For as long as Lincoln could remember, pro wrestling was part of his life...like an ugly mole or a terrible deformity. His father grew up in the nineties, when wrestling was considered half way cool, and even though he did, in fact, grow up, he never lost his affinity for the...well, Lincoln couldn't call it a sport...or a game...for the, uh, hustle?
See, wrestling is fake. The guys in the ring aren't really beating each other up, they're working together to put on a high flying acrobatics show masquerading as a competitive match. The outcome is predetermined, the moves are scripted and choreographed, and all of the epic trash talking on the mic is rehearsed beforehand so that it doesn't sound too fake.
Lincoln didn't understand wrestling. Like...why? What was the point?
That wasn't a question he entertained often, though. He joked, memed, and clowned on wrestling, but that was it.
Until that fateful day in May.
He was fixing his bike in the garage when it happened. Maggie, his girlfriend, sat on the work bench against the wall with her hands splayed on either side of her and Johnny rummaged through the chest freezer looking for a frozen leg of lamb Dad swore was in there. Maggie kicked her legs back and forth and watched Lincoln work, her lips scrunched to one side. "Are you going to be done soon?" she asked.
Ugh, woman, amirite? Always with that nagging stuff. "Almost," he said. He reached for the wrench, and a foot came down on his hand, pinning it to the concrete floor. He let out a strangled yelp, more of surprise than pain, and whipped his head up.
Ronnie Anne Santiago loomed over him, big as life and twice as ugly. The lighting was just right that a dark shadow fell across her face, and her brown eyes narrowed to sadistic slits. Her slimy pink tongue darted lizard-like from her mouth and swiped across her chapped bottom lip; she put pressure on his hand, and he could sense that it was taking everything she had not to crush it beneath her shoe like a troublesome little bug.
Johnny slammed the freezer closed and turned around, a smile on his face and a frozen slab of lamb in his mits. ''I found the -" his words cut off in a girlish squeal of alarm and the meat fell from his hands, landing on the pavement with a sharp crack. Maggie looked up from her feet, saw what was happening, and narrowed her eyes.
"Hey," she called, "what are you doing to my boyfriend?"
"Can it, goth," Ronnie Anne said, "I can do what I want, I'm his best friend."
She let up a little, and Lincoln yanked his hand out, cradling it to his chest with a pained hiss. "No you're not," he said through his teeth.
"Second best," Ronnie Anne said with a shrug.
"No," Johnny said, "that's Sid."
"Or Stella," Lincoln said, "it depends."
Ronnie Anne rolled her eyes. "I'm in the top five."
"That's up for debate," Johnny said.
A dark shadow flickered across Ronnie Anne's face and her features hardened. Johnny flashed a nervous smile. "Okay, you're in the top five."
Ignoring him, Ronnie Anne said, "I need you bozos to help me with something."
Not too long ago, Ronnie Anne muscled in on Lincoln and Johnny's soda machine repair business and their sandwich hustle. She took almost half of their weekly profits, and Lincoln and Johnny let her because her family was poor and she needed the money more than they did; they were gonna blow it on video games and stuff while she was going grocery shopping with it. Lincoln was willing to put up with handing her part of his bankroll twice a week, but being drafted at random to play slave was where he drew the line.
"What?" Johnny asked.
Ronnie Anne looked pointedly at Maggie. "It's private."
She and Maggie stared each other down like two junkyard dogs getting ready to scrap, then Maggie slid off the bench and got to her feet. "I'm gonna go," she said.
"Wait," Lincoln started.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said. She brushed past Ronnie Anne and disappeared through the open roll top door.
Lincoln sighed and hanged his head. He hoped she wasn't upset with him. He snapped his head up and fixed Ronnie Anne with a withering glare. "What do you want?" he asked.
"You two bozos like wrestling, right?"
Lincoln gagged and Johnny pressed his hand to his mouth, cheeks puffing out with imaginary vomit. "Of all the insults you've ever hurled at us," Lincoln said, "insinuating that we like that crap is the most offensive."
"Shut up," Ronnie Anne said. "Anyway, there's a WWE-sponsored junior tournament in Great Lakes City tomorrow. The grand prize is getting to meet and spend the day with La Tormenta." She whipped out a glossy 6 by 8 photo of a Hispanic woman in a greenish blue singlet with a lightning bolt on the chest and a luchador mask: Her hands were on her hips and she stared off to one side with a defiant expression, as though challenging her opponents to beat her. Or challenging the booker to have them beat her, since wrestling is fake.
A dreamy haze crept into Ronnie Anne's eyes. "La Tormenta is my hero and getting to meet her would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me."
Johnny and Lincoln exchanged a queasy glance. "What's that have to do with us?" Johnny asked.
"I need two partners," she said, "and those partners are you."
The way the tournament worked, Ronnie Anne explained, was that teams of three would duke it out in a series of matches, and the one that emerged victorious would get to spend a day with La Tormenta.
"No," Lincoln and Johnny said in unison.
To their surprise, Ronnie Anne dropped to her knees and balled her hands. "Please. This means so much to me. La Tormenta is my idol, I look up to her and wanna be like her so bad. I'd do anything. Anything."
Lincoln and Johnny looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. "Alright," Lincoln said, "we'll do it."
"You will?" she asked hopefully.
"Under one condition," Johnny said and held up his index finger.
Ronnie Anne's eyes darted nervously between them, "What?"
"Instead of taking 47.9 percent of our earnings every week," Lincoln said, "you start taking only 5."
"5?"
Lincoln crossed his arms. "Those are our terms."
"Yeah," Johnny echoed, "take it or leave it, sister."
For a long time, Ronnie Anne mulled over their proposition. "Fine," she said.
"I guess we're going to wrestle," Lincoln said.
No sooner had he spoken, the connecting door to the house exploded open with a loud crash, and all three of them jumped in fright. Lincoln and Johnny's father stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of slacks and a crusty wife beater. Lincoln's first thought was that he and Johnny had somehow transgressed and were in trouble...then he got a load of the old man's giddy expression. "Did someone say...wrestling?"
The next day at noon sharp, Lincoln, Johnny, their Dad, and Ronnie Anne arrived at the Great Lakes City Convention Center, a great dome-shaped building wedged between the river and an interstate overpass. Lincoln, clad in baggy jean shorts, fresh white kicks, and a sideways hat, wore a chain around his neck and a watch on his left hand. He tried to come up with an original gimmick but everything he dreamed up sucked, so decided to basically be John Cena and call himself Chain Linc. Johnny was dressed as Incineroar a Pokemon he liked, what can be described as a fire tiger and demanded to be called The Great Gonzalez. He walked with a mocking, bad-guy strut and did his best impression of Randy Savage when he spoke. "Ooooh yeah," he said as they approached the main door, "snap into a Slim Jim."
Ronnie Anne wore a purple jumpsuit and luchador mask with an intricate design.
Then there was Dad.
Dressed in slacks and a green blazer over a red button-up accented by a canary yellow tie, he rested the business end of a tennis racket in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. He insisted on being their "manager" even though Lincoln doubted they'd need one.
At the main door, a big guy in a black T-shirt emblazoned with SECURITY directed them to a side entrance marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Another bouncer checked their papers. "You can't come in," he said to Dad.
"What do you mean I can't come in?" Dad asked.
"You don't have papers."
Dad got in his face. "Listen here, you pig-faced motherlover, I'm gonna go through that door, I'm gonna march right up to that ring, and I'm gonna manage the 11'o'Clock Express right into victory, and no bald-headed, bucked tooth, squinty-eyed Bugs Bunny lookin butt-hole with bad breath is gonna stop me."
The bouncer looked at Ronnie Anne. "He's my manager," she sighed, then, under her breath, "unfortunately."
"Fine."
"Oh yeah," Johnny said, "that's what I thought, brother."
He went in, followed by Ronnie Anne and Lincoln. Dad stopped and looked the bouncer up and down. "Thank you, forget you, bye."
Inside, a stagehand led them to the locker room. Dad looked around with the wonderment of a small boy, and Lincoln did his best to keep up his tough guy act even though he felt like an idiot.
Five minutes later, while Dad was in the john, a lanky guy with a graying black beard came in holding a clipboard. Lincoln, Ronnie Anne, and Johnny were sitting on a bench and lacing their boots up when he entered and stood over them. "Alright," he said in a thick New York accent, "you guys go on in five, bro."
"How does this work?" Lincoln asked.
The guy looked at him like he was a moron. "You get in the ring, bro, and you wrestle, bro, that's how it goes, bro."
Lincoln rolled his eyes. "Dude, my dad's a huge mark, I'm smart to the business. Just tell me what to do, I know it's a work."
"Not anymore, bro, this is a legit shoot fight, bro."
Lincoln's smile fell. "Wait, what?"
Wrestling was fake and always had been. The winner of every match was predetermined and so, too, were all the moves. The guys battling in the ring rehearsed their spots beforehand. When they were in the ring, they worked together to put on a show and to ensure each other's safety. Sometimes, guys got mad at each other during their matches and really started to fight, but that happened only rarely and was a major offense. You're literally putting your life in the other guy's hands so stuff like blowing spots or intentionally hurting your opponent were taken seriously. There was no way the WWE would allow untrained people to get into one of its rings and really beat each other up.
"So...it's like the Brawl for All?" Johnny asked.
The guy smirked. "Exactly, bro."
"But -" Lincoln cut off when the guy strode out.
Okay then.
"You bozos better not blow this for me," Ronnie Anne said and got to her feet.
Five minutes later, they made their way to the ring with Dad. Ranks of seats, many empty, swept back from ringside and a couple randos sat at an announce table facing the ramp. Lincoln, Johnny, and Ronnie Anne climbed through the ropes while Dad stayed on the outside. Living up to his gimmick, Lincoln went over to one the posts, jumped up onto the second rope, and threw his arms over his head to muted applause. Johnny made rude gestures to the audience, and, like, two people booed him. Ronnie Anne crossed her arms and cocked her hip.
She didn't have long to wait before the opposing team came out.
Lincoln recognized them instantly.
Lynn Loud wore a red leotard with a single strap over one shoulder and black boots; Lana wore a green bodysuit with a lizard head, and Lola wore pink tights, a crown, and a queenly pink cloak.
Great.
The three toughest Loud girls.
"Alright," Ronnie Anne said, "I have Lynn. Johnny, you take Lana, Lincoln, you go for Lola."
The Louds got into the ring and they faced each other. The ref stood between them and motioned for the timekeeper to ring the bell.
Ding.
Ronnie Anne sprang at Lynn and they locked up, Lana speared Johnny and drove him back, and Lincoln hesitated. Could he really beat up a little - ?
Letting out a cry of primal fury, Lola threw herself at him. She hit him in the legs and he went down with a breathless oof. Acting fast, he rolled her off, got to his knees, and wrenched her arm behind her back. She howled in pain, and Lincoln planted his knee between her shoulder blades. Lana jumped off the top rope and came down on a screaming Johnny, and Lynn had Ronnie Anne in a sleeper hold. The ref danced around from one pair to the next, and Dad paced anxiously back and forth, pausing only to slap the ring and shout orders. Lola threw her head back and hit Lincoln in the chin, stunning him. She yanked out of his grasp, spun, and kicked him in the chest, knocking him over. Pain flared through him like a bomb blast and he curled up. "Come on, son!" Dad yelled.
Across the ring, Ronnie Anne flung Lynn over her shoulder and dropped a big elbow on her face. Johnny whipped Lana into the ropes, and Dad grabbed her foot. She yanked away, turned, and kicked at him. She poked her head through the ropes and yelled at him, and he waved her dismissively off.
Ronnie Anne grabbed Lynn around the neck, threw Lynn's arm over her shoulder, and gave her a chokeslam that made the mat bounce. Lola kicked Lincoln in the shin, and when he doubled over, she drove her knee into his forehead.
While Lana's back was still turned, Johnny ran over and rolled her up for the pin. The ref dropped to his stomach and slappd the mat.
One.
Two.
Lana kicked, thrashed, and wiggled, but her shoulders never left the mat.
Three.
Ding, ding, ding.
Johnny jumped to his feet and pounded his chest in celebration. Lynn got to her hands and knees, back rising and falling, and caught her breath. Lola looked around in shock and spotted Lana lying on her back. Her eyes narrowed, and leaving Lincoln alone, she stalked over and dragged her twin to her feet.
"You lost us the match!"
Lynn staggered to her feet. "Maybe if you actually helped."
Now all three Loud girls were arguing and blaming each other. The ref led them away from the ring, and Lynn shot a hateful look over her shoulder. "You three are dead meat."
"Go on!" Dad yelled and gestured up the ramp with his racket. "Get those losers out of here. Next opponent."
In the ring, Lincoln rolled his neck and squared his shoulders.
When he saw who was next, he sagged.
Hank and Hawk, two of the biggest guys in school, came down the ramp in leather, face paint, and mohawks. Chandler walked between them, a smug expression on his face. He wore a bowtie and a glittery black suit coat with wide lapels embroidered with dollar signs. He stopped, leaned over the metal barricade holding the audience back, and threw a random twenty dollar bill at someone. "Don't spend it all in one place," he said and winked.
Hank and Hawk climbed in and Chandler jumped up onto the apron, but didn't enter the ring. Johnny gulped and Ronnie Anne shifted nervously from one foot to the other other. Lincoln's mind raced and his muscles twitched; he was this close to dipping out.
The bell rang, and Hank and Hawk grinned evilly. "Hey," Lincoln called to the ref, "what about him?" He nodded to Chandler.
"The rules don't say I have to actually wrestle," Chandler scoffed. "I'll let my hired hands do that for me then reap the benefits." He threw his head back and laughed.
Before Lincoln could register what was happening, Hawk's hand closed around his throat, cutting off his air supply. The giant hoisted him off his feet and lifted him high above the mat. Ronnie Anne had somehow gotten onto Hank's shoulders like a cowgirl mounted on horseback and battered the back of his skull with a flurry of punches. Johnny bent at the waist and rammed his shoulder into the big man's midsection in an attempt to upset his balance. Hank planted his feet in the mat and reached behind him to grab Ronnie Anne. Johnny punched him in the stomach, but the titan barely seemed to notice.
Hawk tightened his hold on Lincoln's throat. Lincoln kicked and tried to free himself but he was starting to get lightheaded. Just before he passed out, Hawk spun and slammed him to the mat. Stars burst across Lincoln's vision and his lungs throbbed hotly. Hawk went to pick him up again, and coming alive, Lincoln punched him in the face. He cried out and staggered back, giving Lincoln just enough time to get to his feet and attack. He chopped him hard across the chest, doing more damage to himself than to Hawk, and followed up with a kick to the knee. Hawk shoved him back and charged, and Lincoln ducked out of the way.
Hank spun in circles trying to get Ronnie Anne off, but she clung to him like an angry cat. He finally threw himself to the mat and her hold broke. Johnny slingshotted into the rope and then jumped, landing across Hank in a sloppy frog splash. Lincoln ducked Hawk again and ran around the ring, trying and failing to come up with a battle plan. Dad was on the apron now, gesturing wildly and shaking the racket. Johnny hooked Hank's leg and pinned him, and the ref dropped for the count, but only made it to two before Hank kicked out.
Something his father said in the locker room came back to him. If you're in trouble, he said, distract the ref.
He ran over and put the ref between him and Hawk. "Don't let him kill me," Lincoln said and hugged him.
"Get off of me, kid."
He leaned over to see what Hawk was doing. Just as he'd hoped, he was approaching the apron, where Dad's mouth ran a mile a minute, every sort of insult, jab, and cross word spewing out in an inventive and NSFW torrent of trash. "If it was rainin' soup, you'd be outside with a fork, you big, dumb idiot. You're so dumb, you stayed up all night studying for a urine test."
Hawk growled, and Lincoln hugged the ref tighter. "Please, I'm so scared."
"You're so dumb it takes you an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes." As he spoke, he dug something out of his coat pocket. Hawk, growling like the giant beast he was, lunged at Dad. Lincoln didn't see what happened, but a moment later, Hawk was lying spread eagle on the mat, eyes closed and arms splayed out. Dad jumped down and hurried away, and on the opposite side of the ring, Chandler yelled at the ref and pointed to the fallen beast. Lincoln let the ref go, ran over to Hawk, and covered him.
The ref dropped to his stomach and slapped the mat.
One.
Two.
Three.
DING, DING, DING.
Lincoln jumped to his feet. He did it. HE DID IT! The ref grabbed his hand and lifted his arm above his head, and a big, stupid grin plastered Lincoln's face. He yanked away, stood over Hawk's fallen form, and waved his open palm in front of his own face. "YOU CAN'T SEE ME!"
Pouting like a sullen child who didn't get its wish, Chandler led his defeated tag team into the back, berating them the whole time. Hank and Hawk simply hung their heads in shame and took it.
As soon as they were gone, the next opponent streaked down the entrance ramp like a shot and hit the ring so fast Lincoln didn't know whether to wind his butt or fall on his watch. They (he couldn't tell if it was a he or a she) popped to their feet and launched at Johnny so quick that he was crumpled on the floor and moaning two seconds before he realized he'd be beat. Next, they hit Ronnie Anne, and she fell to the mat like a sack of broken maracas. They turned to Lincoln and his heart dropped into his stomach. She (for this monster was a girl) fixed him with a wicked, gap-toothed smile. Fire burned in her brown eyes and her blonde hair, pulled up in a standing ponytail, was damp with sweat. Her red and yellow tights blazed like hellfire, and her shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell, lending her the appearance of a beast facing down its prey.
Nope.
Lincoln wheeled around and fled. He made it to the ropes but the girl was on him like liberal on Twitter. She locked her arms around his waist and threw herself back in a perfect belly to back suplex. Lincoln's life flashed before his eyes, then his shoulders connected with the mat and pain exploded in his skull.
The girl jumped up, ran over to Johnny who had made it to his hands and knees, and punched him, knocking him over again. She went to Ronnie Anne, who was on her feet now, and punched her too, sending her to the mat. Dad climbed up onto the apron and shouted something at her, and the next thing Lincoln knew, she was at the rope and clocking him in the jaw. The racket fell from his hand and he started to follow. He shot his arm out and tried to catch the top rope, but missed and plummeted to the floor.
Screaming, the girl grabbed the rope, pulled back as far as she could, and shook her head from side to side like a wild animal. Lincoln resolved to stay down, where it was safe, but Johnny stupidly staggered to his feet and went at her. He was almost to her when she spun, pivoted on one foot, and kicked Johnny in the chin like her name was Shawn Michaels. Johnny went limp and dropped to the mat, dead or close to it. Ronnie Anne was up now, and the girl charged her like a raging bull. Ronnie Anne ducked at the last second, and the girl collided with the ref; he flew back, hit the ropes, and fainted dead away.
Fun fact: Pro wrestling refs are the weakest creatures on the face of the earth. One poke and they shatter like a pane of glass.
Ronnie Anne and the girl locked up, then Ronnie Anne slung her into the ropes and hit her with a flying clothesline. She went down, but was back up in an instant. Lincoln rolled to his stomach and commando crawled to Johnny. He shook his arm. "Hey," he said, "you okay?"
Johnny snored.
The girl picked Ronnie Anne up and body slammed her, then pinned her.
The ref was out cold.
Dad fumbled his way through the ropes and ran over.
When Lincoln saw what he was holding, he froze.
A steel chair.
He started to call out (No, Dad, for the love of God, no!), but it was too late. He pulled the chair back and let fly. It hit the girl square on the head with a flat whump and the life ran out of her. "Yeah!" Dad yelled. He threw the chair out of the ring, grabbed Ronnie Anne's lifeless carcass, and draped her over the girl. Next, he grabbed the ref by the back of his shirt, dragged him over, and yelled at him to wake up. Weakly, feebly, the ref slapped the mat.
One.
Pause.
Two.
Pause.
Three.
DING, DING, DING.
Dad jumped up and down in jubilation, and Lincoln grabbed the rope and struggled to a standing position. Ronnie Anne rolled off of the girl, sat up, and rubbed the back of her head. Johnny had somehow wound up on his stomach with his knees drawn under him and his face in the mat. Lincoln pulled him to his feet and slapped him a couple times. "What happened?"
"We got our butts kicked."
"Did we lose?"
"No," Lincoln said, "Dad went full Attitude Era and hit her with a chair."
The girl revived, sat up, and looked around, the bitter disappointment on her face almost enough to negate the fact that she had just demolished Lincoln and almost everyone he cared about. She got up, rubbed her head, and slunk away.
A black suited ring announcer appeared next to Dad, a microphone in his hand. "And now...for tonight's main event…"
Lincoln blinked. It was almost over. They were one match away from winning.
"A three on one handicap match. The 11'0-Clock Express vs…"
The lights dimmed and eerie mist filled the entranceway. A form appeared in the fog, and pyrotechnics exploded on either side of the runway. Ronnie Anne's jaw fell open and Dad shook his head in denial. "No," he said, "it can't be."
"Who?" Lincoln asked.
"No way," Dad said, "no way."
"WHO, MAN?" Johnny cried.
The mist cleared and the crowd went wild.
"La Tormenta!" the announcer cried into the mic.
Lincoln sputtered. What? A real wrestler?
It couldn't be.
Yet there she was making her way to the ring with a championship belt around her waist, a stocky Hispanic woman in teal tights, white boots, and a mask. Ronnie Anne quivered in wonder like a Chirstian in the presence of Jesus and Johnny swallowed hard. La Tormenta climbed through the ropes and walked, her hands planting on her ample hips. She sized them up, then handed the belt to the ref. "This shouldn't take long," she said.
The bell rang, and La Tormenta rolled her neck. Lincoln backed away slowly, but Dad...poor Dad. "I'm a really big fan," he said and took a tentative step toward her, "I -"
La Tormenta threw herself back into the ropes and shot forward. She speared Dad Goldberg style and he hit the mat hard, losing consciousness. La Tormenta got up and fixed her gaze on Johnny. He broke and ran away. Next, she turned to Lincoln.
Yeah, forget this.
He dove through the ropes and landed on the padded floor.
Ronnie Anne was alone.
La Tormenta walked up to her and stared down at her. "How old are you?" she asked.
"Uh...eleven."
"Hm. I've never beaten up an eleven year old before."
With that, she picked Ronnie Anne up, spun her around, and power slammed her to the mat. Lincoln winced and Johnny turned away. "I can't watch."
La Tormenta got to her feet, grabbed Ronnie Anne, and set her up for a piledriver. Lincoln squeezed his eyes closed, but the sounds of Ronnie Anne being totally decimated painted a chilling picture on the backs of his eyelids. He creaked one eye open just as Ronnie Anne jumped off the top rope. La Tormenta snatched her out of the air and threw her to the mat in a sick power bomb. She pinned, but Ronnie Anne kicked immediately out. She dragged Ronnie Anne to her feet, and they locked up.
For what seemed like an eternity, they grappled, Ronnie Anne pushing La Tormenta back and La Tormenta pushing her back. Both women planted their feet and strained to knock the other off balance. Breaking out of the lock, La Tormenta grabbed Ronnie Anne in a DDT, but Ronnie Anne flipped and reversed it like a Latina Missy Elliot. La Tormenta hit the mat on her stomach, and Ronnie Anne dropped her knees on La Tormenta's arm, making her jump and writhe. Ronnie Anne swung one leg over La Tormenta and applied a devastating crippler crossface that made Chris Benoit smile down in hell.
The ref bent down in front of them and La Tormenta shook her head. No, I'm not tapping. Ronnie Anne increased the pressure, and La Tormenta tried to get up but failed. Finally, she swatted the air, and the ref pointed at the timekeeper.
DING, DING, DING.
Lincoln gaped.
They did it.
"We won!" Johnny yelled and jumped up and down.
Ronnie Anne let go and got to her feet. La Tormenta lay on her stomach, fighting to breathe, then rolled over. Ronnie Anne knelt next to her to see if she was okay, and La Tormenta sat up. She looked at Ronnie Anne...then thrust out her hand. "Good match."
They shook.
"You're my hero," Ronnie Anne gushed. "I have all your posters on my walls, and your action figures, and your DVDs, oh, I even have the record you did. I wanna be just like you when I grow up."
La Tormenta smiled. "You're already on your way."
Ronnie Anne helped her up and La Tormenta raised Ronnie Anne's hand. "Are you hungry? I could go for some lunch.'
"Me too," Ronnie Anne said. "I'll even pay."
La Tormenta laughed. "We'll put it on Vince's tab. How about that?"
The two opponents turned friends left the ring and disappeared into the back. "Well," Lincoln said, "it's nice to see Ronnie happy."
"And it's nice to see her cut go down to five percent."
They both looked at the ring. Dad lay flat on his back and the ref stood over him looking lost. "We better get him out of there."
That day, they wrestled four matches and came out full of cuts, bruises, aches, and pains, but nothing - nothing - about their stint as wrestlers was as gruelling as dragging their 300 pound father into the locker room.
Except for being surrounded by Hawk, Hank, Chandler, Lynn, Lana, Lola, and the wild girl and beaten to a pulp for cheating.
That was really, really gruelling.
And painful.
THE END.