"El Trebol Jr., let me be the first to welcome you to Wrestle UTA."
Standing outside of a convenience store in Boston, a slight breeze is felt against the face of the Mental Rapist, his breath forming steam with every exhale into the cool Massachusetts air.
There is a reason the Mental Rapist chose this particular location, and it had everything to do with an opponent twenty inches shorter than him.
Until El Trebol Jr. beat Chance von Crank at Wrestleshow Forty-Nine, no one thought he had a snow balls chance of beating anyone on the roster. But now that mindset had quickly changed, especially in the mind of the former World Champion.
"When I first saw you backstage in Vancouver, I initially thought you were a child looking for an autograph. I thought about telling you to get lost, but my mind was on other things, so I just ignored you. I chose to allow UTA's own crack security team to sort out your issues, allowing me to go about my merry little way. It wasn't like you were a terrorist and the Canadian Mounted Police was needed."
That would have been embarrassing.
"It wasn't until after your match that I discovered who you were. Despite the size difference, despite everything working against you, Wrestleshow Forty-Nine was your coming out party. In that moment, you managed to slip past a very cagey veteran, beating him at his own game. And that my friend..."
The image of the luchador pinning the Trailer Park Prodigy would forever be burned into the brain of the former Dynasty member. As someone who had seen Crank in action, it was shocking to witness this young man overcoming everything and physically taking down the veteran.
"Earned my respect."
Smiling, the Dallas native tries to hide his feeling of trepidation. After watching the newcomer take full advantage of the many mistakes from CvC, it was now Sean's responsibility to make sure he didn't fall victim to those same mistakes. He found himself retired to the film room, spending hours dissecting every move Trebol made, an effort to ensure an improbable winning streak never materialized at his expense.
"But Trebol, this is professional wrestling and I'm not Chance von Crank. Instead of viewing you as a little man with huge shortcomings, as someone who isn't a threat..."
Clearing his throat, Mr. Ace In The Hole shakes his head to the contrary. After seeing the luchador in action first hand, the Dallas native was armed with everything he needed to ground the little guy.
"I see you as a man with a plan. Someone who set a milestone for himself in Vancouver, and now wants to keep it going in Chicago. I see you following the Golden State Warriors, thinking it can empower you to reach above expectations, to believe the improbable to be perfectly possible..."
The Mental Rapist didn't have a clue how Chance was taking the loss, probably never expected the match to turn out as it did, but that was the difference between the Trailer Park Prodigy and himself.
"Which means you will be entering into Seasons Beatings with the premise that lightning can strike twice. That like everyone else, I too will buy into your oompa loompa bullshit. That I will see you as some kid who couldn't reach beer on the top shelf."
The Dallas native begins to frown, biting the tip of his lower lip while exhaling from his nose.
"Well that isn't me, no matter how you wish it to be so. Unlike Chance, I don't see you as the little guy filled with anger because a stranger grabbed a six-pack for you. Hell, I don't even see you as the guy who hates being short."
And why should he? There will always be some liberal blowhard available to grab him some beer, or some dumb broad who would date him out of guilt. It was the perfect setup for a master manipulator like El Trebol Jr.
"Instead, I see you as a guy using people's good nature against them. I see you as the little guy guilting women, guilting tall people, even guilting Chance von Crank into losing. Face it, the man never considered you a legitimate threat because he saw you as the kid riding in the shopping cart, not the man pushing it. He saw you as being vertically challenged, and not as the man capable of attacking from above..."
Turning on his heels, Mr. Ace In The Hole steps into the convenience store and makes his way to the now infamous beer cooler. Deeply inhaling, Sean could almost reach out and touch the very door Trebol used to disarm CvC.
"And that is what I like about you, the ability to use people's misconceptions and prejudices against them. The smooth way you used this particular convenience store to lower Crank's guard, reaching for that particular six-pack of Bud Light..."
There is that mental image, the luchador on his tip toes, stretching his little fingers out as far as he can, the strain on his face.
"Knowing before hand, you couldn't reach it."
The Mental Rapist breaks out that million dollar smirk. It was a crafty idea, he had to give the little guy that, but now that Trebol had blown his wad on trailer park trash, how did he propose to drop the guard of the Dallas native?
"It was a thing of beauty, planting the seed of being helpless. Showing yourself as a non-threat due to your size."
It was straight out of the teachings of Sun Tzu. The idea is to appear weak when strong, and strong when weak.
"And as expected, the Trailer Park Prodigy played right into the three count. But now what happens?"
The game plan on CvC was clear, and executed to perfection. But now he found himself against someone who wouldn't drop that guard, against a man who used the same type of mental tactics. No, this time Trebol would have to stand toe to toe with a man who threw the most devastating knee in the business, and he did it with all the malice that could be mustered.
"Like Sun Tzu, all warfare is based on deception. So do you come to Chicago with the same game plan? do you portray yourself weak, in hopes I will repeat the idiocy of CvC? or will you go with a different plan of attack?"
That was an interesting question. But it was a question the Dallas native had to put out there. He thought it amazing that Chance couldn't see the deception in play, a veteran of many years in this business, and the young man took him down like...like...
Stepping away from the cooler and towards the exit, a slight push of the dirt stained glass door and he is making his way back outside. The store clerk barely paying attention slightly raises his chin while the eyes stay glued in the newspaper article about his beloved Patriots.
"Or maybe, just maybe you will come into Chicago an even bigger liar than in Vancouver. Well I have to know, how can you stand there and hold your head high when you've done nothing more than stunt the growth of your fellow little people?"
How quickly venom is spewed when the Mental Rapist sees social injustice taking place. Now standing outside the convenience store, he looks right and then left to decide his next course of action. After the social injustice that took place in Vancouver, the Dallas native had to right that wrong.
"Instead of your fellow little people learning to make it on their own, they now expect everything to be handed to them. Where would Muggsy Bogues be if everything had been handed to him? at 5'3, the man was of legendary status in the NBA. He didn't need help from teammates to do a slam dunk, nor did he need them to grab his luggage. But because of your actions in Vancouver, your fellow short people are going to demand their teammates lift them up for dunks, or to grab rebounds."
The former World Champion shakes his head while making his way along the Boston sidewalk. Everywhere he looks, social injustice is taking place as people are now catering to the short people. Taller women who would never give a short guy the time of day, now being stalked by them due to El Trebol Jr. giving them false sense of hope.
"Or how about Aditya Dev, the shortest bodybuilder in history. At 2'9 inches tall, he didn't need anyone to lift the dumbbells for him. He took care of that on his own, and is in the 2006 Guinness Book of World Records. He accomplished that on his own accord, but because of you, other short bodybuilders will now expect their taller counterparts to lift the weight for them."
Mr. Ace In The Hole has difficulty believing the newcomer can't see the damage he's created. It was obvious to even Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles that the actions in Vancouver set back short people two hundred years.
"Face it Trebol, you could have been like Peter Dinklage of X-Men fame. You could have reached out and taken Hollywood's brass ring and been somebody. But no, you had to cheapen it by coming into UTA and posing as something you aren't. You had to destroy everything successful short people made possible before you..."
The short guy stigma some people called it, but in reverse. Or maybe Trebol's actions against CvC was due to his own hatred of small people. Could it be, a small guy like Trebol was actually prejudiced towards other short-Americans?
"All out of jealousy."
The smirk returns.
"Come on Trebol, admit it. You are a great athlete, but you could never compare to what THOSE great short people brought to their respective industries. What you did was a disgrace, and now I have to right that wrong. You have pissed on the legacy of every successful short person in history and for what? so you could brag about beating trailer trash?"
And just as quickly the smirk appears, it disappears. The former World Champion and holder of the Ace in the hole briefcase is deadly serious about his conviction to save ALL short-Americans from Trebol's injustice.
"That isn't conducive Trebol, and you know it. That creates a paradox for anyone short enough to look up to you, for them to think a building should be smaller, or a freeway slimmer. It is a prejudice you need to get rid of, to eradicate it from your heart and soul."
His eyes narrow contemptuously, a pompous expression covering his face. In taking a deep breath through the nose, the Mental Rapist continues.
"You must believe me, the beat down I have to deliver at Seasons Beatings is for your own good. My philosophy, no matter how distorted you believe it to be, is for every short person infected by your deceit. You have your faults, that is evident from your actions in Vancouver, and it must be corrected in Chicago."
Chicago, the Windy City. A place Sean Jackson despised even more than Boston. It was cold during the winter and just like Boston, couldn't compete with Dallas. The people were friendly and if you found someone short, it was a safe bet they WEREN'T from Texas. The Mental Rapist remembered being 4'7 once, but he was in elementary school and not a grown ass man.
A 4'7 luchador who first faced the Trailer Park Prodigy a week after Thanksgiving, now drew the biggest douchebag in the company, mere days before Christmas. Maybe it was karma, punishment for short-changing his fellow altitude challenged brothers and sisters.
"Corrected in Chicago, I can't believe those words came out of my mouth. It is a city filled with corruption, where even Catholic Priests can't escape the scars. But it is also a city that depends on me lifting them up and showing them the error of your ways."
There it was, his purpose for this year's Christmas. A gift to right the wrong perpetrated by one man's prejudice towards those just like him.
"The perfect Christmas present. For them and me."
"Do not be too cocky, as their are many people here in the UTA that do not know how to handle the cocky!"
- Mikey Unlikely