Post by Ace King on Feb 16, 2017 23:35:37 GMT -6
Feb. 15, 2017
The King’s Court
Las Vegas, Nevada
9:15 p.m.
Anybody who knows professional wrestling understands the business is far from a 9-to-5 job, and I appreciate the grind of it all. However, it can also be the kind of business where you feel like the glass ceiling is about to cave in, and you’ve got no way to break through.
As I sit alone in my office, all I can do is wonder. What could I have done differently? I’m apparently valued by the company, yet I can’t find my way onto Hardcore Revolution on my own merit, all while seeing so many other recent signings pass me by.
I went from a highly-praised match at WrestleFest to… Nothing.
I can feel the familiar dark fog trying to envelope me, but before it consumes me, the opening notes to ‘Been Training Dogs’ by The Cooper Temple Clause echo through the office, and a smile comes to my face; it’s something I haven’t heard in a long time, and as I pick up my phone, it’s a most welcome distraction.
“Hey, pal,” I say, almost surprising myself with the exuberance.
“Tree-mendous to hear from you!” the voice on the other end exclaims. My face scrunches up; it’s the kind of answer I’d expect from ‘The Five-Star Superstar’ El Pablo, my best friend in the business, my partner in our storied Five Star Gamblers tag team, and one of the few who knows about my more embarrassing ventures in this industry.
“Thanks,” I respond, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “How’s Cristal doing?”
Almost immediately, I have to pull the phone away from my ear as I hear El Pablo’s significant other squeal with delight in the background.
“Indeed,” I say with a smile, shaking my head as I try to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing these days?”
“You know, just looking at my options,” El Pablo responds, his tone a bit less cheery than before. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into a spot of trouble, though. What’s gotten into Ruth? And did you know she had a son?”
“There’s lots of things I don’t know, apparently,” I sigh, a more subdued intonation in my voice. “I didn’t realize I’d done anything wrong.”
“People change, buddy,” he answers in an effort to cheer me up. “Trust me, you’ve changed a lot over the last decade, too.”
“Oh, I know,” I lament, “I feel like I’ve gone backwards on the evolutionary chart lately. I don’t feel like I’m-”
“Don’t say it,” El Pablo interjects. “I didn’t call you so I could hear you go all downward spiral on me. Now do you know what I mean when I said the grass isn’t always greener on the other side?”
The last question strikes me funny; El Pablo’s my best friend in the business, and he did, indeed, warn me about how things can be on a bigger stage; I’d caught up with him a couple times backstage at Sin City Wrestling shows in Las Vegas while I wasn’t competing, and I knew he wasn’t always himself.
“Yeah, I get it,” I sigh, my shoulders slumped. “But to be talked up as supposedly a top-10 wrestler in the company and not appear on a pay-per-view is a sore spot.”
“Well, there’s always the Tag Team Invitational-”
“Unlikely,” I interject. “I don’t know how much you’ve watched since I started here, but I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends, certainly nobody I mesh with as well as I did with you. I guess I’ve been so busy trying to earn respect all over again that I kinda neglected the whole networking component of all this.”
“I see,” El Pablo muses, “Sounds to me like The Gambler’s suddenly decided to play it safe, is that right?”
“I don’t know about that,” I heave. “I don’t think I’ve changed all that much.”
“Then take a chance. What have you got to lose?”
A long silence follows; I don’t know what to say right now, a common thread for me since the calendar turned to 2017.
“Anyway, I’ve got a Skittles commercial to shoot,” El Pablo says, “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”
El Pablo hangs up, leaving me alone in my office. I shake my head as I slump in my office chair; if I wanted to do the Tag Team Invitational, who would I even want to tag with? Worse yet, who would even want to tag with me?
The King’s Court
Las Vegas, Nevada
9:15 p.m.
Anybody who knows professional wrestling understands the business is far from a 9-to-5 job, and I appreciate the grind of it all. However, it can also be the kind of business where you feel like the glass ceiling is about to cave in, and you’ve got no way to break through.
As I sit alone in my office, all I can do is wonder. What could I have done differently? I’m apparently valued by the company, yet I can’t find my way onto Hardcore Revolution on my own merit, all while seeing so many other recent signings pass me by.
I went from a highly-praised match at WrestleFest to… Nothing.
I can feel the familiar dark fog trying to envelope me, but before it consumes me, the opening notes to ‘Been Training Dogs’ by The Cooper Temple Clause echo through the office, and a smile comes to my face; it’s something I haven’t heard in a long time, and as I pick up my phone, it’s a most welcome distraction.
“Hey, pal,” I say, almost surprising myself with the exuberance.
“Tree-mendous to hear from you!” the voice on the other end exclaims. My face scrunches up; it’s the kind of answer I’d expect from ‘The Five-Star Superstar’ El Pablo, my best friend in the business, my partner in our storied Five Star Gamblers tag team, and one of the few who knows about my more embarrassing ventures in this industry.
“Thanks,” I respond, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “How’s Cristal doing?”
Almost immediately, I have to pull the phone away from my ear as I hear El Pablo’s significant other squeal with delight in the background.
“Indeed,” I say with a smile, shaking my head as I try to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing these days?”
“You know, just looking at my options,” El Pablo responds, his tone a bit less cheery than before. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into a spot of trouble, though. What’s gotten into Ruth? And did you know she had a son?”
“There’s lots of things I don’t know, apparently,” I sigh, a more subdued intonation in my voice. “I didn’t realize I’d done anything wrong.”
“People change, buddy,” he answers in an effort to cheer me up. “Trust me, you’ve changed a lot over the last decade, too.”
“Oh, I know,” I lament, “I feel like I’ve gone backwards on the evolutionary chart lately. I don’t feel like I’m-”
“Don’t say it,” El Pablo interjects. “I didn’t call you so I could hear you go all downward spiral on me. Now do you know what I mean when I said the grass isn’t always greener on the other side?”
The last question strikes me funny; El Pablo’s my best friend in the business, and he did, indeed, warn me about how things can be on a bigger stage; I’d caught up with him a couple times backstage at Sin City Wrestling shows in Las Vegas while I wasn’t competing, and I knew he wasn’t always himself.
“Yeah, I get it,” I sigh, my shoulders slumped. “But to be talked up as supposedly a top-10 wrestler in the company and not appear on a pay-per-view is a sore spot.”
“Well, there’s always the Tag Team Invitational-”
“Unlikely,” I interject. “I don’t know how much you’ve watched since I started here, but I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends, certainly nobody I mesh with as well as I did with you. I guess I’ve been so busy trying to earn respect all over again that I kinda neglected the whole networking component of all this.”
“I see,” El Pablo muses, “Sounds to me like The Gambler’s suddenly decided to play it safe, is that right?”
“I don’t know about that,” I heave. “I don’t think I’ve changed all that much.”
“Then take a chance. What have you got to lose?”
A long silence follows; I don’t know what to say right now, a common thread for me since the calendar turned to 2017.
“Anyway, I’ve got a Skittles commercial to shoot,” El Pablo says, “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”
El Pablo hangs up, leaving me alone in my office. I shake my head as I slump in my office chair; if I wanted to do the Tag Team Invitational, who would I even want to tag with? Worse yet, who would even want to tag with me?