CONTIGO ENEMIGO
After a commercial break, three rousing matches, and a very HYFR start to ReV 35, we visit a quiet place. Not a Blunt-and-Krasinski Quiet Place, but a quieter, more sober corner of Little Caesars Arena.
The camera finds a particularly drab, gray section of the venue, where a man grieves. That man?
WHOOOOOOOOOOO!
Chandler Tsonda.
He’s in a folding chair, slumped over like he’s reading for the part of Quasimodo. He keeps exhaling loudly. His athleisure is all black, unlike the slate gray and charcoal looks of recent shows. He seems to have designed the spatial and emotional aesthetic of this moment from a sad boy Pinterest board.
Chandler Tsonda: (muttering to himself) No match, no Intense Title, no taking out my angst by pulverizing Gamble. This sucks the fucks, man.
A sound from stage right. A glimmer of hope? A friend and kind soul to console the Model Citizen after last week’s close-but-no-cigar main event?
The camera doesn’t show us, but Tsonda turns in the direction of the sound.
Chandler Tsonda: Don’t bother, pal. I’m not in the mood for levity.
Now the camera pans right, and we spy the target of Tsonda’s comments. The person masks their emotion completely.
With a luchador mask.
It’s Enemigo XI. He’s holding a bunch of extra turnbuckle covers. If you have to ask why, then it’s above your pay grade.
Chandler Tsonda: No, I’m serious. I don’t want to be cheered up, Eleven.
Enemigo XI: …
Chandler Tsonda: Oh, you know why I’m wearing black.
Enemigo XI: …
Chandler Tsonda: (gestures to his joggers) These are my GRIEF Lulu’s, dude. I’m in mourning. I’m in a state of disre-goddamn-pair. The Triple Crown was right in my hands! The Streak vanquished! FLAMBERGE extinguished! Peace reigning across the kingdom, platinum trophy for completing every PRIME accomplishment, my enemies accidentally closing browser windows with 100 tabs open. And I fucked it.
Enemigo XI: (points to Tsonda)
Chandler Tsonda: No, you’re right. I’m mostly just mad at myself.
Enemigo XI: …
Chandler Tsonda: Get over it? Easier said than done. What do you do when you fall flat on your face in a big moment?
Enemigo XI: …
Chandler Tsonda: Ain’t that the truth, man. I can’t drink mezcal anymore, though. I guess I’ll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs until Ultraviolence? Wrestling Mom said Gamble and I couldn’t throw hands until the supershow.
Enemigo XI: (tilts head quizzically)
Chandler Tsonda: Nah, c’mon.
Enemigo XI: (does a weird thing with his arms)
Chandler Tsonda: I mean, I could, but…nah, that won’t cheer me up. It’s just not my style.
Enemigo XI: (turns to leave)
Chandler Tsonda: Wait wait wait!
The luchador pauses, and turns back over his shoulder.
Chandler Tsonda: You really think that will help?
Enemigo XI: (drops turnbuckle covers, clasps his two hands together)
Chandler Tsonda: In another life, you could’ve been a prophet, my dude. Because I can’t say I see the vision, but I’ll give it a shot. And listen, man, nobody gets me like you do.
Enemigo XI: (touches his chest)
Chandler Tsonda: I love you too, pal. (gets up out of the chair) Hey, stay out of trouble, big dog.
The Model Citizen chuckles to himself as he walks off in search of…honestly not sure.
Enemigo XI looks directly at camera, shrugs a big cartoon shrug, picks up his turnbuckle covers, and exits in the opposite direction.
We flee the scene to another backstage area.