The feud continued around the area, with one modification. Since Welch couldn't lay claim to being the U.S. Junior Heavyweight Champion, he began to call himself the true "King of Wrestling." At first, Welch donned a crown, similar to the crowns worn by Jerry "The King" Lawler, and began wearing the royal symbol and a medal around his neck to the ring. Then, Welch added a royal red robe -- complete with white trimming -- to his wardrobe, and honestly, was absolutely hilarious in this role. "I'm the king of wrestling!," Welch would shout.

"When this is all over, you'll be crowned, but it won't be king," Horner threatened, waving his fist. "I'm gonna crown you with this!" As I've mentioned, I had just began watching wrestling the year before, in Summer 1985, and this entire thing was new to me. I couldn't believe Welch would come out in public and do and say those things, from claiming to be the best wrestler in the industry to knowing Ronald Reagan (he actually played a "phone call" from "Reagan" at the end of one of the Continental episodes).

My own run-in with Welch happened at a Shoney's restaurant in Jasper, Alabama, right in the thick of the Welch-Horner feud. My family owned a car auction -- a couple of them, actually, and they put me through college. When I got my driver's license, I was assigned the task of parking cars. After an auction one Tuesday night in 1986, on the way home, we had stopped at a Shoney's to eat. It was late, probably around 11 p.m., and we had just been seated when my dad nudged me.

"Hey," he laughed, pointing at the door, "there's Roy Lee Welch!" 

Something you should know here: my dad loved Roy Lee Welch. He thought the king get-up was so stupid that it was funny. My dad rooted for all the rulebreakers (his favorites were Welch, Stubbs, Mantell and Fuller and Golden). Anyway, Welch and his family had come in and, ironically, were seated next to us. The restaurant was almost empty.

He and my dad struck up a conversation, and my sister, who was about 12 at the time, was doing her best to cover her shirt. 

"What's the matter with you?," I whispered. Then I remembered: she was wearing a shirt that read "WHITE LIGHTNIN'" TIM HORNER in huge, blue letters, with a lightning bolt symbol on it.

My dad heard me. Naturally, being a traitor, he called the attention of Welch to the matter. "We're big fans," my dad said, with a laugh. "We watch every week. We've all got our favorites. My daughter, Jennifer, is wearing a Continental shirt right now."

Welch leaned up in his seat to see what was on her shirt. After being goaded by my dad, Jennifer finally realized her attempt to cover the shirt was a no-go. She moved her arms.

"TIM HORNER?!!" Welch said, pretending outrage.

I honestly thought I was going to lose my dinner, and all of the people with both our parties just burst out into laughter. Welch pretended to sulk up, and was just a very good sport, never breaking kayfabe, but playing the laughter to the hilt, too.

Scientific matches between Horner and Welch were some of the best action of the year, and continued throughout the entire summer. Horner eventually decided that, like Brad Armstrong, he would try to make it in a bigger area, moving on to Jim Crockett Promotions' NWA group, to Bill Watts' UWF and then back to Crockett. Welch got the bragging rights, saying he "ran Horner out of Continental." But he would soon have his hands full with a young -- and determined -- "Dr." Tom Prichard.