"You've got to decide... keep wrestling or keep walking?"
Tex Scarsdale sat on a bench outside his chiropractor's office, subconsciously rubbing his neck. He'd been in this industry for too many damn years to count and he'd just been told by "experts" if he kept stepping inside the ring there's a chance he'd never step out of it. He watched the traffic passing by but never really taking in the scene. It was all just a blur as he contemplated everything his life was and everything this news represented.
If he followed his doctor's advice it would be the death of the Bullseye Kid.
The phone in his pocket began ringing loudly and inanely. Tex rummaged about and pulled out a Motorola Razr that most people had gotten rid of in place of a smart phone. Tex didn't care for smart phones. He just needed one to make phone calls. If he wanted to browse the Internet he'd use a computer like everybody else used to do. The screen read "Primo Muncherios". His long time wrestling partner in the Haughty Troupe.
He just looked at the name and let it go to message bank.
In their time together they hadn't seen much success. To tell the truth, they'd never even won titles together. The only success Tex Scarsdale had was when he was just a young man wrestling with a guy called Rage. These days, Rage went by the name "August Monday" and if it weren't for their long standing relationship Tex and Primo probably would never have had a career that spanned this long. He was their wrestling lifeline and here they were once again tugging on his coattails.
Tex shoved the phone back in his pocket and sighed the sigh of a man who felt like he were drawing his dying breaths.
* * * *
H A U G H T Y
* * * *
Inside his basement, Primo Muncherios pounded the punching bag with veracity. He was approaching fifty years of age but his body looked fitter and stronger than most thirty year-olds he knew. He attributed his longevity in the wrestling ring to his fitness and health regime, a field he was expert in being a nutritionist and personal trainer. His rise to mediocrity in the professional wrestling world opened up avenues for him to be a leader in health and fitness and Primo capitalized where he could in assurance he could retire happily.
His apartment was humble but it was comfortable. It had everything he needed and Primo was not a man of excess. Not like his brother Carlos. Carlos had to have everything. Primo would survive with nothing. He could do it. Carlos would die in an hour without his sixty-inch LED television. Primo didn't even care for television. Unless he was on it.
Striking rights then lefts, ducking imaginary punches, the wrestler known as Munchy Man threw everything he had at the punching bag striking with precision and rigour. He could still match it with the kids these days. These last couple of months on the IGC Touring Roster were proof in the pudding. And now he had the opportunity to go on television again for the first time in nearly ten years.
Needless to say, Primo was excited to have a second wind in his wrestling career. And to do it with his best friend, Tex Scarsdale, he felt all the more overwhelmed by it. Primo had never married. But he was the best man at all three of Tex's weddings. He was like a brother to Tex. Like an uncle to his estranged children. He was more in their lives than Tex was but that was because Tex could never build a bridge to step over the troubles in his life. He'd always ponder on them. Keep them to himself and let them eat him from the inside out until he exploded or killed himself holding it in.
He knew Tex like the back of his hand and the fact that he called his buddy over three hours ago and left a message that was un-returned meant one of two things:
* * * *
- There was trouble in his life and he was keeping it in; or
- He'd died trying to hold it.
T R O U P E
* * * *
[FADE IN: on MUNCHY MAN and THE BULLSEYE KID standing before the WREX backdrop staring holes down the barrel of the camera. MUNCHY MAN's long, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail which puffed up like a rabbit's tail. His neon green outfit resplendent in the set lighting. THE BULLSEYE KID, looking a touch too overweight for someone categorised as a lucha, stood there in his red mask with the white cross-hairs wearing a WREX t-shirt. MUNCHY stepped forward to address the camera.]
"Sons of Tradition? Bi
tch, please. You must have a mental disease. Until you've been in this industry for as long as we have you don’t know shi
t about tradition.
“WE are the epitome of tradition. WE are the life-blood of this industry. The guys who keep showin’ up. The guys who keep fightin’ for their right to stand in the ring.
“You don’t earn the right to get in that ring coz ya mother’s egg got fertilised by some guy who got in the ring before he got in her. THAT’S not tradition.”
[He pounds his chest with a fist.]
“THIS is tradition, boys
“When the Bullseye Kid and me get inside the ring with you little brats we’re gonna tear you a new one. I’ll rip your head clean off your shoulders and shi
t down your throat. I’m gonna TEACH you what tradition actually means. Tradition means you show respect for the industry that stuffed that little silver spoon in your mouth. Respectin’ your elders. The guy who paved the WAY for insignificant little sheet stains like YOU TWO imbeciles to do this for a livin’.
“What’s that? Thank-you?
“YOU’RE NOT WELCOME!”
[MUNCHY MAN hands the microphone back to THE BULLSEYE KID, who steps forward into centre stage.]
THE BULLSEYE KID:
“Far too long I’ve been comin’ up against kids like this tryin’ to make a name for themselves. And for oh-so-long, Munchy Man and I have been re-educating them on what it means to be professional.
“You see, I may be old. I am out of shape. But there’s one thing I got that none’f you little brats will ever have.”
[Puts a hand on his heart.]
THE BULLSEYE KID:
“Heart. So you little brats come on down to the ring and I’ll show you what this biz is all about when you’re lights get turned out by the Moving Target. Then Munchy Man drives you into the ground with the Munchy Slam. Then you get on the train at platform 1-2-3 where you’re delivered to LOSERVILLE.
“And that’s the last stop.
“For you at least.
“And the Haughty Troupe’s locomotive don’t stop ‘til it gets derailed.
“And I’d like to see you try!”
[Fade to BLACK!]