Post by Old Line Jeff on Feb 5, 2021 3:15:05 GMT -5
“If y’all wanna talk about mutual respect, try learning my fucking name before you put it in your mouth.”
“Hol up, playa.”
So this is a little bit of a different setup than usual. If you know anything about Jeff Andrews, you know he grew up watching the little Saturday afternoon shows that the big national promotions of the 1980s and mid 90s ran. Those shows were zero budget, and the most backdrop any interviews and rants got was a beige cinderblock wall somewhere in the backstage area. Thirty some years later, Jeff Andrews is inordinately fond of beige cinderblock walls. When the time came for him to learn Kirsty McKinney a few tricks about how to say words and make people listen to them, he found the nearest beige cinderblock wall and parked her in front of it. Beige cinderblock wall.
Now that being said, we’re a little further away from the wall than usual. The hard camera is there, we’re behind and off to the side.
Kirsty McKinney, clad in her navy-blue-with-yellow-stripes singlet, radiates energy and vitality. Unfortunately, that energy isn’t exactly positive energy. It’s the pent up aggression of a chained angry dog. Still a really pretty young girl (assuming one isn’t turned off or intimidated by thigh muscles), but her bonnie blue eyes shine with anger.
Jeff Andrews does not radiate energy, nor does his trademark green and yellow mesh John Deere truckers cap. He ran out of energy years ago. He’s still a big man though, his chest and shoulders and arms wider than ever, but it’s not all muscle, and his scruffy brown goatee is peppered with a touch of grey.
“Kirsty, I get that you’re frustrated, okay? I don’t want to take anything away from Isabel Rios, but look - she’s straight up good. As far as your match with her, terrible road agents are just a thing that happens. Not so often here in NPW. You’ll get another shot at her sometime down the road. Okay?”
“I’m not frustrated. I’m mad. Mad at my fucking self for pinning Graysie Parker and then dropping the ball like that.”
“Right. You didn’t watch DEFIANCE back when it was a Wifwah territory, did you?”
Kirsty shakes her head to the negative.
“Well, there was this guy named Jack Amethyst. He knew how to wrestle. But his thing was that he was just this hateful little shit who didn’t care about anything at all. Not his job, not his competition, not titles, not money, nothing. And, well, as good as he was it didn’t fly. I’m not saying you have to be a kissass babyface, but if you don’t care about anything, it just sucks energy out of everything you do.”
“But I don’t care. I’m only doing this because I’m not good enough to make the olympics, I got kicked out of college, and you offered to train me in pro wrestling instead of MMA.”
“Do you want to train MMA instead? Because you’re young and you’re a good enough amateur wrestler you could make the switch, and as far as training kickboxing or something like that, I don’t know anyone myself but I know plenty of people who do.”
“No…” Kirsty spoke slowly. “I just… okay, I think pro wrestling’s a better career path for me right now, but that’s logic, not caring. Plus it’s not like I got money for kickboxing school right now.”
“Yeah, I’m glad you said that, because the arrangement you got with me, you’re not easily going to find one that’s this combination of well-reputed and easy on your pocketbook anywhere else. But hell with all that. What do you like about pro wrestling?”
“Hurting people.” That anger that had started to simmer down a little bit began boiling back up.
“No. I mean, okay, yeah, but that’s actually everyone in the sport, even the good guys. You gotta do better than that. What. Do. You. Like?”
Her face goes a bit flat as she thinks. Kirsty looks down, then up.
“Pinning people.”
“No, you gotta do better than that.”
“No, I don’t mean just like, winning matches by a 3 count. I mean actually pinning people when they’re trying not to let you instead of because you just dropped them on their heads. How the hell are piledrivers legal anyway?”
“They’re illegal in Mexico.”
“Nothing’s illegal in Mexico. But anyway, it’s like...you get ‘em tied up, you put their shoulders on the mat, and you just hold them there while they go through this mental battle. It’s hilarious. Because they don’t feel like they’ve really lost and they kick around as much as they can. Then the three count happens and they get angrier because it’s just a rollup it doesn’t count. Then the stupid SWAT referee made me let go. But if he hadn’t, the best feeling is when they go limp. It’s like a stages thing. First there’s shock that they got caught, then anger that they’re about to lose, then embarrassment when they know they’ve lost…”
She trails off. Andrews arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
“And then acceptance. I love the acceptance phase. They quit even trying to get loose, their heartrate even goes down! They just lie there because I’ve just proved myself the winner as clearly as humanly possible and there’s nothing they can do or say to change it.”
“So do you think that twisting Commandrix into knots and pinning her is disproportionate retribution for getting your name wrong?”
“No. Do you think the ref’s going to let me hold the pin to prove my point this time?”
“Nah.”
“Hol up, playa.”
So this is a little bit of a different setup than usual. If you know anything about Jeff Andrews, you know he grew up watching the little Saturday afternoon shows that the big national promotions of the 1980s and mid 90s ran. Those shows were zero budget, and the most backdrop any interviews and rants got was a beige cinderblock wall somewhere in the backstage area. Thirty some years later, Jeff Andrews is inordinately fond of beige cinderblock walls. When the time came for him to learn Kirsty McKinney a few tricks about how to say words and make people listen to them, he found the nearest beige cinderblock wall and parked her in front of it. Beige cinderblock wall.
Now that being said, we’re a little further away from the wall than usual. The hard camera is there, we’re behind and off to the side.
Kirsty McKinney, clad in her navy-blue-with-yellow-stripes singlet, radiates energy and vitality. Unfortunately, that energy isn’t exactly positive energy. It’s the pent up aggression of a chained angry dog. Still a really pretty young girl (assuming one isn’t turned off or intimidated by thigh muscles), but her bonnie blue eyes shine with anger.
Jeff Andrews does not radiate energy, nor does his trademark green and yellow mesh John Deere truckers cap. He ran out of energy years ago. He’s still a big man though, his chest and shoulders and arms wider than ever, but it’s not all muscle, and his scruffy brown goatee is peppered with a touch of grey.
“Kirsty, I get that you’re frustrated, okay? I don’t want to take anything away from Isabel Rios, but look - she’s straight up good. As far as your match with her, terrible road agents are just a thing that happens. Not so often here in NPW. You’ll get another shot at her sometime down the road. Okay?”
“I’m not frustrated. I’m mad. Mad at my fucking self for pinning Graysie Parker and then dropping the ball like that.”
“Right. You didn’t watch DEFIANCE back when it was a Wifwah territory, did you?”
Kirsty shakes her head to the negative.
“Well, there was this guy named Jack Amethyst. He knew how to wrestle. But his thing was that he was just this hateful little shit who didn’t care about anything at all. Not his job, not his competition, not titles, not money, nothing. And, well, as good as he was it didn’t fly. I’m not saying you have to be a kissass babyface, but if you don’t care about anything, it just sucks energy out of everything you do.”
“But I don’t care. I’m only doing this because I’m not good enough to make the olympics, I got kicked out of college, and you offered to train me in pro wrestling instead of MMA.”
“Do you want to train MMA instead? Because you’re young and you’re a good enough amateur wrestler you could make the switch, and as far as training kickboxing or something like that, I don’t know anyone myself but I know plenty of people who do.”
“No…” Kirsty spoke slowly. “I just… okay, I think pro wrestling’s a better career path for me right now, but that’s logic, not caring. Plus it’s not like I got money for kickboxing school right now.”
“Yeah, I’m glad you said that, because the arrangement you got with me, you’re not easily going to find one that’s this combination of well-reputed and easy on your pocketbook anywhere else. But hell with all that. What do you like about pro wrestling?”
“Hurting people.” That anger that had started to simmer down a little bit began boiling back up.
“No. I mean, okay, yeah, but that’s actually everyone in the sport, even the good guys. You gotta do better than that. What. Do. You. Like?”
Her face goes a bit flat as she thinks. Kirsty looks down, then up.
“Pinning people.”
“No, you gotta do better than that.”
“No, I don’t mean just like, winning matches by a 3 count. I mean actually pinning people when they’re trying not to let you instead of because you just dropped them on their heads. How the hell are piledrivers legal anyway?”
“They’re illegal in Mexico.”
“Nothing’s illegal in Mexico. But anyway, it’s like...you get ‘em tied up, you put their shoulders on the mat, and you just hold them there while they go through this mental battle. It’s hilarious. Because they don’t feel like they’ve really lost and they kick around as much as they can. Then the three count happens and they get angrier because it’s just a rollup it doesn’t count. Then the stupid SWAT referee made me let go. But if he hadn’t, the best feeling is when they go limp. It’s like a stages thing. First there’s shock that they got caught, then anger that they’re about to lose, then embarrassment when they know they’ve lost…”
She trails off. Andrews arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
“And then acceptance. I love the acceptance phase. They quit even trying to get loose, their heartrate even goes down! They just lie there because I’ve just proved myself the winner as clearly as humanly possible and there’s nothing they can do or say to change it.”
“So do you think that twisting Commandrix into knots and pinning her is disproportionate retribution for getting your name wrong?”
“No. Do you think the ref’s going to let me hold the pin to prove my point this time?”
“Nah.”