Let’s be honest: When you think of the unbreakable pillars holding up the world of professional wrestling, Pat Buck doesn’t spring to mind. He doesn’t have the ripped physique of a Randy Orton, the lyrical rage of a CM Punk, or the 400-day title run of a Roman Reigns. What he does have is an Axl Rose hairstyle, the patience of a man who’s sat through one too many “creative has nothing for you” meetings, and the uncanny ability to be the guy in the room when fists start flying and lawsuits start bubbling.
This is the story of Pat Buck—a wrestler, trainer, producer, and poor soul caught between the ego of a champion and the wrath of a guy who lost his push.
From “Ru Starr” to Gothic Mayhem: The Long Road to Nowhere
Born Patrick Buckridge on Christmas Eve, 1984, Buck hit the wrestling scene in 2001 as “Ru Starr”—a name that sounds like the rejected fifth Beatle. His early matches in New York Wrestling Connection and NECW were the kind of affairs that took place in high school gyms where the audience doubled as the ring crew. But he was determined, passionate, and blessed with one invaluable asset: he knew how to not get hurt. In wrestling, that makes you either beloved or expendable. Pat was both.
By 2005, he’d found his way into Ohio Valley Wrestling, WWE’s farm system at the time. His first match? Losing to Mark Henry in less time than it takes a wrestling fan to complain about the finish on Twitter. Pat would go on to lose to everyone from Elijah Burke to Ryan Reeves (yes, Ryback) to guys with names like “Chuck Evans,” which may or may not be a name from a Craigslist scam.
Soon, Buck rebranded himself as “The Erotic Erraticator,” a persona inspired by Adrian Adonis, Twisted Sister, and possibly a lot of expired hair gel. Teaming up with Johnny Punch, Buck formed Gothic Mayhem, a tag team more focused on face paint and guitar smashing than actual wins. It was kitschy. It was chaotic. It was very OVW.
The Tag Team Era: Winning, Losing, and Wearing Spandex Proudly
For a guy who lost a lot, Pat Buck somehow kept ending up in tag teams that won championships. In OVW, he eventually found gold with Rob Conway in The Men of Iron—a team that sounded like they were either world-beaters or the guys who install your home gym. He later captured more tag gold as part of Top Shelf Talent, a name that aged as well as a bottle of gin left in a hot car.
What Buck lacked in charisma he made up for in work ethic. His was a career made of grit, duct tape, and just enough self-deprecation to survive the indie circuit. He lost to Demolition in a WWF dark match, he jobbed to Cryme Tyme on SmackDown, and he likely owns the record for most tag partners who immediately disappeared into obscurity.
The Reinvention: From Bumps to Booking
But where most mid-carders fade into shoot interviews and bitter tweets, Pat Buck evolved.
By the early 2010s, Buck was teaching others how to wrestle—opening the Create A Pro Wrestling Academy alongside Curt Hawkins. Here, Pat finally found his calling: making better wrestlers than himself. Among his notable students? Maxwell Jacob Friedman (MJF), Kris Statlander, and countless future dark match casualties.
Simultaneously, Buck became the co-owner of Pro Wrestling Syndicate, and later the founder of WrestlePro, a New Jersey-based promotion that held shows in places with names like “The Rec Center” and “Anchorage, Alaska.” The highlight? A triple threat between MJF, Joey Janela, and Pat Buck himself, refereed by a disinterested Mick Foley who probably asked for half his fee in Cinnabon coupons.
The WWE Era: Getting Paid to Get Punched
In 2019, Buck was hired by WWE as a producer—a backstage role where dreams go to die, and chairs go flying. Within weeks, he was on Raw, trying to break up a scuffle between Nia Jax and Shayna Baszler. Jax, naturally, obliterated him. For his troubles, Buck got his own “indefinite suspension” storyline, proving once again that the only thing faker than wrestling is WWE’s HR department.
Still, he soldiered on. He produced matches, managed egos, and tried his damndest to make sense of whatever Vince McMahon screamed at 3 a.m. between bites of steak wraps. But the slow march of creative burnout caught up to him. After WrestleMania 38, Buck did the unthinkable—he resigned.
Some said he cracked. Others said he walked away in a blaze of frustration. Either way, ten days later, he signed with AEW.
AEW and the Punk Brawl Fiasco: Pat Buck, Mediator of Mayhem
Within months, Buck was named AEW’s Vice President of Talent Development—a title that translates roughly to “Guy who listens to people scream about their booking for 12 hours a day.”
And then it happened.
The Brawl.
September 2022. After CM Punk’s infamous post–All Out media scrum, fists flew backstage. Chairs were thrown. Kenny Omega bit someone or got bit, depending on which YouTube recap you watch. And smack in the middle of it? Pat Buck. Trying to break up the fight. Not instigating. Not running. Just standing there like a parent between two toddlers who both want the same toy.
He was suspended, of course. Because wrestling doesn’t punish you for fighting, it punishes you for trying to stop one.
The Legacy: Wrestling’s Forgotten Glue
Today, Pat Buck is still quietly holding AEW together with Gorilla Glue and coffee. He’s shaping the future, producing matches, and occasionally reminding CM Punk that punching people might be a bad idea. He remains the bridge between indie grit and corporate chaos, between passion and payroll, between doing the job and doing the job well.
He’s not flashy. He’s not famous. But he’s there. In the ring. Backstage. Behind the scenes. Holding the entire circus together while juggling egos, injuries, and a thousand terrible promos.
Final Bell
In the grand scheme of wrestling, Pat Buck is not a legend. He’s not even a cult hero. He’s something rarer: the guy who kept showing up.
And in a business full of broken promises, shattered alliances, and flaming tables, that might just make him the toughest man of all.
Pat Buck: The Erotic Erraticator. The Gothic Mayhem Frontman. The Man of Iron. The guy who tried to stop CM Punk from biting a dude. And most importantly—the guy still standing after everyone else punched out.
Now that’s top shelf talent.
