The art of entertainment wrestling is maintaining the illusion of spontaneity and realism. Everything is rehearsed. We practice our spots and know the sequence within the match. The show is in how well you sell everything. Good wrestlers can sell a move.Greatwrestlersarethe move; they are the energy they create. The crowd can’t distinguish where the character starts and where the real person playing the part ends.
I plan on being one of the greats. Every move. Every word I speak. Every match gives me the opportunity to make my name known: Margeaux Wild- rebel and badass.Soon-to-be: champion.
I have Eva on her back, my bodyweight pinning her down and one of her legs stretched up to immobilize her. She sells the agony perfectly, struggling underneath my weight. I let her pop her hips, giving her the chance to kick me in the chest and push me off her. The crowd screams for her triumph, but they aren’t ready for the match to be done yet. I stumble to my knees, then use the ropes, outlining the edge of the ring, to get myself to my feet. I look up and Eva is flying off the top of the corner, landing sideways into me, and slamming us back onto the floor of the ring.
The crowd breaks out in an audible“ooooooo”as I break Eva’s fall and take the brunt of the collision. This is my moment to make my move. I let Eva keep the upper hand as she works to pin me. She lays sideways across me, focusing on stretching my leg up and towards my face, with my arms out to my sides. The ref slams his hand to the floor, counting down the pin.
“One!” Mike, the ref, shouts along with the crowd.
“Two!”
Mike is positioned in my periphery so I can see exactly when his hand is about to slam down on the floor for a third time. The refs are just as much a part of the show as we are. I simultaneously thrust my hips and throw a hard punch at the side of Eva’s head. Her reaction is textbook with a loud shriek and a backwards roll as she covers the side of her face.Perfect sell.
Mike moves out of my way, clearing the ring for me. I stretch my arms out to the sides, riling the crowd up. I see fans holding up posters withmyname painted on them, and the fire in my belly reaches new heights. Eva continues to writhe on the floor. I grab the back of her hair, yanking her head back. She holds my wrist to help me control the amount of force I use. I drag her to the corner of the ring, her knees scraping against the floor, making it look like she’s fighting against me, following our script perfectly.
She was following our script perfectly.
She ad-libs, breaks free of my hold on her hair, punches me in the gut, then across the face. I collapse against the rope, and the crowd gets louder. Improvising happens, but there is no reason for it right now. The match is almost finished. I am supposed to slam her into the mat-covered corner of the ring, leave her dizzy in the center of the ring, and whip out my new kick move. I’m set to win this match; this was my time to show my new signature move.
I glance over at Mike and he gives me the signal to go with it.
The crowd is loving that she’s winning. They always root for the faces—for the heroes.
“What are you doing, Eva?” I say under my breath as I pull myself up from the floor.
“They’re eating this up!” she hollers in my ear. “Go with it.”
She runs to the opposite end of the ring and kicks back into another double back handspring–which is becoming her trademark move– letting me break her fall as I take the hit, and collapse into the ropes, again.
“Eva, no!” I argue, but our time in the ring is almost over. I try my best to keep my emotions in check, but she’s ruining our match.
Mike gives us the signal to finish the match. “Eva to win. The tower called it in.”
Whatt?!The match directors have a direct line to the refs during our matches to deliver instructions if need be. They just changed the outcome of the match. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Eva gives him a nod, then flops on top of me, driving her elbow into my stomach.
“You’ll get another chance in our next match. This wasn’t my call,” she says as she brings my leg up, and I grimace, selling how painful the stretch in my hamstring feels.
“One!” Mike slams his hand against the floor.
“Fuck you,” I scoff, unable to prolong the match any longer.
“Two!” Mike slams his hand a second time. The crowd is so loud now that I can barely hear my thoughts.
“Three!”
Match over.
Eva jumps up, lifting her arms in triumph.
The crowd is roaringhername. I see the disappointment in my fans’ faces, and I can’t stand it.
She pries the microphone from Mike’s hands. “I promised you all that the Glam Squad would win tonight!” Eva shouts victoriously, flipping her hair away from her face, ignoring me behind her. “This is bringing me one win closer to becoming your Women’s Champion. And I can’t wait to–ooohhhmmpp!”
I send Eva crashing into the ropes as I smack her from behind with an aluminum chair.
The crowd goes wild.Thisis what I wanted.
