Just An Observation x2

Just An Observation x2
Current mood: exhausted
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Ok People. Now I am about to go out on a limb and describe, best I can, a day in the life of a wrestler, as I have come to understand it during my minutes and minutes of research. It is a continuance of "Just an observation" from yesterday.

And yes, I am looking forward to the time when I get to "speak from experience".



Strap on your helmets, grab the sissy bar and hold on for dear life as this should be an interesting, if not bumpy ride.

Imagine this, if you will: living life in a vacuum, under a microscope and on fast forward 7 day's a week, 365 day's a year, year after year. You don't remember what day it is half the time, and it is not uncommon to not being terribly sure where the hell you are at.

It's 4:30 in the am, you wake up after getting back to the same hotel room you have seen the inside of at least 900 times, and twice since saturday, from the arena around midnight the previous evening. You're sore, beaten to the pulp from the match you had the night before. Chronic knee pain, deep tissue bruises and cuts adorn your face and you need to grab the side of the bed to pull yourself up to a sitting position. Your head is thumping with every beat of your heart, a testament to the rounds you went with Jack Danials the night before in celebration with the boys in a match well done.

Wearily you begin to pack.

6:00 am finds you in back of a cab, heading for the airport. You don't even know exactly where you are going as you didn't look at your itinerary, and hoping to all hell the airlines will figure it out for you. But slowely it dawns on you: heading for New York! You hope to catch a couple zzz's on the plane, but coach passengers have an uncanny ability to know who you are, and the endless quest for autographs and pictures will keep you busy as you oblige the very people who keep you employed. Oh well, the magic novelty of being a celebrity wore off a long time ago but, thankful for the job you worked so hard for, you resign yourself to capitulation.

Landing at JFK, with just enough time to throw your bags in the same hotel room you left in what seemed just day's ago, you run over to the Sizzler to pick up your order-to-go that the staff was so kind to have prepared and waiting for you. Who said being a celebrity is without it's perks, that Sizzler order was hard earned! You don't have time to sit in there and eat, first off the bombardment of fans would leave you visiting more then eating, and you have a 1:30 autograph signing/event promotion to be on hand for.

Back to the Airport Hotel for lunch and to freshen up.

1:10 finds you in the back of a cab, streaking across town to "Marios Music World and Good Time Emporiam". Somewhere in your backpack full of 8x10's and God know's what is your cell phone that has been ringing regular and steady since about 7:30 am. Thank goodness for the ability to set different ringtones to certain people, because you recognize the girlies call from all the rest. With a deep sense of forboding, you answer it.

The girlies pissed you missed the anniversary for the second year in a row. She wants you to move out of the house you have worked so hard to buy, and she plans on suing you for custody of the kid, and lay away the child support. She emptied the bank account, cancelled the wedding by telling the caterer to keep the full deposit, and sent your dog to the pound.

Thank heavens she only does this every other month. You couldn't take it on a monthly basis. So far you only lost three deposits, and have been successful at rescuing the mutt from certain death. Hopefully this time will be no different.

At Marios you meet and greet, sign and then dine on a hotdog an employee picks up for you at the hot dog stand across the street. You are pegged to be there until 3:30, and the time goes fast. You run out of 8x10's rather early, but autographs are free, and the publicity is what you are after. You feel successful in promoting the next weeks ppv and you almost forget your throbbing back, the same one the doctor insist is in bad need of surgery in order to prolong your wrestling career, and possibly ward off paralysis. Yes, you almost forget.

Overstaying your welcome at Marios you indulge a lucky few more fans, then leave~to arrive to the arena at 4:15. You will never make it, and 4:30 comes before you step foot into the building. In the back of the building you pass the line of people waiting for their turn at the masseus, but you have a production meeting to get to, and it's already in progress.

At the meeting you discuss where the promotion is going story line wise, you learn your role in it and who you are wrestling that night. You learn what they want for your finish, and you are just sure the office is trying to bury you! Where in the hell is the push they have been promising since the last contract negotiations? But you say "Ok, no problem", and resign yourself to making what they give you to work with to the best of your ability. Maybe, if you can pull it off and get it over, you will have more leverage the next negotiations.

Looking around your opponent seems to have disappeared. So much for talking your match out in any detail, you'll just call it on the fly and hope he can keep up.

The damp, cool air from the early evening begins to settle in your bones and you need to find the masseus, he seems to have magic hands, and his ability to rub down your twisted, broken body is the only way you feel you can go out there and leave your heart and soul on the mat. Passing by the catering table you are reminded you are very hungry. But you can eat later, right now you need the masseus.

You find your opponent in the room with the masseus, and a few people ahead of you. Sighing deeply you head for the locker room, thanking GOD for sports cream, maybe someone will help you apply it.

You can hear the arena filling with fans, the low din grows into a heavier rumble. Pulling on your kneepads you decide that you don't have time to find someone to apply the sports cream. Reluctantly you head for the curtain.

Your opponent is standing there a few feet from you, and you have just enough time to talk shop, roughly call your match and talk about spots. Slowely your apprehension begins to fade, and you begin to feel positive about the match you are about to have. Your opponent is a professional, and you decide that he knows if he makes you look good, he looks good. His contract is up for renegotiating too.

Your music hits, it's showtime.

As you step through the curtain you are bombarded by flashing bulbs, waving signs and the roar of the crowd. People are reaching out towards you, and you have to be mindful to not turn your back to anyone, lest they get ahold of you and tear you to shreds. AND YOUR THE BABYFACE! The energy from the spectacle washes over you like sonic waves, and the sheer electricity of the crowd raises goosebumps on your arms. Playing to the crowd you begin to make your way to the ring.

Magically, your knees that barely supported you body weight now seem to be perfectly healthy. The pain of your aching back has given way to the butterfly's in your stomach, and for a brief second you realise you are impervious to the pain. Your skin tingles, your heart races. Then you climb to the second turnbuckle to pay homage to the crowd.

Looking out into the crowd you are instantly aware that time seems to stand still. The crowd reaction is in super slow motion and you find yourself with an uncanny feeling of being in the Twilight Zone. To your left is a young boy. Maybe 10 years old. With eyes as big as saucers and a look of awe in his face, you decide he is the one you will throw your shirt to. Instantly you are transported back in time, to your own life in an arena not to different from the one you are in now. You remember standing up against the railing, looking up at awe to the wrestler on the ropes. To your amazement that wrestler took his shirt off, bundled it up, and threw it to you back then. And your Dad caught it for you. And you smile as you remember that you still have that momento from another time. You get the sense that your life, and career has come full circle.

Your opponents music hits, snapping you back to reality and you know you have about a minute and a half from beginning the match. You bail from the ring so your opponent has a chance to shake his azz to the crowd. Then the match begins in earnest.

Wrestling hard you put on the show of your life. There were exciting false finishes. Breathtaking high spots. And lots of crowd interaction. By the time your opponent squeakes out a victory, by cheating no less, you feel confident that you put on the best match of your career to date. You are busted wide open, have a couple dislocated fingers, and a possible concussion from one to many chair shots. But even in defeat you leave the ring to the sound of the crowd chanting your name. It is at this time you realize you feel warm inside and KNOW you would not be happy doing anything else. You left it all in the ring, again.

In the back the doctor sews your head shut. As you lay there other wrestlers are coming by and asking if you are ok. They all have kind words and heart felt congratualtions on a job well done. To your right you see the promoter walking past, in a hurry no doubt, towards another endless meeting, crisis or whatever. He doesn't have time to stop, but the huge smile on his face speaks a thousand words. Hopefully he is on his way towards the booking commitee to make good on the promised push. But it doesn't seem as important anymore. Another problem for another day. You are content to lay there and and just bask in the glory.

A little later you are back in a cab, heading back to the Airport Inn. The boys wanted you to join them at a local club, again. To celebrate, again. But not tonight. No, tonight you need to call the girlie and try to patch things up, your current loop is about to come to an end, and you want to have her as calm as possible for the two and a half day's you will be back home before you have to ship out again. Two and a half day's to calm her down, get the money put back in your account, the lawyer she hired put back on the rear burner and the mutt rescued from the pound. You already kissed the deposit from the caterer good-bye. long, hot bath and room service awaits your arrival.

It's 12:30. Wakeup is at 5 am and you are headed to the Mohegan Sun, so you might get a little more time for rest once you get there, on account Conneticutt is just a short plane ride away. oh, damn, you say as you remember just before you drift off to sleep, tomorrow you have an 11:30 am appointment at Joes Car wash where the activities planned will have you washing cars to promote that nights card. Thankfully you will have the benefit of doing this with the Divas, a point not to be lost on the girlie you are sure.

This time you plan on arriving early. The masseus owes you a massage!

~Finis

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