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Post by PANGAEA on May 1, 2015 16:08:22 GMT
 -v-  [Single Match]
Pedro Gonzales vs Terry Tollhouse |
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Post by Pedro Gonzales on May 1, 2015 19:07:19 GMT
On a long lonesome highway, Pedro Gonzales walks.
The well worn horse hide jacket hangs from his frame, moistened by rain like the backpack flung across his shoulder. The slacks are wrinkled. Once upon a time, this would’ve been important. But now with the new mindset he’s going in with, it isn’t that big of a deal anymore. In truth, the only bits that matter on this particular quest are the multiple pairs of colored trunks, made with care from his own two hands. And the boots. They used to be shiny and new. Yet despite all the wear and tear he has given them over the past few months, they give him a swell of pride. Still cherry red. Still his only pair of wrestling boots. He had won matches with these boots on, that much was true. But they are also the type of footwear that tends to point his life into a new direction.
It all seemed funny now, the past. How he got booked on a card out of the blue last year despite having absolutely no training. How he stepped in the ring that first time more out of obligation and an urge not to disappoint. That first rollup which led into that first win. Him constantly telling people “I’m not a wrestler”. Everybody else looking at him saying he had potential. That first title win. That first title loss and subsequent erasing of that reign from existence. Under the wing of a technical brute, answering a question honestly, pissing off said brute, and inevitably breaking his leg forcing the big man to retire. The boots. The Cup. And now?
Now the quest truly begins.
Pedro nods at that voice in his head. It had formed there in his skull over time, a sort of Jiminy Cricket of professional wrestling. He stopped wondering if talking to himself in his own head was crazy a long time ago. As far as the Mexican was concerned, everyone must develop it. Everybody on Earth has to grow that vital part of gray matter when they’re diving into a situation they don’t know much about. To any of his co-workers—old, new, or otherwise—this is a normal thing. Fly on a plane, wrestle a match, get paid, and leave. Ho hum. But this is still something more to him. Perhaps because in his eyes, he wasn’t a wrestler. Yet.
Finally made it to the airport. To the ticket counter. To a seat. Months since he’s entered a ring. Always training in some form or fashion, lurking new feds, trying to find a place to further his education. Finally, that time is now. He smiles when he would once be intimidated about the clean slate. But that’s what he needs. A place to reestablish himself and not be boggled down by the fact that he used to be some nothing cashier in a nothing store.
Not that he didn’t love the job. It was a job that, if fate hadn’t intervened, he could’ve held forever. But he couldn’t be that now even if he tried. Too much has changed and continued to change. In the old wrestling company, he took baby steps out of his comfort zone. Yet things were going crazy there and no one man could steer the ship straight. Even though he had all the support in the world, he wasn’t ready and he knew it. So after he lost the Cup, he bowed out. Perhaps they call it cowardice back there. Perhaps they’re all dead.
PANGAEA, the whole land, the super continent. Maybe here he could find the answer. Pedro has already figured out some of the lies that come with it. You don’t have to be strong or seasoned or talk the most trash. So what makes a wrestler a wrestler?
“Peanuts? A drink?”
From his coach seat, he shakes his head to the stewardess. “No, thank you, Señorita. I’ll be okay.”
She smiles at him and leaves him to his homework. The eyes scan the pages in his hands with caution. Terry Tollhouse. Like the cookies, he can't help but think. Six foot. Two hundred pounds. Four years’ experience. A striker with an 80’s fetish. Gonzales can’t help but grin, almost thankful that he’s not the only one with a knack for the retro. Still, with no matches of his opponents to watch and little more than a short biography complete with the usual picture, this was going to prove difficult. Pedro knows he could read this over time and again during the flight, but he wouldn’t know exactly what this guy’s deal is until he got in the ring.
I didn’t even have to tell you that.
Because I have been listening.
Doesn’t mean you should keep your guard down.
Of course not. I must be as ready as I can be for anything.
As he looks from his window seeing the land and all the people turning into ants before him, he knows that much to be true. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen until it happens. Doesn’t know the atmosphere until he get there. Once he’s in that ring, sees Terry, feels the crowd, then he will know what he’s supposed to do. Only then.
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Post by Deleted on May 1, 2015 20:12:22 GMT
 "...four years ago, when 'Totally' Terry Tollhouse burst onto the West Coast indy wrestling scene, some long-forgotten promoter had burdened him with the most ridiculous of gimmicks, that of a time traveler from the 8-0's who had come forward to learn advanced wrestling techniques from 30 years in the future but had become stranded and forced to wrestle in the here-and-now to survive. It's the sort of gimmick capable of killing careers, the sort of thick, convoluted wrestling storyline that usually equates to trying to tread water with someone standing on your head. It was a stupid gimmick that would have buried most wrestlers.
But it turns out that Tollhouse isn't MOST wrestlers.
Even though he was chained to such a stupid gimmick, Terry's pure raw talent and charisma was able to slowly win over crowds up and down the West Coast, from Vancouver to San Diego, and he developed a rabid cult following in his hometown of Los Angeles. His skill in the ring was able to elevate him out of the hole that he'd been pushed into at the start of his career, as promoters and wrestling fans alike were unable to deny the one simple fact: Terry Tollhouse is one hell of a damn good professional wrestler. Slowly, over time, 'Totally' Terry Tollhouse, with his promos dripping with words like 'Radical' and 'Gnarly' dies off, only to be replaced by Triple T, the exceptional wrestler who in recent days has been in negotiations with the fledgling Pangaea Professional Wrestling. Having seen what Terry Tollhouse has been able to accomplish in a fairly short time in British Columbia, Washington, Oregon and California, I for one am interested to see what he can do on a world stage..."Excerpt from this week's Wrestleline Report Podcast
w/ Jacob Anders 
Pangaea. The time before the continents split, when all the world was one and the planet Earth was a clean, blank slate. A time when absolutely anything was possible, when the opportunities for evolution were endless and where the future was an open, unwritten book.
But let's not swing too heavy a hammer when it comes to laying on the symbolism, huh?
Then again, maybe it can't be helped, the symbolism, that is. I mean, I'm the wrestler who shouldn't really be facing a guy on the road to becoming. I'm a guy who's beginnings in this sport four years ago were so auspicious & so filled with stupidity that no one expected anything to emerge from it.
Time travel. Radical. Awesome. Gnarly. Post-punk served up in neon & pastels. Super-retro time-travelling warrior. It should have been a ball-and-chain, it should have been my short career.
But you just can't keep talent from rising to the top. Even with the spiky hair & the 1985 wardrobe, the one thing that couldn't be denied was what I was capable of inside that ring. I was an independent journeyman, traveling up & down the West Coast, wrestling for promotion after promotion, being booked against the best the west could offer & I was holding my own, despite the clownish backstory. After a while, I wasn't just holding my own anymore. Before too long, I was making an impact.
Which brings us to today & to Pangaea. The fans are talking. They're talking about obvious talents like Salazar, Hall, Stratosphere, Hightower, & the Blakes. They're talking about unbridled savages like Mandell & Driftwood, about women like O'Hara & Sandstorm, and about masked warriors like Olethros & Nerada. They're even talking about the most green, most inexperienced members of the roster like Armada or my own first Pangaea opponent, Pedro Gonzales.
Y'know who they're not talking about though? 'Totally' Terry Tollhouse, the time-travelling warrior. Because that version of me, that persona... he's dead. In his place is Triple T. The professional wrestler who overcame the odds. The one who rose above. The one who proved his place even with the odds stacked against him.
Now I'm going to do it again.
Don't get me wrong... I still believe that the best music ever recorded came out of the 80's, and I've gotten used to wrestling in this gear, even grown to like the platinum blonde spiked hair. In many respects I am still Terry Tollhouse... still 'Totally' Terry Tollhouse, even... but no, I'm not a time-traveller. No, I'm not stranded here in 2015. Pangaea is a clean slate, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm here to be the wrestler that I've already had to prove that I am once. Nothing is going to stand in my way.
That includes you, Gonzales.
Hey, I get it. You're a young wrestler, one who so far appears to have been more fueled by heart and luck than by skill or training. You've managed, very early on, to find yourself on the global stage. Congratulations. You're a young wrestler, still somewhat unsure of himself, and unsure of his identity. You're a man who isn't really sure what to do next, but willing to do whatever it takes. I can respect that. But that right there is the real difference between us, Pedro. You have all of the tools you need to succeed, you just need a little bit of time to develop them. You're at the beginning, ready to take your knocks and earn your place in this business. That lonely highway you walk? It's an open road to your future.
I didn't have that advantage, Pedro. My path was littered with obstacles from day one, and I was set upon a road that looked like it could only lead to failure right from the beginning. But I busted through all of those barriers, night after night, fight after fight. I carved my way through all of the things that were supposed to hold me down and I rose above them all. Unlike you, Pedro, I already know exactly what I have to do next, what has to happen next.
And it ends with you flat on your back staring up at the lights.
Radical.
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Post by Pedro Gonzales on May 5, 2015 14:51:12 GMT
Rewatching the stream of Terry Tollhouse’s promo in his hotel room, Pedro couldn’t help but smile.
Here he was in Italy for the very first time against a guy that didn’t automatically go “I’M THE BEST YOU’LL NEVER BEAT ME BLAH BLAH BLAH” like so many he had seen. Oh yes. There is that whole you’ll be staring at the lights bit at the end. In some ways, a recording of a wrestler just wasn’t complete without something along those lines slipping in. It’s almost become this game of posturing and proving superiority for some, way before the bell even rings. But this particular promo almost seems genuine, as if Terry has actually told the truth. And in the end, only respect could be given for that.
Triple T was right on a few levels. Pedro didn’t always know what to do. He never expected to. To know something is to see it, experience it, and learn it. A few things have been learned. He knows he has to make an impression. He knows he has to win if he can and put on a damn good effort if he can’t. He knows that there will always be lessons to learn. Whether it’s a faux time traveler beginning to rebuild himself or an actual Time Lord sitting at home, nobody knows what to do in every circumstance every time. To even suggest that they do would be underestimating life’s ability to throw a mean curveball at your skull. It was like that quote…
Just when you think you have the answers, I change the questions.
Gracias.
Then there was the heart and luck deal. While a silent nod was given in response the first time, the second time hearing it brought about a few problems. Luck was always a factor in everybody’s existence. It doesn’t mean he relied on it more or there was a four leaf clover in his pocket. Maybe he leaned a bit more on the hard work he was willing to put in and the little bits of experience he had and it just seemed like luck?
Or maybe Cookiedough doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Que?
Seriously. Unsure of yourself? Unsure of your identity?
To be unsure of what you're doing is one thing; to be unsure of yourself another. They are separate arguments and the latter tends to be a lot more hazardous than the former. And the truth is if this was a year ago, Tollhouse would've been right in terms of the wrestling side of his life. However, the one thing Pedro never second guessed was himself as a man. If he was booked, he would show. If forced to fight, he'd try to fight even when every cell in his body told him to run. In defeat, gracious. In victory, humble. When questioned, a truthful answer went through his lips. Gonzales had gotten a lot braver, learned a few new tricks, and perhaps gained a miniscule amount of in ring prowess. But the core never changed.
It’s not like Terry knows. I’m almost certain that even my new bosses don’t. That can be forgiven because, really, why say it when I can show it?
You weren’t planning on saying it anyways.
On a table beside the screen where his opponent's mug had popped up is a cup. It wasn't the one he lost in PWA but it was a simple drinking cup manufactured specifically for the convenience chain he worked for. His face was plastered on the cheap plastic, clearly an attempt to capitalize on what little media exposure he got. Besides that was a title that remained false: Pedro Gonzales - The Pride of Mexico City. When he first saw that cup, he was huddled on the floor of the chain's flagship store in America--one he was supposed to run if fate hadn't intervened--trying to ignore the phone calls and faxes about a future he had stopped dreaming about years ago. Looking on it now, he still wasn't as advertised.
But he could be. On that note, he'd never been surer.
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Post by Deleted on May 5, 2015 16:27:48 GMT
I have to admit, Pedro, I'm impressed. I'm impressed by both your obvious restraint and your willingness to buck both convention and cliche. I say this because it would have been just so easy for the Pride Of Mexico City, given our situation, to step in front of a camera on the 5th of May and talk all about how back in 1862 at The Battle Of Puebla, 2000 poorly trained and even more poorly equipped Mexican soldiers faced off against more skilled and more experienced French forces numbering 6000 strong, and through luck and fate managed to win the day.
Happy Cinco De Mayo, Pedro.
It would have been suitable, a very timely story analogous to our own situation in so many ways. One that would have forced me to admit that sometimes luck and fate DO overcome superior skill and talent. Hey, I WILL admit it, it does happen, sometimes. But you choose not to use the obvious analogy, choose not to take the cliche route. At least, I have to assume it was a conscious choice not to use it, as I can't imagine that The Pride Of Mexico City either didn't know the story or couldn't see the obvious parallels to our own.
No, one would have to assume that the reason you didn't make the connection is that you're smart enough to realize it's ultimate pointlessness. Because while I can understand a large number Mexicans, and for some reason Americans as well, celebrating this most rare type of victory, the truth is that it was ultimately a meaningless one. Let's face it, the French continued to occupy Mexico for six more years after The Battle Of Puebla. The Mexican victory at that battle, on that day or in the days that followed, had no real meaning in the grand scheme of things. But that type of victory lives in peoples memories and imaginations, and it is celebrated onward into the future for one very simple reason, Pedro.
It's because that type of underdog victory against a superior opponent is so very exceedingly rare, and I'm not just talking about wartime battles, either.
I mean, think about what would happen to organized, professional sports gambling, a billion dollar industry in the United States alone, if true underdog, against-all-odds victories were to happen more often than they actually do. Vegas and Atlantic City would both be bankrupt, the oddsmakers all long dead from the pointlessness of their endeavors. No, Pedro, the truth is that in combat sorts, just like in all other sports, as much as it might be true that everyone loves a Cinderella story, they just don't really happen very often at all.
And it's a damn good thing too.
Because the bottom line is, Pedro, that luck can never trump hard work, skill and talent... not for long, anyway. Sure, it happens every once in a while, I've conceded that much, but it's not really a good thing when it does. Because like the first-time gambler who hits the jackpot only to spend the rest of his life chasing that thrill and losing everything in the process, a little bit of luck can easily become mistaken for skill or ability. Sometimes, a person can wander into an endeavor like combat athletics, have a little bit of luck early on, and through that experience convince themselves that they're better than they really are, convince themselves that they've gained skill or experience, when luck is incapable of truly granting either. Such rewards only come from good, hard training. They are the boons of 'doing the work', and learning from the best. Those who think, after a spat of good luck, that they have acquired the same benefits granted by education, training and hard work are in for a rude awakening when they find themselves truly tested.
Maybe that's you. Then again, maybe that's me. Maybe I'm on a 4-year lucky streak that's seen me rise against all odds and in the face of overwhelming obstacles. Maybe I'm thee Cinderella story and deep down you're some monster, some incredible fighting machine hidden in the guise of a mild-mannered accidental tourist to the world of professional wrestling, fooling the world with school-boy rollups.
I guess all will be revealed when we get to Rome, won't it. I'll wish you luck, Pedro, since you clearly believe in that sort of thing. Me? I'm just going to count on the same things I've always counted on... hard work, determination, and a strong foundation of fundamentals.
Awesome.
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