BACK IN THE GAME / I’M YER HUCKLEBERRY
Hot off the 5-star duel, we find ourselves in that most magical of places: backstage in Kansas City.
And a familiar saga continues to unfold, as the picture comes into view.
“Siri, please record my last will and testament.”
WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!
This cheer might seem morbid. But it’s all about who’s saying these morbid words. The same backstage wanderer just seen bumbling about backstage, desperate for a trainer’s attention: Chandler Tsonda.
And now, he is taking it all in stride, being resilient and steadfast in the face of minor adversity. He has an iPhone 14 Pro in hand, and dictates into it.
Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) And so it came, that the great Chandler Tsonda died due to lack of medical attention, in a city called Kansas, confusingly located in the state of Missouri.
As noted, resilient and steadfast.
Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) I want it in my obituary that Tony Gamble lost to me on multiple occasions in increasingly high-profile matches. Make sure to put that really high in the paragraph, and spell his name wrong.
The slightly hysterical Model Citizen continues to limp down a hall as some PRIME backstage crew walk by in the other direction, generally trying to avoid his whole thing.
Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) And finally, make it clear that if I could have just gotten a goddamn Theragun and some Tiger Balm – see if they’ll sponsor my funeral for this actually – then I surely would have survived to have another spectacular run in PRIME, one so good they probably would have double Hall of Famed me.
And with that, the Sultan of Style spies a nearby folding chair. With the bearing of an infant who has worn themselves out with a tantrum, he crumples into the chair and lets out a deep exhale.
“I’m the more likely double Hall of Famer. Once as a wrestler, and then maybe again as the muckety muck in charge. What say you, Channy?”
The damn roof comes off at the owner of this voice. The Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy.
Lindsay Troy: (points) Medical’s down the hall if you take that first right, genius.
The Model Citizen’s eyes follow where Troy’s finger points. He sheepishly hits the red button that ends his phone recording.
Chandler Tsonda: …just, you know, some signage would be nice.
Lindsay Troy: (rolling her eyes) Anything else? Heated neck wrap? Chilled water straight from the Big Spring?
The Sultan of Style folds his arms, but he stays seated.
Chandler Tsonda: Eleven years since we’ve walked these halls together, and we’re just gonna do small talk about backstage accessibility? Where’s the fireworks?! The panache! I was thinking maybe you do “this town ain’t big enough for both of us, pardner.” Wait, should we be wearing cowboy hats? We should, right?
Lindsay Troy: One Clay Byrd’s enough for me, thanks. C’mon…
She holds out her hand.
Lindsay Troy: See if you can peel yourself off that chair and you can patch yourself up in my office with a couple Band-Aids.
Tsonda rolls his eyes at the apparent dismissal of the severity of his injuries, but eventually takes the Queen’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. The two walk down the hall, in the opposite direction of Medical.
Lindsay Troy: So how’s it feel to be back in the game?
As they walk-and-talk, it appears that miraculously Tsonda has, if not recovered, then bounced back from the wear and tear on his body from the opening match. He’s just regular amounts of banged up, not about to expire. Fancy that.
Chandler Tsonda: (rolling his neck from side to side as they walk) Well, I see the appeal of your big wig behind the mahogany desk setup. I got beat to hell out there by three of your younger, springier employees, all of us in the cannibal island of curtain-jerking. And on top of that, I now work for the same broad who ended the first act of my career.
He lets out a Cheshire grin.
Chandler Tsonda: So I’m happier than a pig in shit, as your paramour might say. (gesturing with both hands at the arena) S’what I was born to do.
Lindsay Troy: You talk to Tyler after Culture Shock?
Chandler Tsonda: This fucking guy. I sent him this long voice memo about the special feeling of doing something with your best friend after a long time apart, getting the privilege to do it when the lights are brightest, and how, yes America, you can come home again.
The Model Citizen sucks his teeth loudly to show his disdain.
Chandler Tsonda: He texts back fifteen hours later. “Yeah, that shit was cool.” I love him, but he truly has caveman brain. I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir, though.
Lindsay laughs and nods her head.
Lindsay Troy: Yeah. I think he’s mad I didn’t tell him you were in the Murder Rumble, but he’s ass when it comes to keeping secrets.
She looks at Tsonda.
Lindsay Troy: This gonna be weird at all? Y’know, given how things turned out.
He hand waves the air.
Chandler Tsonda: Please. You think this is the first time I’ve worked for the person who’s been wronged by and then divorced a best friend, all while walking the tightrope of not taking sides and remaining likable and trustworthy?
Lindsay Troy: (deadpanning) Chandler, Danny’s gone, you don’t have to compete with him for the best actor trophy anymore.
The Queen of the Ring stops short in front of a door with her name on it, and so does Tsonda.
Chandler Tsonda: (pointing to the door) I think I’m supposed to kick this thing off its hinges if I want your attention, but my kicking leg is in dire need of percussive therapy. So ladies first.
Lindsay Troy: Listen, (leans in close) I don’t want to jinx it because we’ve still got the main event to go, but I think we’re gonna make it two weeks without any property damage.
She pushes the door open and walks through, smiling at a seated Wade Elliott on the couch, struggling with his phone to figure out the day’s Wordle.
Lindsay Troy: Look who I found dying in the hallway.
Wade Elliott: Oh, don’t I know it.
The Bad Dog stands from the couch and tucks his phone into his jeans, Back within the crowd, there is a burble at these three heroes of yore all in the same place. Especially since…
Wade Elliott: Chandler.
Chandler Tsonda: Elliott.
They…have some history.
Wade Elliott: Caught a whiff’ve yer perfume ‘bout an hour ago.
Chandler Tsonda: Same. I mean, I smelled livestock and knew you couldn’t be far.
And like there always is with old war buddies, or war enemies, or….whatever they are, there’s an ease.
Chandler Tsonda: You spent any of the last eleven years improving your always sunny disposition?
Wade Elliott: Y’might be surprised. You spent that time gettin’ any dirt under them fingernails?
Chandler Tsonda: (smiling wryly) Just the blood of my enemies.
Lindsay Troy: (teasing) Two weeks. No property damage. Do not start now.
Chandler Tsonda: Two old mangy curs like me and Wade? Our days of throwing hands at each other is done. Unless…
The Model Citizen makes eye contact with the Southern Sparkplug. Both offer their own version of a confident smile that says “but just so you know, I could take you.”
Chandler Tsonda: …you want to even the score? We beat the everliving piss out of each other three times. Two wins for me, one for you. And that was before I liked you! Imagine the show we could put on, what with our begrudging friendship and all. Your chance to take it to 2-2. Am I enticing you?
The Bad Dog smirks, and glances over to his Queen. Her eyes shine at the thought, and she gives him a smile and a nod.
Wade Elliott: (stretching his arms for dramatic fashion) Shit, I dunno, Chandler. I’m sittin’ pretty on an undefeated record here…
He turns back to the Viet Viper, all smiles behind his grayed beard, and extends a hand.
Wade Eillott: …but hell, if you’ve slowed down a lil’ bit on all the jumpin’ flippy shit, I’m yer Huckleberry.
Chandler Tsonda: You let me catch my wind here. I’m not taking an L before I get warmed up. But once the conditions are right. Say, I get my hands on some gold…
The Model Citizen returns the favor, and back in the arena, there’s a sizable, noticeable pop as the two old-timers put it on a handshake.
Chandler Tsonda: It’s a date.
Lindsay Troy: Alright, save the rest of the posturing for when we’ve got tickets to move. In the meantime…
She wheels her desk chair over and motions for Tsonda to have a seat, while she settles in on the couch.
Lindsay Troy: …we’ve got a big boy battle for the Uni title about to happen.
The Model Citizen smirks as he sits, kicks his feet up, and the scene cuts.