Post by Aaron Pearle on Aug 18, 2013 15:45:13 GMT -5
Pearle Promo #3
Aaron Pearle rode his stationary bike silently, eyes focused on the TV screen in front of him, oblivious to the nearly dozen other individuals in the gym. They, like him, were wrestlers in training; however, while most of them were prepping themselves for matches that maybe 300 people would watch at Cape Cod’s venerable Melody Tent venue: the Lustrous One was booked to compete in front of a far larger audience.
The man he would be facing was visible on the ceiling mounted set. It was footage of a triple threat match. His upcoming foe had just put down his opponent with a snappy short arm clothesline, and then forced him to submit with his cross armbreaker finisher. Pearle snorted and hit the PAUSE button on the remote that was clamped onto the front of the bike.
“No way would he have gotten me on the mat with that clothesline. What did that dude Turner weigh? It’s got to be under two bills.”
His trainer, who was slowly pedaling on the exercise bike besides him gave the answer, “Justin Turner was 165 pounds.”
“Pfft. What was his gimmick: wrestling chemo patient? No wonder Barber dropped him like a bad habit. And no wonder he was undefeated before last week. He was facing the terminally ill before that!”
Lonnie Doyle shook his head, “Turner was a high flyer. Not my kind of wrestling but serviceable enough at it. As for John Barber,” he nodded towards the screen, “He’s good; athletic, with a solid technical background. He’s the best wrestler you’ve been booked against in EPPW so far; maybe the best wrestler you’ve been booked against period.”
Aaron was incredulous, “C’mon, Coach: I was BCWA World Champion for a year and a half. I beat “Vile” Desmond Pyle! I beat The Plymouth Rocker!”
Doyle knew this. In addition to being Aaron Pearle’s trainer, he owned the Barnstable County Wrestling Association that The Lustrous One had worked in before getting signed by EPPW, “And now you’re in the big leagues, facing tougher competition. Barber knows what he’s doing in that ring. You can’t rely on your size and speed to win. You’re going to have to outwrestle him.”
For a while, Aaron said nothing. He just stared at the frozen image of John Barber, limbs wrapped around his opponent’s arm, twisting it back in an ungodly angle.
“Or I can cheat,” he ultimately pointed out.
Lonnie Doyle smiled broadly, and clapped a tough, gnarled hand on his protégé’s shoulder, “Damn right you can! If you ain’t cheating you ain’t trying!”
The Lustrous One nodded. He unpaused the television and then skipped ahead to watch more of his next challenge’s work.
We’re going to skip ahead as well: to the day Aaron cuts his promo for this Sunday’s Slam. He is standing in front the cameras, in his ring gear, casually playing “Cat’s Cradle” with the long strand of white pearls he wears to the ring. He takes his eyes off his work to address the viewer, while nimble fingers continue to work the beads into a variety of configurations.
“This Sunday, at the Wachovia Center in Philadelphia, I am having my third match in EPPW. It’s against another recent arrival, another member of the company’s ‘New Blood’. He, like me, is scheduled to compete in a Battle Royale Elimination Match at the next pay per view. That makes this upcoming fight a chance for both of us to scout each other, and also to build momentum for Revenge.
“My opponent, John “The Florida Cracker” Barber, comes from EPPW’s developmental system. He’s got talent like Gravedigger and Synn talking him up. That and the fact he’s never been pinned since joining the roster makes some think John Barber has got a shot at making a name for himself here. And maybe he does.”
“But it ain’t going to be at my expense.”
Aaron undoes the knots in his string of pearls and loops it over his thick bull neck.
“It doesn’t matter to me that this match is just an exhibition. Every contest is equally important, because it would be a crime against the sport for me to lose to a lesser wrestler. The Lustrous One cannot have his shine tarnished by some chaw gobbling yokel. The pressure of being me, of being AAAA Grade, is almost overwhelming. But I move forward, and I persevere.
“Sunday night at Slam ‘Good Ol’ Boy’ John Barber is going to run into a ‘Better Young Man’: me. It’s a preview for Revenge’s New Blood Battle Royale, and like all previews, there’s going to be a spoiler: Pearle wins. People say that Barber is a better grappler than me, that he’s a submission specialist. Well, I’ve seen him in action, and while it’s true he did make me tap out, it’s only because his matches are painfully boring to watch. The guy’s got no style. John Barber should change his nickname from ‘The Florida Cracker’ to ‘Melba Toast’ he’s so dull.”
Aaron stops and gives a great big guffaw; tossing his head back and holding his sides and laughing. He turns and pounds on the prop wall behind him, which makes the silver neon “The Lustrous One” sign placed there wobble ominously. He finally manages to compose himself, and turns and face the camera, wiping a tear away from his eye.
“ ‘Melba Toast’, ohhhhhh. You guys are going to edit that out, right? Coo’. Ok, back on track.”
Pearle composes himself and continues with his screed.
“So what if Barber might be a better ‘wrestler’ than me, and I say ‘might’, because The Lustrous One can trade holds with anyone. I’m bigger than that rube, and I’m stronger, and I’m faster. I move like a Mustang and hit like a runaway train. That’s the kind of wrestling people want to see. Well, except those poor dopes who are unlucky enough to face me in the ring. The sight of me coming off the top turnbuckle, leaping so high I’ll get lost in the lights, will be enough to make John Barber whizz his Wranglers. And that’s before 250 pounds of concentrated awesome crashes into him, making his body Ground Zero for my patented Pearle Dive.”
Pearle gets serious now. He tucks his head down to glare up at the camera behind a set brow, affecting what those in the Business call a ‘Kubrick Stare.’
“Yeah, I’m beating ‘The Florida Cracker’ Sunday. My undefeated streak will be intact come Monday morning. I will continue to move my way up the rankings of EPPW. No one can stop me. I will go into Revenge unpinned, and I will come out the same. The Number One Contendership for the title Seth Lerch decides is the top prize for winning the New Blood Battle Royale will be mine, and, when the time comes, I’ll beat the champion and the belt will be mine too. You might think I’m talking out my fine, fine ass here, but you’d be wrong. I’m not going to lose in EPPW. Not ever. Not. Ever. All you old timers, you WCF fuddy duddies who long for the way things used to be, are about to have your collective cake rained on. The Pearle Paradigm is here, and it’s real, and it’s not going away. You’ve been lucky so far: I’ve only been booked in matches against my fellow rookies. But next Sunday, after I’ve scraped the last of the New Blood off the soles of my boots, I’ll be coming after you next. And your records and your titles will not be safe.”
The shoot ends. After assuming the Namaste position and collecting his thoughts, he lopes over to the studio’s control room to meet with his manager.
“What did you think?” he asked.
Jody Dunbar nodded in approval, “Good. Mostly on point. But we need –“
“Dutdutdutdut,” Pearle cut her off, “Let me sit down before you start with your buzzkillworthy postscript.”
The zaftig brunette complied; waiting for Aaron to sprawl out onto one of the folding chairs and ignoring the coy pat on his thigh to join him there, “We need to talk about you plan to wrestle three times on the September 15th Slam.”
“Heh. You read those tweets from Eric Price and Gravedigger? Those dudes be hangry!”
“This is serious, Aaron.”
Pearle shook his head, “It’ll keep. ‘Pearle Slam’ is a month away. I have other matches to focus on in the meantime.”
“Fine. Let me just say, for the record, that the idea is ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, we’re strictly off the record here,” Aaron leaned forward and gave Jody a predatory smirk, “That’s why I can say you look amazing right now and not have to worry about any possible sexual harassment suits.”
Jody rolled her eyes, “Stop.”
“You know I love it when you wear your hair up, baby.”
“Stop,” she repeated flatly.
“Fine.”
There was a long pause, during which the only sound that could be heard was from the control room board operator, who nervously coughed, no doubt hoping to remind the pair they were not alone in the room.
“There are better ways of getting noticed than volunteering to wrestle three matches on one show,” she finally pointed out.
“Come on, Jody: even you have to admit it was brilliant. All that online hype about XIII trumped by a wrestler who’s just signed onto the company.”
She didn’t answer, but inwardly she had to admit the plan was good IN THEORY. The execution was what had her worried. Aaron continued to explain why it was a sound idea.
“Me making waves is what likely got me the sit down piece with Hank Brown for Revenge.”
“It’s not going to be Brown. Your interview is with Freddy Whoa.”
Some of Aaron’s enthusiasm left his face, “Oh.”
“Is that a problem?” Jody quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Hank Brown’s the Voice of WC… er, EPPW. He’s got a little more, I don’t know, gravitas than Whoa.”
“Don’t worry about who’s going to be pitching you softball questions in puff piece interviews. Its winning your matches that matters. Concentrate on that.”
“I have been. Undefeated, remember?”
Jody adjusted one of the pencils in her bun, “Let’s keep it that way. And please, PLEASE, can we try to keep the distractions to a minimum? No more antagonizing EPPW management? No more being a wiseass to WCF legends?”
“Baby, you’re my only distraction right now. You and those bee stung lips.”
“Ugh.”
“What flavor lips gloss is that? Can The Lustrous One have a taste?”
This was the cue for the board operator to abruptly rise up from her seat and power walk out. Aaron watched her go before turning his attention back to Jody.
“One more thing, for reals: I need you to talk to whoever handles security at Slam. Call it a hunch, but I think that loony tune Havok might try something in Philly.”
Jody nodded, “He did seem fixated on you in his last promo.”
“Yeah, and he’s crazy and desperate enough to do something crazy and desperate. I’m already facing him and Barber at Revenge. I got no real interest in having to deal with those two yahoos at the same time Sunday.”
“Understood.”
Satisfied, Aaron leaned back and ran a finger over the string of beads that rested on his chest. Things were going so well. He was undefeated in competition, part of the greatest wrestling promotion in the world, and going into his first pay per view match as what had to be one of the favorite to win. Right now only one man stood in the way of keeping his momentum going.
“John Barber isn’t good enough to beat me,” he mumbled down at his torso, fixated on his bulging cobblestone abs, “No one is.”