Jeffrey Daniels grew up in Baltimore, Maryland alongside his childhood best friend and self-described heterosexual life partner, Lee Scott Rothlesberger. The two were inseparable, raised on a steady diet of late-90s/early-2000s pro wrestling, especially their hometown promotion Old Line Wrestling, run by Jeff Andrews.

Andrews was the centerpiece of an infamous stable called The Untouchables, and for Jeffrey there was never any question who his favorite was: Jeff Andrews himself. Where Lee was drawn to Kai Scott’s meticulous strategies, Jeffrey idolized Andrews’ audacity—the way he could throw himself headlong into danger, take the biggest risks, and somehow always come out grinning.

That love of the late-90s never left him. Daniels dresses like the kid who never quite left the mall era behind: oversized JNCO jeans, a dangling wallet chain, and a black studded belt that doubles as a weapon when referees aren’t paying close attention. He’s been known to whip opponents with it or cinch it around a throat like a garrote, all while protesting his innocence. And while referees almost never notice the chain, when one finally does confiscate it, Jeffrey sells it like a personal tragedy—outraged that anyone would deny him his fashion statement.

His vanity shows in other ways too, especially his thick, wavy hair. Daniels flips it around with exaggerated pride, playing the role of a grown-up 90s heartthrob. The irony isn’t lost on him—or the fans—that his mentor Jeff Andrews was bald before 30. Whether Jeffrey will follow in those footsteps is a running joke he doesn’t like to hear.

When he and Lee finally broke into the business, they christened themselves The New Untouchables as a tribute to their childhood idols. Where the originals were martial arts killers, the New UTs took a narrower inspiration: kicks. Armed with Bruce Lee’s maxim—“I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times”—they decided their path to greatness was simple: spam superkicks until nobody could stand up anymore.

The pair cut their teeth on the independents before landing in the XHF Network. Their tenure there isn’t the story Jeffrey likes to tell, but it was a pivotal stop: behind the curtain, the retired Andrews took a shine to the two kids who’d grown up idolizing him. That mentorship changed everything. With Andrews’ guidance (and later, Heidi Christenson’s), Jeffrey and Lee began to reinvent themselves as the “Kings of the Super-Indy”—louder, flashier, and meaner than ever before.

And with that guidance came something darker. What started as two cocky Baltimore kids chasing their heroes slowly warped into something crueler. Lee refined the art of planning, but Jeffrey stayed true to what first drew him to Andrews: the rush of audacity. The bigger the risk, the louder the spectacle, the more Jeffrey wanted it. Because for Daniels, wrestling isn’t just about winning—it’s about leaving behind a trail of broken bodies and unforgettable moments.