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Misunderstanding and Underestimation; Our resident luchador speaks out again
Topic Started: Feb 4 2005, 07:28 AM (39 Views)
BobPalindrome
Unregistered

[An empty city street stretches out in one of the dilapidated sections of Philadelphia. It is a gloomy day and a stiff, chilly wind blows persistently against those who dare to walk against it. And whom else do we see strolling down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in a leather jacket, than El Lobo Loco, moving alongside a chain-link fence adjacent to a vacant lot. As the camera moves in front of him, El Lobo inhales and sighs before addressing the viewers.]

El Lobo Loco: Well, my friends, it would seem the story of life did not faze Bill Kuriyama. Or so he claims. He pretends not to be scared, to not be worried about the outcome of our match. You may doubt that I am better than you, Kuriyama, but you seem ready to admit I am talented. But it is not just my talented that has been polished. I also have learned to tell when a full-of-himself muchacho is bluffing.

[El Lobo smirks toward the camera as he passes a run-down restaurant themed around – surprise, surprise – cheese steaks. Some of the restaurant’s occupants do double-takes as the luchador passes by, their dumbfounded faces visible in the window, their mouths paused in mid-chew at the unusual sight.]

El Lobo Loco: In public, Kuriyama, you may put up the front of self-confidence. Hell, being sure of yourself is what you are all about, no? I have seen a hundred wrestling leagues with a dozen hombres just like you, FIW included. They think they are God’s gift to wrestling… God’s gift to women… God’s gift to everyone else. And if anyone doubts that you think these things, Kuriyama, I’m sure all they would have to do is ask you and you would tell them… at length.

[El Lobo pauses for a moment, propping himself up against a wall depicting a vibrantly colored mural of an olive-skinned women wearing an Aztec headdress, her portrait displayed against an elaborate tribal design. Leaning his shoulders and head back, El Lobo slips out a pack of cigarettes, shakes one out and lights it.]

El Lobo Loco: But the time of the flashy, boastful champion is over, my friend. You can strut and pose, inflating your own ego until it is even bigger than your ability. Yet you cannot prevent the inevitable from happening… Eventually, your technical skills will fail you. You will come up against something you have never seen before, something that will actually challenge you and make you think on your feet for once. That piece about my life story wasn’t mean to point out that I’m Mexican, buddy… Anyone with eyes can see that. The point was that I’m one the toughest sons of bitches ever to come up out of the slums, out of the death match circuit… and certainly one of the hardest, meanest bastardos you’ll ever take on. And the fact that you’re underestimating me only boosts my own chances, amigo.

[Taking a long, slow drag, El Lobo savors his nicotine, carefully blowing out smoke rings into the air. The filter now dangling from his desiccated lips, he reaches into an inside pocket of his jacket. He pulls out what looks like a black rag with gray stitching, cut into a bunch of different pieces and stained with what looks like dried blood.]

El Lobo Loco: One of the masks I wore early on in my career, my friend. It was when El Lobo Loco was just beginning to make it in the industry, just then starting to etch his name into the annals of both lucha libre and garbage wrestling. You know, I don’t know how many times my coaches took me aside and said – often in the same breath – that I was one of the greatest wrestlers they had ever seen… and how my career would likely be over in a matter of months. No one believed that I would make it this far, that I would somehow get to this point without being paralyzed… A paraplegic being used by a promoter as a doorstop at house shows.

But I’ve never be afraid of shortening my career… Making my guardian angel have a few anxiety attacks. Because, quite frankly, I don’t give a cagada if I’m still working in ten years or even tomorrow. This is what I do, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my best to become the best there is at what I do…

[El Lobo is suddenly interrupted, heckling breaking up his monologue. El Lobo reacts first, and then the camera man turns 180 degrees. Across the street we see a concrete basketball court surrounded by a fence, a group of young men standing around playing ball. They are shouting at El Lobo and the camera guy, laughing and flipping the classic middle finger salute.]

Kid #1: Hey, fruitcake! You lookin’ to hang up a rainbow flag somewhere?

Kid #2: Get out of here, you freak, before we kick your ass!

Kid #3: JACKASS!

[Annoyed, El Lobo takes off toward the court, jumping up on the fence and climbing over it with ease. The camera man, however, has to jog along with heavy equipment, searching out the regular entrance. Once he makes his way around and in, we rejoin El Lobo standing nose-to-nose with one of the kids who was mocking him.]

El Lobo Loco: You got a problem, ese? You think you hard? You want to do the man dance?

Kid #1: I don’t know, guy… I don’t wrestle. I’d whip your ass and fuck you up something silly.

El Lobo Loco: (chuckling softly) Ah, I see. Well, then, how about a little one-on-one? Then we’ll see who the bitch is then… puta.

[The two men back off from one another, and the crowd of on-lookers retreat to behind the lines of the court. Their support for the kid is obvious, and soon they are chanting and ranting unison for their friend. El Lobo seems unconcerned, however, taking a basketball offered to him. He tosses it to his opponent for a check… who rockets the ball back into El Lobo’s chest. He grunts, but simply begins to move toward the basket.

Then, with remarkable speed, El Lobo takes flight from the stripe and rocks the basket with a reverse two-handed jam. The crowd is silenced, their eyes the size of dinner plates at El Lobo’s quickness and power. The ball is rebounded by the kid, who hands it off to El Lobo. But just as the kids returns to a defensive position, El Lobo takes off again and hammers down a left-handed windmill dunk. Once again, the response is mostly quiet, but there are a few murmurings of admiration. Another run and this time El Lobo spins 360 degrees before shaking the backboard with yet another dunk. This time there is a cheer from the crowd, most of whom have only seen such antics on slam dunk competitions.

The happy mood comes crashing down, however, as El Lobo picks up the ball and bounces it off the forehead of the kid he was playing against. The kid goes down, and El Lobo leaps on top of him, punching him several times in the forehead. The crowd, sensing their strength in numbers, becomes agitated, but as most mobs are, shows hesitation in doing anything.

Rising up off his victim, El Lobo begins walk away… the camera man moving ahead of him again… this time a little faster.]


El Lobo Loco: He underestimated me, Kuriyama. Make sure you don’t do the same… or risk paying the price. At Déjà Vu, our different styles are going to collide in the ring, and we’re going to see if your rising star is going to stay on the fast track… And if you’re just another flash in the pan.
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