Okay, so, there was this time when I was just starting out. Well, not just starting out but, early, okay? When you're that new in the business, a lot of the older guys like to mess with you. Nothing really mean, just mess with you. Hide your shoes, throw your clothes in the shower, put shoe polish on the handles of your bag, stuff like that. Some guys were really mean but most were just having fun, ya know?
There was a dude in the locker room, Gangster Gary McGrew, that just kept bugging me. Loved messing with me. Dunno why, man. One night I came back after my match, all banged up, lost, bummer. Rough night at work, right?
I get back to my locker and it gets worse. Someone took my shaving cream and sprayed it all over my clothes. Rubbed it in and everything. Not cool.
But the guy left the can behind and it still had some shaving cream in it. I was in a bad mood and this was just too much. I took what was left and filled up Gangster Gary's shoes with it. Just the part where your toes go, so it wouldn't be obvious.
I went off to take a shower and forgot all about it. Nice hot shower can wash away a lot, you know? All my negative emotions were gone just like that. It's not healthy to hang onto all that anyway. Bad for your heart.
So when Gary starts screaming at me, I don't know what he's talking about for a minute. He starts shoving his shoe in my face and all of a sudden I'm like 'oh yeah'. He's all 'how dare I?' and that, so I'm all 'Dude, look what you did to my clothes man' back at him. He's all 'I didn't do it'.
That confused me 'cause every other time he'd messed with me, he'd said so. He wanted me to know it was him. So I said that and apologized but then said he deserved it anyway. Then he mellowed out and agreed and we laughed and everything was cool between us. Then we were buds and we'd mess with each other a bit for fun. All cool.
No, nobody stepped up and said 'Yeah that was me' until years later. Turns out it was the Smasher. Said he did it so I wouldn't get picked on anymore. Which might be true or maybe he just thought it was funny and he just wanted to take credit for it turning out okay. Not sure man.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Story of El Pantera Plata
When El Pantera Plata was still an active wrestler, he didn't care much for traveling. He had a home, he had a family, and he had a goal in spending as much time there as he could. If an opportunity came up to visit another territory, maybe make some friends elsewhere, get a higher position on the card, he would pass them up.
However this one time a promoter friend of his was in a real bind. Calls him up at almost the last second, begging for his help. The flu was rampaging through his locker room, he'd run through all his local backup guys, would Arturo please, please, please come help him out? He didn't want to travel but this promoter was in a spot and never let it be said that El Pantera Plata would not go to help a friend in need. Finally he said yes. The promoter was grateful and said the travel would be all taken care of, nothing to worry about, just get to the airport as soon as he could so he could get to Florida to wrestle that night!
No big deal, right? A flight from Milwaukee to Miami is only a couple hours, you can make that easy. Except that it was already mid-afternoon. No time to waste.
Now Arturo knows his buddy must be desperate if he was needed to call in a favor from that far away, but he's still grumpy that he has to travel at the last second, on a weekend, etc. Maybe he could fly down there, wrestle, and fly right back. If not, it's Miami and it could get a couple hours of sun and warmth before returning to the Wisconsin winter. So as he's heading to the airport, he's trying to find the silver lining in all this rushing.
He gets to the plane with no problem: ticket's waiting for him as promised, he only has an overnight bag so no problems with luggage, he's hurrying, but the plane doesn't get delayed because of him.
But the plane does get delayed.
While the plane is boarding, the wind picks up over nearby Lake Michigan and they have to delay take-off. Now, the downside to this is Arturo is concerned about being late. He's not that keen to go but, if he's going to go, he wants to do it properly. The upside is that he's sitting in first class. He's comfortable. He's getting fed drinks. His nervousness about being late is being calmed by the alcohol. Besides, if he's late, it's not his fault. He doesn't control the weather. About a half-hour late, the wind subsides enough for the plane to take-off.
Once he arrives in Miami, he has some control of the situation again. He's hurrying. The first thing he notices is that it's cold. It's like forty degrees. He's shivering. It's not a good start. On the plus side, he has a limo waiting for him. First class all the way on this trip! He has another drink to settle himself on the way to the show. The drive to the show takes longer than expected and he doesn't arrive until the intermission.
His promoter friend, John something or other, I think, is thrilled to see him. Very appreciative that Arturo has traveled all this way to 'save his show'. While John is going on and on and on thanking him, he lets slip that Arturo is wrestling in the Main Event for the Southeast Heavyweight Championship.
Now Arturo is nervous again; completely sober but nervous. Arturo was generally not positioned so highly on the card and rarely wrestled for belts. He was outside his comfort zone. Now he's worried he can't perform at that level and he'll ruin John's show.
He gets in the ring and the champ is a big muscular fella, ah, what was his name? Bill? Bob? Yes! Big Bob Burns, thank you. He's almost a foot taller than El Pantera Plata. Just looks overwhelming. More nerves for Arturo as he doesn't want this big guy to steamroll him and beat him in seconds. That's not a quality Main Event.
Arturo starts running and dodging and quickly realizes he can outwrestle Bob. To your point Robbie, at the time he was a big muscular lunkhead but at least he had charisma. Some anyway. Arturo starts wearing him out, hit and run, floating and flying.
Bob catches him out of the ring, slamming Arturo into the safety railing between the audience and the action. While Arturo is stunned, Bob runs at him, apparently planning to crush Arturo between Bob and the railing. Arturo's not stunned enough, moves, and Bob crashes into the railing at top speed.
No one realizes it at the time but Bob knocks himself out during the crash. He gets up and gets back in the ring but is too out of it to fight off Arturo. DDT. Three count. Arturo wins!
Then he realizes he's won the belt and he'll have to return to defend it.
Once again, there's an up side and a down side.
However this one time a promoter friend of his was in a real bind. Calls him up at almost the last second, begging for his help. The flu was rampaging through his locker room, he'd run through all his local backup guys, would Arturo please, please, please come help him out? He didn't want to travel but this promoter was in a spot and never let it be said that El Pantera Plata would not go to help a friend in need. Finally he said yes. The promoter was grateful and said the travel would be all taken care of, nothing to worry about, just get to the airport as soon as he could so he could get to Florida to wrestle that night!
No big deal, right? A flight from Milwaukee to Miami is only a couple hours, you can make that easy. Except that it was already mid-afternoon. No time to waste.
Now Arturo knows his buddy must be desperate if he was needed to call in a favor from that far away, but he's still grumpy that he has to travel at the last second, on a weekend, etc. Maybe he could fly down there, wrestle, and fly right back. If not, it's Miami and it could get a couple hours of sun and warmth before returning to the Wisconsin winter. So as he's heading to the airport, he's trying to find the silver lining in all this rushing.
He gets to the plane with no problem: ticket's waiting for him as promised, he only has an overnight bag so no problems with luggage, he's hurrying, but the plane doesn't get delayed because of him.
But the plane does get delayed.
While the plane is boarding, the wind picks up over nearby Lake Michigan and they have to delay take-off. Now, the downside to this is Arturo is concerned about being late. He's not that keen to go but, if he's going to go, he wants to do it properly. The upside is that he's sitting in first class. He's comfortable. He's getting fed drinks. His nervousness about being late is being calmed by the alcohol. Besides, if he's late, it's not his fault. He doesn't control the weather. About a half-hour late, the wind subsides enough for the plane to take-off.
Once he arrives in Miami, he has some control of the situation again. He's hurrying. The first thing he notices is that it's cold. It's like forty degrees. He's shivering. It's not a good start. On the plus side, he has a limo waiting for him. First class all the way on this trip! He has another drink to settle himself on the way to the show. The drive to the show takes longer than expected and he doesn't arrive until the intermission.
His promoter friend, John something or other, I think, is thrilled to see him. Very appreciative that Arturo has traveled all this way to 'save his show'. While John is going on and on and on thanking him, he lets slip that Arturo is wrestling in the Main Event for the Southeast Heavyweight Championship.
Now Arturo is nervous again; completely sober but nervous. Arturo was generally not positioned so highly on the card and rarely wrestled for belts. He was outside his comfort zone. Now he's worried he can't perform at that level and he'll ruin John's show.
He gets in the ring and the champ is a big muscular fella, ah, what was his name? Bill? Bob? Yes! Big Bob Burns, thank you. He's almost a foot taller than El Pantera Plata. Just looks overwhelming. More nerves for Arturo as he doesn't want this big guy to steamroll him and beat him in seconds. That's not a quality Main Event.
Arturo starts running and dodging and quickly realizes he can outwrestle Bob. To your point Robbie, at the time he was a big muscular lunkhead but at least he had charisma. Some anyway. Arturo starts wearing him out, hit and run, floating and flying.
Bob catches him out of the ring, slamming Arturo into the safety railing between the audience and the action. While Arturo is stunned, Bob runs at him, apparently planning to crush Arturo between Bob and the railing. Arturo's not stunned enough, moves, and Bob crashes into the railing at top speed.
No one realizes it at the time but Bob knocks himself out during the crash. He gets up and gets back in the ring but is too out of it to fight off Arturo. DDT. Three count. Arturo wins!
Then he realizes he's won the belt and he'll have to return to defend it.
Once again, there's an up side and a down side.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
The Champ is Here!
Wrestlers filled the balcony. Some sat quietly, nursing an injury or a loss. Others cheered and celebrated. Rugged Robbie V, wearing his newly won championship belt, was atop a table, cheerfully demonstrating martial arts type kicks. “Be careful up there champ!” called out Mr. Cantiflas.
Robbie grinned back. “Yes sir Mr. Bossman!”
We moved through the crowd, past masked men, martial artists, and French-Canadians. A table near the bar was empty and we sat there. Jaz breezed by, playfully mussed my hair, and took Mr. Cantiflas' drink order.
Casually, Robbie jumped from his table, over an entire table full of drinks and wrestlers, to land in the aisle next to our table. If I make this action sound simple, well, it looked like it was for Robbie. The skill involved to create enough power to clear a table and people, while yet controlling himself in order to land in a space that was perhaps only two foot square is impressive. That's not a big target to hit.
“I didn't mean anything by being on the table Bossman,” Robbie explained. “I admit I was showing off a bit but you want your champ to be skilled, right?” A big grin formed on his face. “Cause, I mean, you don't want some muscular lunkhead with no charisma up as the leader, the ... figurehead!, that's the word, of your company. You want someone smooth and slick. That's what you got in me, Rugged Robbie V.”
“He's a confident man,” I noted to Mr. Cantiflas.
“Hey,” Robbie noted, “it's not bragging if you can back it up.”
“And you can,” I agreed.
“That's why I'm the champ,” he responded. Quickly, Mr. Cantiflas officially introduced us. “Oh man, you know El Pantera Plata? Does he ever, like, talk to you?”
“Occasionally.”
“And you've never been a worker, right?” Robbie checked. I confirmed that I'd never wrestled, only watched others wrestle. “Man, you're, like, my new hero. I've wrestled El Pantera Plata and he barely talks to me. He's quiet.”
As Robbie sat himself at our table, I stated “El Pantera Plata is a bit shy I think. Luckily for him, being silent works well with his tough guy persona.”
Cantiflas nodded as he swallowed some of his beverage. “This is true. He has been my friend for many years but he can be very quiet when he's around people he's not familiar with well.”
“What you should do is approach him with someone that he's already familiar with, like Mr. Cantiflas,” I recommended. “Then he'll relax and you'll start to hear his stories.”
Like this one.
Robbie grinned back. “Yes sir Mr. Bossman!”
We moved through the crowd, past masked men, martial artists, and French-Canadians. A table near the bar was empty and we sat there. Jaz breezed by, playfully mussed my hair, and took Mr. Cantiflas' drink order.
Casually, Robbie jumped from his table, over an entire table full of drinks and wrestlers, to land in the aisle next to our table. If I make this action sound simple, well, it looked like it was for Robbie. The skill involved to create enough power to clear a table and people, while yet controlling himself in order to land in a space that was perhaps only two foot square is impressive. That's not a big target to hit.
“I didn't mean anything by being on the table Bossman,” Robbie explained. “I admit I was showing off a bit but you want your champ to be skilled, right?” A big grin formed on his face. “Cause, I mean, you don't want some muscular lunkhead with no charisma up as the leader, the ... figurehead!, that's the word, of your company. You want someone smooth and slick. That's what you got in me, Rugged Robbie V.”
“He's a confident man,” I noted to Mr. Cantiflas.
“Hey,” Robbie noted, “it's not bragging if you can back it up.”
“And you can,” I agreed.
“That's why I'm the champ,” he responded. Quickly, Mr. Cantiflas officially introduced us. “Oh man, you know El Pantera Plata? Does he ever, like, talk to you?”
“Occasionally.”
“And you've never been a worker, right?” Robbie checked. I confirmed that I'd never wrestled, only watched others wrestle. “Man, you're, like, my new hero. I've wrestled El Pantera Plata and he barely talks to me. He's quiet.”
As Robbie sat himself at our table, I stated “El Pantera Plata is a bit shy I think. Luckily for him, being silent works well with his tough guy persona.”
Cantiflas nodded as he swallowed some of his beverage. “This is true. He has been my friend for many years but he can be very quiet when he's around people he's not familiar with well.”
“What you should do is approach him with someone that he's already familiar with, like Mr. Cantiflas,” I recommended. “Then he'll relax and you'll start to hear his stories.”
Like this one.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Onward and Upward
While I have been up in the balcony of RageBreakers before, looking out onto the massive dance floor, it's not often that I've been up in the VIP section off to the side. In fact, I don't think I've ever been up there before when there were other people in there. Occasionally, on slow nights, Chicko and Arturo and I have hung out up there in order to get up to no good but that's not quite the same.
This time when the security on the stairwell, a burly but friendly gentleman by the name of Neal, raised his eyebrow curiously at my approach, Mr. Cantiflas waved him off and I was in!
The VIP balcony is nothing too special really, at least from a physical perspective. The carpet is black and dark red, hiding a myriad of stains in the low lighting. The rows of small round tables are surrounded by chairs that strive to be comfortable and sometimes succeed. Candles flicker on the tables, adding ever so slightly to the murky illumination. The bonus to the VIP area is that the people in it can be on their own a bit, not worried about interruptions from, well, people like me. The service is supposed to be even better up there as well.
This point was made that much clearer as the first person we saw upon reaching the top of the VIP staircase was my friend Jaz. As waitresses go, she's very good. As a pretty lady with long, dark hair and even longer legs, she's even better. She squeaked with excitement upon seeing me, rushing over to give me a big hug. “It's good to see you again! How have you been? What are you doing up here? The usual?” She rushed off.
Mr. Cantiflas was grinning. “Friend of yours?”
“Yes. Not in that way,” I added hurriedly. “She's very married.”
Jaz returned with a beer for me, politely kissed me on the cheek, and hurried back off. Mr. Cantiflas continued to grin. “I've been here many times and have yet to receive such service. I can already tell that bringing you along was a good choice.”
“It would have been better if she would have brought you a drink as well.”
He laughed. “Never mind that for now. Let's join the party.”
This time when the security on the stairwell, a burly but friendly gentleman by the name of Neal, raised his eyebrow curiously at my approach, Mr. Cantiflas waved him off and I was in!
The VIP balcony is nothing too special really, at least from a physical perspective. The carpet is black and dark red, hiding a myriad of stains in the low lighting. The rows of small round tables are surrounded by chairs that strive to be comfortable and sometimes succeed. Candles flicker on the tables, adding ever so slightly to the murky illumination. The bonus to the VIP area is that the people in it can be on their own a bit, not worried about interruptions from, well, people like me. The service is supposed to be even better up there as well.
This point was made that much clearer as the first person we saw upon reaching the top of the VIP staircase was my friend Jaz. As waitresses go, she's very good. As a pretty lady with long, dark hair and even longer legs, she's even better. She squeaked with excitement upon seeing me, rushing over to give me a big hug. “It's good to see you again! How have you been? What are you doing up here? The usual?” She rushed off.
Mr. Cantiflas was grinning. “Friend of yours?”
“Yes. Not in that way,” I added hurriedly. “She's very married.”
Jaz returned with a beer for me, politely kissed me on the cheek, and hurried back off. Mr. Cantiflas continued to grin. “I've been here many times and have yet to receive such service. I can already tell that bringing you along was a good choice.”
“It would have been better if she would have brought you a drink as well.”
He laughed. “Never mind that for now. Let's join the party.”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Then I Went Out
There's nothing quite like hollering and cheering for a couple hours to dry out your throat. As a result, I decided it was time for a trip to RageBreakers for a beverage or two. I mean, I was already out and about in that general area of town, so why not stop in?
It is one of the main advantages of being on your own, as I often am. You get to make these decisions on your own. Tired? Go home. Not tired? Don't go home. No discussion required, no 'well how tired are you?', you just go or don't. Which is nice I admit. On the downside, you've only got yourself to talk to when you're on your own, which can get rather tedious. It's not that I'm not friendly and don't met people this way as clearly I do. So it's a toss up I guess. I mean, if I had a girlfriend or a wife or companion of some sort, I might not have even gone to the wrestling at all. Maybe we wouldn't have gone out at all.
I'm clearly thinking about this too much. What I should be focusing on is the joys surrounding RageBreakers, my pals there.
Before I was near the mighty staircase that led to the massive bar, I found my pal Chicko. “Brah! Good to see you man. How you been? Oh man you picked a great night to come by, lots of lovely ladies and the LLW guys are here. Great night.” His enthusiasm was tempered by his duty to his job. “Busy, busy night. I'll catch you inside. Good to see you man! Hey, make sure you say hi to Arturo on your way in. He's at the door.” Just as suddenly, he was off.
I resumed my walk to the staircase and the bar beyond. As I ascended the curving staircase, I could see Arturo, aka El Pantera Plata, at the door, already in conversation with someone. I'm not much for interrupting someone's conversation unless I've got time-critical news to impart and even then I'm not that keen on interrupting. Still I thought I might be able to wave as I walked past, share a greeting without causing too much of a disturbance. As I walked past, I caught El Pantera Plata's eye, nodded, and waved. He beckoned me over.
I approached with a mix of hesitation and confusion. I still didn't want to interrupt and was concerned that I was misreading the gesture to join them. My confusion was caused by the fact that El Pantera Plata seemed to be rather chatty with his friend. That was rare. A chatty El Pantera Plata seemed to be a rare and beautiful thing, like a butterfly. Okay, maybe not, but it was different and interesting.
“... and then he fell off the stool!” exclaimed the friend. At this punchline, El Pantera Plata howled with laughter, slapping the wall to fully express the level of his mirth.
After wiping the tears from his eyes and adjusting the positioning of his silver and black mask, El Pantera Plata extended his hand to me, exchanging a hearty handshake. “Hey Jose,” he said to his friend, “this is Patrick. He's okay.”
Jose and I shook hands. He was a gentleman of some Latin descent, probably old enough to be my father. His dark hair was neatly combed and his nice suit was only slightly rumpled. “If Arturo says that you're okay, then you must be okay.”
El Pantera Plata finished the introduction. “Patrick, this is Jose Cantiflas.”
I know that name. Why do I know that name? Thankfully, the information popped into my head when I needed it and not three hours later like normal. “You run the LLW, don't you?” With a smile, Mr. Cantiflas nodded. “I just came from your show. Excellent card sir.”
“Thank you for saying so. I do my best but you never know how things will work out until the wrestlers are in the ring and they clash.”
“Hey,” El Pantera Plata interjected, “if you buy a round, I betcha Jose will tell you a story or two. Patrick likes stories.”
“I do.”
“Well, we're celebrating the title change tonight so it might be quite a round you'd have to pick up,” Mr. Cantiflas warned.
It suddenly occurred to me that I was being invited to join in with the wrestlers. “That's okay.”
“In that case, welcome to the party!”
It is one of the main advantages of being on your own, as I often am. You get to make these decisions on your own. Tired? Go home. Not tired? Don't go home. No discussion required, no 'well how tired are you?', you just go or don't. Which is nice I admit. On the downside, you've only got yourself to talk to when you're on your own, which can get rather tedious. It's not that I'm not friendly and don't met people this way as clearly I do. So it's a toss up I guess. I mean, if I had a girlfriend or a wife or companion of some sort, I might not have even gone to the wrestling at all. Maybe we wouldn't have gone out at all.
I'm clearly thinking about this too much. What I should be focusing on is the joys surrounding RageBreakers, my pals there.
Before I was near the mighty staircase that led to the massive bar, I found my pal Chicko. “Brah! Good to see you man. How you been? Oh man you picked a great night to come by, lots of lovely ladies and the LLW guys are here. Great night.” His enthusiasm was tempered by his duty to his job. “Busy, busy night. I'll catch you inside. Good to see you man! Hey, make sure you say hi to Arturo on your way in. He's at the door.” Just as suddenly, he was off.
I resumed my walk to the staircase and the bar beyond. As I ascended the curving staircase, I could see Arturo, aka El Pantera Plata, at the door, already in conversation with someone. I'm not much for interrupting someone's conversation unless I've got time-critical news to impart and even then I'm not that keen on interrupting. Still I thought I might be able to wave as I walked past, share a greeting without causing too much of a disturbance. As I walked past, I caught El Pantera Plata's eye, nodded, and waved. He beckoned me over.
I approached with a mix of hesitation and confusion. I still didn't want to interrupt and was concerned that I was misreading the gesture to join them. My confusion was caused by the fact that El Pantera Plata seemed to be rather chatty with his friend. That was rare. A chatty El Pantera Plata seemed to be a rare and beautiful thing, like a butterfly. Okay, maybe not, but it was different and interesting.
“... and then he fell off the stool!” exclaimed the friend. At this punchline, El Pantera Plata howled with laughter, slapping the wall to fully express the level of his mirth.
After wiping the tears from his eyes and adjusting the positioning of his silver and black mask, El Pantera Plata extended his hand to me, exchanging a hearty handshake. “Hey Jose,” he said to his friend, “this is Patrick. He's okay.”
Jose and I shook hands. He was a gentleman of some Latin descent, probably old enough to be my father. His dark hair was neatly combed and his nice suit was only slightly rumpled. “If Arturo says that you're okay, then you must be okay.”
El Pantera Plata finished the introduction. “Patrick, this is Jose Cantiflas.”
I know that name. Why do I know that name? Thankfully, the information popped into my head when I needed it and not three hours later like normal. “You run the LLW, don't you?” With a smile, Mr. Cantiflas nodded. “I just came from your show. Excellent card sir.”
“Thank you for saying so. I do my best but you never know how things will work out until the wrestlers are in the ring and they clash.”
“Hey,” El Pantera Plata interjected, “if you buy a round, I betcha Jose will tell you a story or two. Patrick likes stories.”
“I do.”
“Well, we're celebrating the title change tonight so it might be quite a round you'd have to pick up,” Mr. Cantiflas warned.
It suddenly occurred to me that I was being invited to join in with the wrestlers. “That's okay.”
“In that case, welcome to the party!”
A Night at the Wrestling
Caught the wrestling card on Saturday night and then some. For the moment, we'll focus on the action in the ring.
Match One: Mas Caras vs the Spoiler
The Spoiler is still our slightly goofy fan favorite while Mas Caras is a crazed masked wrestler that's probably been dropped on his head a few too many times. They brawled all over the ring and ring side area thanks to a referee that was beyond lenient. Crazy or not, Mas Caras hit the double-armed DDT for the victory.
Match Two: Charlie Blackman vs Greg Cooper
To go from the main event to the second match on the card has got to be a bit disappointing for Mr. Cooper. Considering his intensity, it IS a disappointment. Greg went on the attack immediately after the bell and never truly lost the momentum at any point. After ten minutes, Charlie tapped out to the figure four leglock and Greg Cooper had the victory.
Match Three for the All-Wisconsin Tag Team Championship: Irish Thunder defending their belts against Sheik Hussain and Tork
I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this match. Sheik Hussain is more of a cheating thug and Irish Thunder are the high-risk, jump at you from anything type. Tork is big. Jimmy McGee of Irish Thunder spent much of the match getting the snot beat out of him. Tork would beat him up a bit until the Sheik called for the tag. Then the Sheik would get in and cheap shot Jimmy in the throat, act like he'd applied some fancy hold, and tag Tork back in. Finally Jimmy slipped free of the Sheik and made the tag to his partner, Patrick O'Murphy. Things got complicated, their may have been an illegal chain in the ring and suddenly Patrick pinned the Sheik to retain the belts. Wild match. Weird ending but wild match.
Intermission. Soft pretzel. Mmmm.
Match Four: 'Iron Hands' Johnson vs Stan 'the Man' Miracle
Stan took a wicked chop to the neck from 'Iron Hands' and I thought that was it. By 'it' I thought Stan was dead for a second. Somehow the Man generated another Miracle. Another brainbuster and Stan gets the win.
Match Five: Brother Zeke vs the Executioner
These two big fellas knocked the tar out of one another. Executioner is big and mean but Brother Zeke is not so loving and friendly that he won't return fire. After fifteen minutes, both wrestlers looked exhausted. Zeke hit his big clothesline, following it up with a fist drop from the second turnbuckle for the win.
Match Six: Buff Mysterio Jr. defending the All-Wisconsin Heavyweight Championship against Rugged Robbie V
This match was insane. Robbie V does some demented high risk attacks. Buff is no strange to such moves but prefers his power set. Both wrestlers can work in the other's primary skills and they did. Robbie V hit a crazy powerbomb on Buff but Buff hit a huge leg drop from the top turnbuckle on Robbie. Back and forth, back and forth, it looked like neither could really get the advantage over the other. Naturally this meant the Executioner needed to come out to lend a hand. Unfortunately, he apparently still wasn't recovered from his earlier loss. Buff moved to fling Robbie into the ropes, where the Executioner prepared to hit him. However, Robbie reversed the hold and the Executioner was unable to stop his punch, hitting Buff instead. The distraction was enough for Robbie to follow-up with a German suplex with a bridge that held Buff's shoulders down for the three count.
Rugged Robbie V is the new Champion!
Match One: Mas Caras vs the Spoiler
The Spoiler is still our slightly goofy fan favorite while Mas Caras is a crazed masked wrestler that's probably been dropped on his head a few too many times. They brawled all over the ring and ring side area thanks to a referee that was beyond lenient. Crazy or not, Mas Caras hit the double-armed DDT for the victory.
Match Two: Charlie Blackman vs Greg Cooper
To go from the main event to the second match on the card has got to be a bit disappointing for Mr. Cooper. Considering his intensity, it IS a disappointment. Greg went on the attack immediately after the bell and never truly lost the momentum at any point. After ten minutes, Charlie tapped out to the figure four leglock and Greg Cooper had the victory.
Match Three for the All-Wisconsin Tag Team Championship: Irish Thunder defending their belts against Sheik Hussain and Tork
I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this match. Sheik Hussain is more of a cheating thug and Irish Thunder are the high-risk, jump at you from anything type. Tork is big. Jimmy McGee of Irish Thunder spent much of the match getting the snot beat out of him. Tork would beat him up a bit until the Sheik called for the tag. Then the Sheik would get in and cheap shot Jimmy in the throat, act like he'd applied some fancy hold, and tag Tork back in. Finally Jimmy slipped free of the Sheik and made the tag to his partner, Patrick O'Murphy. Things got complicated, their may have been an illegal chain in the ring and suddenly Patrick pinned the Sheik to retain the belts. Wild match. Weird ending but wild match.
Intermission. Soft pretzel. Mmmm.
Match Four: 'Iron Hands' Johnson vs Stan 'the Man' Miracle
Stan took a wicked chop to the neck from 'Iron Hands' and I thought that was it. By 'it' I thought Stan was dead for a second. Somehow the Man generated another Miracle. Another brainbuster and Stan gets the win.
Match Five: Brother Zeke vs the Executioner
These two big fellas knocked the tar out of one another. Executioner is big and mean but Brother Zeke is not so loving and friendly that he won't return fire. After fifteen minutes, both wrestlers looked exhausted. Zeke hit his big clothesline, following it up with a fist drop from the second turnbuckle for the win.
Match Six: Buff Mysterio Jr. defending the All-Wisconsin Heavyweight Championship against Rugged Robbie V
This match was insane. Robbie V does some demented high risk attacks. Buff is no strange to such moves but prefers his power set. Both wrestlers can work in the other's primary skills and they did. Robbie V hit a crazy powerbomb on Buff but Buff hit a huge leg drop from the top turnbuckle on Robbie. Back and forth, back and forth, it looked like neither could really get the advantage over the other. Naturally this meant the Executioner needed to come out to lend a hand. Unfortunately, he apparently still wasn't recovered from his earlier loss. Buff moved to fling Robbie into the ropes, where the Executioner prepared to hit him. However, Robbie reversed the hold and the Executioner was unable to stop his punch, hitting Buff instead. The distraction was enough for Robbie to follow-up with a German suplex with a bridge that held Buff's shoulders down for the three count.
Rugged Robbie V is the new Champion!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
This Probably Didn't Help
Sarah Jean sighed. “I don't know why you're telling me all this.”
“I have to tell someone,” I insisted. “If I tell Mike that I passed on an opportunity like this he may hurt me. Honestly! It's happened before.” Quickly I added “For much less.”
This did nothing to buoy Sarah Jean's mood. “Okay, yeah, so it's not like you'd be able to keep it from me so you might as well just own up to it but that still doesn't mean I want to hear about it.”
I grew confused. “I thought you didn't want any secrets.”
“I know what I said,” Sarah Jean snapped. She took a breath and calmly continued. “That doesn't mean it's pleasant to hear about it, especially with all the extra detail I get in here.” I apologized. This didn't help. “Some of it is that you just like feeling guilty. Telling me is punishment for you breaking one of your personal guidelines. The only person I know more uptight than you is Ian.” She grumbled further. “He needs to just express himself to Barbara already.”
“Would you be happier if I had gone all the way with her and not felt guilty about it?” I demanded.
Sarah Jean narrowed her eyes at me. “Who says 'all the way' anymore?”
“I do apparently. Would 'make love' be any better?”
“No.” She did giggle briefly.
“How about 'make whoopie'?”
A laugh escaped her. “What?” I repeated it, making her laugh further. “Really? That's a word?”
“You've never heard it before?” She shook her head. “It's an older game show euphemism for fooling around.”
After her laughter subsided, Sarah Jean just observed me, her irritation visibly reduced. “You are so uptight but I suppose that's okay.” In response to my confusion, she explained. “Almost every time we meet in your head we're in a restaurant, somewhere open and public. Almost every story you have about a woman has some guilt in it when you tell it. Now, through this whole conversation, you haven't actually said the word 'sex', just walked around saying it. You can't say it, can you?”
“I think I can say any word I can pronounce,” I retorted, somewhat miffed. “I control our location?”
She leaned on the table and smiled. “We're in your head so you have some control over our location and don't change the subject.”
“I'm not,” I protested, “I'm just trying to understand...”
Sarah Jean interrupted. “Say it.” I gave her a look of confusion but she didn't buy it. “You know what I mean. You can do it.”
“I can say it; I don't know about doing it.” I cleared my throat dramatically. “Sex. There, are you happy?”
She giggled and ooohed. Playfully she noted “It sent a chill up and down my spine.”
I joined in. “It can't be that easy.”
“It isn't and neither am I.”
“So I noticed.” Now that the mood had lightened, I informed “They want to have dinner with us.”
“Seriously?” she questioned. I nodded. “Why would they think I would want to eat with the woman that tried to seduce my 'boyfriend'?”
“Well, when not trying to molest me or allow me to be molested, they are quite sweet and fond of me. I suspect they want to check you over and make sure you're good enough for me.”
Sarah Jean scoffed at this concept. “More likely that the husband just wants to look me over and suggest some sort of kinky trade.”
I coughed. “That thought had crossed my mind. Still, it should be a nice meal.” She just looked at me. “We'll put it down as a maybe then.”
“I have to tell someone,” I insisted. “If I tell Mike that I passed on an opportunity like this he may hurt me. Honestly! It's happened before.” Quickly I added “For much less.”
This did nothing to buoy Sarah Jean's mood. “Okay, yeah, so it's not like you'd be able to keep it from me so you might as well just own up to it but that still doesn't mean I want to hear about it.”
I grew confused. “I thought you didn't want any secrets.”
“I know what I said,” Sarah Jean snapped. She took a breath and calmly continued. “That doesn't mean it's pleasant to hear about it, especially with all the extra detail I get in here.” I apologized. This didn't help. “Some of it is that you just like feeling guilty. Telling me is punishment for you breaking one of your personal guidelines. The only person I know more uptight than you is Ian.” She grumbled further. “He needs to just express himself to Barbara already.”
“Would you be happier if I had gone all the way with her and not felt guilty about it?” I demanded.
Sarah Jean narrowed her eyes at me. “Who says 'all the way' anymore?”
“I do apparently. Would 'make love' be any better?”
“No.” She did giggle briefly.
“How about 'make whoopie'?”
A laugh escaped her. “What?” I repeated it, making her laugh further. “Really? That's a word?”
“You've never heard it before?” She shook her head. “It's an older game show euphemism for fooling around.”
After her laughter subsided, Sarah Jean just observed me, her irritation visibly reduced. “You are so uptight but I suppose that's okay.” In response to my confusion, she explained. “Almost every time we meet in your head we're in a restaurant, somewhere open and public. Almost every story you have about a woman has some guilt in it when you tell it. Now, through this whole conversation, you haven't actually said the word 'sex', just walked around saying it. You can't say it, can you?”
“I think I can say any word I can pronounce,” I retorted, somewhat miffed. “I control our location?”
She leaned on the table and smiled. “We're in your head so you have some control over our location and don't change the subject.”
“I'm not,” I protested, “I'm just trying to understand...”
Sarah Jean interrupted. “Say it.” I gave her a look of confusion but she didn't buy it. “You know what I mean. You can do it.”
“I can say it; I don't know about doing it.” I cleared my throat dramatically. “Sex. There, are you happy?”
She giggled and ooohed. Playfully she noted “It sent a chill up and down my spine.”
I joined in. “It can't be that easy.”
“It isn't and neither am I.”
“So I noticed.” Now that the mood had lightened, I informed “They want to have dinner with us.”
“Seriously?” she questioned. I nodded. “Why would they think I would want to eat with the woman that tried to seduce my 'boyfriend'?”
“Well, when not trying to molest me or allow me to be molested, they are quite sweet and fond of me. I suspect they want to check you over and make sure you're good enough for me.”
Sarah Jean scoffed at this concept. “More likely that the husband just wants to look me over and suggest some sort of kinky trade.”
I coughed. “That thought had crossed my mind. Still, it should be a nice meal.” She just looked at me. “We'll put it down as a maybe then.”
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