Alicia Goon 003: Take a seat

Content warning, highlight the hidden text between the lines: 

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Descriptions of blood and violence

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By the time Alicia had parked, bought a ticket, and found her seat, the show had been underway for nearly an hour, but the near-floor-level seats more than made up for the headache. Row G was the next one down. The echo of wrestlers hitting the mat practically shook the floorboards up in the cheap seats. Down near the top of the alphabet, the thunder of each impact was nearly tooth-rattling. Alicia scooched in, beginning her latitudinal trek through row G cheeks-to-chest, mumbling an “excuse me” every few steps.

A few people down, Alicia spotted a single empty seat in the middle of the row. She double-checked her ticket, recalling the last mix-up. Row G, seat 16. Alicia stepped over the final tray of half-eaten nachos and prepared to sit down. Seat 15. Alicia checked her ticket again. Nope; those numbers weren’t the same.

“Excuse me, you’re in my seat,” she said.

A pasty, balding man wearing some wrestler’s T-shirt leaned forward, raising two fingers up to one ear, “Huh?”

“That’s my seat. I’m in 16. You’re in the wrong spot.”

The man shrugged his shoulders, but when it was clear Alicia wouldn’t be done with it, he sat up a bit straighter. “Look, I’ve got all my stuff here already,” he said, gesturing to his beer, snacks, jacket, and merch. “Can’t you sit in that one? It’s empty.” Alicia looked at him incredulously. “I’m serious. No one’s sat there all night.”

Alicia waited in place for him to move.

The man sighed, “Look, my ticket’s for way up there, alright? I didn’t know it belonged to anybody. There’s still an open seat. I promise I’ll move if anyone comes.”

Alicia rolled her eyes. She and Zack had helped themselves to free seat upgrades more than once.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m doing it under protest.” The man didn’t seem all that interested in continuing the conversation—a sentiment Alicia shared—but she had questions. “Hey, who’s fighting right now?” she asked the seat-taking interloper seated (in her seat) to her right.

Again, the man raised two fingers to his ear, “What?”

“I said who’s in the ring right now?” Alicia shouted over the crowd.

“This your first time?” the man asked.

Alicia nodded.

He leaned closer and continued. “The lady in the black? The short one? That’s Iron Maiden. She was big in the ‘80s, early ‘90s. I haven’t seen her in a while. She might’ve been out injured.” Alicia nodded her head, eyes on the match.

Iron Maiden lay on the mat after taking a ring-shaking body slam, and her masked opponent covered her, going for a pin.

The referee counted, “One! T-”

The veteran’s right shoulder shot off the mat, breaking the pin. Maiden’s aggressor sat up on her knees and considered her next move. The taller woman pulled Iron Maiden back to her feet by a fistful of hair as the referee admonished her.

Her green mask had white and silver accents around the mouth, nose, and eyes, as well as across the jawline, and a tight, shoulder-length black ponytail protruded from the back. What looked like silver streaks of electricity crackled along the outer corners of each jet-black eye. She wore a green and silver top and tights with the word “Phenom” spelled out in a lightning bolt on both legs. The masked wrestler was heavier-built, though hardly bulky. There was clear definition in her arms and legs, and she was putting it to good use.

“I’m guessing the other one is named Phenom?” asked Alicia.

“How’d you know?” the man said with a sniff-chuckle instead of a laugh. “I wanna say she’s from Mexico, but I know that’s not it.”

An older woman seated to his right chimed in, “Puerto Rico.”

“There you go,” he said. “Puerto Rico. I’ve never seen her here before. I’ll bet she’s just here for a few matches before heading somewhere else.”

Phenom pulled Iron Maiden into a tight side headlock and secured a hold, hoisting the smaller wrestler high up overhead. It looked like the masked wrestler was about to finish the suplex when Iron Maiden slipped out of the move and landed on her feet behind Phenom’s back. In one motion, the tenured veteran torqued her opponent into a seated position with a knee against her victim’s back and a tight grip on both wrists.

The referee got to his knees to ask Phenom if she wanted to give up. Alicia couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the vigorous shaking of the masked wrestler’s head left no question as to her resolve.

Pockets of slow, rhythmic claps and stomps built throughout the arena as Phenom started to psyche herself up and, with one massive effort, hoisted her legs and butt up off the mat and sort of crab-walked a couple feet toward the ropes before Iron Maiden tugged her back down. The masked warrior nodded and stomped the mat in time with the crowd as she steeled herself for another escape attempt.

With another surge of core strength, the trapped fighter once again got her legs and rear up off the mat and managed another couple steps closer to the edge of the ring, scooching more desperately than Alicia had ever seen. Phenom reached out with one black boot, stretched for the bottom rope, and only just barely got a toe on.

The referee started counting. “Break! Maiden, let go of the hold, come on! One! Two! Three! Four!”

The smaller woman released the hold and stood up. She stepped back and allowed her opponent to rise.

“Come on, Maiden! When I say break the hold, you break!” scolded the ref, while the Platonic apathetic stare manifested on the veteran’s face.

“Why’d she let go?” Alicia asked her tutor for the evening.

“It’s called a rope break,” the man beside her answered. “If you’ve got someone in a hold and they get to the ropes, you’ve got five seconds to let go or you’re disqualified.”

“Or if you’re getting pinned,” added the fact-checker to his right.

“Yeah. If you’re getting pinned and you touch the ropes or get some part of your body under them, the referee stops the count. It’s just a rule,” said the man, shrugging. “It also means you can’t use the ropes for an advantage to, like, choke someone or tie them up or whatever.”

“That’s not allowed?” Alicia asked, surprised.

“No, if you do it- actually, watch,” said the man, pointing at the ring.

Phenom stood up on one knee and reached for the top rope to pull herself back up to her feet. Iron Maiden moved in to stay on her opponent, but the masked wrestler had her scouted. As the veteran bent down to grab Phenom, she snatched Iron Maiden’s wrist and swept out her leg, sending the experienced grappler down neck-first onto the middle rope. The woman in green laid in a few kicks before reaching down with both hands and shoving the smaller fighter’s throat against the rope. Phenom seemed to be putting all her weight into it, unfazed by the booing from the majority of the crowd, including the man and woman to Alicia’s right.

The referee again interjected as the masked wrestler choked her flailing opponent. “That’s enough! Off the ropes! One! Two! Three! Four!”

Phenom’s face was a mask (probably of indifference). She brushed past the referee on her way to the corner and scaled the turnbuckles as her victim’s arms and neck remained draped over the middle rope. Phenom leapt from the top and slammed her knee into Iron Maiden’s temple, landing on the edge of the mat in a superhero pose as the wiry Maiden crashed to her back, clutching the side of her head with one hand.

The green-clad warrior was all sprint as she grabbed the top rope and vaulted up and over, back into the ring, and dropped a leg across the veteran’s throat. Phenom grabbed an arm and a leg and pulled a limp Iron Maiden closer to the center of the ring, seemingly getting her into position.

Phenom scaled the ropes again. This time, she stopped to pose with one foot on the top rope, playing to a particularly dense sea of green. A couple fans were holding up what Alicia presumed was the Puerto Rican flag.

“Too much time,” shout-whispered the fan to Alicia’s right.

“She’s not getting up after all that,” countered the woman two seats over.

“Way too much time,” he repeated.

Alicia hoped not. She wanted to see if the upstart could put the veteran away.

Phenom stepped up with both feet onto the top ropes and sprang off, turning a graceful, high arcing backflip aimed squarely at her prone opponent below. The instant Phenom’s feet left the ropes, Iron Maiden popped up off the mat and leapt into the air, turned, tucked her knees, and prepared to catch her helpless opponent across them.

The masked warrior plummeted belly-first onto the points of both knees and reflexively bounced off, arms wrapped tight around her stomach. The once-dominant Phenom rolled onto her knees, forehead pressed to the mat, kicking in pain as she struggled to breathe.

Iron Maiden seemed intent on not letting that happen. The veteran crawled behind her opponent and raised both arms above her head, fingers gnarled into claws. Thousands in the stands joined her. Maiden let out a battle cry and brought her hands together, steepling her clawed fingers into something that looked like a Venus fly trap as a packed arena of fans matched her gesture.

“Here it comes,” said Alicia’s tutor. “She’s about to lock in the Jaws of Death.”

Iron Maiden sidled up behind her downed opponent and pressed her knee into her foe’s back. She twisted Phenom’s right wrist behind her back in a hammerlock, then snaked her right arm across her victim’s throat and cranked back hard, torquing her masked opponent’s neck while applying a blood choke. In less than a heartbeat, Phenom tapped out. Iron Maiden released the hold with authority and stood tall as the referee raised her arm in victory. The veteran yanked her arm away and clasped both hands together in the same Venus fly trap gesture. Most of the fans in attendance once again followed along. Alicia guessed it represented an iron maiden, assuming she grasped the symbolism.

“Awesome, right? I’m Jim, by the way,”

“Alicia.” She nodded towards Iron Maiden celebrating in the ring. “You a big fan of hers?”

“No,” said Jim before checking himself. “I mean, she’s still good, and she’s been around a long time. So, like, yeah. I mean, people like her.”

There was some subtext behind the word choice Alicia wasn’t completely sure she followed.

The ring had emptied, but no one else seemed to be headed out. The lights dimmed slightly, and the WarMachine video board cut to an interview backstage. A fair-skinned, freckled man with curly red hair and a mustache stood opposite a young blonde-haired woman dressed in neon pinks and yellows with her arm in a pink sling. Each part of her gear prominently featured the Party Girl brand logo: a fluorescent yellow heart bordered by a hot pink chain. She sported an impressive tan and even more impressive gauze bandage on the left side of her neck. It was the woman the rest of the world knew as Giselle Tillman.

“Thank you, Helene,” said the man in khakis and a magenta sports coat as he lowered a hand from his earpiece. His red-orange mustache bounced with each syllable as he introduced the segment, “Allen Preston here, backstage at the Plunj Drain Cleaner Arena. Joining me to discuss her ladder match against Black Violet for the Queens of War TV Championship this past Monday at Nothing To Lose, allow me to introduce my guest at this time: Party Girl.”

“Thank you, Allen. I know you’ve been trying to get an interview with me for a while, so I’m just so happy for you we could have this time! First off, I just wanna give a shout-out to all my Party Animals! WASUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!! Let me hear you out there!”

The audience seemed evenly split between cheers and boos.

“Oh, and to my beau, my one and only, Keven Se7en, I miss you! Good luck at the Celebrity’s Choice Awards! And to everyone watching at home, make sure to keep living the Party Girl Lifestyle™ by picking up our award-deserving single, ‘1-luv, 2-gether, 4-evr,’ out in record stores now! Kisses!!”

“I didn’t know you could sing,” commented Allen.

“Never took a single lesson!” Party Girl chirped back. She beamed at the camera, flashing her blindingly white teeth while tossing her pink-tipped bleached blonde hair, revealing the right third had been braided into solid pink dreadlocks. The massive bandage stuck to Party Girl’s forehead nearly escaped Alicia’s notice due to almost fully blending in with her golden tan.

“Okay,” said Allen, clearly happy to change the subject. “Party Girl, when you turned 22 last year, you said you were focused on winning your first championship before you turned 23. Queens of War held its Nothing To Lose event this past Monday. That actually fell on your 23rd birthday, didn’t it?”

Every feature of Party Girl’s visage lit up with a prize-winning smile except her eyes, which bored a searing hole into the interviewer as she replied, “Thank you, Allen. Yes, the past 12 months of my social calendar have been amazing for me and all my Party Animals. Love you guys! Mwa! And an extra-special thanks to everyone who came out for my birthday last week! Besides the car, mural, and private concert, your cheers were the best gift of all! And you’re right, I accomplished, like, so much. For me to remain undefeated throughout my entire three-year career, I-”

“Just to clarify, when you say ‘undefeated,’ you are of course referring to your record in non-title matches,” Allen corrected. “Fans will recall you lost your ladder match for the TV Championship against Black Violet at Nothing To Lose.”

“Actu-”

“Here are some highlights from that match.”

The screen cut to a match graphic of Party Girl standing opposite a tall, lanky woman with long, matted black hair and pale, sickly skin. Her porcelain-white face had been painted to look as though she were weeping purple tears, and she was shawled in what looked like the torn remains of a straitjacket.

The first clip showed the pale woman effortlessly heft a metal ladder like a lance and charge at Party Girl, cracking her in the forehead. The next clip showed Party Girl leaping off the edge of the ring and dropkicking a folding chair into Black Violet’s face. Then a clip of Party Girl being body slammed off the edge of the ring through a table that split neatly in two on impact. Then followed a clip of Black Violet dumping out a cloth bag full of thumbtacks onto the mat. After that, a clip of Party Girl, face masked in blood, trading punches with Black Violet at the top of the ladder. The fracas caused the ladder to tip, spilling both women onto the tacks.

The final clip showed Party Girl slowly climbing the ladder while Black Violet lay buried in the splintered wreckage of a table near one of the corners. Just as Party Girl’s fingertips brushed the title belt suspended about 12 feet above the ring by a cable, Black Violet jolted to life, rolled onto her belly, spider-walked to the ladder, and slithered up the other side. The birthday girl swung a few loaded right-hand shots into the pale competitor’s forehead with a set of hot pink brass knuckles, but Black Violet held on.

In one sudden, maniac surge, Black Violet lunged over the top of the ladder, grabbed Party Girl by the hair, and sank her teeth deep into the millionaire socialite’s neck. Party Girl screamed and thrashed while trying to pull Black Violet off her. Just as the challenger managed to free herself, Black Violet gave her a violent shove, sending the thoroughly wrecked Party Girl back down onto the thumbtacks still littering the mat.

Black Violet reached up and unhooked the belt from the cable, winning the match. She held the belt tight in her arms, staring at it as Party Girl’s blood trickled from the champion’s lips and ran down her chin. She gently rocked the title belt in her arms and appeared to be humming it a lullaby.

The camera cut back to Party Girl standing with the interviewer backstage. Her face was tightened into a look of practiced cheeriness, but her eyes burned with unmistakable rage. The jet-setting pugilist was practically trembling as she struggled to maintain her poise.

“Watching the loss back again a week later, do you have any thoughts or comments to share about the match?” asked Allen, extending the microphone to his guest.

Party Girl locked eyes with Allen for several seconds of uncomfortable silence. “...................... Mm-hmm!” she squeaked through a fake smile and gritted teeth. “That’s right, Allen, I did turn 23 last week! And as amazing and as memorable as it was for each and every one of you to see me in action, I already have the best idea for my next birthday! As you know, every year, I do things bigger and better, so that’s why I guarantee that on my 24th birthday next year, I’ll be partying with 24 karats of championship gold around these hips. So write it on your calendar in pen, because you’re all invited, and that’s a Party Girl pinky promise! And as for you, Black Violet? Consider yourself lucky I let you walk away from my birthday bash last week. Actually, you’re lucky I invited you at all!” Party Girl stuck out her tongue to the camera as the interview ended.

“Is she always like that?” asked Alicia.

Jim shook his head. “No. Sometimes she can be pretty immature.”

Alicia Goon 002: Moving scene

It was on her fourth trip through every cul de sac in a two-block radius of Woodcutter Park when Alicia spotted a door she mostly recognized. The two-and-a-half-mile journey from off-ramp to door had taken 45 minutes and 11 miles in total, but Alicia was in no mood to celebrate. Of course tickets were sold out. She’d just have to find and unpack the TV.

Alicia pulled up to the curb by her duplex and got out. Here was 6602 South Harbergarber Drive, and over there was her end of the house. As a prospective renter, a location tucked back in the woods seemed cozy and private. As a tenant, it was hard to find, harder to give directions to, way too far from the main road, almost totally dark by late afternoon due to the tree cover, and the neighborhood had been gentrified by spiders.

One cobweb to the face while bringing in groceries through the swell of brush by her door followed by a near-fall down a poorly lit concrete staircase, and she lamented the other side of the house having been unavailable when they were browsing.

Alicia had taken to sticking her right arm out in front of her, then holding her hand up like trying to block an eye-poke from the world’s two longest fingers. She figured at least if she didn’t see a cobweb in time, it’d be her arm taking one for the team and not her face. A mild resentment of whoever had rented out the rest of the house without showing up began to simmer, but at the very least there was no one living next door-

KACHUNK-WHAMAMAMamamamamam

-was what she told herself right up until the sudden racket drew her attention to the Pak-It trailer and rented pickup parked in the driveway around the corner. I feel like I’m being mocked. She looked for a bright side. Maybe an exterminator could be moving in.

“Hey! Everything okay over there?” Alicia shouted.

There was a pause and a silence, and then a mop of brown hair and a doughy complexion. “Oh. Um, yeah. It’s sort of not, actually. I hate to ask, but could I please have some help? My roommate flaked and I don’t think I can get this dresser inside.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

The tension eased in his face, as if he hadn’t expected it to be that easy. From the curb, the man looked to be in his mid- to late-20s. He was stocky, tall, but not that tall, clean-shaven, and appeared to have a bit of an acne problem, which his fair complexion only further highlighted. Alicia could also tell he had underestimated her stature when he saw her from the other end of the yard. She was used to the look.

“It’s, um... well, maybe it’s best if you come over to this side and see. It’s kind of on its side, but also tipped over? You’ll get what I mean when you see it. Like this,” he said, gesturing.

Alicia approached to find a wardrobe almost as tall as her laying on its side halfway down a metal loading ramp. Whatever it took to get it this far was assuredly quite stupid.

The man paused to gauge her reaction. “I mean, there are dresser drawers. I guess some people would call it a standing wardrobe.”

Alicia tsked. “The one thing you’d think it’d be good at...” It was a big lift, but she maxed probably close to this weight during hockey season throughout most of college. “Front or back?”

Poorly concealed relief washed over the man’s face. “Is the front the side that’s closer to the door?”

“Do you want to go in the house first or me?” she clarified.

“Oh. I should, probably,” the man replied. “Okay, I’ve got this end. Ready? One... two... three... alright, lift.”

It was heavier than Alicia expected. Graduation was three years ago. A few more cheat days had penciled themselves onto the calendar when she wasn’t looking. “You’ve got a step coming up. Yep, right there. Okay, one more. Got your keys?”

“I propped it open.”

They pushed through the door and Alicia instantly hated the new guy a little. This side of the house was way nicer. “Where’s it going? I’ll follow you.” Were the french windows that big from the outside of the house? Moving further down the hall, she could feel her blood pressure start to rise. “Tile floors in the bathroom instead of carpet. Nice. Wish they were all like that.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Is that a big thing? Set it down over here,” he said, motioning with his head. “No, actually, can you turn it- sorry. That was rude of me not to introduce myself, especially before asking you to- sorry, but can you turn it more? More this way. No, my this way. Thank you, yeah, like that is good. I’m Robert, hello. Robert Blarcher.”

“Alicia Winthrop.” Alicia shook Robert’s hand. He looked gassed even before he sagged against the wall. Robert wiped his brow with his wrist. His plaid button-down was open in the front and he had the sleeves rolled up. Underneath, she could see a T-shirt for what looked like a band she didn’t recognize. “Mage’s Tower?”

“Hmm?” asked Robert, momentarily confused. “Oh, it’s an art studio. They do, sort of, you know, fantasy stuff. I kind of- I do art.”

“That’s cool,” said Alicia. “What kind?”

“You wanna see? This is the first one I brought in from the truck. I just finished it.” Robert opened the closet door and stepped inside. Up against the wall, way back in the back, leaned a large piece of foldable cardboard like from the science fair years.

“Oh. It’s a walk-in closet,” said Alicia. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda nice, I guess,” he replied with a shrug. “Maybe a little too big.”

Alicia quietly seethed as Robert unfolded the cover. The lucky, garage-having jerk had talent. Though she found the princess and young wizard soaring in front of lightning bolts on dragonback corny, they were framed by a lively, verdant landscape. Rough around the edges, sure. Maybe self-taught. Alicia stepped closer for a better look. Incredible attention to detail: bees on flowers in the middle distance, pollen in the breeze, rich, fluffy clouds, masonry in the stonework of a far-off tower. The longer she looked, the more intricate the piece became.

“You did this?” asked Alicia. “It’s good! Did you come up with it? Have you done more?”

“I have a couple leaned up against the wall in the hallway,” he said, gesturing with a thumb. “Don’t look, though. They’re not done.”

“Well, I hope you’ll show me when they are! You need help with anything else?” asked Alicia.

“I’m good,” said Robert, arching his back.

Alicia put her hands on her hips and pressed the matter, “I’m serious. Do you want me to stay and help out?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” answered Robert. “I really appreciate the hand, Alicia.”

“You sure?” Alicia replied. “I’ve done two moves the past two weeks. Maybe this is how I find my calling.”

“No. That’s- no. Thank you. Seriously. You went above and beyond,” said Robert.

“Okay. I’ll see you around, then. Welcome to the neighborhood. It was really nice meeting you,” said Alicia. She shot one more glance and a polite little wave over her shoulder as they approached the front door.

With one foot on the walkway and one still inside, she turned back around one last time. “Look, I’m fine either way. I’ll leave if you want, and if you’re telling me no because you really don’t want my help, that’s okay. You didn’t ask, but I am offering.”

Robert’s gaze dropped to the floor and lingered a moment before drifting back up to meet hers. “I would really appreciate it.”

* * * * *

“That does it for all the heavy stuff, and all the very heavy stuff, and I think this is pretty much the rest of everything medium,” said Robert while wincing and dropping a box that sounded mostly not full of glass on the floor. “Thank you again, Alicia. I mean it, seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done. If my roommate and his brother were here, you know, I wouldn’t’ve bothered you.”

“It wasn’t a bother,” Alicia assured him. “And you’ve got to stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.” Robert closed his eyes for a moment of performative embarrassment. “What I meant was, ‘yeah you’re right.’”

“That’s really selfish, him bailing on you. Did he tell you why?” she asked.

“Because he actually signed a lease with his other friend in Chicago a month ago and didn’t know how to break the news,” Robert explained. “He told me on the phone yesterday morning.”

“Oh,” said Alicia. “Wow. Sounds like a nice guy, geez.”

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I really wish he hadn’t done that. I’m a lot madder at him than I look.”

“It probably isn’t much consolation, but you know what? I like it out here. Rent’s cheap. It’s reasonably close to city limits. Great view.” Alicia gestured to the thick, wooded area six feet from the back window. Robert laughed. “You might end up liking it if you can ignore the bad parts.”

“I’ll try and make the best of it,” he said, clearly trying to push the conversation along. “You hungry? I’ll order something. I think they said phone service is already hooked up.”

“Don’t bother,” said Alicia. “My ex and I ordered delivery the day we moved in. They sent two different drivers. Neither one could find the place. Finally they told us to just pick it up at the restaurant.”

“I’ll consider myself forewarned. Bring you back some takeout, then?” Robert offered.

“Do you like Mexican?” Alicia asked, a hint of unexpected excitement rising in her voice. “Ever been to El Vaquero? If you’re already making a trip, why don’t we both go?”

Robert’s face lit up with recognition. “Hell yeah, I love El Vaq! I’ve got to return the truck and trailer, but I can meet you there at like 6:30?”

“Um...” The concept of time returned. “Y- sure. Actually... sorry, whatever. I’m distracted,” Alicia mumbled.

“What’s up?”

“I was going to watch something that’s on tonight,” she said. “So, like... maybe takeout?”

Robert nodded, concealing his disappointment behind an understanding smile. “The wrestling thing?”

“Yeah,” said Alicia, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Like I said, it’s sold out, but I wanted to try and watch a bit of it. Forget it. We can go.”

“I’d offer to put it on, but my roommate got the TV.”

“I’ve got one, don’t worry about it,” Alicia said, waving him off. “I just need to find it.”

Robert asked, “You got something against scalpers?”

“Like ticket scalpers?” Of course like ticket scalpers, dummy.

“Yeah,” said Robert, nodding emphatically. “My roommate took us to sold out stuff all the time.”

Alicia felt momentarily embarrassed. She hadn’t even considered the possibility, despite the many, many times she and Zack bought tickets in the parking lot the year the Yetis went on their miracle run.

Struck with the obvious, Alicia buried her face in one impressive hand. “Is it okay if I do something really selfish?”

“Please do.”

“Thank you,” said Alicia with a guilty look. “Sorry.”

“Have a good time,” said Robert with a cheeky smile. “And you’ve got to stop apologizing.”

Alicia chuckled and turned to leave. Just as they finished exchanging goodbyes and Alicia was halfway out the door, she turned and asked, “By the way, do you like loud music?”

“Um... do you?”

“I...” she paused for emphasis. “... don’t.” She gave him a meaningful look.

It took a second to register, but he got it. “Oh. Yeah, me neither.”

“Cool. Glad we agree. See you around, Robert.”

Alicia Goon 001: Don't call it chapter 1

“Have a nice life,” said Alicia to nobody.

Zack was gone. He took the opportunity of a lifetime over the girl, and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t begrudge Zack for taking the promotion. She’d have done the same. So would anyone. Unfortunately, it did mean Korea, and that meant work visa, and that meant a choice. She didn’t disagree with the conclusion.

More money, no more working weekends, no more covering nights, and a track to the sort of job with its own executive bathroom. The dream, more or less. Or he could wile away his 20s supervising at a call center in Beaver, Illinois. It’s good to believe love will always triumph, but that’s only when love competes within its own weight class.

The goodbye meant a return to the nearly forgotten life of Alicia Gretchen Winthrop – Unaffiliated. The Alicia Gretchen Winthrop who spent the last hour staring at a cloud shaped like a turtle where her boyfriend used to be. The Alicia Gretchen Winthrop with the impressive collection of damp tissues piled in the passenger seat of her powder blue ‘97 Perletta. 

The Alicia Gretchen Winthrop who now found herself single after seven years with her high school sweetheart.

Maybe cool it on the “sweetheart,” thought Alicia. But he was her long-term boyfriend, roommate, cuddle partner, and the man she thought she’d marry. Until a few months ago, Alicia hadn’t considered the prospect of life as a solo act. It was easy to deny away the months when the big day wasn’t even on the same calendar. There would be a tomorrow. April was next year. Heck, maybe even two years away. There would be a tomorrow. There would be a tomorrow.

Nobody told April it wasn’t welcome. Guess who showed up. But the 4th was still at least a couple months away. There would be a tomorrow.

Until, unbelievably, there wasn't. With the sunrise came the disconcertingly usual clockwork of their morning routine. The familiarity made it easy to play along with the disguise a little longer. She showered, he showered, Brekkie Squares in the toaster, plates and cups, fridge, milk, pour, toaster’s up, eat, keys, lights, car. Same as yesterday, but today, reality had tacked on its own to-do list: tears, airport, goodbye, parking lot, more tears, and then now. That part came less naturally.

Alicia reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror before tweaking the console lever to reposition the side mirror. She hated having to move the seat and fix the mirrors anytime Zack used the car. She often wondered how anyone could need so little legroom, not that the car was all that spacious to begin with. It was all hers now. She turned the key. Silver linings, thought Alicia.

What remained of Zack’s presence had all but faded, at least from here. The passenger seat was adjusted for her considerable height, as was the driver’s. She had a clear look at the rearview from her own perspective. She turned on the radio, flipped it to her station, and realized the dial would stay there. From now on, the toilet paper hangs overhand, Alicia resolved. Even if I’m feeling sentimental.

Alicia looked at the radio dial again. With that turn of the knob, Zack was gone. She would be driving home by herself. Here, in the first and only car they ever bought, there was no more of him left. 

Her boss allowed her to take the day off from work as long as she promised not to cry at the office on Monday, which seemed like a win all around. She shifted the vehicle out of park and slid her dark tan hands up the wheel to 9 and 3. The tears had broken, for now or forever. There would be a tomorrow. Breathe in, breathe out. Foot off the breaks.

Crrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaakkkkkkk

The light blue sedan crept backward with the sound of metal grating against metal if a pig were caught in between, except louder and worse. The wail of the sedanshee drew a look from a bespectacled, bevested parking lot attendant driving a cart with a spinning caution light on top. Alicia shot a look back and scolded her silently. If anything, you should be embarrassed, lady. Look what you’re driving.

KAWHUNKA-KACHUNK

Right. There was one last part of Zack left: he always backed into parking spots. She had put it in reverse on muscle memory, and the car was now straddling a four-inch concrete parking bumper. It wasn’t the first time it happened. It would’ve been nice if it were only the second. The look changed on Alicia’s face as she now pondered a question she had never quite worked out a right answer to: keep backing over it, or go forward and drive over it again? 

What is there to take from someone with nothing to lose? She punched the gas and backed over that sucker like she meant it. 

KAWHUNKA-KACHUNKKAWHUNKA-KACHUNK

Even if that meant going over a second parking bumper. Alicia secretly hoped the parking lot attendant had been struck blind minutes beforehand, despite it never working out that way in the past. 

KAWHUNKA-KACHUNKKAWHUNKA-KACHUNK

The ceaseless, unbearable racket gave Alicia an opportunity to reflect. By the third KACHUNK, she concluded she may have been a bit hasty counter-looking the (perhaps recently blind?) parking attendant. 

KAWHUNKA-KACHUNK

“Hey! Watch it! You could’ve broken one of those! Ma’am? Ma’am!” shouted the attendant. 

Alicia cringed as the words hit the back of her skull like a hot iron. The glasses weren’t just for show. The heat rushed to her cheeks as she drove away, keeping as low a profile as a mid-size sedan would allow. At least she didn’t see any other witnesses.

Down one level from the open air roof were the pay booths and then home. 10:35 AM and it had already been a day. Ultimately, Alicia decided the incident didn’t have to matter. She’d be well down the highway by the time anyone else heard about her parking lot adventure. She rolled her window down and handed her ticket to a distractingly attractive booth person.

“$10,” said the blonde-haired young woman of about college age. Her flawless skin and perfect features projected a look of smoldering indifference. She appeared to have been ripped from a fashion magazine, stuffed into a reflective vest, handed an airplane-shaped nametag, and told to sit in a box for $7.50 an hour. “Did you hear that loud noise a minute ago?” she asked.

Alicia scrambled for her purse. Where was it? “Must’ve been someone speeding out of there,” she said, buying time.

“No one’s come through in a while.”

“Hmm,” said Alicia, leaning over the center console and groping through her purse with both hands for her wallet.

“Sounded like someone might’ve hit something,” said the model/attendant.

“Could’ve been. Yeah, maybe. I barely heard it,” said Alicia, clamping her fingers triumphantly around a familiar sensation of leather. 

One, two, three, eight... 25, 50, 75, nine. Nine-o-six and a paperclip. Nothing doing. Time for the emergency 20. It was Zack’s thing first. One soaking wet bus ride later, and Alicia came around on the idea. She craned around the seat to grab a maroon and white “Langston University Women’s Athletics Dept ‘99” jacket, producing a $20 bill from the breast pocket. There was a momentary pause as the attendant seemed to notice nobody else had exited the parking lot.

The booth attendant’s unblemished complexion turned from quizzical to bemused to conflicted to curious in seconds. Were she not preoccupied modeling the spring reflective vest catalog, the young woman pecking at the register could’ve had a career in Hollywood. “Did you-”

Alicia stepped over her, “Sorry. I didn’t want to make a thing out of it, but I think your coworker up there in the golf cart went over some of those concrete parking bumpers. She looked pretty upset when I drove by. Maybe take it easy on her and don’t mention it. I think she might’ve been crying.”

“$10 is your change,” said the attendant, secondhand embarrassment seeping into her voice. 

Alicia nodded, took the money in silence, pretended the lady in the booth hadn’t arrived at the obvious conclusion, and drove away. As she merged onto the highway, Alicia reminded herself that things could be worse. Other than everything that happened between waking up and now, the day had gone pretty alright so far. Now what? Alicia asked herself. Coming up with stuff to do was your thing, Zack.

Maybe the plan was nothing. Minutes and miles passed in thoughtless solitude until just outside city limits, when Alicia was yanked back to cognition by a billboard that demanded attention at full volume.

Titans. Colossal and bold, they loomed indomitable above a world of puny motorists in pitiful cars puttering meaninglessly along a feeble interstate. Buckles and spikes, leather and neon popped from the black, red, and silver background. The only face she recognized was the one everyone recognized: Giselle Tillman—Party Girl—named after her fashion and cosmetics brand. Behind the featured wrestlers were the words “Queens of War,” the biggest wrestling company in the region. At the bottom, in smaller but still very huge letters, it read, “Plunj Drain Cleaner Arena at 7:00 PM every Friday - Special events last day of the month!”

Without realizing it, a smile had crept its way across Alicia’s lips. She had been a fan—or, at least, an aspiring fan—since grade school. Her parents didn’t allow it on TV, and her sister made fun of her if she tried to watch anyway. So did her roommates in college. And her friends whenever she mentioned it. Zack didn’t have the stomach for the violence and never wanted to go. Even when it shouldn’t have mattered, Alicia thought she’d look like a loser going by herself. But if you’re single, that’s not being a loser. That’s being independent. There would be a tomorrow, and it started tonight.

“Mind if we go?” Alicia asked the wadded-up tissue pile. 

Hearing no objections, she decided on a change of plans: to have one. She missed her exit and kept driving. A newly painted sign flew by, helpfully declaring “Beaver, Illinois: It’ll Grow On You!” It was admittedly an improvement on the previous slogan of “The Last Major City Until Chicago.” First the box office, then home.

She just hoped she remembered where exactly home was.

I'm Not Mad Just Disappointed (And a Little Mad)

Everyone shut up and let me be mad for a second alright? I appreciate it, thank you.

Hey, Ring of Honor? C'mere. Hey. What're you doing? Huh? Seriously. What're you doing? I want to know. What are you playing at?

I can't put it nicely, so instead I'll put it plainly: you fucked up.

For those of you sitting awkwardly at the internet dinner table while mommy and daddy "have a loud discussion," let me fill you in.

This past Friday, July 26, Ring of Honor put on Death Before Dishonor, one of their three annual "supercard" events, and it absolutely ruled. This show was 4 hours and 45 minutes of world-class pro wrestling joy that had me glued by the eyeballs from start to finish. Possibly my favorite show of the year so far. They stacked the card from top to bottom with banger after banger after banger (although what the heck was with that screwy finish at the end of The Kingdom vs. Kyle O'Reily and Tomohiro Ishii? That match was awesome! Why'd you end it on such a damp squib?). They featured all their best, brightest, and fastest-rising talent in a celebration of the weird, quirky, eclectic promotion the new RoH has grown into! It had all the ingredients of a perfect supercard, but man oh man did they ever drop the ball with the main event.

Not the main event match itself, mind you–the Mark Briscoe vs. Roderick Strong main event we got was awesome–but I cannot understand why this was the match that was chosen for the main event spot. I have absolutely no criticism for either performer. They went out there and wrestled a hell of a match that would have been absolutely worthy of the main event at a show like Death Before Dishonor. And if it were the main event of any other show, I would have no objections. Not this one. This show had only one biggest match. This show belonged to Athena vs. Queen Aminata.

I know it looks awesome, but the actual match was even more awesome

Without getting too deep into the weeds (I fantasy booked an ending to the Athena vs. Aminata storyline and ended up abandoning it at 27 pages because at that point I was writing a novel because I'm the sort of person who walks straight past the weeds and into the rainforest), the Athena vs. Queen Aminata match for the Ring of Honor Women's World Championship was the third-act turn of a more than year-long storyline. This isn't just a significant turning point in a story that has been unfolding week to week on Ring of Honor. This is the Ring of Honor storyline. I am not kidding when I say that the two women's belts on the line in Athena vs. Queen Aminata and Red Velvet vs. Billie Starkz represent the two richest prizes in the promotion. Objectively speaking, the stakes could not have been higher. 

Which is why the placement of Mark Briscoe vs. Roderick Strong as the main event was so puzzling. Again, I want to reiterate: no knock against either performer. Roderick Strong, messiah of the backbreaker? I'm a convert! Mark Briscoe, redneck kung fu black belt? I wish to join his dojo! But I cannot understand the decision to have them close out the show. Ring of Honor has three pay per views a year, and they can either send this one of off with Athena's shock title retention over Queen Aminata after an amazing 20-minute war... or Mark Briscoe showing up for only the second time since winning the belt almost three months ago. 

Seriously, though, no disrespect: this was an awesome match

Mark Briscoe could be a great Ring of Honor Men's World Champion, but he hasn't been on the show. Death Before Dishonor was only his second title defense. No knock against Briscoe–he's been handling business up in AEW and it's been awesome–but there has been zero build to this title defense. Roderick Strong won the title shot in a random match on Dynamite to little fanfare. Mark Briscoe made mention of Roderick Strong as his challenger for the belt at Death Before Dishonor once. In a promo he didn't even deliver in person. I'm just saying that doesn't exactly scream "blood feud."

Admittedly, a video package finally aired that highlighted some background about the competitors. It touched on the shared history between Roderick Strong, Mark Briscoe, and Mark's brother, the late Jay Briscoe, back in Ring of Honor's original incarnation, the in-ring history between Mark Briscoe and Roderick Strong, that this would be their first time competing with a singles title on the line in 50 encounters... and that's about it. All of this would be enough background to spin a story out of, but they aired this on the go-home show 24 hours before the match. Not a lot of time to get invested, guys! The entire "buildup" to the match consisted of Roderick Strong's friends, The Kingdom, hitting Mark Briscoe from behind, like, once backstage and then yelling at him a bit. Sorry. You can't tell me that's the marquee story. No it isn't. It isn't.

For Athena, Death Before Dishonor represented a particularly auspicious title defense. Coming off of an injury and with a 594-day title reign hanging in the balance, there were serious questions as to whether the champ would finally meet her downfall at the hands of the rising superstar, Queen Aminata. Athena's minion ("minion" literally being how Athena addresses her), Billie Starkz would be defending her Ring of Honor Women's Television Championship against (my girl!) Red Velvet at Death Before Dishonor as well. To add another wrinkle, Queen Aminata and Red Velvet have been battling Athena and Billie Starkz for months. The two duos have been hounding each other week after week across Ring of Honor and AEW programming, attacking each other, interfering in each other's matches, and generally making each other miserable. Death Before Dishonor would mark the first proper showdown with all four players involved. 

Look, just believe me when I say that you are peering into the face of evil; Billie Starkz (left), Athena (right)

Athena vs. Queen Aminata and Billie Starkz vs. Red Velvet should've been the main and semi-main events on that show, respectively. Those four women have been putting in a shift night after night on this storyline, and it's heartbreaking to see that not get rewarded.

You know why it bugs me this much? Why it's got me this heated? Because Ring of Honor is a great place for women's wrestling! I'm serious! It's awesome. Not even joking. If every wrestling promotion would treat its women's division the way Ring of Honor does, I would be ecstatic (although TNA's Knockouts Division has been blazing a trail since the days of Gail Kim and Awesome Kong's classics back around 2007, and as far as I know they remain the benchmark for gender parity among any major promotion)! RoH's older brother, AEW, only features one women's match per show. Two if you're lucky. Maybe. Possibly. A couple times a year. Though Ring of Honor isn't perfect, and has had a couple weeks without women's matches, most weeks it features an equal, occasionally greater, number of women's matches to men's. In terms of creative focus, women's storylines comprise a roughly equal proportion of nearly every show, and cards are put together to feature and elevate new and established wrestlers, and extending opportunities to local women's talent equally alongside the men. The process clearly works! Just look at the depth of talent and it's easy to see why RoH puts such a spotlight on the women's division. And how do you book a good wrestling show? You, uh, put your best wrestlers on the show. Like... right?? Am I saying anything crazy?? 

Ring of Honor's women's division casually puts on standout matches all the time. Queen Aminata vs. Billie Starkz, Athena vs. Hikaru Shida, and Taya Valkyrie vs. Trish Adora are recent examples of some matches with great talent that overdelivered despite high expectations. Death Before Dishonor had Leyla Hirsch vs. Diamante in a Texas Death Match that a number of pro wrestling outlets are calling one of the best matches in the promotion's history. And that match was itself the blowoff to a month-long feud that had been afforded significant in-ring and promo time, and both women came out of the match looking like total badasses. The nickname "Legit" Leyla Hirsch has never been more literal.

This is a promotion with a deep bench of women's division talent that includes aforementioned Leyla Hirsch and Diamante, (my girl!) Red Velvet, Queen Aminata, Athena, Billie Starkz, Kiera Hogan, Abadon, Lady Frost, The Renegades, Trish Adora, Marina Shafir (I am going to make a post about her someday because wow is she a one-of-a-kind talent), Rachel Ellering, and a constantly rotating cast of local and enhancement talent that can be, and often are, brought back for multiple matches if they find an audience. What I'm saying is that Ring of Honor is an incredible promotion with better gender representation in terms of screen time and storylines than almost any promotion I have ever seen. You're so good, Ring of Honor, but this was a layup and you blew it. Can you just please make the layup next time? Alright? I know you're good. I love you, too.

Okay. I've calmed down now. I just had to get it out. Okay, now Ring of Honor, I did what my therapist said and wrote in my journal about my feelings, and now I'm ready to sit down and watch you again. I'm not going to hold this against you or anything. You're still my cozy promotion, okay? You're my favorite sidepiece. You just did something really stupid. Please don't let it happen again. Your women's division deserves better.

The Wrong Guy is Sometimes the Right Guy

Back in the late '00s through the mid '10s, I got really into Street Fighter. I spent about $150 on a special joystick for fighting games, spent hours practicing in the training room, playing online, going to tournaments, watching game footage, etc. I devoured anything Street Fighter, and over (an embarrassingly long) time, I got better. I kept getting better and better to the point where I would win multiple matches at tournaments. Compared to getting 0-2ed out of the bracket and spending the rest of the day as a spectator, that was pretty good.

Just like the pros! (not pictured: talent)

Then I played my buddy who hadn't really played fighting games before. You know how the rest of the anecdote goes: I didn't just lose–I got embarrassed.

What happened? It's a common thing that happens among people learning fighting games. Once players hit a level of competency and an awareness of "correct" play, they tend to insist upon always playing "correctly"--even if their opponent has no idea what that even is. Crudely summarized, you forget how to fight scrubs (translation: new or very low-skilled players). It happens. Usually when a loss like that slaps the taste out of your mouth, you either throw up your hands and give up or, more likely, remember the point of fighting games is to win and not to land all your 1-frame links in your combos. Alex Valle, one of the greatest Street Fighter players of all time, famous for his incredibly sharp, accurate, and innovative Ryu play throughout an insane 28-year career, described top-level play as a ratio of "two smart things and one stupid thing," which is to say: it's not optimal to always make the obvious "right" decision in every situation. It's predictable.

So why am I starting an entry in a wrestling blog with an anecdote about Street Fighter meta-strategy? ADHD, but coincidentally, it's a perfect metaphor for the exact mistake I see being made repeatedly on AEW programming, particularly on AEW Collision, AEW's so-called "B-show." Don't get me wrong--AEW Collision is two tremendously entertaining hours of weekly television. That's why it's so disappointing to see how poor booking (translation: the matchmaking decisions, ranging from match results to the storyline consequences of a match) has prevented Collision from fully becoming the land of opportunity it should be.

Collision has an energy all of its own. With its unique set, style, and personality, Collision stands apart from its bigger, older, more popular brother, AEW Dynamite. Most interesting, I think, is the broad array of talent on offer on Collision compared to Dynamite. Whereas Dynamite, as the flagship show, focuses on a fairly narrow cast of top stars, Collision offers new and up-and-coming talent a platform to compete and show their skills to a wider audience. Collision has given AEW fans an introduction to stars who don't get as much main-roster exposure, including the likes of Queen Aminata, Lady Frost, the Renegades, London Lightning, The Infantry and Trish Adora, Dalton Castle, the Outrunners, and the list goes on. Collision showcases that talent (although rarely in winning efforts) and provides exposure and audience interest that can result in return appearances and elevate new talents up the card. It's where Bullet Club Gold (Jay White and Juice Robinson) merged with the Gunns (Austin and Colton Gunn) to become the Bang-Bang Gang and became synonymous with Collision on their meteoric rise. Despite Collision's status as "the B-show," lest we forget, it was going to be C.M. Punk's show–an equal and opposite show operating independently from Dynamite. What happens on Collision matters. The problem is that nothing is ever allowed to.

Basically the mascots of AEW Collison

Okay. That's all wrestling stuff. By now you're probably asking what all this has to do with the introductory treatise on high-level Street Fighter play. Well, first of all, my point is actually about a common pitfall of intermediate-level players, so maybe hold your horses and wait and see where I'm going with this, you excitable little cutie.

When you're an intermediate player, like I was, you know what "right" play looks like. And at that level, your competition all possesses that same knowledge and baseline expectation. When a scrub appears, though, an intermediate player is uniquely vulnerable. An advanced-level player will just sit back and let the scrub keep making mistakes and punishing them, eventually winning in a boring and efficient manner. A beginner is basically a scrub with better knowledge and execution, so they'll trounce the scrub handily. Meanwhile, intermediate players obsess over doing things the "right" way, and keep getting thwarted because the scrub lives in the real world and doesn't care about what the "right" way is to win.

Tony Khan, the owner, CEO, and head of AEW creative, is an intermediate-level booker. He writes all the matchups, guides all the creative, chooses all the outcomes, and decides the story implications for everything that happens on the show. And he books the show like a guy trying to impress his friends on an internet message board. Like he's put together a big effortpost for r/squaredcircle with his enlightened roadmap of the title picture for the next 12 months. And you know what? Fine. It's not ideal, but I'll take it. When it comes to the main event scene, if Tony Khan wants to book predictable outcomes, okay.

But Collision? Tony Khan brings up fresh, promising talents and matches them up against members of AEW's main roster only to have the newcomer lose decisively and vanish from television. The result is a card flush with predictable, consequence-free matches with new talent no one can get invested in because we know what the outcome will invariably be. It's heartbreaking because AEW's roster is overflowing with exciting, skilled wrestlers just waiting in the back for a chance to break out. Those opportunities simply do not exist in AEW's current form, seemingly in deference to "proper" booking, as though the relative strength of wrestlers is sacred and immutable. With smart, confident booking and a bit of patience, Collision could be the land of opportunity rather than just exposure. It doesn't take a great writer to contrive a scenario where a newcomer could plausibly upset someone on the main roster, up to and including "being the the better wrestler on the day."

The aspiring talent gets hurt most by Tony Khan indulging his inner redditor when he gets hold of the booker's pen. While rare, the wrong guy does occasionally dig a win at the top of AEW's card. The Patriarchy's recent victory over the Bang-Bang Gang, the Young Bucks over FTR in the Tag Team Championship Tournament finals, Chris Jericho over Shibata, Chris Jericho over Hook, Chris Jericho and Big Bill over Private Party, Chris Jericho over literally anyone in the past four years, etc., are all examples of the person who shouldn't have won--and in some cases, really, really shouldn't have won--picking up the victory and had the feud spawn a new storyline as a result.

All of these are examples of a surprising finish where the expected loser ended up going over (translation: defeating) their "better"/"stronger" opponent. Upsets not only should be allowed to happen; they need to happen to keep things fresh! Not all the time, but enough for every match to feel like there's at least a bit of jeopardy. But on Collision, the aspiring/developmental talent have a ceiling that starts at the basement and ends at the floor. Never did that feel more apparent than Tony Nese vs. Rey Fenix on the July 20, 2024 episode of Collision.

They're like the jocks from an 80s movie except they're the ones getting bullied

The segment starts with Tony Nese coming down to the ring with Ariya Daivari and Josh Wood, collectively known as the Premier Athletes, along with their mouthpiece, "Smart" Mark Sterling. Nese issues an open challenge to the back, daring anyone to step up and take him on. Here's the thing, though: the Premier Athletes never win. They lose all the time. Just all the time. Both as a faction and individually, the Premier Athletes have zero credibility as a threat to anyone on the roster with a recognizable name, so Tony Nese coming out and proudly boasting that he'll take anyone on is met with basically no crowd response. It's not Nese's fault. Despite a slick repackage and having the smooth-talking lawyer "Smart" Mark Sterling as their manager, the Premier Athletes have not had a significant victory on either AEW or sister promotion Ring of Honor in like 3 months. I love their act, but they have never given us a reason to take them seriously as a threat.

This was a chance to change that.

Enter Rey Fenix.

Every story is improved by the line "Enter Rey Fenix"

The acrobatic Rey Fenix presented an intriguing contrast to the classical chiseled physique of Nese. Fenix recently returned from injury and has not lost a step. From the opening bell, Fenix's speed, athleticism, and sheer in-ring creativity keep the luchador a step ahead of Nese throughout the match's early stages. Simply put, Fenix is the better wrestler of the two, both in storyline and in reality. At this point, based on fan reaction, there isn't a person in the building who would give Nese even a 1% chance of coming out on top. If this were a straight contest, I'd agree, and that would be the end of it, and this blog would be over, and we would all be free, but that's not the timeline we live in. Remember: Tony Nese brought friends.

With Daivari, Wood, and Sterling at ringside, the group is able to repeatedly distract the referee, allowing the Premier Athletes to overwhelm Rey Fenix through sheer numbers while the ref's back is turned. This allows Nese to take control of the contest while Rey Fenix, alone save for his translator and hype man Alex Abrahantes, fights valiantly from the back foot. Fenix will not stay down, and through sheer grit he finds an opening to maybe swing the momentum, but just as a comeback appears hopeful, a (storyline) botched landing on an aerial move leaves Fenix favoring his right knee. For the first time in the match, there's real jeopardy. At this point, a "properly" structured match would have the heels (translation: bad guys) press their advantage, look like they're about to put away the babyface (translation: good guy), perhaps get too greedy with the three-on-one chicanery and get caught by the referee, allowing the babyface the moment of opportunity to make a desperate comeback, the heels regroup and make one final attempt to interfere in the match, it backfires, leading to a scramble that culminates in Rey Fenix hitting Tony Nese with his finisher and pinning him for the 1-2-3.

And... that's exactly what happened.

Pardon my harsh language, but that's some B.S. Actually, you know what? I'm not even going to abbreviate it: that's Boring Storytelling. 

Now, here you're probably asking the perfectly reasonable question, "Why is that boring storytelling? That sounds like a perfectly good story for a match between an established main-eventer beating someone from the undercard with zero build or stakes on a random episode of Collision." And notional third party, you're right. I'm with you. I get you. We're one. It's a perfectly good story. It's just that every single story plays out that way. The established talent always overcomes the odds, always beats the challenger, always wins as expected. It's such a shame to see a chance to showcase new talent smothered by slavishly deciding every match based on who the "right" wrestler to go over in an acontextual frictionless vacuum is. Nobody new gets a chance to shine. Ask any artist: exposure only gets you so far. Eventually, you need to actually do something with it. 

Rey Fenix could've lost that match.

Instead, things went the way they were supposed to go. That's fine. Things are supposed to go how they're supposed to go. The problem is that on Collision that's how it always goes. It is a problem. 2024 is the Year of the Contract for WWE, and that doesn't just mean re-signing existing talent. WWE is making big plays in Japan, TNA, and, yes, AEW to sign big names this year. AEW is not going to be able to retain all of their talent as a number of those early 5-year contracts start coming up, and unused veteran talent looking to ply their trade elsewhere will do so. Yes, AEW's roster is flush with talent now--it is arguably the best roster any promotion has ever had, like... ever, ever--but this is when AEW as a promotion should be investing in new talent they can promote to the main roster when their existing talent decides to seek pastures new.

There's a lot to be said for protecting your stars and keeping them looking strong in the eyes of fans. "Protecting" a wrestler means not exposing them to situations or booking match results that make that wrestler look weak or undermine the credibility of their character. Usually, that means winning, because, yes, in wrestling, wins and losses matter. I can't explain exactly how–it's not like it's quantifiable–but the believability and legitimacy of a star is tied inextricably to their perceived ability to actually follow through on the big, crazy promises they shout into the camera. You can't do that if every match ends with you snacking on your own molars while staring at the lights. 

I'll say it again: Rey Fenix could've lost that match. Losing to an entire faction cheating on behalf of his opponent doesn't make Rey Fenix look weak! Getting worn down and eventually getting pinned after a long, grueling struggle doesn't make him look weak! If anything, fighting valiantly and having an incredibly close, competitive match in spite of the odds paints him as a strong, classic babyface! Those are perfectly acceptable circumstances for him to lose! Nobody is going to accuse Rey Fenix of hot-doggin' it if he takes the pin outnumbered three (technically four) to one and wrestling on one good leg.

I'm honestly struggling to think of a better opportunity in recent memory to turn a heatless, one-off exhibition match into a beef with some stakes (I stole that). Why couldn't Nese vs. Fenix lead to a feud between the Premier Athletes and Lucha Bros/Death Triangle (Rey Fenix's tag team and faction, respectively)? What else are either team doing? Again, this is a chance to give the Premier Athletes time in front of crowds so they can show off what they're about. Give the Premier Athletes a chance on the big stage to get their act over (translation: gain popularity and credibility with fans). If they don't connect? That's fine. But they at least deserve an opportunity to succeed or fail on their own merits.

Now, since I am (hopefully) speaking to (anyone) non-wrestling fans, I feel the need to clarify that I love Rey Fenix, and I think he's amazing. I want to see him win gold again very soon after an injury cut his initial run with the AEW International Championship short. It might sound weird saying that I wanted a wrestler I love to lose a match to an act I don't particularly have any investment in, but if acts like the Premier Athletes aren't given a chance to sink or swim on a big stage with a consequential storyline, how could anyone get invested? New acts get over by winning. That doesn't mean beating another unknown wrestler in a 5-minute throwaway match on Rampage; it means beating established talent on TV where as many people as possible can see it. Any decent booker could see there is enough meat on the bone for the Premier Athletes to make a play at disrupting the midcard. Any one of the three Premier Athletes are individually talented enough to credibly contend for the TNT Championship with a couple of wins under their belts. Oh, and would you look at that?! There's three of them! Like... guys!! The AEW trios division is right there!!

I don't pretend to be some kind of booking genius, but a brisk four- to six-week feud between the Premier Athletes and the Lucha Bros (or all of Death Triangle if Pac were to get involved) spinning off from this match could've been a lot of fun and a great showcase for three underused talents. It's not even like the Premier Athletes would have to win the entire feud, but this was a chance for Nese, Wood, and Daivari to pick up some meaningful wins and establish themselves as a midcard presence. If Nese picks up a win over Fenix and, say, Daivari picks up a pinfall over Penta el Cero Miedo before ultimately coming up short in a best of 3 falls match, and the Premier Athletes give a strong showing in a losing effort against Death Triangle to blow off the feud, you don't think the Premier Athletes still come out looking better than they started? They'd be sharing the ring with main-eventers!

Maybe I still haven't made my case, though. I'll admit that, as a concept, having an undercarder go over top talent sounds like a bad idea. You want your stars to feel like stars, after all. Could the reward even be worth the risk?

Let me tell you about Sean Waltman.

What peak performance looked like in 1993

Known to fans of the WWF in 1993 as "The Kid," Sean Waltman debuted on Monday Night Raw on May 3, 1993 in a losing effort against Doink the Clown. When The Kid lost his next outing the following week to Mr. Hughes, he appeared destined for life as a jobber, also known as "enhancement talent" (translation: a wrestler hired strictly to lose to more popular wrestlers and make them look good). One could be forgiven for getting that impression; in the jacked and juiced WWF of the 80s, Sean Waltman wouldn't have even gotten an autograph, much less an audition. But in 1993, with the WWF having to bench their biggest, sweatiest, most popular talents due to a looming steroid scandal, the WWF took a chance on Waltman in the scramble to rebuild some semblance of a roster with different, less huge wrestlers. Beside his flamboyant New Generation contemporaries such as Bret Hart, Doink the Clown, Yokozuna, The Undertaker, Sean Michaels, et al, a lanky, bemulleted curtain-jerker like The Kid appeared to be at no risk of stealing any spotlights, but that would change on the night of May 17, 1993.

Standing opposite The Kid that night was the Bad Guy himself: Razor Ramon. Ramon was a well-established main-eventer on the way up and still miles from his ceiling. Against an extremely popular and heavily pushed (translation: given lots of focus and storyline importance) star like Ramon, The Kid was an interchangeable punching bag filling a spot that could've gone to any of a thousand other hapless geeks. Nowadays, wrestling fans tune into their favorite weekly wrestling shows and expect to see competitive matches up and down the card, but back in the early 90s (and even more so in the 70s and 80s), it was extremely common for professional wrestling programming to prominently feature "squash matches," where the popular wrestler gets all the offense and effortlessly destroys his or her opponent in like 4 minutes, go to commercial, and back for the next squash.

As long as he had an opponent, Razor Ramon had a toothpick

It was a foregone conclusion that Razor Ramon was going to win this match. The fans knew it. Ramon sure as hell knew it. He had spent most of the match toying with The Kid, but now it was time to put him away. Ramon hoisted The Kid up to finish off the newcomer with the Razor's Edge and effortlessly score the 3.

At least that's the how the "proper" booking goes.

Instead, The Kid managed to slip out and reverse the move into a surprise pin attempt. Ramon, caught completely off-guard by his opponent's sudden act of desperation, wasn't prepared as his shoulders hit the mat and the ref made the count. 1... 2... 3. Razor Ramon sat in stunned silence as the roof came off the arena. Although Ramon had trounced his overmatched opponent from bell to bell, it was the younger, smaller, less experienced Waltman having his hand raised. The Kid was over, in every sense. For the remainder of Sean Waltman's (first) tenure in the WWF, he went by a new moniker: The 1-2-3 Kid. With a single victory, Sean Waltman had literally made a name for himself.

Following the encounter, The 1-2-3 Kid would be featured in several storylines opposite Razor Ramon, The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase, the Smoking Gunns, Savio Vega, and Marty Jannetty. Sean Waltman left the WWF a few years later and would go onto a successful run in WCW under the name "Syxx," before returning to the WWF as X-Pac, where he would enjoy a successful 4-year run that included several midcard and tag title wins, and would then go on to multiple runs in the indies and closing out his career with TNA.

And what of poor Razor? Was his push derailed by losing to an undercarder? Did he spiral into irrelevance before departing unceremoniously in the next round of talent cuts? Let's see here. Let me just check the record books and... hmm... ah, okay, yes: it says here that following the devastating loss, Razor Ramon's would merely win the WWF Intercontinental Championship a then-record four times over the next two years before going on to a successful career in WCW as a founding member of the New World Order, the most popular pro wrestling faction of all time. Oh. And he eventually got his win back against The 1-2-3 Kid in a Crybaby Match, where the loser had to wear a big diaper and hold a giant bottle because wrestling is the best form of entertainment. I guess he did alright, huh?

What am I getting at with this? Closer to my loved ones having me sectioned and a conclusion. You're welcome. 

Drama happens when things go wrong. When the natural order is disrupted. Tony Khan needs to quit booking like a member of the internet wrestling community trying to impress an even more unbearable segment of the internet wrestling community. It's alright for the favorite to lose. It's alright for the star to get shown up. The "right" guy isn't always the right answer right then.

I'm going to go off on a quick rant here--because everything preceding this wasn't--so if you'll just indulge me...

It's been such a shame watching Trent Beretta's betrayal of Orange Cassidy play out because Orange Cassidy always wins. He always comes out on top. Trent Beretta never meaningfully defeats or takes anything from Orange Cassidy in their feud. That's boring! Orange Cassidy has been on top for two years! The drama is in him suddenly falling to an adversary who knows how to exploit his weaknesses. Trent sacrificed everything by turning on Orange Cassidy and Chuck Taylor. As sick as it sounds, he should be rewarded for it. That's the purpose of the heel turn! He advances his character by achieving his goals! If. He's. Not. Rewarded. Then. What. Was. The. Point.

Okay. Rant over. 

Tony Khan's constant insistence on ensuring that the top talent don't cleanly lose sometimes borders on the absurd. It's almost fourth-wall breaking. I rolled my eyes when Khan had to make sure his #1 favorite wrestler Will Ospreay got a visual pinfall over Swerve Strickland that just didn't count because the ref was out. What's the harm in letting Swerve win clean? He's the Men's World Champion, for crying out loud.

Okay, okay. Now it's rant over.

Wrestling booking should be about keeping your stars looking strong, yes, but it should also be about building the next guys up. I'm getting into the weeds here, but there's a point where protecting your talent and keeping them strong becomes overprotecting your talent. When established stars can never, ever lose to a perceived "lesser," the card stagnates, matches become predictable, and aspiring talent get buried.

I hope that Tony Khan can stop stratifying the AEW roster into a rigid hierarchy where everyone has a strictly defined floor and ceiling on their success. That starts with giving undercard talent some consequential wins on shows like Collision. In the past year, some amazing Ring of Honor talent have wrestled like shadows of themselves on Collision in the interest of making someone who already looks good, look good. Worst of all, it benefits those who need it the least at the expense of opportunities to elevate new talent. Collision can be AEW's land of opportunity: a place where crafts are honed and new stars rise. Give some of that fresh, up-and-coming talent their time in the spotlight and show off their strengths, and I promise we will see history.

Natalya Is Actually Awesome

Hey. Hi. Me again. Sorry to interrupt your whole crimmus. I won't be long; just tedious. Despite how that might've read, that was not a hamfisted attempt at doing like a "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" thing. Trust me, it'll be way more hamfisted when I do it on purpose.

So I want to just shout out Natalya Neidhart for a moment. Natalya doesn't get her due. Natalya has been wrestling for 23 years, with the last 15 coming with WWE after signing with the promotion in 2008. She is routinely made the butt of jokes that she's been in WWE for 15 years and despite being here the whole time, never really having much to speak of or show for it. She's constantly spoken about in these really cruel ways, as though having "only" a couple of title holds across that 15-year span makes her career just wallpaper.

Natalya Neidhart, actual not kidding legend

You know what Natalya Neidhart has done in that 15 years? She came to work. Natalya Neidhart learned every lesson her mentors had to teach, because you don't stick around at the top level of the business that long if you're not willing to pay attention.

She's gone on to become a mentor herself. In 2023, Natalya might only ever get minor roles onscreen, but you know where she is a leader? Backstage. She's got her locker room on the same page. I read and listen to a lot of wrestling news (clearly, as I'm taking great pains not to quantify it) and hear a ton of drama coming out of both AEW and WWE. In such a political industry, it is remarkable that the WWE women's locker room has gone almost a decade without any major reported strife or division. You think it's the wallpaper in charge of running that tight a ship? Yeah, I don't think it's big egos that are keeping the peace. 

Irrelevancy? Tell that to her 75 pay per view appearances. Have most of those been winning efforts? No. But you know why you get a reputation for being everyone's first feud? Because you know your craft well enough you can guide someone much less experienced through it. You hand an up-and-comer their first big W in a blowoff to a couple-month storyline, and you give them that credibility to elevate up the roster, and you might have just made a star out of someone. Natalya Neidhart was there between the ropes doing the work that built the Flairs and the Paiges and the Beckys Lynch up into the icons of the sport. Natalya added an important chapter to dozens and dozens of different stories because she's a damn good worker, and there is tremendous honor in that.

And she did nothing the whole time? First women's two-belt champion. Yeah. Not Becky Lynch. Natalya came up with the Hart dynasty. She trained in the Hart Dungeon. You think they graduate her if she didn't earn it? When your name comes up in conversations with names like Chyna, you have more than earned your accolades. One-half of the Divas of Doom alongside Beth Phoenix. Won the Women's Tag Championship with Tamina–and this is before the belts were cursed! They still had credibility when she won them! 

Anyway, I just thought I'd get that off my chest because I think it's shallow, mean, and incredibly unfair to talk that way about someone who has devoted her life to the business. Wrestling is in her. You do not need a lot of runs with the title to prove that you are a credit to the sport. And she is. Natalya has made professional wrestling as a whole demonstrably, meaningfully better for a lot of people in ways for which she cannot immediately receive due credit. We should appreciate someone like that. Thank you, Natalya. I see you.

Okay and yeah elephant in the room I fell off the edge of the Earth trying to do that multi-part series because I'd start one, then get another idea, then think of someone else, and it was like trying to catch an entire swarm of flies at once. That first entry is coming. This year? Shut up. You're not my boss. Don't tell me what to do I like my room messy get out