Team Struggle Goes to Amateur Wrestling part 1


As you might know, I can find chaos anywhere.  Sometimes I think it just follows me around like sunlight from the heavens.  It seems like every time I stop, for just a second, I turn around and stumble into madness.  I AM CHAOS MAN!  HERE TO SCREW UP THE UNIVERSE AND THEN WRITE SHORT STORIES THAT THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE READ!!!

My life is truly wonderful.

I was walking into a furniture store hoping the nice people with the living room sets would trade me new couches for nothing but my crappy credit score, a signature, and an empty promise that I would pay them back, when I ran into a 250 pound man with -3% body fat wearing wrestling gear.  CHAOS MAN STRIKES AGAIN!!!

Eric Prae:  Bro!  (Yes I used the word “bro”. Unfortunately these stories are all true and I can’t lie when I say something stupid)  Where are you going?  Are you a Professional Wrestler?

Huge Mother F***er:  Ummm, yes.  I am a member of Florida Championship Wrestling.

He pointed to a warehouse-looking building next door with huge letters FCW across the front.

Eric Prae:  Wow!  You are a Professional Wrestler!!!  Holy s***!!!  When is the show?

Huge Mother F***er:  We travel all over the state, but every Thursday night we perform right here.  What are you doing Thursday night?

Eric Prae:  Obviously coming to your wrestling event!  Somebody better get hit with a chair!!!

 

                                                                                                         ***

 

Thursday rolled around and I had to find just the right friend to accompany me on my journey of stupidity.  Since this website blew up and people actually have started reading it and recognizing me in public, a lot of my friends that originally made fun of me for my epic quests for awkwardness are now actually looking for an invite to come along.  It seems people like to see themselves in online “print”.  I love the company.  Plus I hear that drinking by yourself is a sign that you have a real problem.  Somehow getting drunk with a friend is ok.

I wanted Jenn to go.

Eric Prae:  Hey comedy partner and best friend ever!  You look beautiful today!

Jenn B.:  Crap, you want something.  What is it?

Eric Prae:  Would you be my date to a local amateur Professional Wrestling event tonight?

Jenn B.:  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  (censored)!  I’d rather find a firing squad and stand in front of it!  Have fun though, and don’t forget your mullet!  HAHAHAHAHA!

I figured she would be busy finding another random man to torture on Plenty of Fish.  Damn.

Then I called my friend KJ and pleaded with her.  She agreed, as long as we could get wasted and then go…  I forgot what else she said. She had me at wasted.

KJ showed up wearing a short skirt and a low cut top.  She is a Florida girl; hence she is slamming hot.   I started laughing at her.

KJ:  What, I look good!

Eric Prae:  No, no, you look great, but…

KJ:  But what?

Eric Prae:  We are going to a wrestling event.  The people there probably haven’t seen a female like you, ummm, ever!  This is going to be entertaining!

My point was made when we walked into the FCW warehouse with our tickets.  Fat men in John Cena apparel were ogling her until the drool fell off their chins and met up with the old mustard stains splattered on their t-shirts.  I hardly noticed as I walked up to the concession stand.

Eric Prae:  I’ll have four cold beers please.  (I held out a $20 bill)

Concession Lady:  We don’t serve beer.  Only soda.

One second of awkward silence.  Two seconds of awkward silence.  Three seconds.  Four seconds…

Eric Prae:  You don’t have beer?

Concession Lady:  No, like I said we only have soda.

One second of awkward silence.  Two seconds of awkward silence.  Three seconds.  Four seconds…

Concession Lady:  Sir you are holding up the line!

One second of awkward silence.  Two seconds of awkward silence.  Three seconds.  Four seconds…

Eric Prae:  So there is no beer?  None?  Not a beer here?  This is wrestling, right?  Am I still in America?  I have rights, damn it!  Are you French?

I ended up with two $1 colas and the primal urge to hit the concession lady with a Stone Cold Stunner.

The ring was set up in the middle of a huge room. Loose steel chairs placed in rows surrounded it.  We grabbed two seats in the second row at the far end.  The first match started just as we sat down.  A horrible looking ancient shell of a man with long hair came and sat exactly one chair away from KJ overtly staring at her.  I started laughing all over again.  Score another point for her outfit.  She looked mortified.  My moment of joy was quickly ruined.  I realized that I was drinking a cola.  Damn!

The wrestling was fun, but had a few kinks.  First off, we had no idea who to root for!  Since Pro Wrestling is just basically a soap opera for men, not knowing whom the hero was (our savior), and who played the role of the villain (the one who would inevitably try to ruin our lives) was a problem.  Also, since most of the talents were heavyweights, the marches were VERY slow. 

Eric Prae:  They need to spice this up a bit or my story is going to suck!

KJ:  Time to start drinking?

Eric Prae:  Plan B it is, my friend.

KJ and I excused ourselves from our second row dream seats to go to the lobby restrooms.  There we split into our respective areas and filled our $1 colas to the brim with every ounce of alcohol we snuck in.  Real drinkers always come prepared!

Side note here about what my friends call my “collection” of flasks.  I like to carry a flask or two of Crown Royal just in case a party happens to break out.  Some men have nice watches, some carry a Swiss Army knife, some a bottle opener key chain.  I just like flasks.  I have a lot of them.  I usually carry my personalized engraved flask in my left pocket.  It was a college graduation gift.  It might or might not have been my sole reason for graduating on time.  Sometimes I carry my custom Crown Royal flask in my right pocket.  I received that because I might or might not be Crown Royal’s #1 customer.  Sometimes I carry my small “Quick Shot” flask in my sock.  Sometimes I carry the matching one in my other sock.  I have a flask in my gym bag, one in my volleyball bag and another in my graduate school bag.  I have a lot of flasks.  My flask owns a flask.  They make my life of deafness much more tolerable.

Once again, the 30 or so that I was carrying came in handy.  Now that we were drinking, the “Amateur Professional Beerless Wrestling” seemed way more fun.  We each chose a wrestler at the beginning of a match, rooted and screamed for him and then saluted his victory or defeat with a shot of alcohol.  The night was getting better.

During intermission something truly wonderful happened.  While I was buying a few more $1 colas to dump out to make room for booze, KJ made a “friend”.  A total Mouth Breather gathered up the chutzpah to approach an attractive woman and struck up a conversation.  CHOAS MAN saw this coming and I ran over to hear their conversation.

“Creepy Guy” was in the middle of telling KJ that he had played his WWE video game over 700 hundred times.

Creepy Guy:  Here is my impression of my favorite wrestler and…

He stopped and looked at me obviously wondering if I was coming over to break up his new love connection.

Eric Prae:   No, man.  It’s cool, we’re just friends, let’s hear it!

He started doing a brutal impression.

KJ:  I’m going to kill you!

Eric Prae:  You two seem really happy together.  You should go back to his mother’s basement with him, play some World of Warcraft, and stay the night.

KJ:  No, seriously, get him away from me.  He is off the spectrum.

Creepy Guy finished his impression and then started trying to impress KJ more by telling her this was his 5th wrestling show.  He was naming the characters like they were his friends.  I stalked walking ahead to give them some space, trying to give him the chance to go in for the kill.

KJ:  Don’t you walk away…  I’m seriously going to kill you!

Creepy guy then started telling her about his roommate who wouldn’t accompany him to the show when I pulled her away and we headed back to our seats for the second half of the show.  We both started laughing.

KJ:  That was brutal.

Eric Prae:  Congratulations, you just had your first Struggle Bus moment.  Welcome to the team.

The second half of the show was WAY better.  Was it because they saved the best wrestlers for last?  Was it because the alcohol was finally hitting us?  Who knows?  Here are the highlights:

 
We found a kid with his own personalized championship belt.  For the second half he sat right in front of us as if to say, “Please take my picture!”  I wondered if he walked around his house every day blaring his own entrance music and body slamming his cat.  Outstanding visual. 

While lots of people at wrestling events bring homemade signs, one guy, in particular, brought a white board and wrote messages to the wrestlers during the matches.  He now had unlimited ways to tell each specific wrestler that they sucked.

A woman’s triple threat match stole the show for the night.  The ladies were quick, hot and excellent wrestlers.  It was nice to finally see someone jump off ropes and do a little “high flying”. 

We found a kid with a rat-tail.  Not only did he look perfect, he summed up what the crowd looked like as a whole.  Did we snap a pic?  Oh you bet cha!

The most humorous (or saddest, or most pathetic) recurring theme of the night happened just before each match.  The majority of the crowd (they obviously had all been there a few times before) had a certain catcall they performed when the female ring announcer bent over to enter the ring.  Just as this attractive young lady was approaching the stairs leading up to the squared circle, the whole crowd would time her steps with a “wait for it, wait for it, wait for it,” then let off a “woooooo”  when she entered the ring.  The crowd did this before EVERY match.  When she bent over you could see, well, everything.  This was the crowd’s family tradition. They became united through a little negative sexist activity.  What a show!

 
It was time for the main event!  Two jacked men came out for a championship match!  It would be a one fall, winner take the belt, loser be shamed forever match.  Our hero came out first; he was the challenger in grey spandex.  He was bald, he had a baby face, he was going to take the belt away from the nasty villain, and we were all going to share in his triumph!

The scoundrel that we were going to boo and curse appeared next.  This rogue desperado, wearing blue, was going to lie, cheat, and steal the title shot away from the grey shorts, bald, male protagonist!  He would protect his belt at all costs!   It was on.

The match was a classic!  Fast paced, hard hitting, high flying and the crowd was on the edge of their seats.  Each contestant threw haymakers, did reversals, and pummeled their opponent as much as they could.  Just when it looked like our hero was going to prevail, BOOM!  The referee got blindsided and went down.  Our hero quickly took advantage of a moment of disarray and hit the villain with his finishing move.  BUT THERE WAS NO REFFEREE!  WHAT NOW?  Then like a blinding flash of light, another referee appeared out of nowhere and flew into the ring for the count.  1…. 2…. 3…. YES! HE DID IT!

WE WON!  WE HAVE A NEW CHAMP!

Wait.  The first referee is on his feet and…

DISQUALIFIED!  Our hero won the match, but lost the bout due to disqualification!  The fix was in!  The fix was in!  Nooooooooooo!  The villain took his belt back and the night was over.  Maybe next time for our hero.  Always next time.

 

KJ and I stumbled out into the parking lot to catch our separate rides home when creepy guy came flying out and grabbed a cab.  Since there was no alcohol at this event, but ours, we assumed that either he didn’t have a license or got drunk off our breath and needed a ride.  I was going to run up to his cab and see if he wanted to split a ride with his new love interest until she once again threatened my life.

We saw the guy with the custom championship belt!  He was standing by the entrance with a few other “fine gentlemen” waiting to talk to the Professional Wrestlers!  We ran up to him. I asked if I could take a picture with his belt.  He let me.

There I was, standing in front of the steps, all 6’ 2”, 190 pounds soaking wet of “please don’t kick my ass” champion!  I was glorious!  I felt like the world title-holder.  Then one of his friends asked us a thought provoking question:

Amateur Wrestling Promoter:  You guys like amateur wrestling?

Eric Prae:  Absolutely!

Amateur Wrestling Promoter:  Well we run the local amateur show at a bar off of Hillsborough.  You should check it out! I am the lead promoter!   It kicks this Thursday night crap!

Eric Prae:  Wait, I thought this was the amateur stuff?

Amateur Wrestling Promoter:  Noooo.  These guys have already made it big.  My guys are still trying; they do a lot more crazy moves!

KJ:  These guys have made it big!  HAHAHAHAHAHA

Eric Prae:  You’re saying that there is wrestling more amateur than this?  Where and when my friend?  I must be there.

He hands me his card.  Pure domination!  Let’s do this!


Part 2 of this story was written by Jenn!  Check her archives and read it!


 

Thanks for reading!  You can email Eric at:
istruggle@RidetheStruggleBus.com


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