The scene opens poolside aboard the Sapphire Princess where a row of bodacious women lie on white lounge chairs, absorbing the beaming sun overhead, as well as the oils and lotions they had bought in port to speed of their tanning experience. The camera provides viewers with a pan from left to right, angled from the bottom of these beautiful women’s legs, starting with a blonde whose face was hidden away from the Double D beneath her chin. Panning right, viewers get further looks at the rest of the women, the brunette with stunning legs, the Latina with lips any man would wish to kiss and then finally . . . well there was El Trébol Jr in his full luchador suit with one of those foldable sun reflectors held in front of him, angled slightly towards the women.
It was a strange sight, what with this Mini Luchador seated beside such attractive and scantily-clad women; all is explained when Trébol flips the reflector over to reveal not the typical translucent covering, but three transparent mirrors that reflected the red-headed cameraman back to the viewers for the briefest of moments before Trébol goes back to “sunbathing” himself with the angle slightly off. He sighs in ecstasy behind the object, his little legs clicking together from the seated position like he was trying to return to Kansas or some shit.
“I swear, if the other boats I’ve been on had women like these here, I wouldn’t even be worried about making it over to the other side.”
Zing, illegal immigrant joke within a minute of the video’s beginning. And of course, El Trébol Jr is speaking aloud right beside the row of ladies who here his piggish comment. The silence is broken by the scraping of shuffling of lounge chairs as the women leave the weird little man alone with his three mirrors. Setting them aside, Trébol lounges back in his own chair, throwing his hands behind his head in that stereotypical relaxing positon.
“But hey, there is no need for none of that depressive talk because this ain’t one of those boats; I won’t be dodging border control when I abandon ship, but hordes of Japanese fans looking to get a little piece of this Irish clover.”
An audible buzzing is heard. El Trébol reaches underneath him to retrieve his cell phone. He taps the screen and reads over for a moment before returning the phone back underneath his clothed buttocks.
“Well, it seems the Japanese fans aren’t about that life. The Head Admin just sent us an email saying not to expect more than soft claps.” Even under the mask, viewers can tell that El Trébol is grinning. “So you can say that ship has sailed.”
El Trébol slaps his little knee before returning to his prior pose as a splash is heard off-screen where one of the women who had left him took a dive into the pool. Another grin from beneath the mask of Junior here.
"But my voyage here in ship known as UTA has only just begun and I'll bet you a dollar you've never heard a story of a midget drowning. Maybe losing his nose at Blackwater Bay, yes, but as I look around, I see nothing but crystal blue waves. And come November 9, it won't be some some Kings Guardsmen standing in my way. Just Sabrina Baker and her reality so harsh it required an extra week for her to come up with its parameters."
Oh, El Trébol pulls out the big word with parameters. He reclines deeper into the chair as he relishes in such usage.
“But I thank you for the welcome nonetheless, Sabrina Baker, and hope and pray that this reality you have in store of me won’t require me to use this here contraption,” El Trébol gestures to the folded mirror resting against his lounge chair beside him, “though I don’t reckon you intend on giving me the real welcome I’d be interested in. Alas, I’ll settle for your well wishes towards my luck and look forward to our match a week from now where I can put my hands all over you.”
El Trébol throws his hands up at this, almost as if defense. “And don’t take that the wrong way, Sabrina, except, well . . .” One of the eye sockets in Trébol’s form fitting mask shifts, as if an eye wink had just occurred, “unless you want to. I’m all for rocking the boat.”
Trébol shakes his head, letting his hands fall beside him, knowing this hole had been dug too deep already. “All joking aside, I look forward to our match, Sabrina, because I have been given this opportunity to debut in this company against a woman who has the heart of a competitor. I’m well aware of my, erm, stature coming in and wouldn’t have been surprised if I had been given some dude in a rabbit costume or some generic hardcore gangster to overcome it. But instead, I get you, Sabrina, the girl who defied her situation at home and followed her dream.”
Trébol uses his hands to gesture around him to the scene he found himself amongst. “I can respect that, Sabrina, I really can. Because I too found myself in a situation where this dream we shared seemed so hard to reach. But dammit, you and I did! Despite the protest, the hardships, the losses . . . we succeeded. And the dreams, the lives, of two vastly different yet strangely similar individuals come together aboard the Sapphire Princess where both seek to prove themselves.” Trébol pauses, his tone softening. “Dreams, you can say, have become reality, and it isn’t always nice.”
Trébol sits up to look into the camera, the seriousness growing within him. “So I won’t wait a week to share this harsh reality with you: only one of us can win November 9 and I’m going to try my hardest to make sure it isn’t me. And I think I can, too, because of our paths, Sabrina. You lose, lose, and lose some more before finally, finally getting that first win . . . and all you can say is ‘about time.’”
Trébol shakes his head. “And that pains me, Sabrina, because I know I didn’t have the same opportunities. Win or lose, you’re still a nice girl that people want to see stick around and succeed. But I am just a short guy in a suit whose only ticket in this business his ability. People won’t bat an eye if I lost at Proving Grounds; it would be no different than a man in a bunny suit, a one hit wonder to appease the sick humor of the UTA universe.” El Trébol taps his heart, his being. “But if I win, no, when I win, Sabrina, people will know I’m not just someone here to bring a smile to children’s faces: I’m here to bring them to their feet.”
To emphasize this, El Trébol Jr stands up in the chair as the camera pans up with him.
“I make a lot of crude jokes, Sabrina, and I know I’m not helping my image by doing so. But in my dreams, I knew I would be given the chance to wrestle people like me. And on November 9, by God, I will be given that chance against a girl whose heart inside and outside the ring surpasses all. I’m not underestimating you, Sabrina, simply stating that I want this more than you do and will take it.”
“And when Jennifer Williams comes knocking to get that latest scoop, I won’t be telling her ‘about time.’” A long, suspense pause.”
“Nope. I’ll be telling her this is my time.”
And with that, the scene fades out.
"If you truly want to make sure that women are treated with respect in professional wrestling, then the most helpful thing you can do to help, is to ensure we are treated fairly."