A Wrestler's Dream

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Chapter Twenty Seven

Friday September 24th, 2010. Early to Mid-Night:

The Arena Doors

Cheering, that was all that Randy could hear. Hundreds of people whistling and yelling as they awaited a huge night of amateur wrestling, full of amazing moments. The adrenaline pumping through his veins felt indescribable. It got to the point where his ears would pound angrily with the blood flowing past them. These nights always went this way. He would be standing outside the arena entrance, jumping back and forth in place whilst he waited to be called out.

This time was completely different however, he never had a title on the line before. Marcos looked nervous as well, his face was pale and he was staring down at his boots. The heat in this particular part of the hallway, seemed to just increase as time went on. It was as if someone had been tampering with the thermostat to the building just to psych him out. The commentators, Homer Finkel and “Salty” Sam Samuels were talking to each other.

Sam had the low voice whilst Homer tended to stay around the mid to higher pitched volume. “Did you see that pile driver?!” the higher voice asked. Randy smiled down at the floor, Homer just seems fit for this job. He thought. Then Sam’s low voice responded, “I did Salty, and might I say, it was expertly applied by Jorge.” “Remember folks, we have a sub main event coming up just after this match. It’s gonna be a doozy.” Sam said. Randy’s heart started to beat even faster now, making all of his blood thin out. He felt dazed and lightheaded while he stood there waiting for their match.

“OH, JORGE HAS LANDED THE PITTSBURG DROP! Tank’s gonna have to dig deep to kick out of this…” Sam yelled. “He’s got the pin, one… two… three! Jumping Jorge has defeated the undefeated newcomer! Jesus H… what a match!” Marcos tapped Randy on his shoulder, drawing his attention. Randy saw the nervousness behind those dark brown eyes and nodded at him. “I’m scared too man, but here’s the worst case scenario. We battle the Salem twins and we fail… It’ll be one hell of a match, regardless.” the left side of Marco’s mouth lifted into a smirk.

“That’s right, let’s give those two hell!” Randy nodded, and reached a hand over. “Partners…” he said. “For life.” Marcos replied, extending his own out. They shook them for a few seconds and then waited for the next match to start. The metal doors flew open, as a tiny man left with his bloodied head in his hand. Randy easily towered over him by five inches. “Good job out there Jorge.” he called out. “Yeah, thanks man. I’m glad to have that win under my belt. Hey, maybe someday I’ll get a title shot just like you.” he replied. Jorge’s face resembled a tiki pole.

He had a long, flat nose, with wide nostrils. He also had dark skin, a long thin black mustache under his nose and long sideburns. His eyes were wide, with bags underneath both and the irises were dark brown. He also had a buzz cut hair style, which showed off his tiny ears. He stumbled away from them, baring the blood stains on the back of his yellow shorts. Shortly thereafter, Tank exited through the doors. He was shorter than Randy but not by much. He stood at 5’11’’ tall. He had shoulder length hair that is dyed dark green. His ears are tiny and nose is long and thin. His cheeks are thin, and cheek bones are pointy. He also has a wide jaw alongside a wide chin.

Everything from the waist up was built like a brick house. He had huge arms and thick abdominal muscles. “You had a great streak there Tank. Keep your head up man, I still support ya.” Randy said. “You too! I’m rooting for you and Marcos tonight. Knock those Salem twins dead.” Randy clapped a hand on the back of Tank’s shoulder, and Marcos nodded at him. Tank turned back around and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “I really mean it when I said what I did. You two have great potential in this business. Tonight was my last match here at CSWS…”

“What does that mean?” Marcos replied. “Yeah, what’s up?” Randy asked. Tank gave them a wide grin. “I’ve been invited to join the DWL!” “Oh my God Tank, congrats!” Randy yelled. “Thanks man.” Tank replied. “Yeah Tank, congratulations!” Marcos said. “Thank you little guy. I hope that I can bring a whole bunch of talent back to the big leagues. Make them remember that the CSWS is full of amazing athletes. Knock em’ dead you two.” Tank turned back around and lumbered off towards the men’s shower room.

“Yeah, good luck doing that! You put this match in our favor.” Right on cue, the Salem twins entered the area, standing behind Randy and Marcos. They wore matching attire, which was a wrestling leotard, with one arm strap around the right shoulder. The attire was all yellow with white stripes down the sides. Their boots matched the outfit as well, lining up with the stripes perfectly. Resting around their midsections, were the titles. “Take a good look at these belts you two. This is as close as you’ll ever get to them.” Jacob said.

He was the one to the left of Randy. “Right back at ya Jacob. We’re gonna wipe the floor with your sorry asses, literally.” Jacob snarled at Randy, gripping harder onto his belt. From behind them, past the doors a voice called out, silencing the crowd. “Now, it is time for the sub main event, Tag Team Championship match. Remember, falls count anywhere, there are no disqualifications, and no rope breaks. There is also an elimination factor in this match. If one member of the team is pinned for the count of three, or taps out, they are eliminated and must leave the arena.” This man’s voice got Randy’s adrenaline to kick into high gear each and every time he called his name.

“Introducing first, the CSWS Tag Team Champions at a combined weight of six hundred pounds, the Streets of Discreet, John and Jacob Salem!” With this being said, the twins charged past them, slamming the metal doors open. Randy saw all the lights situated on them as they walked past the yelling crowd. Randy took a deep breath and exhaled hard. “You’ll be fine homes. I know you can wrestle and you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll take one on while you go after the other. The game plan is simple, don’t let them gang up on one guy.” Marcos said.

“Right, that sounds good! Let’s go get em’ man. I’ll slap on that Super Shooter and you’ll hit the Marcos Polos, and we’ll get the belts in no time.” When the fans calmed down, the ring announcer spoke once more. “Now, the challengers. First, he’s a man who needs no explanation. He’s a high flyer who loves to hear that beloved Marco Polo chant, weighing in at one hundred and seventy pounds, MARCOS GONZALES!” Marcos turned to Randy and nodded, then slammed the doors open to enter the brightly lit arena.

Randy let the doors close then rested his head against the cool metal. He couldn’t stop the nerves from taking over his thoughts. He just couldn’t stop thinking of all the possible things that the twins could do to them. It’s a No DQ match and they could pin him or Marcos anywhere in that arena. The crowd died down again, making Randy’s ears ring for a second as he prepared for his introduction. This is what dad and grandpa always felt before they wrestled. That adrenaline filled shock you receive when your name is being called. The chants of your name throughout the crowd.

“Here is a man who also doesn’t need any introductions. He’s a third generation wrestler, under the famous Rodriguez bloodline. Weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, RANDY RODRIGUEZ!” He took one last deep breath and then kicked the doors wide open, entering the cheer filled arena.

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