Swept Away On A Cloud Of Sweaty Men And Zero Pretension; Friday Nights In Surfers Paradise
Day 159 of The Andie Chronicles
The private school kids of Melbourne would probably chastise me for stepping foot in this makeshift auditorium, which I’m pretty sure used to be a scout hall with a basketball court at the back.
It was dirty, poorly constructed, yet it had everything you needed to put on a good show. A wrestling ring, enough lights to illuminate the performers, and music blasting every time a wrestler walked to the ring.
It was the complete opposite of the marble offices of Douglas Gallo. You wouldn’t want to eat off the floors here, but you could at Douglas’.
You might get stuck on the chairs at Gold Coast World Wrestling, GCWW, but you wouldn’t at Douglas’. Maybe not for the same reasons.
All the pretension, the pomposity, you wouldn’t find that here. At least, not amongst the crowd.
I took my seat at the end of the fourth row back from the ring. According to the flyer, there were three tag team matches, two women’s matches, and a main event. They slated the match to close the show as a fatal four-way match for the GCWW title.
I had to ask the person next to me what "fatal" meant in this context. A kind man wearing a scull t-shirt and ripped denim shorts explained how the first person to get a pin or submission won the title.
It was kind of like doing business at the Paris end of Melbourne, the few blocks of city skyscrapers monopolised by men in suits. The first person to figure out how to make money decides what everyone else does next. And that person certainly wasn’t me.
The lights lowered as the main event began. The music roared as the crowd did, and I felt carried away by everyone else's enthusiasm.
Four men paraded out to the ring. I learned quickly the current champion was Cooper Crusher. He was the only man in long black pants, the rest were wearing almost speedo-style trunks.
I noted the way he had his name embellished on the side of his pants and across his rear. I wondered how the applique would hold during the physicality of the natch,
Tearing off his t-shirt before the bell rang, I could see his long, black hair dance across his back. It was soaking wet too, much like most of the male wrestlers I had seen tonight.
Cooper was magnetic. I can only assume it’s the reason he’s the champion; he commanded the room, selling each shot given to him, and giving it back just as hard.
I know it’s all choreographed and every man in the ring knows what’s going to happen before it does, but at least it’s honest.
In my workplace, everyone seems to have the script but me. Everyone seems to know what’s going on and I'm the dopey audience member left guessing.
I wished James, GG, Sophia and I moved as the wrestlers did; as a team with uncanny synchronism.
We could be so good together.
We were so good together.
The match ends and Cooper retained his title. The announcer says his name in this long, drawn congratulations. The crowd rise to their feet, applauding him, chanting his name. I go along with them. I find myself mimicking their shouts. He should take a bow, I think to myself.
He’s that damn good.
Looking at Cooper, I can’t help but think this guy wouldn’t let his friends or his ex walk all over him. He wouldn’t take this lying down. He wouldn’t let life pass him by as a passenger. No, he would fight.
Leaving the building, I passed a parade of people wearing GCWW t-shirts, handing out flyers.
“Come back tomorrow folks,” one said.
You’re reading The Andie Chronicles, the 2023 romance-fiction series from the 1 Lovelock Drive (1LD) universe.
By the way, this all started when Andie turned thirty-five, and her then-boyfriend didn’t call her.
Or the day after that.
Or the day after that, too.
Everything started to unravel when her BFFs got into bed with her ex, too… ⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️
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