Post by CM Poor on Aug 7, 2018 12:00:56 GMT -5
June 24th, 2018
Boston, Massachusetts
Breakout
”Geez, they’ll let just about anybody in here, won’t they?”
One of the things people want to know the most is whether or not I’ve kept touch with any names of renown.
It’s a fair question.
You can’t stand on a street corner in this city and spit without hitting someone who could name you at least five different players that made up the two thousand and four World Champion Boston Red Sox. It’s a team that’ll make even the pinkest Pink Hat look like a regular historian. To be able to say, even passively, that you had, for a time, the slightest connection to that particular time frame is enough to turn the attention of the entire Cask your way.
Unfortunately, the story isn’t all that exciting when it ends before Spring Training. Certainly not compelling enough to warrant a sequel.
Let’s just say I’m nothing if not a little tenacious.
”Aww, I was just hoping I’d see you out there tonight, Billy.”
I don’t find myself recounting my exploits as a very short-lived professional wrestler nearly as often. That’s actually kind of funny when you consider the disparity. My time in the majors had run its course before I’d ever had the chance to make a proper walk-up.
By comparison?
I was a regular star in the WFWF.
I squared off against eventual legends.
I competed at SuperBrawl.
I mean, at least the pre-show.
I even picked up a win.
Once.
I know it isn’t much, but when you stack it up against what everyone wants to talk about, I guess there’s a whole lot more virtue in branding me a former professional wrestler than there is a former member of the Boston Red Sox.
Either way, the answer is always a resounding ‘no’, which is more than enough to put the discussion to bed and send everyone back to their drinks.
It isn’t a topic I like dwelling on too much, but truth be told?
I’ve kinda been hoping it’d come up lately.
Man, the stories I could tell you about Billy.
”If I’d have known you were coming, I might’ve found a way to poke my head out.”
”You know I don’t like to cause a fuss.”
”Maybe not, but you’re in my world now, Rodriguez. Boys!”
Here we go.
Billy’s crew all slow to a pause, the clanging and banging of the breakdown process stalling to a dead silence as they all turn our way, drawn in by the echoes of his booming voice resonating throughout the mostly empty arena.
Pulling me close to his side with a one-armed bearhug around my shoulder, he steps toward the broken down ring, beaming as his crew assembles to hear him out.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was almost enjoying this.
”Boys, we have ourselves a little guest here tonight. Now, some of you may not know him from Adam, but Lance Rodriguez right here is a certifiable legend around these parts!”
Bit of a stretch.
”Just for a second, forget everything you think you know about the WFWF. David Brennan? Frank Lynn? Ante Whitner? Lance here precedes them all!”
Technically true.
Just as long as you leave out the part where I go one and six before scrubbing out in the window of five months.
”That’s about as warm an introduction as I’m wont to get these days. Just for today? I’ll take it.”
”Alright, then - you heard the man. Show’s over. Back to work, fellas.”
Only Billy, man.
As I mentioned earlier, in spite of Billy’s praises, I wasn’t exactly around long enough back then to really endear myself to any of ‘the boys’. That’s a lonely sort of road when you’re flying solo. You’ll start talking to the walls if you aren’t careful. As an out, I started chatting up the boys in damage control, which is how I came to know Billy Broom. Hell of a guy. Real salt of the Earth type.
Case in point?
If you’re about to look past the ovation he just gave me, take a look at the sheer numbers around these parts back in oh-five, and then go and drop that lead off question on me, strictly as it pertains to the WFWF.
”So what’s all this? I thought you were big timing now.”
”Ha! Only when they need me to. You know how the door swings around this place. Sleater comes up one short? Time to call in a cleanup.”
I can’t tell if that’s a baseball joke or a janitor joke. Either way, it’s bad.
”Never short on modesty, are we Mr. Broome?”
I suddenly find myself stricken with that panic that hits when you know you’ve been caught somewhere you don’t belong. I didn’t exactly get in by nefarious means here, but I’ve been around the Garden long enough to know how to disappear in a crowd once the show’s out.
I was only looking to catch up, you know?
”Oh, hey Ms. Sleater. Uh...I hope you don’t mind. I kinda invited a friend to stay back and say hi. Lance, uh...this is Lila Sleater. Pretty much everyone’s boss. Ms. Sleater - Lance Rodriguez.”
Billy stumbles with the words, but he’s quicker on his feet than me. Nice cover.
Guess that’s why he’s still in the business.
Of course, I hardly need the introduction. A lot of guys’ll get dumped from this line of work and never look back, but I didn’t exactly stumbled upon it by accident. I was a fan then, and I’m a fan now. Case in point? I bought the ticket, didn’t I?
I recognize her from the television, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking quite as laid back. I guess the tension of this place kinda dissipates around the crew. Makes sense.
”Lance Rodriguez. Why do I know that name?”
I’m happy to chalk it up to coincidence, but Billy’s already two steps ahead of me.
”You know your history. Lance used to be a pretty big deal around here.”
”So much for that air of modesty, huh Billy?”
I would’ve settled to have just been Billy’s friend in town. That’s twice he’s put me on the spot now. He tries a third I might have to take him in that ring before it’s down and give him a receipt.
”And what brings you by tonight, Mr. Rodriguez?”
Damn. Billy’s quick, but I may not be out of the woods here yet. Generally speaking, us nobodies are supposed to be long out the door by this point. Pretty sure she could charge trespassing if she wanted to.
”I, uh...well, I try and never miss a show, ma’am.”
Kill her with kindness, I guess.
”You’ve kept up with us, then.”
”I, uh...well, I try to, yes ma’am.”
”Lila will do. How long has it been since you’ve been in there, Mr. Rodriguez?”
She gestures toward the ring, just as the ropes go loose.
”Yeesh, uh...long time. Ten...twelve years?”
”Thirteen, by my count.”
Thanks, Billy.
”Yeah, yeah, thirteen. That’s about right.”
Her eyes pierce right through me, like she’s still trying to figure out if I’m just some bunk townie in off the street trying to toot my own horn. I can’t say I blame her. I mean, Billy’s big time to me now, working even as much as he does, but how often does she locals coming in to schmooze with the ring crew? This whole thing probably stinks more than some of the boys after a knock down, drag out.
”And what does an old timer like Lance Rodriguez do for work these days?”
Ugh.
Wanna see me make the janitor look good by comparison?
”Well, I...I guess I’m between jobs, but for the moment, I get by alright doing the whole ride-share thing.”
Yep.
Big time Lance Rodriguez, Uber extraordinaire.
”And that pays well?”
Really?
”It, uh...well, I mean, I get by.”
”At least you keep the time to stay fit, I see.”
That’s...kind of weird. She sizes me up and down as she says it. If the setting were any different, I’d almost fool myself into thinking she’s hitting on me.
”Are you kidding? You can’t keep this guy out of the gym!”
’Cause you’d know, right Billy?
”I mean, I try.”
”Well, I’m hardly inclined to believe that Mr. Broome would keep ill company.”
”Only the best, Ms. Sleater.”
He keeps this up, I’m gonna start getting a big head.
”Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Rodriguez, but I’m about dead on me feet here, and I’ve still go to go see how close to fire we’re being held over that statue out front. You’ve your phone on you, Mr. Broome?”
”Always. I’ll keep a few guys on standby, just in case.”
”Please do. I’ll let you know. Mr. Rodriguez.“
She hands me a card, but it might as well be a dead weight the second I spot the WFWF logo emblazoned upon it.
”Always on the lookout for a fresh hand in the ring. If the Uber game dries up, or you just feel like batting cleanup with Billy here, give us a call. Maybe we have something for you.”
Ok, now I know that was a baseball joke.
It almost doesn’t feel real.
Thirteen years is a long time. That’s a lot of open space to make a whole lot of decisions about yourself, and the deeper and deeper you get, the harder it is to find yourself a way around some of them.
I kind of went into it all as the perennial cut from the team. Scrubbed out of the majors. ‘Granted’ an early release.
That’s one hell of a hole to try and climb out of. Even if you get your grip, are you sure you can hold it?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m here.
That’s my up to bat.
(I promised myself I’d go easy on the baseball metaphors.)
They’re not handing me some worn out arm, six innings deep.
(Damnit!)
They’re going deep into the bullpen.
By all rights, Mesh has already got me beat. She’s got her youth. She’s got her optimism. She’s got the crowd on her side.
I shudder to think how much the Dome is gonna shake when that girl’s music hits.
I think, traditionally, this is where I tell you how much waste I’m going to lay to that poor girl. How I’m gonna make her wish she’d never been born. I’d like to tell you that I’ve been dreaming of this moment for thirteen years, and that in Tokyo, I’m going to show the world what they’ve been missing out while they were busy forgetting I even existed.
Heh.
Wouldn’t that be something?
To run my mouth like it’s going out of style only to get mowed down by a blue haired pixie with the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand.
That’d just be about the icing on the cake on this career, huh?
That’s not why I’m here.
The truth is, I’ll forever count myself blessed if I can get even one spectator to come along for the ride, but I’m here now to prove to one person, and one person only, that everything that ultimately led me to thirteen years of obscurity wasn’t done in vain.
That’s gonna mean losses.
Hopefully it means wins, too.
I don’t know if I’m cut out to be the WFWF’s next duly crowned champion. There’s a deep pool of talent vying for everything waiting there at the end of the line, and I’d be right out of line to come back after thirteen years and proclaim that the tournament’s already won.
All I can do is try.
Boston, Massachusetts
Breakout
”Geez, they’ll let just about anybody in here, won’t they?”
One of the things people want to know the most is whether or not I’ve kept touch with any names of renown.
It’s a fair question.
You can’t stand on a street corner in this city and spit without hitting someone who could name you at least five different players that made up the two thousand and four World Champion Boston Red Sox. It’s a team that’ll make even the pinkest Pink Hat look like a regular historian. To be able to say, even passively, that you had, for a time, the slightest connection to that particular time frame is enough to turn the attention of the entire Cask your way.
Unfortunately, the story isn’t all that exciting when it ends before Spring Training. Certainly not compelling enough to warrant a sequel.
Let’s just say I’m nothing if not a little tenacious.
”Aww, I was just hoping I’d see you out there tonight, Billy.”
I don’t find myself recounting my exploits as a very short-lived professional wrestler nearly as often. That’s actually kind of funny when you consider the disparity. My time in the majors had run its course before I’d ever had the chance to make a proper walk-up.
By comparison?
I was a regular star in the WFWF.
I squared off against eventual legends.
I competed at SuperBrawl.
I mean, at least the pre-show.
I even picked up a win.
Once.
I know it isn’t much, but when you stack it up against what everyone wants to talk about, I guess there’s a whole lot more virtue in branding me a former professional wrestler than there is a former member of the Boston Red Sox.
Either way, the answer is always a resounding ‘no’, which is more than enough to put the discussion to bed and send everyone back to their drinks.
It isn’t a topic I like dwelling on too much, but truth be told?
I’ve kinda been hoping it’d come up lately.
Man, the stories I could tell you about Billy.
”If I’d have known you were coming, I might’ve found a way to poke my head out.”
”You know I don’t like to cause a fuss.”
”Maybe not, but you’re in my world now, Rodriguez. Boys!”
Here we go.
Billy’s crew all slow to a pause, the clanging and banging of the breakdown process stalling to a dead silence as they all turn our way, drawn in by the echoes of his booming voice resonating throughout the mostly empty arena.
Pulling me close to his side with a one-armed bearhug around my shoulder, he steps toward the broken down ring, beaming as his crew assembles to hear him out.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was almost enjoying this.
”Boys, we have ourselves a little guest here tonight. Now, some of you may not know him from Adam, but Lance Rodriguez right here is a certifiable legend around these parts!”
Bit of a stretch.
”Just for a second, forget everything you think you know about the WFWF. David Brennan? Frank Lynn? Ante Whitner? Lance here precedes them all!”
Technically true.
Just as long as you leave out the part where I go one and six before scrubbing out in the window of five months.
”That’s about as warm an introduction as I’m wont to get these days. Just for today? I’ll take it.”
”Alright, then - you heard the man. Show’s over. Back to work, fellas.”
Only Billy, man.
As I mentioned earlier, in spite of Billy’s praises, I wasn’t exactly around long enough back then to really endear myself to any of ‘the boys’. That’s a lonely sort of road when you’re flying solo. You’ll start talking to the walls if you aren’t careful. As an out, I started chatting up the boys in damage control, which is how I came to know Billy Broom. Hell of a guy. Real salt of the Earth type.
Case in point?
If you’re about to look past the ovation he just gave me, take a look at the sheer numbers around these parts back in oh-five, and then go and drop that lead off question on me, strictly as it pertains to the WFWF.
”So what’s all this? I thought you were big timing now.”
”Ha! Only when they need me to. You know how the door swings around this place. Sleater comes up one short? Time to call in a cleanup.”
I can’t tell if that’s a baseball joke or a janitor joke. Either way, it’s bad.
”Never short on modesty, are we Mr. Broome?”
I suddenly find myself stricken with that panic that hits when you know you’ve been caught somewhere you don’t belong. I didn’t exactly get in by nefarious means here, but I’ve been around the Garden long enough to know how to disappear in a crowd once the show’s out.
I was only looking to catch up, you know?
”Oh, hey Ms. Sleater. Uh...I hope you don’t mind. I kinda invited a friend to stay back and say hi. Lance, uh...this is Lila Sleater. Pretty much everyone’s boss. Ms. Sleater - Lance Rodriguez.”
Billy stumbles with the words, but he’s quicker on his feet than me. Nice cover.
Guess that’s why he’s still in the business.
Of course, I hardly need the introduction. A lot of guys’ll get dumped from this line of work and never look back, but I didn’t exactly stumbled upon it by accident. I was a fan then, and I’m a fan now. Case in point? I bought the ticket, didn’t I?
I recognize her from the television, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her looking quite as laid back. I guess the tension of this place kinda dissipates around the crew. Makes sense.
”Lance Rodriguez. Why do I know that name?”
I’m happy to chalk it up to coincidence, but Billy’s already two steps ahead of me.
”You know your history. Lance used to be a pretty big deal around here.”
”So much for that air of modesty, huh Billy?”
I would’ve settled to have just been Billy’s friend in town. That’s twice he’s put me on the spot now. He tries a third I might have to take him in that ring before it’s down and give him a receipt.
”And what brings you by tonight, Mr. Rodriguez?”
Damn. Billy’s quick, but I may not be out of the woods here yet. Generally speaking, us nobodies are supposed to be long out the door by this point. Pretty sure she could charge trespassing if she wanted to.
”I, uh...well, I try and never miss a show, ma’am.”
Kill her with kindness, I guess.
”You’ve kept up with us, then.”
”I, uh...well, I try to, yes ma’am.”
”Lila will do. How long has it been since you’ve been in there, Mr. Rodriguez?”
She gestures toward the ring, just as the ropes go loose.
”Yeesh, uh...long time. Ten...twelve years?”
”Thirteen, by my count.”
Thanks, Billy.
”Yeah, yeah, thirteen. That’s about right.”
Her eyes pierce right through me, like she’s still trying to figure out if I’m just some bunk townie in off the street trying to toot my own horn. I can’t say I blame her. I mean, Billy’s big time to me now, working even as much as he does, but how often does she locals coming in to schmooze with the ring crew? This whole thing probably stinks more than some of the boys after a knock down, drag out.
”And what does an old timer like Lance Rodriguez do for work these days?”
Ugh.
Wanna see me make the janitor look good by comparison?
”Well, I...I guess I’m between jobs, but for the moment, I get by alright doing the whole ride-share thing.”
Yep.
Big time Lance Rodriguez, Uber extraordinaire.
”And that pays well?”
Really?
”It, uh...well, I mean, I get by.”
”At least you keep the time to stay fit, I see.”
That’s...kind of weird. She sizes me up and down as she says it. If the setting were any different, I’d almost fool myself into thinking she’s hitting on me.
”Are you kidding? You can’t keep this guy out of the gym!”
’Cause you’d know, right Billy?
”I mean, I try.”
”Well, I’m hardly inclined to believe that Mr. Broome would keep ill company.”
”Only the best, Ms. Sleater.”
He keeps this up, I’m gonna start getting a big head.
”Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Rodriguez, but I’m about dead on me feet here, and I’ve still go to go see how close to fire we’re being held over that statue out front. You’ve your phone on you, Mr. Broome?”
”Always. I’ll keep a few guys on standby, just in case.”
”Please do. I’ll let you know. Mr. Rodriguez.“
She hands me a card, but it might as well be a dead weight the second I spot the WFWF logo emblazoned upon it.
”Always on the lookout for a fresh hand in the ring. If the Uber game dries up, or you just feel like batting cleanup with Billy here, give us a call. Maybe we have something for you.”
Ok, now I know that was a baseball joke.
It almost doesn’t feel real.
Thirteen years is a long time. That’s a lot of open space to make a whole lot of decisions about yourself, and the deeper and deeper you get, the harder it is to find yourself a way around some of them.
I kind of went into it all as the perennial cut from the team. Scrubbed out of the majors. ‘Granted’ an early release.
That’s one hell of a hole to try and climb out of. Even if you get your grip, are you sure you can hold it?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m here.
That’s my up to bat.
(I promised myself I’d go easy on the baseball metaphors.)
They’re not handing me some worn out arm, six innings deep.
(Damnit!)
They’re going deep into the bullpen.
By all rights, Mesh has already got me beat. She’s got her youth. She’s got her optimism. She’s got the crowd on her side.
I shudder to think how much the Dome is gonna shake when that girl’s music hits.
I think, traditionally, this is where I tell you how much waste I’m going to lay to that poor girl. How I’m gonna make her wish she’d never been born. I’d like to tell you that I’ve been dreaming of this moment for thirteen years, and that in Tokyo, I’m going to show the world what they’ve been missing out while they were busy forgetting I even existed.
Heh.
Wouldn’t that be something?
To run my mouth like it’s going out of style only to get mowed down by a blue haired pixie with the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand.
That’d just be about the icing on the cake on this career, huh?
That’s not why I’m here.
The truth is, I’ll forever count myself blessed if I can get even one spectator to come along for the ride, but I’m here now to prove to one person, and one person only, that everything that ultimately led me to thirteen years of obscurity wasn’t done in vain.
That’s gonna mean losses.
Hopefully it means wins, too.
I don’t know if I’m cut out to be the WFWF’s next duly crowned champion. There’s a deep pool of talent vying for everything waiting there at the end of the line, and I’d be right out of line to come back after thirteen years and proclaim that the tournament’s already won.
All I can do is try.
I dont know good luck 
