone else, we’re all just Indians.”
“It’s tough for me to answer those questions because I am proud of where I come from. I’m proud of who we are. I’m proud of the way that our societies were. The Iroquois Confederacy is the foundation for what became the Constitution. And, our women held political power. I hear about these things, and I look at our societies today, you know, the way things are structured, the way women are looked at by these same people… The way women are treated by our governments[…] And I’m proud of that, because I don’t think it should be different, in practice. But, there’s not a whole lot of practice left because of the assimilation schools[…] They beat the language out of us. It was illegal to practice anything religious. It was illegal to play a drum, to sing… It was illegal to sing.”
“I don’t quite know what [my heritage] means. It’s, if anything, you know, it’s getting by and surviving. And, no more. No more than that. I know it’s a sad answer, but it’s — my people are in a sad fucking state, man. The kids I grew up with, you know, damn near all of them: dead, suicide, most of them[…] I’m someone that struggles with mental health issues greatly as well. Just this year alone, you know, I got family dying too young. I got friends dying from suicide, friends of friends, you know? My people. My sister works for the tribe, in my hometown. And, there are suicides every year; anyone from older adults, to kids who are way too fucking young. This is just the reality.”
While Fredericks grappled with the WWE’s depravity, he found purpose in his platform, and took pride in his opportunity to represent Indigenous peoples on national television.
“One of the things that’s always got me through dealing with the silly stuff I was doing in WWE was that people would reach out to me on Instagram… Anytime a native person would reach out to me and tell me that they loved seeing what I was doing, like, I know what that meant. That bought me so much mileage, you know? Even if it’s this silly stuff, like, fuck man, I had nobody on TV. Especially being an Indian. There’s not a single movie I could watch, unless we start splitting hairs or digging in the vault. You’ll find some nods here and there, but I couldn’t look at ‘Stone Cold’ and see a family member and him. I couldn’t look at The Rock and see a family member.
“At least I’m being someone that would have been really good for me to see as a kid.”
In May 2025, Fredericks asked for his release from the WWE. Recently, he spent time with his friend, AEW star Gabe Kidd. The conversation provided Fredericks with an opportunity to reflect on his time in WWE with the benefit of hindsight.
“I saw Gabe Kidd for the first time in a while. We were reflecting on the WWE stuff, and this whole whirlwind I’ve been in[…] We focused on the positives for the most part. I did a lot of cool shit, a lot of fun stuff, I met a lot of really cool people… It was cool being in [WWE 2K] and all of that. I got to do some stuff on TV with Shawn. Whatever, but we got to talking about my mental health. Dealing with the cultural shit, and I’m very in tune to the political world, because I come from a place where that’s fucking reality. You live in it. You don’t get to fucking put your head in the sand. And just smile it away, you know?
“He saw my condition. I got along great in that building, but I was medicating. For me to go and be the person that I was, to get by and get along, I was coming home and I was medicating.”
However, Fredericks refuses to dwell on the negative.
“I got to talk about all the, you know, the bright side and the good things I got from it. I point to, you know, my bedroom where, Charlie is, like — look man — I found the love of my life! You know, my fiancé.”
Fredericks met Charlie, formerly known as Dakota Kai in WWE, in the performance center; while they were both rehabbing knee injuries.
“We jokingly attribute the relationship to AMA knee pads. There was a young boy that was in NXT for a little bit. He never made it to TV or anything, but he was a real good guy, and he worked real hard, and he was around the area. He was actually talking to her about the AMA knee pads and he was, you know, just about getting ready to get ring gear for the first time. So, as I was passing, he stopped me and asked me what I thought about [AMA knee pads]. So, then we had like a short conversation about knee pads; the traditional, or the Japanese style that I had, or the AMAs, and then I fucked right off. I talked to them both, and then I fucked right off, and I kept my distance.
“I also joke because she was in there for a few weeks before that conversation happened, but she’s been doing cool shit on television since I started. The [Mae Young Classic] was, what, 2016? I started in 2015. So, again, just someone’s work I’ve always admired. Obviously, I was attracted to her, but the PC is full of young guys, and I’m not going to be one of these motherfuckers that just bugs the girls when they come in[…] So I just kept to myself, but she actually reached out to me. She left, she got cleared before I did, but then she saw that I was working again, and she reached out, and checked on my knee, and saw how it was going. And, then after two months of exchanging messages on Instagram, I was smart enough to ask some female friends if I should ask this girl out. They were like, ‘yes, you fucking idiot, she’s not talking to you this much, just for the fun of it.’”
Like Fredericks, Charlie’s tenure with the WWE ended in May 2025, announced as part of a large round of releases. In the intervening months, the two have engaged.
“She’s just been a fucking angel that appeared in my life. On the wrestling end, because, again, she’s someone I look up to, and trust and respect, as far as wrestling goes. So, there’s been plenty of times while I was working, while we were working in WWE, or even now, where I’ll run ideas by her. If I have an idea for a spot or something, she’s a good gauge for whether or not the idea is good, and will give me either a better idea, agree, or tell me it’s just not good.”
At the height of his plight in the WWE, Fredericks credits Charlie’s presence for saving his life.
“It’s tough to say that if I didn’t have Charlie in my life, that if she wasn’t there for me… I don’t know if I make it through that whole thing, without, at some point, just saying fuck it, and going to sleep for the last time, you know?”
Last November, Fredericks suffered a knee injury, curtailing his run on the independent circuit. Now, he’s ready to begin a new chapter in his life.
On Oct. 12, the man who sold the world will return to the ring, for “PRODUCE Vol. 5: Skoden,” to celebrate Indigenous People’s Day.
In the main event, Fredericks will face fellow former NXT superstar, Javi, formerly known as Javier Bernal. However, he’s also serving as the events curator — a collaborative effort with PRODUCE Wrestling’s promoter, Adam Abdalla.
“[Adam] reached out to me for ideas. He wanted to run a show on Indigenous People’s Day, you know, Columbus Day, and he explained the collaborative process. First, I thanked him for even letting me be a collaborator, what a really cool opportunity.
“I didn’t want to just do an indigenous card. You know what I mean? I didn’t want it to be, just, that. I have some people that I’m familiar with. Then, there are some people, like Pat Sawyer. I’ve still never met Pat, but I’ve been bullshitting with him via Instagram for a couple years now. And, following his work of course, so I reached out to him. He actually helped me find a handful of talent. So, I checked these people out.”
“We got me, we got [Nyla Rose] on the card. So, she’s going to bring eyes to this.”
“I don’t want to be bread and circus, fucking talking to the gods like I have been. None of that shit. The more interesting story is Karl anyways. My real experiences as a fucking human being. Not as a TV cartoon Indian. So, for me, it was really about, either helping people out, like Pat. I sent a handful of talent to Adam, but we’ve just been going back and forth; seeing who’s available, so we can create opportunities between wrestlers who wouldn’t normally cross paths.
“I really hope that when you see Pat, when you see these guys wrestle, when I’m out there, when Nyla’s out there; that there’s a different kind of fire. Something that’s done in the spirit and honors Indigenous People’s day, in the spirit of ‘fuck Christopher Columbus.’
“This is a fucking pro-wrestling show, in the spirit of square up and ‘sko. Like, square up and fight, skoden.”
Fredericks recalls a conversation with famed trainer, Terry Taylor, that summarizes the spirit of “Skoden.”
“I remember the night of my second underground match, against Dijak, I was in my war paint. I was getting fired up, and Terry Taylor — you know he’s an old man, so he’s very likely to be politically incorrect a lot. But he at least knows that, and I had a good relationship with him.
“He pulled me aside and said, ‘Fuck, you gotta let it out tonight! You gotta, please don’t take offense to this, but go out there and be a wild ass Indian!’
“I laughed, because it’s something my dad would always say when I was a kid. He was a police officer, a tribal police officer, so he spent most of time working on the rez. I remember being a little kid, he would jokingly call me a wild ass Indian, or if I was acting up. So, I told him, ‘I know exactly what that fucking means Terry, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna get.’
“So, in the words of my dad, that’s what you’re gonna get on this show. You’re gonna see a bunch of wild ass Indians go out there, and fight, and show their heart, and their love for pro-wrestling.”
For Fredericks’ own purposes, “Skoden” will be a launching point for both the performer and the man; ready to chart his own course. And, the only direction he knows is forward.
“’I’m not your Indian. I’m not that fucking cowboy in Orlando’s Indian, I’m nobody’s Indian, but my own. Nobody’s fucking man but my own.”
Later in the month, Fredericks will also return to Los Angeles for “PRODUCE Vol. 6: Hell Comes to Dogtown.”
The show, curated by Fredericks’ fellow LA Dojo alumni, The Dogs, will feature a match between Fredericks and his friend, Gabe Kidd.
“I wrestled Gabe for the first time last summer. And, this is Gabe coming off of this big run that he’s been on. I’m so proud of him. Obviously, as his friend, to see everything he’s done, and the space he got himself out of. But, in the same breath, there’s a part of me—I’m still this motherfucker. Don’t forget who I am to you. Don’t forget who held the ropes open for me.
“And I think he has, but that’s OK. I forgot who I was, as well, and who I wanted to be. So, if anything, this match with Gabe is a chance for us to remember who we are. And, there’s a big part of me that needs to show him.
“More importantly, I’m ready to show the world, because I’m awake now.”
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