King's Landing (Monday Night Clash, 11/21/2022)
Nov 20, 2022 9:12:08 GMT -5
The Ascension likes this
Post by Rey Jaguar on Nov 20, 2022 9:12:08 GMT -5
My opponent throws me into the ropes. It's been a long match, we're both sweating and ring-groggy. We're both gonna be sore, red marks and bruises that we won't really notice are developing until we're sitting on the bench backstage. He had the height advantage on me... and the weight. An American wrestling deep into Mexico, not uncommon at all if you actually know the scene.
When he runs me at those ropes, he expects me to go over and out when I make contact. My limbs are sluggish, and he's got a lot of power. Maybe on a different night that's exactly what would have happened... but not that night. That night I catch the top rope in my right hand and the middle rope in my left. Instead of my momentum carrying me up and out of the ring I use it to swing my legs forward. Nothing above my hips leaves the ring, my legs and lower body swinging between those ropes beautifully. I don't often toot my own horn, but pulling off that tiger feint felt fantastic.
I land light as a feather on my feet back in the ring, to a chorus of cheers from the crowd. My opponent has his back turned to me and his arms up in the air - he thinks they're cheering for him. I keep my right hand on the top rope and I wait, biding my time. When he starts to turn I start to sprint, and by the time he knows I'm there I've kicking off of his upper thigh and driven my knee into his chin. The crowd pops loud, but I don't leave him collapsed on the mat for very long.
I drag him back up to his feet by his wrists and and heave him up onto my shoulders, slipping him into a waist lock with him upside down. The crowd is practically <b>vibrating</b>, they can feel the finish is coming. To this day I'm not sure exactly why, but as I'm standing there with the guy on my shoulder I reach out and point at my audience. They erupt - some of them pretty much come out of their seats. Then I drop down... <b>Jaguar Driver</b>.
My ears are buzzing as I make the cover. One.... two... three.
If I thought the crowd was loud before, nothing could have prepared me for what they sound like after the pinfall. It's just a wrestling match, in a little town - but all this noise makes it sound and feel like so much more. I stand up and raise my arm... then I notice they're chanting my name.
Yeah, I think it was about then - the night I decided I was gonna do this for the rest of my life.
When he runs me at those ropes, he expects me to go over and out when I make contact. My limbs are sluggish, and he's got a lot of power. Maybe on a different night that's exactly what would have happened... but not that night. That night I catch the top rope in my right hand and the middle rope in my left. Instead of my momentum carrying me up and out of the ring I use it to swing my legs forward. Nothing above my hips leaves the ring, my legs and lower body swinging between those ropes beautifully. I don't often toot my own horn, but pulling off that tiger feint felt fantastic.
I land light as a feather on my feet back in the ring, to a chorus of cheers from the crowd. My opponent has his back turned to me and his arms up in the air - he thinks they're cheering for him. I keep my right hand on the top rope and I wait, biding my time. When he starts to turn I start to sprint, and by the time he knows I'm there I've kicking off of his upper thigh and driven my knee into his chin. The crowd pops loud, but I don't leave him collapsed on the mat for very long.
I drag him back up to his feet by his wrists and and heave him up onto my shoulders, slipping him into a waist lock with him upside down. The crowd is practically <b>vibrating</b>, they can feel the finish is coming. To this day I'm not sure exactly why, but as I'm standing there with the guy on my shoulder I reach out and point at my audience. They erupt - some of them pretty much come out of their seats. Then I drop down... <b>Jaguar Driver</b>.
My ears are buzzing as I make the cover. One.... two... three.
If I thought the crowd was loud before, nothing could have prepared me for what they sound like after the pinfall. It's just a wrestling match, in a little town - but all this noise makes it sound and feel like so much more. I stand up and raise my arm... then I notice they're chanting my name.
Yeah, I think it was about then - the night I decided I was gonna do this for the rest of my life.
Growing up an orphan... you don't really do much dreaming. At least, I didn't.
I didn't have a single memory of my parents. Sometimes I invented scenarios for why I wasn't with them to make myself feel better. They usually ended up being a lot like the plot of Hollywood thrillers, or crime dramas. But whether they were dead, in hiding or just didn't want me didn't really matter - I was alone no matter what the true story was.
Growing up looking foreign was rough too. I was very clearly not pure Latino and all the other kids made sure I knew that. Kids are cruel, you know? They don't really understand the context of the world around them, or the consequences of what they say and do. Some people never grow out of that attitude sadly, but at least when they're kids they have an excuse. Looking back I'm not really sure how I dealt with it all, but I did. I guess I was just a tough kid, I guess that's just what circumstance had made me. Still... I think if I had continued down the road I was staring down at the time things would have ended badly. I didn't dream after all, my life was about surviving. I was exactly the kind of kid that could have gotten scooped up into gangs or the cartels or something, because I was angry at the world and wanted a place to belong. it seems like something that could have happened so easily when I look back on it... it really does make me feel like I pretty narrowly dodged a bullet.
So, what turned my life around? Wrestling, no joke.
I met an old, crotchety grump of a man who spent the majority of his time chasing kids away from his property with a broomstick. One evening I got into a fight in the alleyway behind his building, a pretty mad one. I was outnumbered - gave back as good as I got but that doesn't help too much when the odds are stacked against you like that. He comes out swinging that broom of his to break up the fight, and everyone runs off but me. I'm trying to stop my nose from bleeding all over my shirt.
Somehow we got to talking, and he was a right ass. But I was a pretty disrespectful little prick back then too so it was like a match made in heaven. Somehow I ended up with an invitation to his gym. Somehow after a few weeks that turned into me crashing in his loft instead of going back to the orphanage. And somehow, that ended up with adoption papers in his hands one day.
Padre didn't just teach me everything I know about wrestling, Padre taught me how to be a man. Think about how difficult that is, to bring in an angry rebellious teen and try to guide them - someone who's never had a step of guidance their entire life. He was surly and judgmental but also... patient, in his own way. Maybe he saw a little bit of his younger self in me... I've never really asked. But somehow he turned the kid I used to be into the man I am now... I probably couldn't ever thank him enough.
I put the mask on because of him... he holds the traditions very close to his heart. He wrestled under a mask too when he was younger, or so he told me, and I figured it was the least I could do to honor him.
So Bruce, Dionysus, that's a 'story so far' on the man you're going to be standing in the ring with on Monday night.
I didn't have a single memory of my parents. Sometimes I invented scenarios for why I wasn't with them to make myself feel better. They usually ended up being a lot like the plot of Hollywood thrillers, or crime dramas. But whether they were dead, in hiding or just didn't want me didn't really matter - I was alone no matter what the true story was.
Growing up looking foreign was rough too. I was very clearly not pure Latino and all the other kids made sure I knew that. Kids are cruel, you know? They don't really understand the context of the world around them, or the consequences of what they say and do. Some people never grow out of that attitude sadly, but at least when they're kids they have an excuse. Looking back I'm not really sure how I dealt with it all, but I did. I guess I was just a tough kid, I guess that's just what circumstance had made me. Still... I think if I had continued down the road I was staring down at the time things would have ended badly. I didn't dream after all, my life was about surviving. I was exactly the kind of kid that could have gotten scooped up into gangs or the cartels or something, because I was angry at the world and wanted a place to belong. it seems like something that could have happened so easily when I look back on it... it really does make me feel like I pretty narrowly dodged a bullet.
So, what turned my life around? Wrestling, no joke.
I met an old, crotchety grump of a man who spent the majority of his time chasing kids away from his property with a broomstick. One evening I got into a fight in the alleyway behind his building, a pretty mad one. I was outnumbered - gave back as good as I got but that doesn't help too much when the odds are stacked against you like that. He comes out swinging that broom of his to break up the fight, and everyone runs off but me. I'm trying to stop my nose from bleeding all over my shirt.
Somehow we got to talking, and he was a right ass. But I was a pretty disrespectful little prick back then too so it was like a match made in heaven. Somehow I ended up with an invitation to his gym. Somehow after a few weeks that turned into me crashing in his loft instead of going back to the orphanage. And somehow, that ended up with adoption papers in his hands one day.
Padre didn't just teach me everything I know about wrestling, Padre taught me how to be a man. Think about how difficult that is, to bring in an angry rebellious teen and try to guide them - someone who's never had a step of guidance their entire life. He was surly and judgmental but also... patient, in his own way. Maybe he saw a little bit of his younger self in me... I've never really asked. But somehow he turned the kid I used to be into the man I am now... I probably couldn't ever thank him enough.
I put the mask on because of him... he holds the traditions very close to his heart. He wrestled under a mask too when he was younger, or so he told me, and I figured it was the least I could do to honor him.
So Bruce, Dionysus, that's a 'story so far' on the man you're going to be standing in the ring with on Monday night.
The scene opens to a mostly empty locker room. A dark skinned man sits on a small wooden bench, facing away from the camera. In his hands is a roll of tape, and he begins carefully taping up the fingers of his right hand.
This will be my first match on such a big stage you know... Action Wrestling's Monday Night Clash. I won't lie... I expected to be a real sensitive bundle of nerves about it but it honestly feels... good. Not like I'm about to finish climbing the summit, 'cause I know the work is really only jsut beginning, but it still feels like fresh air all around me, surging into my lungs. Like the start of something new... the next step in my career. An opportunity to bring myself, everything I can offer and everything I stand for, to a wider audience. Day one in the big time, you know?
He finishes taping the fingers of his right hand, and moves to his left next.
The tradition of the mask doesn't get much respect these days... especially not outside of Mexico. I see a lot of people view it as a weakness, or look at it as you having something to hide. I see a lot of people, a lot of companies, write the men in the masks off right away as just another faceless performer - and don't get me wrong, I understand it's not for everybody and people are always gonna have personal feelings about things... but there's honor in the mask. Discipline. It means so much more to me than some plastic, fabric and laces to hold it all together. It's not a replacement for my identity it's... a promise. A lifestyle. And hard to explain to people who aren't already in the know.
With his left hand finished, he lower his hands and lifts up the mask laying in his lap, pulls it over his head and begins tying the laces.
You two - Bruce and Dion - you're not facing another 'dime-a-dozen' luchador on Monday. You're facing The King of Beasts, the Polyglot of Pain. That night you meet REY JAGUAR - and I've worked very, very hard for all three of those names.
With his mask laced up, he stands and turns to face the camera - the ominous visage of the Jaguar upon his mask.
It's time Action Wrestling met the REAL King of the Jungle.
This will be my first match on such a big stage you know... Action Wrestling's Monday Night Clash. I won't lie... I expected to be a real sensitive bundle of nerves about it but it honestly feels... good. Not like I'm about to finish climbing the summit, 'cause I know the work is really only jsut beginning, but it still feels like fresh air all around me, surging into my lungs. Like the start of something new... the next step in my career. An opportunity to bring myself, everything I can offer and everything I stand for, to a wider audience. Day one in the big time, you know?
He finishes taping the fingers of his right hand, and moves to his left next.
The tradition of the mask doesn't get much respect these days... especially not outside of Mexico. I see a lot of people view it as a weakness, or look at it as you having something to hide. I see a lot of people, a lot of companies, write the men in the masks off right away as just another faceless performer - and don't get me wrong, I understand it's not for everybody and people are always gonna have personal feelings about things... but there's honor in the mask. Discipline. It means so much more to me than some plastic, fabric and laces to hold it all together. It's not a replacement for my identity it's... a promise. A lifestyle. And hard to explain to people who aren't already in the know.
With his left hand finished, he lower his hands and lifts up the mask laying in his lap, pulls it over his head and begins tying the laces.
You two - Bruce and Dion - you're not facing another 'dime-a-dozen' luchador on Monday. You're facing The King of Beasts, the Polyglot of Pain. That night you meet REY JAGUAR - and I've worked very, very hard for all three of those names.
With his mask laced up, he stands and turns to face the camera - the ominous visage of the Jaguar upon his mask.
It's time Action Wrestling met the REAL King of the Jungle.
