CHARLOTTE – From a seat in the upper deck of the Grady Cole Center, a dusty, 3,000-seat venue on the campus of Central Piedmont Community College, Chris Wittekind reflected on what brought him there.

Last year, Wittekind streamed Rough N’ Rowdy, a backyard brawl-style boxing event that has developed a cult following across the South. A Navy vet, Wittekind, 30, had no boxing experience. “Just a heavy bag at my house,” Wittekind said. But the Gaston, North Carolina, native vowed that if Rough N’ Rowdy ever came to his state — he would be there to compete in it.

Wittekind wasn’t alone. More than 1,500 potential fighters applied for last Friday’s Rough N’ Rowdy event, a number that was eventually whittled down to 80. Reasons for applying varied. Alex Ledford, 23, is an ex-Marine who always wanted to enter a tough man competition. Gary Schreib, 26, a loan specialist at Bank of America, wants to be Instagram-famous. The self-styled “Milkman” — Schreib claims to drink five gallons of milk a week and arrived at Rough N’ Rowdy in a 1950s milkman uniform — Schreib hoped an impressive performance could lead to a different career.

Wittekind’s motivation: Money. Winners at Rough N’ Rowdy can earn as much as $2,500. “I plan on proposing to my girlfriend soon,” Wittekind said. “Not saying I won’t do it if I lose — but that $2,500 would make it easier.”

The brains behind Rough N’ Rowdy is Christopher MacCorkle Smith, an affable, 47-year-old former amateur boxer. Smith’s career ended in the mid-‘90s. “Threw my shoulder out in my last two fights,” Smith said. He was selling real estate when his wife, Andrea, recognizing his passion for boxing, suggested he try promoting. Early in his career, Smith fought in five backyard brawl-type events. He enjoyed it. He noticed the fans did, too. Rough N’ Rowdy was born.

In 1996, Smith held his first show, at the Charleston Civic Center. It was a 13,000-seat venue. Only 600 fans showed up and Smith absorbed a $20,000 loss.

“It was embarrassing,” Smith said. “Wrong dates. Wrong marketing. Wrong everything.”

Smith didn’t quit. To save money, he moved in with his parents. He painted houses to earn extra cash. And he studied the business. Marketing, Smith says, was key. In Charleston, Smith approached WQBE, a top-rated country station. Smith sold the station on the local flavor of his shows. Everything, from the fighters to the fans to the ring card girls, was local. It was a station event, Smith said. They agreed. WQBE started sponsoring the event, and has been a part of Charleston-area shows ever since.

Smith continued to fail — a Norfolk, Virginia, event shortly after 9/11 was a particularly big disaster — but his successes began to pile up. A breakthrough came in 1997, when Smith brought a show to Williamson, West Virginia. “Feud country,” Smith said. “Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s.” In the days leading up to the show, ticket sales were sluggish. Smith feared another disaster. On fight night, Smith walked out of his makeshift office — and into a capacity crowd of more than 3,000 people.

“It was standing room only,” Smith said. “That was a big night.”

View photos Over 80 amateur boxers participated in Rough N’ Rowdy’s event on Friday, April 13, 2018 in Charlotte, North Carolina. (Photo courtesy Stolen Images Photography) More

Smith — who doubles as matchmaker and in-ring announcer for Rough N’ Rowdy shows — admits to taking a “Jerry Springer approach” to matchmaking. He looks for beefs. Personal grudges. Still, the majority of Rough N’ Rowdy applicants apply without requesting a specific opponent. So Smith looks to pair them with a natural rival. Fighters from different counties, different communities. He’s against letting brothers fight — a bad experience with two on a show, Smith said. On Friday, Smith had a fight featuring Clemson and South Carolina students. He had another headlined by bartenders from rival bars in Columbia, South Carolina.

Fights have an undeniable WWE flavor. Four ringside speakers blare music that mixes ‘90s hip-hop, “Jock Jams” and the “Rocky” soundtrack together. Everyone has a nickname. “The Caveman” Benjamin Moreno, entered the ring wearing an orange, leopard-print cloth and fought in Looney Tunes-emblazoned Chuck Taylors. James Sines, a local mechanic, was “The Plug Daddy.” When there isn’t a natural narrative, Smith might make one up. Justin Thompson, a North Carolina schoolteacher, fought Steven Stanley, who, Smith bellowed, “hates school teachers.”

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