Post by Trey Bouchet on Feb 12, 2021 11:26:27 GMT -5
“Clash is a friggin’ demotion.”
This is Monday Night Clash’s newest member Trey Bouchet sharing his misery. Father Donald and Mother Mercedes sit with him at their kitchen table and listen as he grouses while absently tossing a cast-iron Fleur-de-lis trivet.
“What about your contract?” Donald sips his coffee with chicory.
“There was nothing in it that prevents a trade,” Trey hooks a thumb between the grille of the hot dish stand and spins it. His mother nods in sympathy while nervously eyeing the glass armoire behind him that held the family’s good China.
“What are you going to do?”
The Cajun Catapult shrugs, “Honor the deal. I might not be on the ‘A Show’ anymore, but Action Wrestling’s still the best place to demonstrate my suplexpertise.”
“Plus you’re not a quitter.”
“Nope,” Trey smirks as he gives the knick-knack one last flip up before letting it come to rest perfectly balanced on an plextended forefinger, “I’m not.”
“Clash is a promotion.”
This is “The King of Pins” Rex Regent saying his piece as Trey practices in the ring.
“Brand loyalty is nice, but CruiserClash was never the A Show.”
The sullen little suplex machine doesn’t answer. He again lifts a weighted MMA dummy, sets it up for an overhead belly to belly, and launches it.
“Monday Night Clash has more opportunities. You want to prove you’re the Suplexpert? You do it against the heavyweights: Corey Bull and Odin Balfore. You do it against the technicians: Corey Black and Downfall.”
No reaction from Trey besides suplexes. Saito. Sidewinder. Fisherman’s. Plexcetera plexcetera.
“There’s more room to grow on Clash. That Johnny Bacchus guy you’ve been yakking with on the internet? You could learn from him. He needs seasoning, but he can throw a punch and he’s got a killer instinct you lack.”
The observation elicits a response from Bouchet, “Chimp Mode’s cool,” he agrees while putting the practice mannequin in the pumphandle position. Whoosh! Wham!
“This trade can be the best thing for you. It moves you out of your comfort zone the same way losing the Suplex Match might have if you hadn’t pitched a passive aggressive fit. Don’t throw this chance away.”
Trey scowls. Arms cinched around the dummy’s waist, he pops his hips, and sends all 140 pounds of deadweight over the top rope. It crashes with a loud thud at Regent’s feet, forcing him to dance back.
Rex Regent smiles.
“That’s more like it!” The King of Pins decrees, “If you’re going to pitch a fit, make it aggressive.”
“Clash is… what it is.”
This is Trey Bouchet coming to terms with his new status quo. He stands at a table holding a bowl of lemons, a pitcher of ice water, a tub of Southern Cane Sugar, and a very sharp knife. Picking out three of the fruits he starts juggling.
“I’m going to miss CruiserClash. It’s where I got my start and I hate I didn’t meet my plexpectations there.. I’m bummed I won’t be part of the roster that has Pineapple Promenade as its Tag Champs. I’m bummed I won’t get the chance to test myself against Lissie Hope or have a ‘Battle of the Plexes’ with Katrina Anne Pult. But as much as we want to see AW as a family, it’s a business and right now the office thinks the best place for me is Clash.”
Quick as a hiccup Trey snatches up the knife and adds it to the multiplex.
“You see where this is going? You should; right to Monday Night Clash, where in my first match I get to show that while I’m not thrilled to be there, I definitely belong.”
“I’m facing a tall glass of holy water named Mister Abraham. He looked good in-ring at his debut: a strong guy with some reach. It’s going to be a challenge to get him ‘Up and Over’, but I’ll pull it off.
Bouchet pauses.
“Now, maybe I’m wrong about this plext part. I hope I am, and I’ll wind up regretting stereotyping the Good Mister Abraham, but the fact is most of these preaching wrestlers? They’re frauds. They talk about ‘salvation’ but what they’re really after is ‘plexemption’. The goal isn’tt spreading the Word, but using It to justify the shitty things they do. Most fighting holy men aren’t any different from the ‘cult leader’ archetype, unfortunately. And that’s too bad. I’m all for religious plexpression if it’s sincere. But reading Mister Abraham Treatises, well, let’s just say I have my doubts.”
Trey manipulates the knife so that it slices through a lemon as their trajectories cross.
“He talks about how wrestling has lost its way, and that he’s here to save it. Y’know, the generic messianic bullcrap. Are there bad people in this sport, and do they get away with doing bad things? Sure. That isn’t plexactly revelatory. Hell, even ZMAC’s pointing it out on AW Twitter. But the fact is there are good people too, and to paint everyone with the same broad brush is unfair.”
A second citrus gets bifurcated with a well placed toss, and then the third.
“But this is what really pisses me off. Worse than not acknowledging the good people in the sport is ignoring the ones who are right there on the brink. That’s what separates the talkers from the doers. The Following might be problematic, but they take care of their own. People might dismiss Debra Monroe as silly, but there’s more power and sincerity in one of her hugs than all of Mr. Abraham’s sermonizing.”
Trey ceases juggling. He sets the knife down and begins plextracting the juice of the lemons into the pitcher.
“Clash doesn’t need another would be saviour who’s only here to cast stones. It needs people who want to make something.”
With a self-indulgent wink to the camera, Trey spoons sugar into his concoction and gives it a stir.
This is Monday Night Clash’s newest member Trey Bouchet sharing his misery. Father Donald and Mother Mercedes sit with him at their kitchen table and listen as he grouses while absently tossing a cast-iron Fleur-de-lis trivet.
“What about your contract?” Donald sips his coffee with chicory.
“There was nothing in it that prevents a trade,” Trey hooks a thumb between the grille of the hot dish stand and spins it. His mother nods in sympathy while nervously eyeing the glass armoire behind him that held the family’s good China.
“What are you going to do?”
The Cajun Catapult shrugs, “Honor the deal. I might not be on the ‘A Show’ anymore, but Action Wrestling’s still the best place to demonstrate my suplexpertise.”
“Plus you’re not a quitter.”
“Nope,” Trey smirks as he gives the knick-knack one last flip up before letting it come to rest perfectly balanced on an plextended forefinger, “I’m not.”
****************
“Clash is a promotion.”
This is “The King of Pins” Rex Regent saying his piece as Trey practices in the ring.
“Brand loyalty is nice, but CruiserClash was never the A Show.”
The sullen little suplex machine doesn’t answer. He again lifts a weighted MMA dummy, sets it up for an overhead belly to belly, and launches it.
“Monday Night Clash has more opportunities. You want to prove you’re the Suplexpert? You do it against the heavyweights: Corey Bull and Odin Balfore. You do it against the technicians: Corey Black and Downfall.”
No reaction from Trey besides suplexes. Saito. Sidewinder. Fisherman’s. Plexcetera plexcetera.
“There’s more room to grow on Clash. That Johnny Bacchus guy you’ve been yakking with on the internet? You could learn from him. He needs seasoning, but he can throw a punch and he’s got a killer instinct you lack.”
The observation elicits a response from Bouchet, “Chimp Mode’s cool,” he agrees while putting the practice mannequin in the pumphandle position. Whoosh! Wham!
“This trade can be the best thing for you. It moves you out of your comfort zone the same way losing the Suplex Match might have if you hadn’t pitched a passive aggressive fit. Don’t throw this chance away.”
Trey scowls. Arms cinched around the dummy’s waist, he pops his hips, and sends all 140 pounds of deadweight over the top rope. It crashes with a loud thud at Regent’s feet, forcing him to dance back.
Rex Regent smiles.
“That’s more like it!” The King of Pins decrees, “If you’re going to pitch a fit, make it aggressive.”
*******
“Clash is… what it is.”
This is Trey Bouchet coming to terms with his new status quo. He stands at a table holding a bowl of lemons, a pitcher of ice water, a tub of Southern Cane Sugar, and a very sharp knife. Picking out three of the fruits he starts juggling.
“I’m going to miss CruiserClash. It’s where I got my start and I hate I didn’t meet my plexpectations there.. I’m bummed I won’t be part of the roster that has Pineapple Promenade as its Tag Champs. I’m bummed I won’t get the chance to test myself against Lissie Hope or have a ‘Battle of the Plexes’ with Katrina Anne Pult. But as much as we want to see AW as a family, it’s a business and right now the office thinks the best place for me is Clash.”
Quick as a hiccup Trey snatches up the knife and adds it to the multiplex.
“You see where this is going? You should; right to Monday Night Clash, where in my first match I get to show that while I’m not thrilled to be there, I definitely belong.”
“I’m facing a tall glass of holy water named Mister Abraham. He looked good in-ring at his debut: a strong guy with some reach. It’s going to be a challenge to get him ‘Up and Over’, but I’ll pull it off.
Bouchet pauses.
“Now, maybe I’m wrong about this plext part. I hope I am, and I’ll wind up regretting stereotyping the Good Mister Abraham, but the fact is most of these preaching wrestlers? They’re frauds. They talk about ‘salvation’ but what they’re really after is ‘plexemption’. The goal isn’tt spreading the Word, but using It to justify the shitty things they do. Most fighting holy men aren’t any different from the ‘cult leader’ archetype, unfortunately. And that’s too bad. I’m all for religious plexpression if it’s sincere. But reading Mister Abraham Treatises, well, let’s just say I have my doubts.”
Trey manipulates the knife so that it slices through a lemon as their trajectories cross.
“He talks about how wrestling has lost its way, and that he’s here to save it. Y’know, the generic messianic bullcrap. Are there bad people in this sport, and do they get away with doing bad things? Sure. That isn’t plexactly revelatory. Hell, even ZMAC’s pointing it out on AW Twitter. But the fact is there are good people too, and to paint everyone with the same broad brush is unfair.”
A second citrus gets bifurcated with a well placed toss, and then the third.
“But this is what really pisses me off. Worse than not acknowledging the good people in the sport is ignoring the ones who are right there on the brink. That’s what separates the talkers from the doers. The Following might be problematic, but they take care of their own. People might dismiss Debra Monroe as silly, but there’s more power and sincerity in one of her hugs than all of Mr. Abraham’s sermonizing.”
Trey ceases juggling. He sets the knife down and begins plextracting the juice of the lemons into the pitcher.
“Clash doesn’t need another would be saviour who’s only here to cast stones. It needs people who want to make something.”
With a self-indulgent wink to the camera, Trey spoons sugar into his concoction and gives it a stir.