Wednesday September 2nd, 2015

The exercise:

Write about: the wrestler.

Spent most of the day with Max, as Kat had a client late morning and I generally hang out with him in the afternoon. We hung out with his cousin and aunt for a good portion of it, and also ran a couple errands in town.

Ridiculous how tired that's left me.

Mine:

I have a job to do and I do it well. Maybe it's not the greatest job in the world, but if you're only gonna be happy with that distinction then there's only one person on the whole planet with job satisfaction. The rest of us just gotta be okay with what we do to pay the bills I guess.

Some guys are paid to win. I'm paid to lose. I'm a jobber - I do the job for the guys the promoters decide need to win and look good doing it. I'm a little guy, so they usually stick me in there with their biggest guys. The seven footers. Sometimes the six foot six guys they bill as being seven feet tall.

They toss little old me all around the ring, looking all powerful and unstoppable like. My fight with them isn't the point. I'm there to build up their next fight, usually against some other big fella. Everybody knows I'm going to lose. The trick is to make the other guy look as awesome as possible in the few minutes we have together.

It's not like I've never won a match. Back when I was starting out I got my hand raised a time or two. But then I started losing and it just sorta... never stopped.

I'm getting on in years now. Maybe not in most professions, but this one ages you real quick like. The human body can only take so much punishment, even when it's "fake".

So, sure. I wouldn't mind one last win before I hang up my boots. But there ain't a promoter around who is going to pay me to beat anybody. There's no money in that. Sure, it would be a nice gesture, a big thank you for all the blood, sweat, and tears I've left in their rings. There's just one problem with that though.

This ain't the sort of industry that believes in nice gestures.