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Outraged. Disgusted. My faith in humanity has taken a nose-dive this evening.
On what should have been the most incredible and celebrated moment in Scottish professional wrestling history, I find myself disappointed and hurt. But not for me. For the unacceptable way in which Lienzo Caliente was treated in his debut match. Not just here in Paramount Wrestling, but outside of his home nation of México. It took guts, confidence, determination and massive bollocks to leave his 760,000 square mile comfort zone. Massive bollocks that were treated with as much respect as you might give a headless chicken. Or Alex Sammond.
His opponent for the evening was a baby-blue-eyed little toe rag by the name of Danny Slater. He wore colourful shorts and pads, always smiled and catered to the crowds every whim. "Shall I?" he'd scream, offering his fans an option as to what happened next. I'd be sat amongst them praying that they would shout back "No!" and we'd see how sturdy that permanent grin would be then, wouldn't we you little shit. But they'd always respond with a booming "Yes!" and he'd do it and they would cheer and I would puke. Git.
Anyway, this evening Slater was his ever-grinning, ever-colourful self. Upon entering the ring and taking an eye full of melted rainbow, Lienzo Caliente uttered a few words to me and handed me something. Never doubting Lienzo, I did exactly what he had requested. I stepped towards Slater and on the microphone so that everyone could hear, I said the following: "Mr Slater. Lienzo Caliente would most sincerely appreciate your returning these to your mother..." and I handed him the knickers.
That permanent grin of Slaters was washable after all. It was gone without a trace. His baby-blues darkened to a shark-like grey and his whole body stiffened, but I was too busy to notice. I was sharing a right good laugh with Lienzo. It was only when he stopped laughing and awkwardly took a step back that I realised the mood had shifted.
Turns out Danny Slater is somewhat of a mummy's boy. He didn't take too kindly to the suggestion that she was little more than one of Caliente's siesta conquests. He dumped me unceremoniously out of the ring, not before thrusting the soiled undergarments deep into my mouth.
I sprung to my feet, fighting the overwhelming urge to spill my guts over the front row. But one look into the ring made everything better, thrusting me into a state of euphoria. Caliente had taken control of Slater, using my ejection from the ring to his advantage. My managerial duties were in full swing!
Slater struggled to stand; perfectly timed strikes from Lienzo dropping him back to the mat. Until the referee stepped in. He cautioned Lienzo over a closed fist and Slater was able to take control. He blatantly grabbed and twisted Lienzo's mask, obscuring his view- an obvious rule violation. But the referee said nothing. A closed fist was worthy of a caution, but purposefully breaking the rules to sway the match was perfectly acceptable in the eyes of this referee.
The stripey-shirt wearing idiot was also fine with low blows it seemed, Slater once again disregarding the rules with no reprimand. My temper was starting to flare when Slater held on to an armbar long after a five count from the referee, who was perfectly happy to wait for the human-filth to release the hold in his own time. I witnessed no less than seven pin attempts from Slater that the referee hurriedly dove to the mat to count. The three loomed so suddenly that they left Lienzo flustered and scrambling to stay alive.
Every time it appeared as though Lienzo was building momentum, somehow Slater was able to knock him back down. Everything that Caliente managed to pull from his bag of tricks left him with a half-arsed 2 count from Señor Dip-shit. And then came the fateful moment. Slater was able to reverse a magistral cradle, catching Caliente on his shoulders for a record-breaking world's fastest 3 count.
The crowd roared. Danny Slater threw his arms into the air and celebrated with the fans as he headed backstage. Lienzo Caliente lay dumbfounded, completely clueless as to what had happened in a flash. I was livid. Fuelled with rage I was on the apron and through the ropes. "Are you insane, referee?" I shouted, mere inches from his face. I listed the faults I'd found in his refereeing abilities. Obviously he denied them. The ten, twenty incidents overlooked, the kick-out-proof pinfall. But it was as clear as day. He was as subtle as a fart in a library.
"I want to see your referee licence!" He tried unsuccessfully to calm me down. "You didn't even go to referee school, did you!" He gave up, dropping down to ringside and headed for the back. Lienzo could do nothing but shake his head. There was nothing I could say to soften the blow.
What angers me the most is that these 'errors' aren't going to be a one-off. He was acting deliberately and he will continue to do so. It is because he fears Lienzo Caliente. He hates him. The referee hates Lienzo because he is Mexican. The referee is a racist. And I still haven't seen his referee licence.
Outraged. Disgusted. My faith in humanity has taken a nose-dive this evening.
On what should have been the most incredible and celebrated moment in Scottish professional wrestling history, I find myself disappointed and hurt. But not for me. For the unacceptable way in which Lienzo Caliente was treated in his debut match. Not just here in Paramount Wrestling, but outside of his home nation of México. It took guts, confidence, determination and massive bollocks to leave his 760,000 square mile comfort zone. Massive bollocks that were treated with as much respect as you might give a headless chicken. Or Alex Sammond.
His opponent for the evening was a baby-blue-eyed little toe rag by the name of Danny Slater. He wore colourful shorts and pads, always smiled and catered to the crowds every whim. "Shall I?" he'd scream, offering his fans an option as to what happened next. I'd be sat amongst them praying that they would shout back "No!" and we'd see how sturdy that permanent grin would be then, wouldn't we you little shit. But they'd always respond with a booming "Yes!" and he'd do it and they would cheer and I would puke. Git.
Anyway, this evening Slater was his ever-grinning, ever-colourful self. Upon entering the ring and taking an eye full of melted rainbow, Lienzo Caliente uttered a few words to me and handed me something. Never doubting Lienzo, I did exactly what he had requested. I stepped towards Slater and on the microphone so that everyone could hear, I said the following: "Mr Slater. Lienzo Caliente would most sincerely appreciate your returning these to your mother..." and I handed him the knickers.
That permanent grin of Slaters was washable after all. It was gone without a trace. His baby-blues darkened to a shark-like grey and his whole body stiffened, but I was too busy to notice. I was sharing a right good laugh with Lienzo. It was only when he stopped laughing and awkwardly took a step back that I realised the mood had shifted.
Turns out Danny Slater is somewhat of a mummy's boy. He didn't take too kindly to the suggestion that she was little more than one of Caliente's siesta conquests. He dumped me unceremoniously out of the ring, not before thrusting the soiled undergarments deep into my mouth.
I sprung to my feet, fighting the overwhelming urge to spill my guts over the front row. But one look into the ring made everything better, thrusting me into a state of euphoria. Caliente had taken control of Slater, using my ejection from the ring to his advantage. My managerial duties were in full swing!
Slater struggled to stand; perfectly timed strikes from Lienzo dropping him back to the mat. Until the referee stepped in. He cautioned Lienzo over a closed fist and Slater was able to take control. He blatantly grabbed and twisted Lienzo's mask, obscuring his view- an obvious rule violation. But the referee said nothing. A closed fist was worthy of a caution, but purposefully breaking the rules to sway the match was perfectly acceptable in the eyes of this referee.
The stripey-shirt wearing idiot was also fine with low blows it seemed, Slater once again disregarding the rules with no reprimand. My temper was starting to flare when Slater held on to an armbar long after a five count from the referee, who was perfectly happy to wait for the human-filth to release the hold in his own time. I witnessed no less than seven pin attempts from Slater that the referee hurriedly dove to the mat to count. The three loomed so suddenly that they left Lienzo flustered and scrambling to stay alive.
Every time it appeared as though Lienzo was building momentum, somehow Slater was able to knock him back down. Everything that Caliente managed to pull from his bag of tricks left him with a half-arsed 2 count from Señor Dip-shit. And then came the fateful moment. Slater was able to reverse a magistral cradle, catching Caliente on his shoulders for a record-breaking world's fastest 3 count.
The crowd roared. Danny Slater threw his arms into the air and celebrated with the fans as he headed backstage. Lienzo Caliente lay dumbfounded, completely clueless as to what had happened in a flash. I was livid. Fuelled with rage I was on the apron and through the ropes. "Are you insane, referee?" I shouted, mere inches from his face. I listed the faults I'd found in his refereeing abilities. Obviously he denied them. The ten, twenty incidents overlooked, the kick-out-proof pinfall. But it was as clear as day. He was as subtle as a fart in a library.
"I want to see your referee licence!" He tried unsuccessfully to calm me down. "You didn't even go to referee school, did you!" He gave up, dropping down to ringside and headed for the back. Lienzo could do nothing but shake his head. There was nothing I could say to soften the blow.
What angers me the most is that these 'errors' aren't going to be a one-off. He was acting deliberately and he will continue to do so. It is because he fears Lienzo Caliente. He hates him. The referee hates Lienzo because he is Mexican. The referee is a racist. And I still haven't seen his referee licence.
OCCASIONAL LANGUAGE
Bradford Kirkwood is a loyal, die hard wrestling fan. So loyal that when his hero (and yours: Lienzo Caliente) moves to Scotland to 'reinvigorate' his career, he has no choice but to follow suit.
But Paramount Wrestling have dropped the ball. Lienzo Caliente arriving in Scotland - what should have been a memorable and joyous day heralded in fanfare- was no more than an embarrassment, and Bradford isn't going to stand for it. He crosses the guardrail and the line to ensure his idol Señor Caliente gets the treatment he truly deserves!
© 2016 - 2024 CDanChan
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