Thursday January 23, 2014
Prairie Home Bar & Grill
Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin
3:10 PM Local Time
“Oh, thank God, you’re back,” Wendy breathed as her husband pushed through the crowd to rejoin her side. “How’s Theresa? I bet she’s scared senseless…”
“Actually, I think she was pretty disappointed,” Terrence said, catching his breath and rubbing his side where he had just taken an elbow. “She kind of wanted to watch this.”
“Yeah, well, tough. These people are insane, and I want her AWAY from them. I want to be away from them,” Wendy finished, looking around as the crowd again was ovating Miranda, who had her arms in the air as if she had already won.
“Can’t blame you there.” Terrence said bluntly. “Why did they leave a table in the middle of the cleared area?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what any of this is!” WEndy snapped, her voice- along with her composure- close to breaking. “But I guess we’re going to find out…” she added as the restaurant owner stepped into the middle of the clearing, the crowd quieting instantly.
“Ladies and gentlemen! This is the moment that you all have been waiting for! The moment when the rightful, TRUE champion gets crowned! The contest that will FINALLY put Pleasant Prairie on the map! Now, for introductions!! First… the so-called Champion, from Indianapolis, Indiana. The Fraud! The Fake! The Phony! The one who’s charade is finally coming to an end! WENDY BRIESE!”
The crowd gave a cacophony of jeers, and Wendy took a deep breath to steady herself. She couldn’t imagine how women like Aimee Easter and Camilla Pazzini actually LIKED getting booed. It was so unnerving.
“And her opponent… from RIGHT HERE IN PLEASANT PRAIRIE! THE TRUE CHAMPION, and the one who will finally avenge her honor tonight! My daughter, and your neighbor… MIRANDA KOWALSKI!!!!
Miranda pumped her fist, and nodded to the crowd, although her hateful eyes never left Wendy.
The owner was gesturing both of them to come forward, and WEndy quickly turned to Terrence, who gave her a quick kiss. “Good luck,” he whispered quietly.
Wendy didn’t respond, but took a deep breath, and stepped forward, approaching the middle of the makeshift ring, where the table still stood. She was beginning to guess its purpose- the owner would pull it ou of the way to signal the start of the match. She studied Miranda. The girl was waving her arms around wildly. More than likely she was going to go for a knockout blow. If Wendy could hit her low, take her legs out, she’d have her in the Banshee before she knew it.
It was worth a shot.
The crowd around became so silent that she could hear a pin drop, and she waited for the signal to start. But the owner just stood there, rigid, staring towards the front of the restaurant, as if he was expecting something.
And then, in the crowd, a lone voice called out, although Wendy couldn’t quite hear it. Another voice joined in, then another, before the entire crowd was chanting a rhythmic two syllable phrase. Wendy frowned, confused. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear they were chanting…
“Jen-GA! Jen-GA! Jen-GA! Jen-GA! Jen-GA!”
The crowd parted, and through it, stepped a young man, dressed in an all-white robe. In his extended arms, as if it were a holy relic, was a box of Jenga. She glanced at Miranda, who’s breath was quickening at the sight of the game, as the chant washed over them both.
“JEN-GA! JEN-GA! JEN-GA!”
“Okay, I’m being punked, right?” Wendy said, her voice lost in the roar of the crowd. “This is all some hidden camera thing?”
Something told her it wasn’t. This was just too insane to be a made up part of someone’s imagination. She sighed and glanced back at Terrence, who could only shrug. She turned back, watching the boy in the white robe kneel down, and present the game to the owner. He held it aloft, and the crowd again went wild.
“I’m going to kill Pollaski,” she muttered.
It was seven years ago, when she was retired from wrestling and working at the Marion County Community Theater, that Pollaski had called, saying he had been appointed executive producer of a show to be aired on the Style Network, his first big break into television. Capitalizing on the success of Celebrity Poker, he had tried to take the concept to a different kind of game, and set up a sixteen person charity tournament. And he had begged his two best friends and former clients to help him out, and appear on the first season of Celebrity Jenga: Tower of Stars
She didn’t know what insanity had overtaken them in accepting, but somehow she had ended up winning the entire thing, defeating Ashleigh Simpson in the finals (Terrence had lost in the first round to Reuben Stoddard). She had received a rather cheap trophy, and her chosen charity of Worldvision was given $25,000. Wendy never even bothered to watch the show when it aired- and apparently neither had anyone else. It was pulled after one season due to abysmal ratings, although she was sure clips existed somewhere in the deepest bowels of YouTube. And Daniel Pollaski never got a job as a producer again.
She always figured something like that was going to come back and haunt her. But certainly never in this way!
She looked back at the boy in white, who was building the Jenga tower, then over to Miranda, who was staring at her in open hatred.
“I stayed up every night until four in the morning to watch you,” she hissed, as if somehow all of this was Wendy’s fault. “You were horrible. You had no knowledge of tower mechanics. You had a clunky style. You won by pure luck. But you kept winning… it was disgusting. And when they crowned you champion, like you were somehow great… I literally got sick. You?! Mediocre you, the Jenga Champion? Do you have any of an idea what an insult that is?”
“Not really…” Wendy began.
“I trained every day for a year! Five hours, every day rain, wind or shine! I didn’t do a single bit of homework my sophomore year in high school, because I was preparing to beat YOU! To DESTROY you!”
“You… REALLY shouldn’t have done that,” Wendy said…
“And then I finally was ready. I flew to Los Angeles, and I told them I wanted in, that I wanted to face you and show you what a TRUE Jenga player could do. And you know what they told me? That the show was cancelled! CANCELLED!”
“Yeah, that’s becuse like literally five hundred people watched it in the enire country,” Wendy said.
“Well, I watched it!!” Miranda roared. “And I knew you couldn’t hide from me forever! I went to every tournament I could enter in, in hopes that I would meet you. I took out classified ads… I even chllenged you on Facebook. And you IGNORED me! And then I found out that you ran away, joined some stupid fighting company, like the coward you are!”
“Are you… are you saying I became a wrestler again to avoid having to play you in Jenga?” Wendy asked, not quite able to believe her ears.
“I’m saying your day of reckoning has come, Wendy Briese! I’m saying that your seven year lie is OVER! I’m saying that the hours and years I spent perfecting myself during the prime of my life will pay off TODAY, when I beat you, and finally claim what should be mine… the JENGA CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!”
The crowd around burst into more cheers, and Wendy cast one last, final desperate glance at her husband, who again could do aught but shrug.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” Wendy said under her breath.
“ENOUGH TALK!” Miranda bellowed, pointing at Wendy. “You! Go first! NOW!”
“IT HAS BEGUN!” crowed the owner of the restaurant, and the crowd again broke into another chant.
“JEN-GA! JEN-GA! JEN-GA! JEN-GA!”
Wendy sighed. Her ears were starting to ring… all she wanted to do was get out of here and to Milwaukee. She’d rather face Val and Scarlett blindfolded than deal with this any longer than she had to.
“Let’s get this over with,” Wendy muttered, and she stepped forward, approaching the tower to make her move.
=========================================
Thursday January 24, 2014
Interstate 94
Caledonia, Wisconsin
6:04 PM Local Time
“Four miles til Milwaukee!” Terrence announced, although the normally welcome news was met with utter silence. It had been silent the most of the way since they finally left the poorly named town of Pleasant Prairie, with Theresa again sleeping in the back on and off and Wendy sitting stony faced in the passenger’s chair.
Terrence decided to test the water. “So…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wendy snapped.
“Hey, look on the bright side. At least we got out of there with our lives once the riot started, no real harm done.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe you punched her in the face.”
“I just reacted!” Wendy replied miserably. “She was all in my face screaming about what a loser and a fraud I was…”
“Well, you did knock the tower over on the third turn, hon…”
“I KNOW I KNOCKED THE STUPID TOWER OVER!” Wendy shot back. “Anyways, I just wanted her to go away.. and… that just seemed a good idea at the moment.”
“No arguments here. Although I didn’t think she’d start crying like that. I mean, one punch!”
“I still wish you had let me stick around to watch,” piped a now-awake Theresa from the back seat.
“No you don’t,” both of her parents said simultaneously.
“I just can’t believe someone would be that worked up over a stupid game,” Wendy said. “Seven years… seven years she wanted me, and it was all over that quickly. So what’s she going to do now?”
“I don’t know. Probably go after Misty Whitmore for a game of Connect Four,” Terrence chuckled, drawing an another annoyed glare from Wendy. “Ah, here’s our exit.”
“I thought you said the campground was north of the city.” Wendy protested.
“It is, but we’re meeting Pollaski at Cracker Barrel for dinner, remember? Besides, I want to leave the heater running in here for awhile while we eat. It’s fifteen degrees out there, and I’d rather find out it’s not working now instead of one o’clock in the morning.”
“Probably a good idea.” Wendy agreed, as the RV began to decelerate off the freeway. The Cracker Barrel wasn’t far, and it wasn’t long until they were parked, and walking across the icy parking lot.
Pollaski was in front of the building, bundled up. “There you guys are! I was getting worried! What’s the hold up?” He paused, as he saw the look his client was giving him. “Wendy… are you alrigh-”
*POW!*
The manager was sent tumbling to the ground in a heap from the right cross, as Wendy, shaking her hand, stepped over him and into the restaurant, Theresa following her with her mouth open in shock. Laughing, Terrence helped Pollaski to his feet.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!”
========================================
Saturday January 25
Thompson Family RV,
Waukesha, Wisconsin
3:22 PM Local Time
It’s not very often that we get a glimpse into the Birdz famed RV, but we do today, as its way too freaking cold do do a promo anywhere else. The RV must have a hell of a heater, because Wendy’s actually in a short sleeved light green blouse. Still, there’s a rather heavy coat sitting next to her, for just in case. The thirtysomething redhead smiles at the camera, the FFW Championship draped over her shoulder.
“The other day I was out shopping in a grocery store, and a fan came up to me. He didn’t want an autograph or a photo… he just wanted to shake my hand, and thank me. He was going through some hard times, and said FFW was just one of those things that kept him going. He told me every time he felt down, like the world’s pressure was too much, he would remind himself of the next show, and think about the great main event that had been announced, and he’d feel a little better. It was something that he could look forward to, and he wanted to thank me for being there.”
“He was really thanking all of us, of course. The entire company- I just happened to be the one there at the time. But then he asked me a question that I couldn’t help but think about. He asked me why we do it. Why do we get up at six o’clock on freezing cold mornings to train? Why do we leave our families once a week on average and fly or drive around the country to cities we’ve never been in before, all for a contest that may last less than fifteen minutes? Why do we put ourselves through agonizing torture and pain for the sake of athletic competition?”
“And before I could answer, he said ‘and don’t patronize me by telling me it’s all for the fans. I know you appreciate us. I know you love that we support you, but there’s a THOUSAND other ways you can entertain people that don’t involve the sacrifices you girls make. So why this way? Why wrestling?’ And I thought about it for a moment… too long, actually, because he turned and walked away, clearly disappointed that I couldn’t give him an answer. Well I hope he’s watching tonight, because after some thinking… I have an answer.”
“It’s because of nights like tonight that we do what we do.”
Wendy smiles, and leans forward slightly, her emerald eyes dancing with excitement.
“It’s fitting that tonight’s show is called One Night Stand, because this is NOT your normal FFW show. This isn’t even Your normal FFW Pay Per View. This is something that you’ve never seen before, and you’re probably never going to see again.”
“You’re going to see a lot tonight. You’re going to see some great wrestling, of course. You’re going to see four titles get defended, and four or five more their next challenger determined. You’re going to see a couple rematches, you’re going to see a couple grudge matches. And you’re going to see a few miscreants get the living snot knocked out of them for making the mistake of trying to mind-screw with some of the toughest girls in the company.”
A very broad smile at that thought.
“But… it’s tonight’s main event that is truly going to make this show special. This is the kind of match that- if you’re lucky- you’ll have the privelage of being involved in once in a career. Three of the.. actually, I daresay THE three biggest names in this company. All redheads, all beloved by the fans, all have held this title at one point or another. And with Ms. Star GUARANTEEING a six month suspension to anyone even dumb enough to THINK about getting involved… we’ll have a winner. A true, honest-to-God winner. A true, honest-to-God Champion.”
“This is what professional wrestling is all about, folks. This is the reason we get up in the morning and train and put ourselves through torture. So that one day, we can participate in a match like this.”
Wendy snorts and shakes her head in mild amusement.
“It’s funny what a queer sport wrestling can be sometimes. In a fair and just world, this match wouldn’t be happening. It’d be either myself or Valerie against Scarlett one on one. But Camilla’s interference warranted that Val get another chance, and here she is. It’s because of her that this match happened, which she can chalk up as her single greatest accomplishment in the last two years. It’s not an ideal situation for any of us, but I suppose that’s fair. It certainly does make an ideal situation for the fans watching, though. Because boy are you guys in for it tonight!”
“This isn’t a dream match for me… this is THE dream match for me. I would have leapt at the chance for this my first day in the company, and the excitement of that prospect hasn’t changed at all in the years since. I already told all of you that I think Valerie was one of two women who I thought had the potential to be the next true icon of professional wrestling. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that the other is Scarlett.”
Wendy nods, although she seems to be of the impression that nobody’s going to be surprised that Scar is the other.
“Both of you are young. Both of you are popular. One of you is in the Hall of Fame, and the other in all honesty should be. Both of you are former FFW Champions, and both of you will be again, although not tonight if I have anything to say about it. But the sky is positively the limit for you both. You two could conceivably dominate the wrestling landscape for the next coming decade or so. How many more FFW title reigns can you two get? How many more Pay Per Views can you two sell out? Heck, they may even need to induct you both into the Hall of Fame a few more times! “
Wendy laughs at her joke. The rest of FFW nation roll their eyes.
“In a way, I’m jealous of the both of you. I’m jealous because you both embody everything I could have been… perhaps everything I SHOULD have been had I had a promoter like Mr. Kincaid all those years ago- someone who saw my potential, not someone who saw me as not fitting their ideal archetype as a professional wrestler. Valerie, I know you had your own share of professional speed bumps, but Scarlett… you’re so lucky that you managed to start where you did. I know you earned everything you’ve done; the world wasn’t handed to you. But it still got put in a lot more accessable location than it did for some of us, and I hope you always remember to appreciate that.”
“But sometimes I wonder, watching you. Sometimes I saw the way you acted, and I just felt sad. Sometimes I just wanted to grab you by the shoulders, shake you, and scream ‘You’re blowing it, Scarlett!’ I was so disappointed when you walked out on your partners after Ten Femme Chaos. The people that you had been trusting and relying on that entire match and FLOURISHED because of it, you cast aside because… you didn’t feel like helping them?”
A sad shake of her head.
“And I know that ended up paving the way for my own return. I know that running down and helping the Power Trip was far more dramatic and made a bigger impact than the simple announcement I was planning to make, but for me to come in and have to clean up YOUR mess… that made me sad.”
“And it was painful to watch. That whole summer it was painful to watch, because you weren’t being you, Scar. You were trying to be.. I don’t even know, but it was a role you couldn’t play. I didn’t like it, the fans didn’t like it, I don’t even think YOU liked it. I think we liked it even less because we saw glimpses of the TRUE Scarlett Kincaid beneath it all, especially when Mr. Kincaid was about to walk into what was seemingly a no-win situation at Relentless. But even then, there wasn’t as much fight in you as I’d hoped. You weren’t happy, but you seemed oddly, … resigned to it.”
“I had tears in my eyes when I saw what you did at Breaking Point, Scarlett. When you helped Caroline Stark avoid a nasty situation against the Blondetourage… a group that you may have… once.. been seriously considering joining…”
Wendy shudders. HAIL NATALIE!
“The cynics have said that the only reason you did that was to pay Caroline back for the help she gave Cody, that it was simply a debt of honor and nothing more. I believe it is more than that… or at least I want to. Combined with your interview just before the match, I want to believe you’re finally back. I want to believe that the Scarlett Kincaid that I saw, and immediately realized as the Future of this business is back. And the fan’s do too.”
Wendy’s eyes and tone show a measure of pleading.
“Please don’t let me down, Scar. And more importantly, please don’t let the fans down. They’ve been let down by far too many people in this sport as it is to have their hearts broken by one of it’s biggest stars.”
“As far as you go, Val…”
A long pause, followed by a sigh of frustration.
“I really don’t get you right now. I just cannot understand, where for the life of me, where your priorities lie.”
“So please tell me why the HELL you are more upset about Valentina Lozano calling this belt a ‘heavyweight’ championship than you are about CAMILLA SCREWING YOU OUT OF IT?!”
Wendy runs a hand through her hair, although it looks like she’s resisting the temptation to try and start pulling it out.
“It seriously amazes me that you can take the tinkle out of people for the most TRIVIAL things while your supposed BEST FRIEND RUINS your best chance to get the FFW Championship back, and you shrug your shoulders and say that it’s not anyone’s fault, that you’re just being a scapegoat yet again?”
“Val, it IS someone’s fault. I’ll give you a hint. She’s big. She’s Italian. And she’s in the match right before ours.”
“And please… please please PLEASE do NOT do that thing you do when you’re called out on something and then you start mumbling about how it’s not what you said, and people putting words in your mouth, and offer no further explanation. That’s dodging, Val. We don’t want to see you dodge. We don’t want to see you be a scapegoat, and we certainly don’t want you to be used to it! We want to see you take that Scottish fighting spirit you have and use it towards something IMPORTANT. We want to see you STAND UP for yourself! And I’m not talking about lashing out at me yet again, because while I might be your opponent, I’m certainly not your enemy in the long run.”
Wendy leans forward again, sorrow mixed with intensity in her eyes, although her voice is matter-of-fact, if a bit stern.
“Camilla Pazzini embarassed you in your hometown, and she ASSAULTED you in mine. Do NOT make excuses for her, and do NOT bury your head in the sand over this, and hope it blows away, because that is going to bite you in the butt so hard you will leave teeth marks on every chair you sit down upon. Don’t feel sorry for yourself and attempt some guilt trip and try to play to your friendship, because she’s already thrown that out the window. And it’s inevitable, Val. Everyone can see it but you- you WILL have to deal with her sooner rather than later, and if you’re still in this mindset, she WILL walk all over you. And depending how tonight plays out, that might be for the FFW Championship, and I don’t want you to have to live with that.”
Wendy’s voice hardens, taking on a flare of anger.
“And I don’t EVER want to see you questioning a title shot for you again, Valerie, or saying you don’t want or deserve one, like you did on Twitter right after Anarchy ended. Those are precious things, especially ones for this. Three women held this belt last year, out of one hundred six who wrestled in FFW. And there will be maybe six or seven chances for someone to win this belt this year, so when you have it, you embrace it, and you try and take full advantage of it. Because regardless of whatever you may try to tell yourself, you DO deserve to be here tonight. Nobody disputes that, not me, not Scarlett, not management, and certainly not the fans.”
Her voice softens again, taking a deep breath.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being mean or somehow running you down, either of you, because I’m not trying to do that. I have way too much respect for you to do that. But part of respect is honesty, and I’ve tried my best to be as honest as I can with you both. I hope you can return the favor. I welcome it. It’ll certainly be better than the tired and true ‘Fake, fraud, and phony’ lines I keep getting dug into my poor eardrums.”
“Actually, Val, you’ve already done that. You’ve made several points that had made me sit back and think and try to take things from another perspective, and for that I thank you. You’ve also said some things that have lit a fire under my rear, and for that I thank you as well. As far as you go, Scarlett…”
“I’m sure you can do better than simply throwing me in with Jenny Williams as the… uh… only two women who have ‘degraded’ a title here.”
Wendy giggles, flashing a small grin.
“Being the local resident… ‘expert’ on degrading championship belts, though, I can safely say that it won’t be degrading in the least to pass this belt onward to either one of you tonight. Four months seems to be the going rate for most FFW Championship reigns- it was for Scarlett’s first and Val’s, and that’s what mine’s at right now. It’s been a good reign, it’s been a fun reign, and I’ve loved being on top and being the face of the company. And if tonight is my last night as FFW Champion, well, I can’t think of two better successors to pass the torch to.”
“I do expect a thank you note, however, given that I shot down Easter’s attempt to gain herself a title shot and thus deprived her of an opportunity to attempt to mentally screw with any of us.”
Another giggle. Wendy the comedian.
“And, no. This is not a concession speech. I simply just want you both to know where I stand with this. My title reign is in serious jeopardy, I understand that. But I am willing to risk it. I’m willing to risk everything tonight, because this is one of the rare occasions where a defending champion stands FAR more to gain than they do to lose.”
Wendy gestures to the belt slung over her shoulder, and taps it.
“This title will be here tomorrow. It may be in my posession, it may be in Scarlett’s, it may be in Valerie’s, but it WILL be here, and it will be here for a long time to come. This match will not be. I said before that this is the kind of match that comes along once in a career if you’re lucky, and I want to make it count. Beating Valerie Lamb in a match is one of this sports toughest accomplishments, and I’ve been fortunate enough to do so several times. Beating Scarlett Kincaid is ALSO one of the sport’s toughest accomplishements, and I’ve done that once. By countout. In a six-femme tag match. When neither of us were the legal woman at the time.”
Take what you can get, right?
“But beating them both? The two women I respect the most in this business… on the same night in the very same match?”
A coniderable pause, as Wendy seems to be unable to find words. Her face is clouded with emotion, and she has to swallow hard a couple of times before she is able to speak.
“There’s no way I can even begin to put it into words how much that would mean to me. The chance to do this is worth the FFW Championship. The chance to do this is worth every belt in every company I’ve ever wrestled for. Because tonight, is, without a question, the biggest match of my career. Tonight could be the crowning moment of my wrestling life, and I’m not going to leave anything behind in that ring tonight when I finish.”
She spreads her arms wide, gesturing to the camera.
“So come at me, ladies. My colleagues… my rivals… my friends. Give me EVERYTHING you have, be the women that captivated me the moment I laid eyes on both of you. Show this world why I believe you are the future of pro wrestling, and try and sweep away the present that is me. Because whatever happens tonight, I’m all-in. I have the torch and tonight I either raise it higher than I ever, maybe anyone has ever had it before… or I pass it on.”
Her eyes are shining with moisture, and burning with intensity. Wendy leans forward, a small smile on her face as she looks into the camera, remembering the man in her initial story.
“And that, is why I do this, sir.”
And fade out.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
EPISODE 239: Taking On All Comers, Part 2
Thursday January 23, 2014
Prairie Home Bar & Grill
Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin
2:43 PM Local Time
“MMM! This is literally the best steak I have ever eaten,” Terrence Thompson mumbled through a full mouth, before cutting off another piece and stuffing it in. “How’s your club sandwich, hon?”
“It’s good,” Wendy said softly, although she was currently attacking her cole slaw. “The bacon’s got a very nice spice to it. I like it.” She glanced up as another party of people were lead to a table ten feet away, and frowned. “It’s sure filling up in here rather quickly. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Being mid-afternoon and all?”
“Eh, it’s a farming community,” Terrence responded with a shrug. “They probably have unconventional schedules and all. So either a late lunch, or a really early dinner.”
Wendy didn’t respond, but she frowned as she looked up at the new party, just in time to see every last one of them turn away and look down at the table. That was the sixth time that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. She wasn’t unaccustomed to people recognizing her- she was the champion of the world’s premier all-female wrestling organization, of course. But it was rare that she went anywhere and got near universal recognition.
Even more odd, nobody actually approached her to say hi, or ask for an autograph or photo. Not that she minded- sometimes you just wanted to have a nice quiet dinner with her family. But something told her that they were just simply respecting her privacy. Too many of the glares she was getting had malice in them.
She should not shake this overwhelming feeling of doom that was suddenly hovering above her head. Or maybe she was just being paranoid, combined with her dismay over the backfiring of her petition?
“How’s your chicken tenders, Terr-Bear?” Terrence asked, again with his mouth full.
“Eh,” Theresa said half-heartedly with a shrug, although most of her food was gone. “I like Bennigan’s better.”
“Well, maybe we’ll hit up a Bennigans in Milwaukee. If they have them. Do you know if they have Bennigan’s in Milwaukee?” Terrence asked his wife.
“I don’t know.” Wendy said quietly. “Look, Terry, I think we should be going. I just have this feeling that something bad-”
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
“-is about to happen.” Wendy finished, as she turned towards the front of the restaurant, where a young woman was standing in front of the host. To her dread- but hardly to her surprise, the host raised a finger and pointed directly at her. All around her the restaurant had gone deathly quiet.
The woman stepped around the host, and slowly walked across the room towards the Thompson’s table. She was a big girl- taller and stockier than Wendy was, to be certain. Her sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was dotted with freckles. She was certainly pretty, although she hardly was dressed for fashion in a Dierks Bentley T-shirt and Jeans. She couldn’t have been that much over twenty, by Wendy’s guess.
Her face was twisted in a leer as she stared down at the redhead. “So, you finally have the guts to show up.”
Wendy glanced over at Terrence, who looked even more cowed than she was, his jaw hanging open as he stared at the young woman. Wendy looked back up. “I’m… I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
The girl raised a beefy hand to her chest, thumb pointing at her. “My name.. is Miranda Kowalski. And I’m CALLING YOU OUT!”
Wendy flinched as some spittle from the girl landed on her, but tried to keep her face impassive. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “That was pretty good. A little over the top, but I admire the enthusiasm,” she said, as if the girl was offering an audition.
She turned back to her club sandwich taking another bite of her macaroni and cheese, hoping all the while that she WAS offering an audition.
She wasn’t.
As Wendy lowered her spoon to take another bite, Miranda reached in and ripped the plate away, the dish flying across the room, trailing food before shattering on the wall above the head of an elderly man in a John Deere hat. The man made no reaction to nearly being decapatated by her lunch, but Wendy was forced to take a deep breath to calm herself. “That was VERY rude,” she informed the girl.
“I don’t think you heard me right,” Miranda said in a low voice. “I said I am calling you out. I’ve waited YEARS to kick your phony little ass, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”
“Well, if you’re that eager, I’m sure you can join FFW and you can work your way into a position where-”
“I ain’t joinin’ anything!” Miranda declared adamantly. “Now I told you, this is happening right here, right now! You’ve ran around far too long with your fake ass championship, and calling yourself the best in the world when you know it’s bullshit! And I’m gonna be the one to PROVE IT!”
“And I’m telling YOU no. I have a contract, and I abide by my contract, and it specifically says that I am ONLY allowed to compete in FFW-approved-”
“I DONT GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOUR CONTRACT SAYS!” Miranda roared. “All I care about is that YOUR FUCKING FRAUD OF A CHAMPIONSHIP goes home with me today!”
Wendy took another deep breath. She’d had hecklers before, but this was by far the worst. “Please do not use that kind of language in front of my daughter.”
That proved to be a mistake, as Miranda turned to her daughter, leaning over the wide eyed seven year old. “So how’s it feel to know that your mommy is a coward?”
“EXCUSE ME?!” Wendy roared, leaping to her feet and shoving her way in between Miranda and Theresa. “You will NOT speak to my daughter that w-”
*SMACK!*
Wendy’s head snapped to the side as Miranda’s open palm smashed into her cheek, drawing an “oooh” from the surrounding crowd. Holding her hand up to her cheek, and blinking her eyes in surprise. For the first time, she was entertaining the thought of actually giving this boorish upstart what she wanted. She had no doubt in her mind that she could beat the brawny farmgirl- she was clearly overconfident and ungainly in her movements. But FFW Champions didn’t go around getting into fights in bars. She wasn’t going to disgrace herself, or disgrace the company, by giving into her temper.
Instead she glanced over, and saw the restaurant’s host standing impassively a few feet away. Unlike before, he didn’t look friendly at all now. “Excuse me, this woman just harassed my daughter and assaulted me.”
The host shrugged. “Well, I reckon she did.”
“So I would like her removed so that we may finish our meal in peace, please!”
A wave of laughter broke out from the spectators watching the confrontation, and the host guffawed. “And why would I throw MY daughter out of MY restaurant?”
“Your daughter… of course,” Wendy muttered, realizing how this woman had come to find them in the first place. Heatedly, she grabbed her coat. “Alright, fine. Terry, Theresa, come on, we’re leaving. I would like my check, please.” she finished, turning to glare at the restaurant owner.
The owner shook his head, and then gestured at his daughter. “She’s your check. You beat her, your meal’s on the house. You try to run out of here without paying, though, and the highway patrol will hunt you down before you even get your seatbelts on.”
Wendy glanced at the front of the restaurant, and was dismayed to see that another couple dozen people had come in, lining the walls. Among them were a couple of patrolmen, and they weren’t looking any more helpful than the rest of the crowd.
For crying out loud, was the entire TOWN in here?
She glanced over at Terrence, but her husband could only shrug, unable to offer any answers. She closed her eyes, and sighed, hoping Ms. Star and Mr. Kincaid would understand.
“Alright, fine. You want it, you got it.”
A great cheer went up from the spectators, and a “Mir-an-DA!” chat broke out. Miranda raised her arms in the air, grinning as the adulation of the fans washed over her.
“Alright, so where do we go to-”
“I said here and now, didn’t I?” Miranda interruped with a sneer.
“In a restaurant? Are you kidding?” Wendy looked down at the hard tile floor. “Someone could get hurt badly.”
“Awwwwww.. are you scawed?” Miranda mocked, as the crowd hooted contentiously.
Wendy didn’t answer, primarily because the answer was ‘yes.’ Things were just too out of control right now. She turned to her family, hissing at her husband. “Get Theresa out of here and into the RV.”
“But Mom!’ her daughter whined.
“NOW.” Wendy said in a tone that brokered no argument.
“I’m coming back,” Terrence growled. “I’m not leaving you alone in here with these people.”
“Fine. But lock the RV door, okay?” Wendy hissed back. “These people are positively insane.”
“CLEAR THE ARENA!” Miranda roared, and the crowd obeyed, shoving back tables to the walls, as Terrence grabbed Theresa’s hand, and dragged the protesting little girl out of the restaurant. Even as he did so, more people shuffled in, lining the walls and joining on for the cheering of the hometown girl.
Leaving Wendy alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by a mob calling out for her blood. With nothing else to do, she began to stretch, trying to clear her head.
All the while wondering how on earth she was ever going to get out of this one.
Prairie Home Bar & Grill
Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin
2:43 PM Local Time
“MMM! This is literally the best steak I have ever eaten,” Terrence Thompson mumbled through a full mouth, before cutting off another piece and stuffing it in. “How’s your club sandwich, hon?”
“It’s good,” Wendy said softly, although she was currently attacking her cole slaw. “The bacon’s got a very nice spice to it. I like it.” She glanced up as another party of people were lead to a table ten feet away, and frowned. “It’s sure filling up in here rather quickly. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Being mid-afternoon and all?”
“Eh, it’s a farming community,” Terrence responded with a shrug. “They probably have unconventional schedules and all. So either a late lunch, or a really early dinner.”
Wendy didn’t respond, but she frowned as she looked up at the new party, just in time to see every last one of them turn away and look down at the table. That was the sixth time that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. She wasn’t unaccustomed to people recognizing her- she was the champion of the world’s premier all-female wrestling organization, of course. But it was rare that she went anywhere and got near universal recognition.
Even more odd, nobody actually approached her to say hi, or ask for an autograph or photo. Not that she minded- sometimes you just wanted to have a nice quiet dinner with her family. But something told her that they were just simply respecting her privacy. Too many of the glares she was getting had malice in them.
She should not shake this overwhelming feeling of doom that was suddenly hovering above her head. Or maybe she was just being paranoid, combined with her dismay over the backfiring of her petition?
“How’s your chicken tenders, Terr-Bear?” Terrence asked, again with his mouth full.
“Eh,” Theresa said half-heartedly with a shrug, although most of her food was gone. “I like Bennigan’s better.”
“Well, maybe we’ll hit up a Bennigans in Milwaukee. If they have them. Do you know if they have Bennigan’s in Milwaukee?” Terrence asked his wife.
“I don’t know.” Wendy said quietly. “Look, Terry, I think we should be going. I just have this feeling that something bad-”
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
“-is about to happen.” Wendy finished, as she turned towards the front of the restaurant, where a young woman was standing in front of the host. To her dread- but hardly to her surprise, the host raised a finger and pointed directly at her. All around her the restaurant had gone deathly quiet.
The woman stepped around the host, and slowly walked across the room towards the Thompson’s table. She was a big girl- taller and stockier than Wendy was, to be certain. Her sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was dotted with freckles. She was certainly pretty, although she hardly was dressed for fashion in a Dierks Bentley T-shirt and Jeans. She couldn’t have been that much over twenty, by Wendy’s guess.
Her face was twisted in a leer as she stared down at the redhead. “So, you finally have the guts to show up.”
Wendy glanced over at Terrence, who looked even more cowed than she was, his jaw hanging open as he stared at the young woman. Wendy looked back up. “I’m… I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
The girl raised a beefy hand to her chest, thumb pointing at her. “My name.. is Miranda Kowalski. And I’m CALLING YOU OUT!”
Wendy flinched as some spittle from the girl landed on her, but tried to keep her face impassive. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “That was pretty good. A little over the top, but I admire the enthusiasm,” she said, as if the girl was offering an audition.
She turned back to her club sandwich taking another bite of her macaroni and cheese, hoping all the while that she WAS offering an audition.
She wasn’t.
As Wendy lowered her spoon to take another bite, Miranda reached in and ripped the plate away, the dish flying across the room, trailing food before shattering on the wall above the head of an elderly man in a John Deere hat. The man made no reaction to nearly being decapatated by her lunch, but Wendy was forced to take a deep breath to calm herself. “That was VERY rude,” she informed the girl.
“I don’t think you heard me right,” Miranda said in a low voice. “I said I am calling you out. I’ve waited YEARS to kick your phony little ass, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”
“Well, if you’re that eager, I’m sure you can join FFW and you can work your way into a position where-”
“I ain’t joinin’ anything!” Miranda declared adamantly. “Now I told you, this is happening right here, right now! You’ve ran around far too long with your fake ass championship, and calling yourself the best in the world when you know it’s bullshit! And I’m gonna be the one to PROVE IT!”
“And I’m telling YOU no. I have a contract, and I abide by my contract, and it specifically says that I am ONLY allowed to compete in FFW-approved-”
“I DONT GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOUR CONTRACT SAYS!” Miranda roared. “All I care about is that YOUR FUCKING FRAUD OF A CHAMPIONSHIP goes home with me today!”
Wendy took another deep breath. She’d had hecklers before, but this was by far the worst. “Please do not use that kind of language in front of my daughter.”
That proved to be a mistake, as Miranda turned to her daughter, leaning over the wide eyed seven year old. “So how’s it feel to know that your mommy is a coward?”
“EXCUSE ME?!” Wendy roared, leaping to her feet and shoving her way in between Miranda and Theresa. “You will NOT speak to my daughter that w-”
*SMACK!*
Wendy’s head snapped to the side as Miranda’s open palm smashed into her cheek, drawing an “oooh” from the surrounding crowd. Holding her hand up to her cheek, and blinking her eyes in surprise. For the first time, she was entertaining the thought of actually giving this boorish upstart what she wanted. She had no doubt in her mind that she could beat the brawny farmgirl- she was clearly overconfident and ungainly in her movements. But FFW Champions didn’t go around getting into fights in bars. She wasn’t going to disgrace herself, or disgrace the company, by giving into her temper.
Instead she glanced over, and saw the restaurant’s host standing impassively a few feet away. Unlike before, he didn’t look friendly at all now. “Excuse me, this woman just harassed my daughter and assaulted me.”
The host shrugged. “Well, I reckon she did.”
“So I would like her removed so that we may finish our meal in peace, please!”
A wave of laughter broke out from the spectators watching the confrontation, and the host guffawed. “And why would I throw MY daughter out of MY restaurant?”
“Your daughter… of course,” Wendy muttered, realizing how this woman had come to find them in the first place. Heatedly, she grabbed her coat. “Alright, fine. Terry, Theresa, come on, we’re leaving. I would like my check, please.” she finished, turning to glare at the restaurant owner.
The owner shook his head, and then gestured at his daughter. “She’s your check. You beat her, your meal’s on the house. You try to run out of here without paying, though, and the highway patrol will hunt you down before you even get your seatbelts on.”
Wendy glanced at the front of the restaurant, and was dismayed to see that another couple dozen people had come in, lining the walls. Among them were a couple of patrolmen, and they weren’t looking any more helpful than the rest of the crowd.
For crying out loud, was the entire TOWN in here?
She glanced over at Terrence, but her husband could only shrug, unable to offer any answers. She closed her eyes, and sighed, hoping Ms. Star and Mr. Kincaid would understand.
“Alright, fine. You want it, you got it.”
A great cheer went up from the spectators, and a “Mir-an-DA!” chat broke out. Miranda raised her arms in the air, grinning as the adulation of the fans washed over her.
“Alright, so where do we go to-”
“I said here and now, didn’t I?” Miranda interruped with a sneer.
“In a restaurant? Are you kidding?” Wendy looked down at the hard tile floor. “Someone could get hurt badly.”
“Awwwwww.. are you scawed?” Miranda mocked, as the crowd hooted contentiously.
Wendy didn’t answer, primarily because the answer was ‘yes.’ Things were just too out of control right now. She turned to her family, hissing at her husband. “Get Theresa out of here and into the RV.”
“But Mom!’ her daughter whined.
“NOW.” Wendy said in a tone that brokered no argument.
“I’m coming back,” Terrence growled. “I’m not leaving you alone in here with these people.”
“Fine. But lock the RV door, okay?” Wendy hissed back. “These people are positively insane.”
“CLEAR THE ARENA!” Miranda roared, and the crowd obeyed, shoving back tables to the walls, as Terrence grabbed Theresa’s hand, and dragged the protesting little girl out of the restaurant. Even as he did so, more people shuffled in, lining the walls and joining on for the cheering of the hometown girl.
Leaving Wendy alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by a mob calling out for her blood. With nothing else to do, she began to stretch, trying to clear her head.
All the while wondering how on earth she was ever going to get out of this one.
EPISODE 238: Taking On All Comers, Part 1
From the Private Journal of Wendy Briese
1-17-2014
Samantha Star is a genius.
Never in my wildest mind would I envision that the woman who masterminded the Power Trip would come up with the most un-Power Trip solution to all of FFW’s problems. She basically mentioned on Twitter a policy of anothe promotion- that if a wrestler walked out in the middle of the match, they would be docked half their pay because the fans only got to see half a match.
That’s a great idea, but why not expand it? Disqualifications, interference, and blatant cheating, they all ruin matches just as much as someone rolling out of the ring and walking to the back. So why not institute a half-day fine for those infractions as well?
This policy could be just the shot in the arm our sport needs. Too many times great matches have been ruined by an outside force or by a cowardly participant too afraid of losing. Even worse is that there are very rarely consequences for acting like that, while the true ones that suffer are the ones who tried to do things the right way.
So why not take the fight to them? Why not hurt those who malign our sport in the way that hurts them the most- in the pocketbook? Give them real consequences, isntead of mere threats and more opportunities to exploit their malfeasance? I know I would welcome it, and so would many ohters.
The only problem is that I’m not sure Ms. Star is entirely on board with the idea herself. Or that even if she was, she could legally impose such a stiff penalty without an allotted clause in our contracts.
Which means that true change is going to have to likely come from us- the locker room. If I can come up with a petition, I know a lot of the women will sign. I know it wouldn’t be unanimous- those who profit from the current system would be loathe to see it disappear. But if I can get enough- at least half, maybe we can get the ball rolling on something being done.
It’ll be a tough feat to do in the coming weeks, given that my primary focus needs to be getting ready for the main event at One Night Stand. But in a way, I am preparing by getting this rule enacted. After all, the last three matches I’ve been in had involved outside interference. After my dream match with Val got ruined, I couldn’t bear for this, the ultimate test of the best women in FFW, to be ruined by outside interference as well.
No, this initiative needs to get enacted. Now. For me. For Scarlett. For Val. For Misty. For Eileen. For everyone who’s here just wanting to wrestle, and not have to deal with all the BS that only muddles thing.
It’s time to make wrestling about wrestling again.
- Wendy.
=============================
Thursday January 23, 2014
U.S. Highway 41- Thompson Family RV
Deerfield, Illinios
1:31 PM Local Time
“What?!” Terrence Thompson demanded. Even driving the RV in the heavy North Chicago Traffic, he hadn’t missed the unmistakeable glare his wife had just shot him.
“You were willing to drop six hundred thousand dollars on this RV without consulting me. You were willing to spend a hundred thousand dollars on an abandoned race track without consulting me.”
“Yeah, so?” Terrence replied defensively. “This RV has served us well for nearly four years now, and you seem to love that shed I GAVE you for a training facility! So what’s your point?”
“My point is why can’t you spend twenty bucks so we can use the stupid TOLL ROAD?”
“Because the Tri-State Tollway is a SHAM, Wendy.” Terrence shot back. “It’s what they want you to use so they can line their pockets with our hard earned cash. Not my fault I’ve beaten their stupid system.”
“Sitting in traffic for THREE HOURS is beating the system?” Wendy exclaimed. “We sat on the Dan Ryan ‘Expressway’ for so long I managed to read Dan Ryan’s entire life story in the meantime! I know him well enough to where I could invite him for dinner!”
“Oh. Are you?”
“NO! He died fifty-three years ago! Probably sitting on his stupid highway!”
“But twenty dollars richer!” Terrence pointed out smugly.
Wendy glanced back at Theresa, who was still sleeping in the back, just as she had been thorugh the majority of traffic. Smiling slightly, she turned forward, dropping her pleasant demeanor to shoot another deathglare at her husband.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Terrence said. “We’re moving, we’re almost to the Wisconsin border, where we’ll hook up with 94, and then we’re onto Milwaukee!”
“Hmmph.” Wendy replied, turning back to her laptop, and typing, her brow furrowing in concentration. For several minutes, the RV was quiet, save for the occasional bump or murmuring of Theresa in her sleep.
“What are you working on?” Terrence casually asked, breaking the silence.
“Huh? Oh, this petition I’m going to present to the locker room at One Night Stand. The one that issues half-pay fines for wrestlers who intentionally ruin matches.”
“Oh. Right. That.” Terrence deadpanned, not quite able to keep from rolling his eyes. “I thought you were going to have Pollaski take care of that.”
“I was. Except he refused to do it.”
“He refused to do it.” Terrence asked, trying his hardest to look surprised.
“Well, first he laughed in my face.” Wendy sighed. “Said I’m just wasting my time and that I’d be lucky to get three signatures. Including my own.”
“Hunh. Imagine that.” Terrence said, his eyes straight ahead and never leaving the road.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Wendy demanded, bristling.
“Oh, nothing,” Terrence began innocently. “Just that…” He paused. “Just that… he’s kind of right, hon. I’m sorry but he is. Do you honestly think anyone in FFW is going to sign an agreement that is going to get their paycheck cut, especially in half?”
“It won’t be THEIR paycheck, Terry. Not if they follow the rules and don’t screw up matches.”
“Except what if somebody interferes on their behalf without their permission? Are you really going to fine them even if they had nothing to do with it?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Wendy replied. “If the rule-followers are willing to show that they will sacrifice for… incidents, it will make things all the better.”
“Okay, so half our paycheck for Anarchy is gone, now.” Terrence said.
“I know.” Wendy snapped back, suddenly irritated. “But it would be worth it, right? Because Camilla would ALSO have her pay cut, and she’d learn not to do something like that ever again.”
“Or, you know, maybe she’d think that snapping Val in half and putting you on notice is ALSO worth half a night’s paycheck. You both have considerable money anyways, so you can afford to be fined. What about the new talent?”
“Well, all the better reason for them to-”
“Like Kinsey? You know, the girl who ‘wrecked’ a match by running out of it because your brother beat the hell out of her husband? You really want her freaking out in the hospital over his health, only to receive a call from Cody saying “sorry about your husband, now half your pay’s docked?’ And the kicker is, Jess wouldn’t have been fined, because she didn’t do anything in the ring.”
Wendy bit her lip, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I suppose we could add a clause that allows for appeals and amnesty at the discretion of Ms. Star and Mr. Kincaid.”
“Which will immediately create claims of favoritism, and people whining about why HER fine gets overturned when they have to pay theirs.” Terrence pointed out.
“You already get that with idiots like Savage,” Wendy countered. “Those of us who actually don’t expect preferential treatment know that Mr. Kincaid and Ms. Star would be fair.”
“For now, maybe,” Terrence argued. “But what if Ms. Star one day decided that the Power Trip ws better for business after all, and started repealing all their fines? Or started adding more infractions to screw over people she didn’t like? Or what if somehow Amanda Saint got in charge again?”
“Okay, seriously. Amanda Saint is NEVER going to be anywhere near this company again, let alone in charge-”
“Never say never,” Terrence interjected. “It’s a screwy business, hon. Anything can happen. Which is why you’re opening a can of worms you’re going to have NO idea how to deal with with this, hon.”
Wendy looked down at her laptop, and what little of the petition she had typed. Her husband was right. Pollaski was right. Everyone was right- but her. Frustrated, she shut the laptop as hard as she dared. “We’re the only sport in the flipping WORLD that treats cheating as a minor inconvenience instead of the travesty it is.”
“So why aren’t you in another sport?” Terrence asked, shrugging.
“What?” Wendy’s head whipped towards him so hard she almost cricked her neck. “What do you mean by that?!”
“Like you said, none of that stuff goes on elsewhere. And with your skills and spirit, you’d be a hell of an MMA fighter. Why not give that a try?”
“I-” Wendy paused, at a loss for words. “I don’t know… I don’t want- I LIKE being in wrestling, okay? And I don’t see myself doing anything else. It’s fun, it’s challenging, it’s exciting. I just think-”
“All sports have their problems,” Terrence observed. “But you gotta take the bad with the good, y’know? You’re an idealist, Wendy. That’s one of the things I love about you. But you’re not going to remove shit you don’t like from this sport. Especially not overnight, and especially not with a piece of paper you want the locker room to sign. True changes only comes from the fans, and well, they’re paying, despite the ruined matches. Or maybe even because of it. I don’t know. You wouldn’t be having this dream match this weekend if not for Camilla.”
“It makes no sense,” Wendy sighed. “The fans love great wrestling, yet they seem somewhat okay with matches being interfered with. It makes no sense. And what’s to stop Camilla, or anyone else, from turning this dream match into a nightmare?”
“Pollaski.” Terrence said simply, and after a pause, both Birdz burst out laughing. “Well, it is why you have him. And he was damned effective against Aimee.”
“Yeah,” Wendy sobered up with a sigh, glancing up just in time to see the “Wisconsin Welcomes You” sign flash by. “How long until Milwaukee again? I’m getting hungry”
“From here? About an hour to the campsite. But if you’re hungry now, there’s a town up ahead we could stop at.” With one free hand, he pointed at an oncoming sign. “Pleasant Prairie. Sounds nice enough.”
“If you’re okay with stopping,” Wendy said. “I suppose we better wake up Theresa if we’re going to stop for lunch. Unbuckling.”
And with that, she flipped off her seatbelt, and quickly, like she’d done many times before, scurried to the back to buckle in one of the rear seats, and wake up her sleeping daughter.
======================================
Thursday January 23, 2014
Prairie Home Bar & Grill
Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin
2:16 PM Local Time
“Right this way please,” the host, a thin man in his late-middle ages with graying hair and glasses, said, picking up two adult and one child’s menu. He lead the incoming trio a short ways across the restaurant, gesturing to a clear table, patiently waiting as the young family took off their coats and sat down, and then passed out the menus. “Our special today is a Portobello Mushroom Steak with your sides for just $8.99, and our soup of the day is spinach cream. Beatrice will be your server today, and she should be along in just a couple of minutes.”
The three thanked him, and the host turned away, threading his way through the half-full restaurant’s tables, heading back to his welcoming perch at the entrance. He turned around, and saw that the three had opened their menus, and were intently looking at them.
A low, sinister chuckle escaped him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, quickly speedialing a number and holding it to his ear. It wasn’t long before an answer.
“Miranda. Drop whatever you’re doing and get here fast. You’re never going to believe who just walked in. Yeah. Wendy Briese.”
The voice on the other end got excited, and the host smiled.
“Now you can finally get your hands on that bitch.”
1-17-2014
Samantha Star is a genius.
Never in my wildest mind would I envision that the woman who masterminded the Power Trip would come up with the most un-Power Trip solution to all of FFW’s problems. She basically mentioned on Twitter a policy of anothe promotion- that if a wrestler walked out in the middle of the match, they would be docked half their pay because the fans only got to see half a match.
That’s a great idea, but why not expand it? Disqualifications, interference, and blatant cheating, they all ruin matches just as much as someone rolling out of the ring and walking to the back. So why not institute a half-day fine for those infractions as well?
This policy could be just the shot in the arm our sport needs. Too many times great matches have been ruined by an outside force or by a cowardly participant too afraid of losing. Even worse is that there are very rarely consequences for acting like that, while the true ones that suffer are the ones who tried to do things the right way.
So why not take the fight to them? Why not hurt those who malign our sport in the way that hurts them the most- in the pocketbook? Give them real consequences, isntead of mere threats and more opportunities to exploit their malfeasance? I know I would welcome it, and so would many ohters.
The only problem is that I’m not sure Ms. Star is entirely on board with the idea herself. Or that even if she was, she could legally impose such a stiff penalty without an allotted clause in our contracts.
Which means that true change is going to have to likely come from us- the locker room. If I can come up with a petition, I know a lot of the women will sign. I know it wouldn’t be unanimous- those who profit from the current system would be loathe to see it disappear. But if I can get enough- at least half, maybe we can get the ball rolling on something being done.
It’ll be a tough feat to do in the coming weeks, given that my primary focus needs to be getting ready for the main event at One Night Stand. But in a way, I am preparing by getting this rule enacted. After all, the last three matches I’ve been in had involved outside interference. After my dream match with Val got ruined, I couldn’t bear for this, the ultimate test of the best women in FFW, to be ruined by outside interference as well.
No, this initiative needs to get enacted. Now. For me. For Scarlett. For Val. For Misty. For Eileen. For everyone who’s here just wanting to wrestle, and not have to deal with all the BS that only muddles thing.
It’s time to make wrestling about wrestling again.
- Wendy.
=============================
Thursday January 23, 2014
U.S. Highway 41- Thompson Family RV
Deerfield, Illinios
1:31 PM Local Time
“What?!” Terrence Thompson demanded. Even driving the RV in the heavy North Chicago Traffic, he hadn’t missed the unmistakeable glare his wife had just shot him.
“You were willing to drop six hundred thousand dollars on this RV without consulting me. You were willing to spend a hundred thousand dollars on an abandoned race track without consulting me.”
“Yeah, so?” Terrence replied defensively. “This RV has served us well for nearly four years now, and you seem to love that shed I GAVE you for a training facility! So what’s your point?”
“My point is why can’t you spend twenty bucks so we can use the stupid TOLL ROAD?”
“Because the Tri-State Tollway is a SHAM, Wendy.” Terrence shot back. “It’s what they want you to use so they can line their pockets with our hard earned cash. Not my fault I’ve beaten their stupid system.”
“Sitting in traffic for THREE HOURS is beating the system?” Wendy exclaimed. “We sat on the Dan Ryan ‘Expressway’ for so long I managed to read Dan Ryan’s entire life story in the meantime! I know him well enough to where I could invite him for dinner!”
“Oh. Are you?”
“NO! He died fifty-three years ago! Probably sitting on his stupid highway!”
“But twenty dollars richer!” Terrence pointed out smugly.
Wendy glanced back at Theresa, who was still sleeping in the back, just as she had been thorugh the majority of traffic. Smiling slightly, she turned forward, dropping her pleasant demeanor to shoot another deathglare at her husband.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Terrence said. “We’re moving, we’re almost to the Wisconsin border, where we’ll hook up with 94, and then we’re onto Milwaukee!”
“Hmmph.” Wendy replied, turning back to her laptop, and typing, her brow furrowing in concentration. For several minutes, the RV was quiet, save for the occasional bump or murmuring of Theresa in her sleep.
“What are you working on?” Terrence casually asked, breaking the silence.
“Huh? Oh, this petition I’m going to present to the locker room at One Night Stand. The one that issues half-pay fines for wrestlers who intentionally ruin matches.”
“Oh. Right. That.” Terrence deadpanned, not quite able to keep from rolling his eyes. “I thought you were going to have Pollaski take care of that.”
“I was. Except he refused to do it.”
“He refused to do it.” Terrence asked, trying his hardest to look surprised.
“Well, first he laughed in my face.” Wendy sighed. “Said I’m just wasting my time and that I’d be lucky to get three signatures. Including my own.”
“Hunh. Imagine that.” Terrence said, his eyes straight ahead and never leaving the road.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Wendy demanded, bristling.
“Oh, nothing,” Terrence began innocently. “Just that…” He paused. “Just that… he’s kind of right, hon. I’m sorry but he is. Do you honestly think anyone in FFW is going to sign an agreement that is going to get their paycheck cut, especially in half?”
“It won’t be THEIR paycheck, Terry. Not if they follow the rules and don’t screw up matches.”
“Except what if somebody interferes on their behalf without their permission? Are you really going to fine them even if they had nothing to do with it?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Wendy replied. “If the rule-followers are willing to show that they will sacrifice for… incidents, it will make things all the better.”
“Okay, so half our paycheck for Anarchy is gone, now.” Terrence said.
“I know.” Wendy snapped back, suddenly irritated. “But it would be worth it, right? Because Camilla would ALSO have her pay cut, and she’d learn not to do something like that ever again.”
“Or, you know, maybe she’d think that snapping Val in half and putting you on notice is ALSO worth half a night’s paycheck. You both have considerable money anyways, so you can afford to be fined. What about the new talent?”
“Well, all the better reason for them to-”
“Like Kinsey? You know, the girl who ‘wrecked’ a match by running out of it because your brother beat the hell out of her husband? You really want her freaking out in the hospital over his health, only to receive a call from Cody saying “sorry about your husband, now half your pay’s docked?’ And the kicker is, Jess wouldn’t have been fined, because she didn’t do anything in the ring.”
Wendy bit her lip, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I suppose we could add a clause that allows for appeals and amnesty at the discretion of Ms. Star and Mr. Kincaid.”
“Which will immediately create claims of favoritism, and people whining about why HER fine gets overturned when they have to pay theirs.” Terrence pointed out.
“You already get that with idiots like Savage,” Wendy countered. “Those of us who actually don’t expect preferential treatment know that Mr. Kincaid and Ms. Star would be fair.”
“For now, maybe,” Terrence argued. “But what if Ms. Star one day decided that the Power Trip ws better for business after all, and started repealing all their fines? Or started adding more infractions to screw over people she didn’t like? Or what if somehow Amanda Saint got in charge again?”
“Okay, seriously. Amanda Saint is NEVER going to be anywhere near this company again, let alone in charge-”
“Never say never,” Terrence interjected. “It’s a screwy business, hon. Anything can happen. Which is why you’re opening a can of worms you’re going to have NO idea how to deal with with this, hon.”
Wendy looked down at her laptop, and what little of the petition she had typed. Her husband was right. Pollaski was right. Everyone was right- but her. Frustrated, she shut the laptop as hard as she dared. “We’re the only sport in the flipping WORLD that treats cheating as a minor inconvenience instead of the travesty it is.”
“So why aren’t you in another sport?” Terrence asked, shrugging.
“What?” Wendy’s head whipped towards him so hard she almost cricked her neck. “What do you mean by that?!”
“Like you said, none of that stuff goes on elsewhere. And with your skills and spirit, you’d be a hell of an MMA fighter. Why not give that a try?”
“I-” Wendy paused, at a loss for words. “I don’t know… I don’t want- I LIKE being in wrestling, okay? And I don’t see myself doing anything else. It’s fun, it’s challenging, it’s exciting. I just think-”
“All sports have their problems,” Terrence observed. “But you gotta take the bad with the good, y’know? You’re an idealist, Wendy. That’s one of the things I love about you. But you’re not going to remove shit you don’t like from this sport. Especially not overnight, and especially not with a piece of paper you want the locker room to sign. True changes only comes from the fans, and well, they’re paying, despite the ruined matches. Or maybe even because of it. I don’t know. You wouldn’t be having this dream match this weekend if not for Camilla.”
“It makes no sense,” Wendy sighed. “The fans love great wrestling, yet they seem somewhat okay with matches being interfered with. It makes no sense. And what’s to stop Camilla, or anyone else, from turning this dream match into a nightmare?”
“Pollaski.” Terrence said simply, and after a pause, both Birdz burst out laughing. “Well, it is why you have him. And he was damned effective against Aimee.”
“Yeah,” Wendy sobered up with a sigh, glancing up just in time to see the “Wisconsin Welcomes You” sign flash by. “How long until Milwaukee again? I’m getting hungry”
“From here? About an hour to the campsite. But if you’re hungry now, there’s a town up ahead we could stop at.” With one free hand, he pointed at an oncoming sign. “Pleasant Prairie. Sounds nice enough.”
“If you’re okay with stopping,” Wendy said. “I suppose we better wake up Theresa if we’re going to stop for lunch. Unbuckling.”
And with that, she flipped off her seatbelt, and quickly, like she’d done many times before, scurried to the back to buckle in one of the rear seats, and wake up her sleeping daughter.
======================================
Thursday January 23, 2014
Prairie Home Bar & Grill
Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin
2:16 PM Local Time
“Right this way please,” the host, a thin man in his late-middle ages with graying hair and glasses, said, picking up two adult and one child’s menu. He lead the incoming trio a short ways across the restaurant, gesturing to a clear table, patiently waiting as the young family took off their coats and sat down, and then passed out the menus. “Our special today is a Portobello Mushroom Steak with your sides for just $8.99, and our soup of the day is spinach cream. Beatrice will be your server today, and she should be along in just a couple of minutes.”
The three thanked him, and the host turned away, threading his way through the half-full restaurant’s tables, heading back to his welcoming perch at the entrance. He turned around, and saw that the three had opened their menus, and were intently looking at them.
A low, sinister chuckle escaped him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, quickly speedialing a number and holding it to his ear. It wasn’t long before an answer.
“Miranda. Drop whatever you’re doing and get here fast. You’re never going to believe who just walked in. Yeah. Wendy Briese.”
The voice on the other end got excited, and the host smiled.
“Now you can finally get your hands on that bitch.”
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