Episode three of Classic Wrestling is going on out in the studio beyond the big blue velvet curtain that separates back here from out there. Gordy Lovett stands there dressed in his usual Levi’s, snake-skin roach kickers, and his own t-shirt, cut-off and sleeveless, obviously. He stands quieter than a mouse… he peers out through a break in the curtain, he watches all the outlandish Classic wrestlers doing their thing. Nobody would describe the look on Lovett’s face as all that… happy. Unbeknownst to Gordy his manager Doris Hilton saunters up behind him, crosses her arms… a nasty little grin forms at the corner of her mouth. She takes a few confident little steps towards Gordy as she starts to talk, getting his attention.
Doesn’t feel good… does it? Standing back here when you know you should be out there…
Yep. Feels about as good as a brandin’ ah-rn up yer rear.
A blusterless Texan stands before us.
I want you out there, son. I wouldn’t have HIRED you if I didn’t think you were capable… I’m just not so sure why you’re so damned dead set on bein’ LIKED. That’s one thing I definitely didn’t hire you for. You want King Kong Frank to LIKE you? Is that why you ran out there like a damn fool last week? If you’d have had your head on straight you woulda’ beaten that leather-bound gimp, Colossus… but you didn’t. You wanted to hear cheers and be a hero out in front of the camera. Now you’re back here peekin’ through the curtain like you ain’t been doin this for how many decades?
She finally slowly steps right up to her client. She breathes deep.
Every tape I saw of your work, from Amarillo to Tokyo… I saw BRUTALITY. Relentlessness. I saw a big, mean, Texan making his entrances through the damn crowd swingin’ a cowbell’d bullrope around his head makin’ aaaaall the folks in the audience run with true fear that the meanest, scariest man on earth was comin’ to get ‘em. Where did that big, mean man go, Gordy? Now… are you ready to start showin’ these fools the business end of what you got?
Bluster rising. He pops his fist into his open palm, then reaches in his pocket and pulls out a can of snuff and pulls a huge wad and puts it between his cheek and gums.
You know hu-what, Mrs. Hilton? … I think ah finally am.
We cut with a close up of Doris grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Gordy… eyes now focused on the non-distance. A little line of brown drool starts to form at the former of his mouth.
You’ll be booked for episode four… before that match we’re going to make our intentions perfectly clear, understand me? You keep that furnace lit, son… we’ve got catch-up work to do.
The Texas Stampede sends a big brown wad of chaw-spit flying towards the cement. He cracks his knuckles and mugs for the camera as we cut.