Thesis 4: Wrestling has no Soul
Feb 7, 2021 1:58:01 GMT -5
Trey Bouchet, Der Metzger, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Feb 7, 2021 1:58:01 GMT -5
– The New Jerusalem, GK Chesterton
We open to a storefront in the midsouth where Agatha St. Clare, single mother turned personal assistant, shops for produce. She strikes a conversation with the stocker when he notices her from the TV. They chat about mundane topics when her boss and famed televangelist Abraham Resnik walks through the automatic doors.
“It is quite a fine day. Cold… just the way the Devil hates it.”
“Goodness,” the kid says, “you’re Mr. Abraham!”
“Now son, don’t inter living men. He’s no more a sculpture than your hard work today,” he says with a gander at the castle built entirely of Coke and Dr. Pepper. “But you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?” he says with a nod to Agatha.
“You’re going to Action Wrestling?”
Abraham places his large hand on the stocker’s shoulder.
“Forget the rumor. Absolve yourself of the curbside banter,” he says. “Today you live for yourself.”
The kid reacts as if receiving the “Midas touch” on his shoulder. Although it seared a message of goodwill, he feels an aftershock and residual tingle. Heartfelt words have a way of doing that if thrust upon someone in labor. Abraham then turns to Agatha as they purchase goods for the road ahead.
He and his Agatha exit towards a long blue bus bearing his image in argent white. Their tour bus has also corralled an audience due to his recognizable face. Feeling their energy, Abraham meets them for an impromptu speech.
“When the skies opened, the good word shined across my brow. I knew then that wrestling was my calling. And that the sport had to evolve. Bring fans within the ropes—not just from the seats.
To do both correctly involves vision. I have it, and to prove my point, I will begin with an introduction on Clash across recidivists of their own petard. Men I watched recently, one Jeffery and Jonathan, during impressive debuts. After a few notes… I believe there’s room for improvement.
They suffer like most Americans, and what better way to reach them, than through the sport that defines us. Star spangled eyes shall cry tears of joy when I enter that ring. Bless us!”
That prompts exclamations from an effervescent crowd.
“My pharisees carry your faith outside the ropes. Better yourselves for the long journey ahead.
I say this because you will be led astray from the serpent words of my opponents. Oh sister, hear me! I see into hearts of weaker men bound to another 40 years of deserts dry and boiling sun.
You see, my dear friend Jeffery finds the casual sport a game of shaking hands and gentlemen. We are not bound to the moment by a competition. No sir! We are here to start a revolution. It cannot simply begin and end with a bell. This most beautiful moment before the chaos. When we rise and overcome. Jeffery, open your mind! Repent your delusions! Be reborn!
And Jonathan, how you’ve lilted under the wrong sun. I came here to teach our young and restless. Yet you drift like tumbleweed forever at a zephyr’s mercy. Such a sad waste of talent. You know these fans want to see you succeed. You’re easy to root for, in all honesty, yet you have no goals. No hope. No future in a sport that eats its young alive.
Don’t embrace your blood as a child of Saturn to be devoured in your prime!
Step onto our podium of popular opinion and thrust yourself before that vox populi! You can play a merry tune, but our ears know a devil’s tongue. And we see the scaly skin of snakes. You joined Action Wrestling for nothing more than a fleeting moment in the limelight. And if you do not heed me today, brother… I fear it will be a very brief moment.
But there will be time to exercise your demons when I raise these hands with righteous fury. There will be bloodshed on my mighty mission. I will not hesitate to crush anyone that stands in our way. Sinners rejoice! Rejoice or be vanquished in the coming fire!
Action Wrestling… I bring you healing from all the despicable, lowlife scoundrels polluting your ring. Follow me as we crush these bastard dreams before they ruin us all. Heed my warnings! Hear my virtuous song! Live a longer, happier, better life.
Monday the great healing begins!”
Music plays from his tour bus that riles the people into jubilation. Mr. Abraham leaves them to this moment as he enters the bus. Past its threshold, his brightness drops.
“Now we stab our spear into the heart of Action Wrestling. Agatha, prepare my slides. I need to see more tape on these two. It’s not so much to crush them for my debut. I need to put the fear of god into this entire roster. And it begins with a loudmouth and a “nice guy” … how fitting… and oh so glorious.”