Hi My Name is Christina and I'm a Wrestling Fan

I won't wait for the Hi Christina. I'll just get to my story. 

I'm going to tell you why I am a professional wrestling fan.  I love it, always have.  I love watching the over the top histrionics. I love the sometimes base level one caricatures of common tropes. I love the bluster. I also admire the athletics, the form, and the ability to really go out there and pull me as a viewer into the match.  I love the crowd engagement no matter how ridiculous.  I love the way it never apologizes for what it is and the performers really pour all of who they are into what they are doing. I love that its one of the few things that is filmed and broadcasted live weekly and monthly.  I love that for all the admonishment about being fake it is literally the realest thing I can watch on television when you consider the competition is scripted 'reality' TV shows, propaganda news and recycled sitcoms that won’t trust a live audience anymore. I cut my teeth over 2 decades ago from the promotion that most modern wrestling tropes have tried to turn into a science.

What I dislike about wrestling ironically enough is a part of what makes it so unique.  Some of the pervasive fan base. I hate the ones that need to go online and try and show their 'in the know' smarts by commenting foolishly on something they cannot even begin to understand based on a low tier observation from the comfort of their couch. The ones that feel the need to judge talent by standards that no talent can even understand what to pursue because that fan has literally just made up a justification for why this talent is beneath the standard. The fan that criticizes what they can't do to gain their 15 minutes of fame among a self-hating contingent that uses sarcasm and cynicism to justify what they love to a what they assume is an unreceptive general public.

It seems like every week this is becoming the more popular fan type. But I have to beg of you to consider what you want to be to wrestling. One of those detractors or a fan. I can't keep track of the online rants about dumb booking, dumb finishes and who is burying who.  And I remain mystified at how some can't manage being a fan who loves something enough to actually see it beyond themselves and their personal preferences.  How one can watch what these people are doing and not see them. They are artists and they have bled literally into their art. It’s difficult for me to look at the pains, the challenges, the sacrifices and not appreciate the single minded determination and focus it takes to be good at the job they do. Being good is subjective but we can all agree being good is the only thing really that gets you to the top or even close enough to see it no matter your business. If you're a fraud everyone sees it. When its broadcast live to millions it’s even more apparent. There are many talents that family name, connections and interest just didn't make up for what they lacked as a performer. So the idea that being good is not a quantifier is already a lost lot.

I believe experience is a great teacher.  In certain professions is the only valid teacher. I couldn't tell you what to do if you botched a move in a big match on a PPV.  I can't tell you what that it factor is that makes someone marketable.  I can't tell you how to pace a match between two differing styles just right. I can just tell you if it looked good to me, the average 20 plus year fan that has seen almost every major promotion and every major performer for the last 2 decades. And unless you've done the gig that's all any of us can do.

So I'm not going to go over the ins and outs of booking or in-ring performance, what the next rivalry is and how it should be built.  That is for a very good reason. None of those are my expertise.  What I have over 2 decades of experience in is being a fan. What pains me most days when I'm trying to enjoy something that I have been a fan of for over two thirds of my life is the not so knowledgeable ramblings of people who have appointed themselves, COO, Master Booker and In-Ring Architect when they haven't even figured out how to do the very first job of watching professional wrestling. Which is just being a fan.   

Life Goes On

All over the world awakenings are happening.  Each day an ordinary person is waking up with new extraordinary talents.  And those who already had these talents are finding themselves much much stronger. One day the world will know it's history and this time shall be known as the shift.  The brief period of time where humanity succumbed to vanity, pride, lust, envy, anger, sloth and greed to become their own gods.  The loss of life was monumental.  The true powers of the universe stood by and let it happen.  In most situations the problem will eventually weed itself out and this time was no different than the many, many times before.

But each time humanity returns more refined.  They adapt to change faster.  They understand the theories in less time.  And they build their monuments to themselves higher and higher.  This wasn't the first time they declared themselves gods. However it might be the last time.

In the preparation for the shift a select few have been chosen.  Of course in every story such as this, there are those who have actually been given divinity. They were chosen not because of what they were but because of who they could become.  Potential is not a dirty word, it is a compliment. The bottom line is, when the universe calls on one to become bigger.  The last thing one can do is deny the request. 

The world must begin again and it has been determined that when the time comes only those born of the 9 matched pairs will remain.  All else shall perish, by decree of the seven deadly sins.  They will fall for an idea or person, for power and glory.  Only the children of the 9 will survive and only they will seed the future to humanity.  Life must go on . . 

This Scene with Sergei and Clair

Clair walked ahead of him and opened her door. “Thanks for dinner by the way, it was lovely.” She threw over her shoulder.

“Don’t mention it.” She heard float from behind her as he followed her in.

“Drink?” Clair asked as she gestured towards her sofa.

“Yeah, a coffee would be nice.” As he instead seated himself at her baby grand.  Causing Clair to pause and stare for a moment to see what he was doing.  With the delicacy of a surgeon the man lifted the lid and placed his fingers over the keys.  Clair was about to yell at him she realized as he started playing Beethoven’s fifth in A minor.

Fascinated Clair stopped and watched as this handsome man closed his eyes and let his fingers glide over her keys.

“You tune her yourself don’t you?” he said under his breath.

Clair hadn’t realized that she had moved closer until she heard his voice which startled her out of her stunned fascination with his playing.

“Yes, I do.”

He nodded. “You like your tones a hair sharper than a tuner would leave it.”

Clair felt the tug in her heart, and terrified more than fascinated, she made her way swiftly into the kitchen and started the process of brewing coffee.

Clair realized that her hands were shaking as she placed the filter into the machine.  The sounds of his playing floating clearly into the kitchen.  His technique was nearly flawless, his form, the pressure of his fingers and the invisible nuances of playing an instrument as complex as the piano all in line with the intent and purpose of the piece.  Clair took a deep breath as the sounds of one of her favorite works moved over her ears and assailed her heart and soul.

It had been like that when Johnny would sing to her.  His voice would incite feelings of wonder, awe and joy.  But his voice wasn’t the instrument of her heart, not like the piano.  Listening to someone pay homage to her liege as Sergei was, raised her level of involvement to about three times of where it was when Johnny would sing to her.

‘Rapture as a noun meaning elation.  Elation as a noun meaning happiness, euphoria, glee, intoxication, jubilation which leads back to—‘

Clair’s eyes popped open as she realized what she was doing.

Shaking even harder she continued preparing the coffee.

When the task was done she walked into the living room and sat on her sofa and listened to him play, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.  She got to watch the play of his back muscles as he moved.  He sat ramrod straight. Edwina would love his form, she thought passively.  He kept his wrists firm and his fingers loose.  And he was playing as if he could see the music in his head.  Eyes closed.  Clair did that sometimes, but that was because of the sheer ecstasy she received from playing.  Biting her fingernails, Clair watched as he continued.  Then without thinking she got up and sat next to him on her bench.  There was barely enough room for her and she completed his melodic line with the under pairing for the piece.  Edwina used to do this for her all the time when she was trying to find her way through a piece.  It was akin to what women did to under lead a man while teaching ballroom dance.

Sergei’s eyes opened and he looked over at Clair as she played.  Her eyes were on the keys.  The look on her face as she played made his breath catch.  It was sublime, the pleasure she received from this instrument.  It wasn’t the right time or the right place but he couldn’t help what he did next.  He took her chin into his hand and leaned over to kiss her.

Other Posts on this book:

That Scene with Sergei and Clair

Sergei

Clair Fair

Love is Queen

So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

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