When you name yourself after one of the fastest, most devastating forms of warfare ever devised, you better move like your boots are on fire and you’re trying to outrun the laws of gravity. Jeremiah Ross — better known as Blitzkrieg — did just that, flipping through the late ’90s WCW scene like a 180-pound bottle rocket with no safety fuse.
And just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. Poof. Vanished. The only guy who made Jeff Hardy look like he had a pension plan.
High Voltage Beginnings
Ross debuted in the seedy but soulful indie pits of All Pro Wrestling in 1994 under the overcooked name Fabulous Blitzkrieg—like Liberace if he could moonsault. That name was quickly trimmed down to just Blitzkrieg, and rightfully so. The guy didn’t need fluff. He needed airtime.
His early feud with Hellblazer was pure basement-fed indie chaos: springboards, headscissors, and the kind of gymnastics that would get you arrested in a retirement home. By 1997, Ross had proved himself as a gravity-defying, risk-taking, body-sacrificing performer that made promoters lean in and say, “He’s going to kill himself—and the crowd’s gonna love it.”
Cruiserweight Chaos in WCW (1998–1999)
Blitzkrieg hit World Championship Wrestling like a dropkick to the teeth.
Debuting in a dark match in mid-1998, he quickly parlayed those unseen flips into a full-on cruiserweight campaign. And this wasn’t the flabby, floundering WCW of later years—this was the Cruiserweight Golden Age, with Rey Mysterio Jr., Juventud Guerrera, Psicosis, Kidman, Dean Malenko, and Super Caló creating nightly Cirque du Soleil clinics on Nitro.
Blitzkrieg’s televised debut? A loss to Rey Mysterio Jr., which is basically like getting dunked on by Jordan—embarrassing, sure, but it puts you in rarefied company.
What followed was a string of “did you see that?” performances. He tangled with Guerrera at Spring Stampede 1999 in a match that had no business being that good for two guys considered mid-card at best. They tore the house down and blew the roof into the parking lot. And when he challenged Rey again in July for the Cruiserweight Title, it was a showcase of aerial precision and absolute recklessness.
Let’s be clear: Blitzkrieg was never winning gold. WCW had enough problems handing titles to wrestlers who didn’t wrestle in jorts. But what Blitzkrieg lacked in push, he made up for in pulse-pounding, pixel-blurring matches that left the audience clutching their necks and asking, “How?”
Flipping the Script — and Then the Job
Then, in October 1999, he was done.
Gone.
Like a gymnast walking away from a gold medal podium to go fix computers.
Ross retired after his final WCW match (a tag loss with Kaz Hayashi) aired on Thunder. The reason? He wanted to start a new chapter as a full-time computer technician. Because nothing says anti-climax like swapping hurricanranas for hard drives.
And yet, in one of the strangest “passing of the torch” ceremonies in wrestling history, Ross reemerged in 2004 at a small California indie show to hand his gimmick — mask, name, and all — to Jack Evans, an upstart who idolized him. Evans became Blitzkrieg II, but the gimmick was short-lived, killed off faster than a WCW contract clause after a botched move.
It was a poetic end to a career that was never meant to last. Ross knew he had a window, and he used it to dive through the ropes and into obscurity. And honestly? That’s kind of beautiful.
What Could Have Been (But Probably Would Have Ended in Surgery)
Was Blitzkrieg ahead of his time? Absolutely. In an era before AJ Styles was cutting moonsault DDTs and before PACbroke sound barriers with springboards, there was Blitzkrieg. His matches felt like live-action anime. If WCW had cared about actually building new stars instead of blowing budget on KISS concerts and the Yeti, Blitzkrieg might’ve headlined shows.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he left, kept his knees intact, avoided post-concussion lawsuits, and today he’s a registered nurse in Austin, Texas. That’s right: The man who once sliced through the air like a dagger now heals people. Probably while lowkey judging their vertical leap.
Accolades? Respect the Air
Though his career was short, the industry took notice. Pro Wrestling Illustrated ranked him #99 in the PWI 500 in 1999. Not bad for a guy who barely wrestled that year. And Wrestling Observer Newsletter fans named him Rookie of the Year, an award typically reserved for guys with more than 15 matches under their belt. He earned that recognition not with wins, but with awe.
He didn’t win titles. He didn’t cut pipebomb promos. He didn’t get 20-year retrospectives on the WWE Network. But Blitzkrieg made you believe that flight was possible—even if only for 7 minutes on a Monday night.
Legacy: The Sky’s the Limit — Until You Log Off
Blitzkrieg is what happens when you combine a masked superhero aesthetic, breakneck speed, and no real plan for the next five years. He was the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wonder, the firework in a sky full of flares, the anti-hero who left before he had to job to Disco Inferno on Thunder.
He may not have headlined WrestleMania, but he’ll forever live in VHS tape legend, indie message board myth, and late-night YouTube compilations titled “Top 10 Wrestlers WWE Forgot.”
And somewhere in Austin, Texas, a nurse named Jeremiah Ross probably smiles every time a patient asks, “Hey, you ever heard of a wrestler named Blitzkrieg?”
And he replies, “Yeah… I was him.”