THE MANE EVENT

The Sultan of Skree feels the energy in the air as he stares at his reflection in the locker room mirror in the basement of the Ball Arena.  He feels the hopes and dreams of an entire race on his shoulders, and he steels himself for the hardest match of his career.  As he reaches for his mask, Stu makes an unexpected announcement, “Hey Rocky, you have some visitors.”

The room fills with an unreasonably pungent stench as though he were attacked by a gaggle of teenage boys bathed in Antonio Banderas Blue Seduction.

Angel: FDP!  I implore you to not wear that mask!

Don’t touch it!

Ay yai yai!  Put it down!

Angel brought you a thing, dude.

*WHACK*

Ow, fuck!  Man, what the hell?
Is it supposed to be a surprise or somethin’?

Obviously, pendejo.
Can’t take you anywhere. 

Sorry.

S’ok.

Angel shakes his head. 

Angel: Rocky, tonight is a very important night.”

Carlos de Leon: Yeah, Angel, I know.  I have to take back Lucha for the Tejanos. 

Rocky bends down to tie his boot laces, intending to use the rhythmic action to calm his breathing.

Angel: I IMPLORE YOU TO NOT LACE UP THAT BOOT!

Put it aside like the mask, oh Skreeful One.

Cool your jets, FDP.

Can we give him the box already?

Do we have to hit you again?

For real, Danny, what gives?

I don’t wanna miss any of the show, OK!?

Angel’s hand sweeps across his chin as though to signify contemplation.

Angel: My compatriot makes a good, if annoying, point.  PEDRO, THE BOX!

One of the lucha envoys approaches Angel with a box approximately 2.5 feet long and 2 feet wide.  The box is white with an ornate gold pattern swirling all over it.  The lid of the box reads “Carlos “Rocky” de Leon” in gold calligraphic script.  Angel takes the box. 

Angel: Gracias, Pedro.  Rocky, the Lucha League has seen fit to bestow upon you… a gift.

Angel extends the box toward Rocky.  The Master of Moonsaults inspects the package, his eyes wandering over the path of the gold trim.

Without a word, Rocky opens the box.  Inside he sees a mask of white and gold with matching tights and boots.  The stitching on the mask is immaculate, the lines flow perfectly with not a slight deviation from their proper path.  

The mask blacks out the face for the wearer and depicts large vicious teeth on either side of the void.  Menacing eyes adorn the temples and forehead, and a golden mane flows from the material.  The lion appears ready to pounce out of the mask itself. 

Angel reaches up to wrap his arm around Rocky’s shoulders. 

Angel: It was to be Mateo’s – his tag team uniform.

Rocky shivers and a tear slides down the left side of his face.

Carlos de Leon: Arturo… er, Angel, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.

Angel removes his arm from Rocky and paces the room. 

Angel: For one night only, the Lucha League has seen fit to bestow upon you the mantle of the Angel.  For tonight, all of the prestige, power, and responsibility that come with being the Angel are yours to wield.  It was only right that you have appropriate garb to match the circumstance.  We have ensured it shall be a precise fit to your body’s measurements.

Rocky breaks out of his awe-filled trance. 

Carlos de Leon: How exactly did you obtain my precise bodily measurements?

Angel: I have exceptionally talented sources, but I would never betray their confidences!

Angel sweeps his arm up to point to the ceiling with his right index finger to drive the point home.

It was Gladys at Green as it Gets Acres.

Si, she pervy, but accurate.

Those old bats really need another hobby.

Angel forces a cough into his fist. 

Angel: They really are an exceptional fan club, Carlos.  What say you?  Will you be our Angel for tonight?

Rocky holds the mask in his hands and stares into its eyes for a long moment. He turns, raises the mask to the ceiling with his right hand, and bellows to the Lucha League.

Carlos de Leon: The Lion of Laredo shall be victorious tonight!

Cheers erupt from the company of lucha, and Angel gives Rocky an impossibly tight hug as he whispers into Rocky’s ear. 

Angel: Mateo will be watching you tonight.  Win or lose, he loves you and is proud of you.

He releases the hug.

Angel: COME!  Let us alight to our seats with alacrity, for we should not wish to miss any of tonight’s festivities.  Fight well, Carlos de Leon, son of Sergeant Mateo de Leon, Angel pro tem of the Luchadore League, Sultan of Skree, and Fully.  Dicked.  Pterodactyl!  

The lucha exit the locker room, leaving Stu and Rocky alone.  Rocky swaps tights for the white and gold.  He laces up the boots reveling in the feel of tightening every loop. He holds the mask in his hands, allowing memories of his father to flood his mind.  He pushes them aside and adopts the persona of the Lion of Laredo, growling as he ties the mask in place.

Stu places a hand gently on Rocky’s shoulder as they both look in the mirror.  

Stu Weiler: It looks damn good on you, Rocky.  Question, though.

Carlos de Leon: Yeah?

Stu Weiler: Why do your tights have a huge gold codpiece stitched into the groin?

Rocky looks at his crotch. 

Carlos de Leon: This is huge?

Stu Weiler: Most would say so.

Carlos de Leon: Huh.  Don’t question tradition, Stu.  

Rocky begins to walk toward the hallway to the arena.  

Carlos de Leon: Oh, hey… Stu?

Stu Weiler: Yeah, Rock.

Carlos de Leon: Would you be offended if I ask you to sit this one out?  I think… I think this is something I need to do for myself.

Stu Weiler:  Understood.  Go get ‘em.

Stu watches, laptop in hand, as his protege marches solo to carry out the hopes and dreams of a nation.  It is a pressure Stu is certain Rocky will handle with grace.  He finds a folding chair, opens it, grabs the TV remote off a bench, and turns on the monitor to watch the next match.

Stu Weiler: Damn. Should have brought popcorn.

We then cut ringside for the next match.