Post by Gerard Angelo on Feb 11, 2019 17:56:18 GMT -5
I really dislike tag team wrestling.
Not because I think it sucks, or anything like that. It’s fantastic to watch when it’s between two solid teams.
I hate it because I hate relying on someone else when it comes to wrestling. Win or lose, when it’s just me alone I can accept that. I can’t accept losing and not being involved in the finish.
And this would be with someone I liked. But another added layer this week is I have to team up with the Man-Diva himself. Yep, Kyle Shane and Gerard Angelo are teaming up for one night only. This could go really well, considering Kyle and I are both two of the best wrestlers in the world.
Or it could go south in a hurry.
I’m banking on the later.
Not to mention we have to go up against Dominator and Stormm, who can’t stand each other, either. To be fair, I don’t really like Michaels myself. Kyle and myself may have massive egos, but Stormm’s narcissism makes us look like healthy functioning adults. Especially when he thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread while still living off shit he did twenty years ago. Every time I see his face I just want to punch it until it turns purple.
And Dominator, well, he’s just as bland as plain oatmeal. He’s big and he loves to tell time. He’s basically the Barney of Pro Wrestling at this point. And he’s always running around with that tiny guy spouting off stolen catch phrases. Plus, he’s British. He’s probably got bad teeth.
Yeah, this is gonna be a shit show. The bookers should’ve just made this a Fatal Four Way. It’s what it is gonna turn into by the end. I’m like ninety-nine percent sure Kyle is gonna kick me in the face by the end of the match. God, I hate getting hit in the face with that God damned kick. Just once….
“Gerard?”
The voice saying my name snaps me out of my day dream. I’m back in a sizable office lit by harsh fluorescent lighting. I’m sitting in a high back leather chair in front of a desk looking at the person that said my name. He was a younger man dressed in suit that seemed too expensive for him with a tie that didn’t match. His strawberry blonde hair was slicked back and he had a thin beard along his chin line connecting to a goatee. He looked like a dick but who am I to say anything considering I rub oil on my abs and go slap dudes around for a living. This was Tom Parker, my new agent. Well at least he thought so. He’s been calling and texting me for a meeting since my father bought out Jimmy’s agency.
“I’m sorry,” I said with no ounce of real remorse, “What did you say again, I got lost thinking of the movie ideas.”
That was a lie. He had been droning on before about all these movie offers he could get me. Most of them were fucking trash. He was basically trying to turn me into diet Dwayne Johnson with his fucking Disney bullshit.
“Well, I had moved on to your wrestling career,” said Tom as he shuffled through some papers on his desk, “And it seems as if you have stalled. You’ve been in Pure Class Wrestling for almost a year and you’ve yet to win a championship.”
I made a face at him that if he saw it he probably would’ve shut his mouth, but he didn’t so he continued talking nonsense.
“I know you have yourself another opportunity at the World Championship, but last time you fought to a draw with… what’s his name…Lyle?”
“Kyle.”
“Oh yeah, Kyle Shane. Sorry I don’t really watch wrestling. Hey isn’t that the movie they are making with that Austrlian doofus?”
I shrug. “Beats me.”
Tom waves his hand. “Anyways, we need to find you a competitive edge against Shane. Something that will put you over the top.”
I rolled my eyes as he looked through his papers again. I would have been the Champ for two months already if it wasn’t for a shitty corporate conspiracy.
“You do know I was winning until the ring post exploded, right?”
My words fell on deaf ears.
“We work with a bunch of athletes here, and we are always looking for way to help them get better.”
Yeah, I know. You spent forty minutes in the opening conversation name dropping athletes that you knew. Prick.
Tom smiles and pulls out a file from his desk.
“We have worked closely with an independent analytics team for some of our baseball players. And recently they’ve begun trying to apply analytics to combat sports.”
He tosses the file lightly in front of me. I look up and raise an eyebrow before flipping it open. It was just a bunch of numbers and jargon that made no sense to me.
“It has already entered the lower levels of MMA and it begun being popular.” He continued as I looked over the file. “We want you to be the first to apply this to professional wrestling.”
I let out a snort laugh.
“Do you really think this is gonna help me? You think I already don’t know everything about who I face in a given week? If you do then you are stupider then your hair cut.”
I close the manilla folder and toss it back at Tom.
“I’m not gonna be your guniea pig, Tom. I know all this shit comes from my father, wether he’s pretending to be focus on politics or not.”
Tom looks a bit taken aback but tries to say something, but I swiftly cut him off again as I stand up.
“I don’t need any help from you, my father, or some nerds with a calculator to help me win anything. So you can tell your boss the he and my father can go fuck themselves. Good day.”
I turn on my heel and walk out, exiting the office and slamming the door behind me. The nerve of that lil prick. The nerve.
I hope everyone at Trauma is ready. Love won’t be the only thing hurting after I show up.