FF #41
A cry went up from the crowd when I threw Big Jake through the ropes. He was the reigning Champ but he'd deviated from the game plan and put an elbow into my ribs. That'd pissed me off and I'd back-elbowed him flat out on the mat, then leg slung him through the ropes right onto the judge's table...and I'd caught the look on the promoter's face. Fuck him! I'd salted enough away over the last twenty years to do about anything I wanted and I was tired of playing the loser. If Big Jake wanted to rewrite the script, I was ready to accommodate him. He's big (if you want to call four hundred pounds of fat and flab big) but doesn't work out. When he puts one of us 'losers' into an overhead, we have to push off hard to help him get us up there, then hold onto his shoulder to stay up there while he does his turns...and we all had practiced extra precautionary moves when he 'body-slams us ("drops" would be a better description).
I jumped up on the corner ropes and booed back at the crowd as Big Jake's 'manager' helped push him back onto the mat. Big Jake managed to get up on one knee and I strutted into the center of the ring as I gave the crowd mean looks (and I was a mean, ugly looking dude--thought
about calling myself the "Squashed pumpkin" after I'd given up a short boxing career after having my nose caved in four times and my ears pummeled into cauliflower.
Big Jake looked up at me, grinning that baby-faced, gap-toothed smile the crowd loved so much
but I saw real fear in his eyes. I thought about what I was going to do to this tub of blubber. He'd usurped the script, now it was anybodys ball game-- but I was still supposed to lose.
The ref (a skinny whimp adept at rousing the crowd with the 'slow-count') stepped in between us and made the mistake of trying to shove me back. I back handed him and he flew into the ropes, bounced off and fell to his knees. He waved his arms at the bell ringer and the bell ringer looked over at the promoter who shook his head "no". The ref caught the exchange and stayed on his knees, perplexed at what to do. Of course the crowd, in its usual state of frenzy, took no notice of this.
Big jake had both hands straight out, giving me the classic "no-no-no" plam waving routine but this time he meant it for real. I kicked one flabby arm aside, reached down and pulled him to his feet by his stringy hair. He shrieked like a banshee, then I slammed him belly up onto the mat, put a real backward leg lock on him and snapped his knee. He passed out and I almost felt sorry for him. The skinny ref came warily over, glanced at the promoter who nodded and Big Jake was one-two-three counted out. The ring doctor was already in the ring by the time the bell rang with amonia under Big Jake's nose.
So now, I was the alliance's champ. I knew the promoter was both angry and pleased at this unplanned turn of events, but when the ref handed me the gaudy gold-plated belt, I tossed it across Big Jake's huge gut, gave the crowd the finger and walked out of the arena and the building. The air outside had never smelled so sweet.
I jumped up on the corner ropes and booed back at the crowd as Big Jake's 'manager' helped push him back onto the mat. Big Jake managed to get up on one knee and I strutted into the center of the ring as I gave the crowd mean looks (and I was a mean, ugly looking dude--thought
about calling myself the "Squashed pumpkin" after I'd given up a short boxing career after having my nose caved in four times and my ears pummeled into cauliflower.
Big Jake looked up at me, grinning that baby-faced, gap-toothed smile the crowd loved so much
but I saw real fear in his eyes. I thought about what I was going to do to this tub of blubber. He'd usurped the script, now it was anybodys ball game-- but I was still supposed to lose.
The ref (a skinny whimp adept at rousing the crowd with the 'slow-count') stepped in between us and made the mistake of trying to shove me back. I back handed him and he flew into the ropes, bounced off and fell to his knees. He waved his arms at the bell ringer and the bell ringer looked over at the promoter who shook his head "no". The ref caught the exchange and stayed on his knees, perplexed at what to do. Of course the crowd, in its usual state of frenzy, took no notice of this.
Big jake had both hands straight out, giving me the classic "no-no-no" plam waving routine but this time he meant it for real. I kicked one flabby arm aside, reached down and pulled him to his feet by his stringy hair. He shrieked like a banshee, then I slammed him belly up onto the mat, put a real backward leg lock on him and snapped his knee. He passed out and I almost felt sorry for him. The skinny ref came warily over, glanced at the promoter who nodded and Big Jake was one-two-three counted out. The ring doctor was already in the ring by the time the bell rang with amonia under Big Jake's nose.
So now, I was the alliance's champ. I knew the promoter was both angry and pleased at this unplanned turn of events, but when the ref handed me the gaudy gold-plated belt, I tossed it across Big Jake's huge gut, gave the crowd the finger and walked out of the arena and the building. The air outside had never smelled so sweet.
posted by porchwise at 2:37 PM
6 Comments:
Love it. I feel the victory. And I love the feeling.
that was very cool! i could see it in my head like a movie!
dude, the whole time i loved with the boys, i wished for wwf to resemble this story (yes, it was pre-wwe)- sadly, vince and his actors never managed this, reprehensible though they may have been...
walk good.
"Macho Procrastinator" sez, "oh yeeeaah, good story!"
I always wondered what it would be like if they deviated from the script and there it is.
As I explain to people when they say there's no way that wrestling is fake, I say try having a a two-hundred and seventy pound man land on your throat, then see how fast you bounce back up.
Where are you porchwise?
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