Post by Sam Parker on Apr 24, 2012 0:15:00 GMT -4
The Lone Star Story
Celebrate Good Times
Celebrate Good Times
”Hit me with a refill.”
Sam Parker pushed the empty shot glass back across the worn bar, back towards the cool-eyed bartender. She smiled at Sam, reached for a bottle behind her, turned, and set it on the table beside the glass.[/i]
”Now Sam, why would I go and give you another shot? I know you've done had y'er fill.”
Sam groaned. He had been through this argument with Bethany more than one time. Since he had last wrestled for Sin City Wrestling, he had joined up with a small independent wrestling circuit out of Texas. Each weekend, he had been coming back to this same bar, 'The Wild Colt', to drink his fill. This time, however, it was different.[/color]
”C'mon, Beth. We're celebrating.”
Bethany straightened her back, lifted and eyebrow, and glanced around the empty barroom with it's bare booths, empty tables, and lonely jukebox.
”Don't look like a celebration t' me. Who ya' celebratin' with? Better yet, what ya' celebrating? Did you beat up some extra, extra big dumb guy tonight?”
Sam laughed. He couldn't help it. This is the reason why he had been coming back to this same bar, even though the place was always less than deserted. Bethany was good people, even though she always gave him crap when he came into the bar. In fact, maybe that's what he liked so much.
”Well, from the looks of this place, and looks like it's jus' me and you celebrating. As fer what we're celebrating, well, it just so happens I got me a big time job.”
”Ya' mean a real job?”
”I guess that depends on what ya' consider a 'real job', wouldn't it?”
Bethany put her index finger on her cheek, and screwed up her face in thought. Finally, she lifted her hand into the air, obviously catching a brilliant idea in her head.
”A real job is where ya' put on a nice suit everyday, walk into a cubicle, sit down, and file yer paperwork for tha' day. Then, you drive home in yer leased Mercedes, to yer white picket fence, wife, and two kids, and maybe a pet or two.”
”What kind of pet would a guy like me have?”
”You? Hm.”
Bethany glanced him over once, twice, and a third time. Then nodded her head.[/color]
”A poodle.”
The laugh that Sam let out echoed off the walls, filling the unoccupied bar with a sound it hadn't heard it quite some time.[/color]
”You can't be serious. A poodle?”
Bethany nodded with a smile.
”Yep, a poodle. So far, all you've done is been pretty, and barked a whole bunch 'bout the people you've beaten. You and a poodle would get along like a pig in a poke.”
Sam Parker turned white as milk, which caused Bethany to let out a rolling laugh. She smiled back at him, shook her head, and finally poured his glass of scotch. Before she placed the bottle back, she took out another shot glass, filled it, and set it beside of Sam's glass.
”So, if we are celebratin' you getting' a new job, ya' have to tell me what the job is.”
Sam cleared his throat, obviously still flustered by the poodle comment.
”Well, I got this new wrestlin' gig. Couple of weeks ago, this big time company called Action Packed Wrestlin' came to San Antonio. Just so happened I had a match there that night. I stopped by, seen some of the officials 'bout signing on, and they thought it over, said they had a big announcement coming soon, and they'd let me know. Few days ago, I got a call about APW doin' this big new show called Meltdown, it's where they get to display their new wrestlers, talent, that sorta thing...”
”So, hang on a sec. They're puttin' you on yer own show?”
”Somethin' like that. Why?”
”Well, it sounds like they want t' show y'all off. If that's the case, y'all must be something special, 'specially to be separate from the other guys.”
”No, no, no. It's sorta the other way around. We're the little guys, and they're wanting to show case their top talent some more.”
”Ah, so you are like a poodle!”
”Wait, what?”
”Think about it. They're letting the big dogs do the prancin' about in the dog show, but show casing the smaller ones off to the side. No matter how pretty ye are, yer still just a poodle compared to tha' big dogs.”
Sam hung his head, shaking it, while Bethany let a laugh roll out. After a few moments, she raised Sam's head up. She smiled at him.
”Please, continue. Then we'll see if we have somethin' to drink to.”
”Well, that's pretty much it. I got a job on the new show. Hell, I've even got my first match coming up next Monday. Main Even an' all!”
”Main Event, huh? Does that mean yer the biggest poodle of the bunch? I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin', wipe that look off yer face. That is somethin' to celebrate. Here, take yer drink. To winnin', and glory, all that crap you wrestlers are lookin' for.”
Both of them took their drinks, clinked them together, and downed them in one pull. The scotch was good, Sam thought. A really high grade. Something that was most likely definitely out of his price range.
”What was that?”
Bethany showed her teeth in a wide smile.
”That... That was a sixty year old MacCutcheon. One of the best drinks on tha' planet. Also, one of the most expensive. I thought you'd be able to pay fer it with yer big new job, an all that.”
”Do I even want to know how much it is?”
”Fer a shot? 'Bout seventy dollars. You can afford that, right?”
Sam choked on his spit, and immediately started coughing. How in the world was he going to afford seventy dollar scotch? He hadn't even wrestled his first match yet! After a few seconds, Bethany started laughing.
”I'm kiddin'! Seriously, it's on the house. I'm not gonna make you pay for that, hell, nobody else will. As long as ya' come back around here every weekend, even after ya' make it big time.”
”Well, I don't know if I'll be able t' make it every weekend.”
”Why not? Won't ya' be wrestlin' here in Texas, just like every weekend?”
Sam cleared his throat, not really sure what to say. He didn't think that talking to Bethany about this would be this hard. But, when you talk to someone for weeks, it definitely becomes hard to say goodbye.
”Well, you see... The thing is... APW isn't like the wrestlin' companies around here. It's big time. A huge stage. We're going to be travelin' 'round the country, doing shows in front of all kinds of crowds. Who knows when we might be back in Texas.”
”Ah, I see.”
Bethany grabbed the bottle of MacCutcheon, started to pour it into her glass, thought better of it, took the shot cap off the top, and took a long swig. Sam's jaw fell open in disbelief. Not only was that some of the most expensive scotch he had ever seen, that was some serious drinking.
”What... What in the blue hell are ya' doin'?”
”What? I'm celebratin' your big send-off! Isn't that what ya' wanted, t' come in here and tell me how ya've gotten too big for this bar... For me?”
Sam tried to grasp for words. He wasn't exactly sure what to say about it. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again, and closed it one more time. He didn't know what to say.
”Come with me.”
Bethany choked on the pull, cough, and spit sixty year old scotch all in Sam's face. Sam blinked through the stinging of the alcohol on his face, and looked at the expression of disbelief on Bethany's face.
”What the hell are ya' talkin' about? Leave? Here? Where the hell am I gonna go?”
”I don't... I don't know. With me? You can be my manager! Yeah, that'll work great.”
Bethany snorted.
”What? You all the time talk about how you want t' get out of here, do something adventurous. Get out of this bar. This is the perfect chance. C'mon.”
”Why don't ya' get yer brother to go?”
”You know we don't talk anymore, not since I left for Sin City Wrestlin'.”
Sam watched Bethany blush. She knew that was a soft spot. Why would she bring it up?
”I... I don't know. It would be fun.”
”Yes, yes it would be! C'mon! If ya' don't like it, I'll pay fer ya' to fly back out here lickity-split.”
Bethany laughed, bit her lip, and looked around the empty bar room. She smiled, and nodded.
”I'll do it... When do we leave?”
”Great! We leave tomorrow afternoon.”
”I'll get my things together... Who did you say you were facing first?”
”Some guy named Evan Envi...”
”Know anything 'bout him?”
”I've talked to him on Twitter. Seems like a total dick.”
”With a name like 'Evan Envi', he's got to be.”
---
”Well, well, well. Looks like us new guys get a new show all our own, separate from the big dogs of APW. That's definitely fine with me, let's us show case our talent before we march off to have our asses handed to us by the likes of CJ Gates and Kurt Noble. I'm happy with it. This way, on Meltdown, I'll get to interact with the fans, work on my wrestlin' game, and get ready for the big dogs. Hell, I might even win the Meltdown championship, whenever it gets unveiled.
But that's a long way in the future, and I ain't 'bout to overlook this week. This week, I got the chance to be put in a main f'n event! The first main event in 'bout four years for Meltdown. Honestly, I couldn't be more honored. I look at the Meltdown roster, and I see people who've already made a splash in APW before me even arrivin'. You've got guys like Yarmouth and Carter Rutherford, gals like Dita Morgan and Angelina Quinn. But, they ended up givin' the main event to me.
But, of course, I don't face myself in the main event. No. I get t' face the biggest ass I've ever seen in my life. This guy comes in, tweets a bunch of crap about he's better than Meltdown, about how he's goin' to change the industry, about how he's goin' to beat Noble when he gets the chance.
Hah, like he could ever dream of beatin' somebody like Noble.
Evan Envi's his name. Apparently the 'Envi' part means we're s'posed to want to be like him, or somethin'. That's definitely not the case, no siree. There's nothin' about that guy I'm envious of. I look at tha' guy, and I see somebody just callin' out for attention. Somebody that knows he can't make an actual splash inside the ring, so he has to go outside tha' boundaries of APW, and talk junk there. He's afraid of the actual wrestlers; afraid of facing them head on. He uses his one hundred and forty characters to try and talk crap.
I bet if Twitter could fight back, he would run from it as well.
But, come Monday night, he's not goin' to be able to run. He's not goin' to be able to tweet his way out of it. No. He's goin' to have to face my, face t' face, and see what a real wrestler is like.
We've all seen the likes of you, Envi. Some punk kid, thinks he's better than everybody and everything, waltzes into a company trying to shove tha' little people around. Do you know what happens t' those people, Envi?
They meet people like me.
They meet someone who's goin' to beat their ass.
I'm not usually the type of guy who spouts off 'bout how he's goin' to win everything, beat everybody, and run tha' show. I'm the type of guy who likes to sit back, relax, have a nice cold beer and a good wrestlin' match. But when I face punks like you, I can't help but to get a l'il fired up. My adrenaline gets flowin', my heartbeat starts racin', and I get ready to shove those hundred and forty characters down yer scrawny neck.
Yer last name may be Envi, Evan, but when this match is done, ain't nobody on the roster goin' to envy you. The bruises you'll have, the soreness, the aches, all of those are definitely not goin' to be envious. Even with all of that, the thing everyone is going to be least envious of... Is your bruised ego.
The first main event on Meltdown in four years. It's an accomplishment to make it to this point. But it's also going to be bad fer ya', Envi, because everyone is gonna be watching... And everyone is gonna see ya' get yer ass kicked in the middle of the ring.
The Lone Star is shining now, son. And it's light just started shinin' right down on you.”