Guest writer Christopher is back with another tale of woe. This one is called “The Submission Hold,” and a jobber feels the….sting of defeat. Thanks again to our guest Christopher for filling the void for your lackluster web jobber!
THE SUBMISSION HOLD
My name is Timmy Starr and I am a fifteen-year-old pro wrestler. I sprinted to the ring, while trying to get the crowd going. I barely got any reaction from the crowd, other than a few taunts such as ‘scrubber’, and ‘loser’.
I ignored those taunts and approached the ring. Just as I was about to approach the ring, I heard my name being called, but it sounded more like a taunt. I looked to my left and I saw two kids, both about the same age as me, sitting in the front row. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized them from my neighbourhood.
They both snickered and pointed at me. I sneered at them and climbed into the ring. I could not waste time on them now. When the ring announcer called out my name, I raised my hand, removed my jacket and handed it to the ring attendant. I wore purple wrestling briefs and white boots. I hopped up and down with excitement and watched the aisle.
And then, out he came, to the approval of the crowd. I turned white upon seeing him. His name was Sting and he was a well-known and popular wrestler. He wore orange tights that were decorated with scorpions with orange boots. He wore face paint and, boy, was he muscular. Sting slapped hands with the crowd as he approached the ring. When he climbed into the ring, he gave out a small wolf-like howl and then turned to my direction. I looked down at my feet. I thought to myself, This guy is bigger and stronger, not to mention older than me. Should I run or should I stay?
I took a deep breath and looked up at him. He flexed his muscles and looked at me, smiling. I exhaled and looked at him with anxiety. I had a job to do and I did not want to look bad in front of my peers, so I decided to stay. Maybe if he turned his back……
Hesitantly, I walked towards the centre of the ring, keeping my eyes on him. As I approached, my heart beat faster in my chest because he was now walking towards me. When we approached the centre of the ring, he surprised me by looking around and turning to his left, giving another howl to the fans.
He turned his back to me and uttered another howl. Here was my chance!
I charged towards him and threw fists at both his ribs and his back. He twitched and turned around. I grabbed his face and punched him there twice. Was it just me or did they not seem to have much effect on him? Sting stood up straight, bent over, and flexed his muscles. He grinned at me while roaring. Out of desperation, I punched him a few more times, but he did not even flinch. I turned around and tried to run away. I barely got a couple of steps when, suddenly, I stumbled backward. I gasped and looked behind me. My jaw dropped with horror as I discovered that my opponent had grabbed the back of my trunks and yanked me back.
I shook with fear and stammered, “S-S-S-Sting! I’m sorry! Can….Can we just…..uh…….?”
I could not finish the words, and I laughed nervously. He bent me over backward and wrapped his arm around my face. As I struggled to stay on my feet, I felt a heavy blow descend on my stomach, driving me to the mat and forcing air out of my lungs.
I had no time to recover as he pulled me to my feet and threw a fist to the side of my face. The arena spun around and I stumbled blindly. I could not fall to my feet as something latched onto the back of my neck.
I was rushed forward and my head was smashed against what I assumed was the turnbuckle, giving me a headache and making me even dizzier. I fought hard to stay conscious and braced myself for more punishment.
After about a minute, my vision cleared. However, it was all too late as I spied my opponent charging towards me full steam ahead. I cried out in pain as he crashed into me in the corner. My ribs aching, I stumbled away from the corner a few steps and fell face first onto the mat, groaning in pain.
I heard him sound out his all-too-familiar howl. I had a funny feeling in my stomach. Was he going to do his painful hold on me, the scorpion death lock? Terrified, I crawled slowly on my hands and knees. I gasped as I felt my opponent’s hand latch onto my ankle and turn me onto my back. Sting stood over me, holding my right leg up into the air. He bent down and grabbed my other leg. I was totally helpless as he bent my legs backward.
I tried to wiggle my legs about, but he kept a firm grip on them. I whimpered as he placed his right leg between my legs and placed it on my right side. He then wrapped my legs around his right shin.
Sting turned around clockwise, flipping me over to my front while still holding onto my legs. A scream wrenched its way out of my body as he squatted down on my lower back. The pressure started to build up as he began pulling at my legs. Pain erupted in my knees and they threatened to break free from their tethers while my lower back was bent at an unnatural position. I flailed my arms about and the referee asked if I wanted to submit.
“Okay, Sting,” I screamed, “I submit! Let me go!” The bell rung and I barely felt my now-numb legs drop onto the mat while I reached behind me to feel my back. I lost the match, but at least the pressure on my back had eased somewhat.