Imagine, Nothing to die for. Nothing to kill for. Part I

The other day I caught some WWE Pro “Wrestling” on TV and it seemed more like a circus than a wrestling show to me! I watched these pretty boys parade out to explosions with bad Nu-Metal music blaring and then what transpired was more like dancing and carousing than wrestling…it was nothing but showboating, running at the mouth, flying around and flipping all over the ring –hokum! I watched in horror as young women were exploited on TV wearing bathing suits –if that. I saw lights, money, greed, endorsements, corporations, big business, evil and, sorrow. Names like “John Cena”, “Triple H”, “The Miz” and even an executive named “Mr. MacMahon” showed up to run their mouth on the show. Shit, at times it even seemed like they were acting. That’s not wrestling to me. That’s a rock and roll show. That’s show business. That’s Babylonian Society. But, my dear readers, it wasn’t always like that. It was once a pure and honest sport teeming with honor. Back in my day, it was in fact, glorious.


Back in my day it was about wrestling. It was about winning at all costs. It was about honor and submitting your opponent –another man- to your whims. Back then, we really got into it! Oh man!...from grappling, locking up and grinding it out to flurries of fists and in and out of different holds –every now and then you got so into it that you got aroused-Not that there’s anything wrong with that…it could be a pickup truck you’re grappling and rubbing against and the same fucking thing could happen dammit!... it’s perfectly normal! But, I digress…back in my day it was about wrestling. Not the glamour, not the fashion, not the scantily clad women or the endorsements. Not the drugs and backroom deals or putting some up-and-comer over. We worked hard to submit another man to OUR whims.

I was known as the “Phenom”. Largely due to my electrifying eating prowess and the fact that I could endure seemingly endless amounts of pain while fighting to win a match. I would withstand shin-bends and various other locks and holds for hours or days straight. For example, one match against Ole’ Steam Kettle (a great, grinding style wrestler with a physique shaped like a loaf of bread!)...he had me in a reverse German vice lock for a week straight. It was one of the most challenging matches I ever had but…I got out of it and won the match by way of a belly to belly suplex. (Archive #6,578B) That night we had a crowd of 1,500 fans and we just never quit. We busted our butts night after night to help build Pro Wrestling into a respected and honorable sport. We had names like “Knuckles McGuirk”, “Mangler Malone”, “Jack The Crippler” and “Ole’ Steam Kettle”, my nemesis, to name just a few. We would have given our very lives for that beautiful sport…and some nights, it seemed like we tried. Inevitably it grew, quite rapidly in fact, due to the amazing level of excitement it generated. Major companies got involved and poured money into it and arenas soon were filled with tens of thousands of fans…us veterans didn’t like it but, hey, it’s a paycheck and I was making $50 dollars per bout at this stage of my career. The World League, as it was called then, began to bring in younger, better looking “talent” –if you could call it that. These rookies were getting $1,000 per bout at a minimum and us “old guys” didn’t understand it. Hey, I was a wrestler not a businessman. One day, the GM called me in and told me that I had been scheduled to fight a kid named “Hollywood G-Man”. After I finished laughing at his name the GM told me to listen well because my job depended on it. He told me that I was supposed to “put him over” because I was an established big name in the sport and Hollywood was on the way up the ratings. He said he had “a shit ton” of endorsement money riding on this and I was “passing the torch” to the next generation. They wanted me to throw the fight in order to promote the legacy of another wrestler??? My heart sank into the depths of hell and I dutifully prepared for my opponent on Friday: Hollywood G-Man. I would do anything for my sport.

The match carried on and holds were exchanged, fists thrown, leg locks applied, got turned on once, blood spilled and we battled down to G Man on the business end of a figure four leg-lock. G Man got up wincing in pain –which I enjoyed greatly and continued to apply…it was then I realized that I wasn’t going to put this guy over. I was going to crush his will and return my sport to the battlefield of honor it once was. G Man propped himself up and whispered discreetly, “hey, you’re supposed to let up on this…you need to let me get up”. Now readers, this “throwing-a-match” thing, being all new to me, I guess I just didn’t know the protocol too well. I said “Sorry pal. Welcome to The World League”. I applied more intense pressure with righteous determination. Hollywood G Man flopped over in pain and carefully reached into the waistband of his wrestling tights. He then lunged forward and flung his arm towards me…dust billowed forth…and suddenly there was no light…I was blinded. In my panic I released the leg-lock, tried to stand and feel my way blindly around the ring but it was too late. The flurry of fists –inaccurate as they were, took their toll. The leg drop eventually sent me to a “loss” and subsequently, shot G Man into stardom. I lost more than the match on this day. I tried to wrestle after that but I just didn’t have the same passion for it. Before even a year passed, I had walked away from my beloved sport.

Four years later, there I am bagging groceries at the supermarket –part time job. I wanted full time but I had to “get up to speed” with the bagging first. When a young gentleman in a suit approached me and said “The League Grand Master would like to talk with you.” So I went. When I arrived at the Complex, I found myself gazing around a luxurious office, with Bengal Tigers adorned with diamond collars, pretty women, a private Jacuzzi, a dog that seemed like a Mutt, 3 trampolines, leather furniture and piles of money on the mahogany desk dimly lit by only a single light fixture above it. The chair slowly turned around and I stood face to face with G Man, the man who showed me all the wrong things about my sport and life itself. He got right to the point. He acknowledged that I didn’t like him but that HE respected me and, back then, well he was just a guy trying to make it in the “business” like anyone else. He told me that he was currently the reigning 9 time World Champion and he had made so much money from his endorsement deals and business sense that he purchased The World League with the financial backing of a man known as “The Dillionaire”. Readers, let me explain The Dillionaire in one word”; MONEY. G Man explained how had changed the league name to “B.S.B” or, “Blood, Sweat and Beers” for short, and secured billions of dollars in investment money and endorsements. He explained how he was a winner. It all sounded like hokum to me but, I listened anyway. He told me how big the sport had gotten in my absence and that their recent pay-per-view drew 500 million viewers worldwide. I had never heard of such a wonder! He told me that the sky is the limit. He continued to tell me of the return to passion through new warriors named “Rich Brewski”, “Joey Kiss”, “Chris Stud”, “The Walrus”, “Mike Dick”, “”Brian Malone”, “Saturday Night Nico”, “Jason The Sensation”, “Lipps Lipinski” and himself, of course. All sissy names in my opinion…He said he needed me to believe again. He said he needed me to help build the sport bigger than earth could hold. He said he needed my passion to burn again and to join him and rule The Universe hand in hand. He said to me, “Imagine. Nothing to die for. Nothing to kill for.” I felt the fire burning once again…I was back. He produced a contract with many pages and three withered attorneys emerged from the sultry shadows of the room to assist me in signing my new contract as color analyst for the B.S.B Wrestling League. I questioned why the name “Hollywood G Man” was listed in places where my name seemed like it should be (anywhere involving revenue or assets)? The attorneys explained that “I shouldn’t worry about that” so I didn’t. Hey, I was a wrestling –analyst- not a businessman.

After two hours of paperwork, G Man summoned for his assistant (a petite, submissive Asian boy) to bring someone to the office. A few minutes later I was introduced to Kevin Ace Demaria who was to be my play-by-play analyst and, I felt like my life had just begun.

To be continued.

~ZFJ