I WANNA HIT SOMEBODY
Orlando. Home of the Happiest Place on Earth, and yet, Walt Disney’s not the most evil entity with a name on a building in this boomtown vacation destination-turned-world capital of leisure.
The Amway Arena hosts PRIME ReVival tonight.
The balmy evening air would be perfect for summer in Philadelphia, and yet it’s unfamiliar climate for February. Normal in Orlando, or most of Florida for that matter, isn’t normal in most locales in the United States. Perhaps the heat on The Anglo Luchador, in the midst of a shouting match in the makeshift office for the evening of Lindsay Troy, has less to do with the weather and more to do with his recent actions.
Standing outside the shut door with audible yelling is a camera crew helmed by ace reporter, PRIME’s lead broadcast journalist, Angelica Brooks. She arches her feet and leans her head against the door to hear exactly what is being said. The shouting stops, and the sound of heavy feet begins to creep closer and closer to the door. Angie, being of sound mind and nimble feet, leaps back before the door, which she anticipates to be opened angrily, swings open.
Which it does.
Revealing an angry former Intense Champion, wearing jorts (when in Rome, do as the Romans do), a custom t-shirt depicting Rezin photoshopped to be wearing Mickey ears, and his trademark lucha mask.
Angelica Brooks: Anglo Luchador, can I…
An exasperated sigh.
TAL: Because it’s you, Ang, I’ll give you the time.
He composes himself and turns around to face the ace journalista of PRIME Wrestling.
Angelica Brooks: Okay, well, you had an emergency meeting with CEO Lindsay Troy and…
TAL: I don’t wanna talk about that. I wanna talk about hitting someone. Anyone, just as long as they’ll hit me back, and can hit me back.
Angelica Brooks: But you’re still not medically cleared…
TAL: You don’t have to remind me. The Queen already did. My brother did. My mom, my wife, Doctor Fucking Feelgood, Timo Bolamba, Killean Sirrajin, even the Canadian goddamn Hitman, whom I haven’t heard from in 20 goddamn years, called me and told me I was a fool marching into Arena del Angel last Wednesday, but I don’t care. I need to hit somebody.
Angelica Brooks: But why?
The luchador rubs his temples and shuts his eyes momentarily.
TAL: Because, Angie…
He opens his eyes and stares intently at Angie.
TAL: Where I come from, when people keep chirping at you and saying you failed and you let PRIME down and you were only the Intense Champion for so long because you wrestled tomato cans, as if a Hall of Famer and a supernatural golem with chronic analgesia could ever be tomato cans, you go out and prove it with actions. With a fight.
He sighs.
TAL: And what did I get for that? I spent more money in fines than I did paying off the mortgage to my house to lightly punch an asshole angry over a match I booked and to have him goozle me. I’m still pissed off, and if any of these chucklefucks who seem to have itchy Jabber fingers want to cross me tonight, they’re not getting witty repartee in return.
Angelica turns to the camera as the luchador storms off behind her, stage right.
Angelica Brooks: Well, there you have it. A stiff fine for The Anglo Luchador and some harsh words of warning for everyone else. And with that, let’s throw it up to the commentary desk where Richard Parker and Nick Stuart are ready to kick us off!