Chapter 1: You have to be a different Black Sheep Baez

There’s something to be said about someone who enters PRIME with a large amount of confidence and advertises a faith in proving their worth. They’re either very arrogant, cocky, or they’ve got testicles larger than the solar system. This isn’t a person who aims to be a flash in the pan.

He’s someone who makes an impact everywhere he goes. He carries with him overwhelming charisma, positivity, and a love for the human spirit. There’s a dash of cockiness in it all, but this is someone who earns respect. Entitlement is absent in their philosophy. They are the next generation. They are the unabated child of God.

His name is Alejandro Baez. He's a third generation Puerto Rican and a master of proper hygiene and fashion. He’s bald, handsome, asymmetrical, and sports the Puerto Rican tan.

His image is a work of art. He’s a sculpted latino Adonis. His dark goatee is consistently groomed, and he manages his thick black eyebrows that lay above diamond blue eyes. It’s apparent by his perfect smile that he’s never missed a dentist appointment. His wardrobe often turns heads.

His one true love is professional wrestling.

The art of pro wrestling is embedded in the DNA of all Puerto Ricans since the 1960’s. There’s a passion in their soul for fighting, and winning. Wrestling is a celebrated lifestyle and the largest source of income in Puerto Rico. The children are born into it.

There are places all over the world that celebrate their culture and identity when a child is born. Jamaicans bury the placenta and umbilical cord somewhere in the house after the birth. The parents will plant a tree in that spot, tend to the tree, and then hand off that responsibility to the child as they mature. It’s a lesson in responsibility. Islamic countries celebrate the birth by slaughtering a goat, or sheep. Many Puerto Rican babies are taken directly to a wrestling ring once they're discharged.

Alejandro, or Alex, was not born in Puerto Rico. He was born in the United States. Tradition is a priority. He's been doing the dance in the proverbial squared circle since day one.

The Baez family tree has roots so deep that they penetrate through the crust of the island to soak in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea. Alex’s ancestors were Taínos from a land formerly known as Borikén.

The Baez Taínos didn't live in clay huts, smack the ground with their spears, and wear buffalo hide g-strings. They dined with Christopher Columbus, negotiated trade with Juan Ponce de León, participated in the construction of Castillo San Cristóbal, held pivotal roles in El Grito de Lares Rebellion, were reformed soldiers by Field General and Inspector-General Alexander O’Reilly, were present for the signing of the Treaty of Paris, helped adopt the Jones Act, voted for their first Puerto Rican Governor, and witnessed the island turn into a Commonwealth of the United States. Over 750 years of tradition, culture, and heritage.

Alex's great grandfather Eduardo migrated to the states due to the economic depression in Puerto Rico. He was one of the 13,000 Puerto Ricans entering New York City after 1945. This was the first time that a Baez defected. They came for el sueño americano (the American dream). Eduardo became a U.S. citizen, labored on steel beams while building New York City, got married, and had children.

Eduardo’s wife Roberta stayed at home and took care of the household. They needed a secondary source of income. Professional Wrestling is Eduardo’s third love; just below his family, two spots below Roberta, and one spot above his favorite TV shows. If he wasn’t laughing profusely during episodes of I Love Lucy, or enjoying a dramatic episode of Gunsmoke, then he was finding ways to watch men battle in the wrestling ring.

This was around the time of wrestling’s introduction and popularity on the island of Puerto Rico. Borricuas all across the globe wanted to be in-ring workers. It was a no-brainer. Eduardo began wrestling in a territorial promotion within the City of Good Neighbors, Buffalo, New York.

Eduardo had raw and unbridled strength. His skin was as tight as leather and textured like sandstone. He had wide veins, a killer smile, and he was fit as a fiddle. That all didn’t matter. Industry racism stunted his growth. His minority status kept him below the so-called elites. He was never booked to challenge champions, and it was extremely rare to see him compete against a headliner, but the paychecks were nice. His children never starved, and Roberta was the epitome of the happy wife-happy life ideology.

Their eldest son Joseph was groomed to join Eduardo in the business. He too fell victim to greedy promoters and bitter competition. Joe Baez stuck with the sport as a journeyman jobber to the stars. Jobber Joe’s son Joseph Jr. eventually became The Second Jobber Joe. The rest of the details are arbitrary. Joseph Jr. met a gorgeous upstate Latina, married her, and spawned more Baez babies. One spawn is our fine protagonist: Alejandro Eduardo Joseph Baez.

Alex was born into a family that trained together. There were several other Baez family members wrestling across the United States, and in Puerto Rico. Those were cousins, or uncles, or even aunts. Some were more successful than others. Alex knew, at a young age, that he wanted to do it differently. Eduardo trained Joseph, and Joseph trained Joseph Jr, but Alejandro wasn’t going to be trained by his father.

It’s not that he was embarrassed by his family’s legacy. On the contrary: he embraces it and wants to be the best Baez to ever step foot in a ring. His family is still unhappy with the decision, but they live with it. Eduardo, who turns 88 in January, dubbed Alex the Black Sheep of the family. The moniker stuck to Alex like feathers on tar.

One of the crucial points to training with his family was to learn the correct way to perform, and alleviate injuries. Black Sheep Baez is no stranger to pain. Eduardo, and both Joe’s, never spent time on the injured reserve. Being hurt got in the way of getting paid. It’s different now. Alex has had bad luck with violent bumps and internal damage. He’s never had a problem getting paid.

He took a gruesome spinebuster onto steel ring steps last year. Doctor’s advised that he stay away from action for a brief time. His back needed to heal. Did he listen? No, because he was a champion and he wanted to continue defending the title. No Baez had ever worn a championship belt around their waist. Being the SHOOT Project Premier Champion was not only an honor, but it was also history. He was able to defend the championship one more time before unfortunately losing it. The injury was severe and it put him out of action for one year.

It was time to receive the news. He’s medically cleared, but a final check was necessary. Check-ups are aggravating. The last thing anybody wants is bad news. Black Sheep Baez is hopeful. He inked a significant contract with PRIME. He needs to know that everything is in tip top shape.

The male doctor held an x-ray against the lightbox. He’s Jansen Ackles’ doppelganger but with salt and pepper hair that's beginning to thin. The x-ray showed the vertebrae of Baez’s lower back. The doctor leaned in and examined. He glared while rubbing the stubble on his square chin. His brown eyes panned to the left. Black Sheep Baez patiently sat on the exam table.

“It looks like everything has healed well,” the doctor said. “When do you expect you’ll be wrestling again?”

“Say less, couple weeks, ya boi signed on the dotted lines less than a month ago,” Black Sheep responded. His pearl white smile grows because of the news. He’s excited to the point that he slightly shook; like a child about to receive a surprise. His veiny caramel hands gripped the exam table. “So, fam, are you saying that ya boi finna bring that smoke? I can get back in the ring and bippity-bap some chumps to become goated?”

“I do believe that you can bring that smoke and…bappity-bip,” the doctor was confused, smiled, and put his hands in the pockets of his white doctor’s coat. “A little advice?”

“Of course bro. I like you’n’all but we can’t keep seein’ each other under these circumstances, ya feel me?” Black Sheep’s smile is the definition of confidence.

“Guard yourself. PRIME is not the SHOOT Project. Those folks have been around a long time and they won’t put up with any crap. You have to be a different Black Sheep Baez. Or? We’ll be sizing you up for a wheelchair the next time you're in here; or worse: a coffin,” and the doctor grabbed his stethoscope off a nearby table to wrap it around his neck.

Baez absorbed the advice to let it sink in. Alex’s youthful cockiness was present. His back is healed. The doctor metaphorically smacked him in the mouth with a fistful of reality. He does agree that he needs to be different. That won’t stop him from relishing in the fact that he feels impeccable for his first match with PRIME.

“Aye, Doc, I’m in the best shape of my life, not gonna lie,” Alex said as he leapt off the exam table. “I feel bellissimo,” he kissed his fingers, the chef’s kiss, “I always look immaculate, and lemme just tell ya that no busta finna get the best of ya boi. I’m ready to tussle, my guy. I pity the fool they gots challenging the Sultan of Smoke.”

In case it hasn't been noticed: Baez uses seasoned language. He has a particular dialect, and delivery. The doctor spent a moment translating what was said in a small pocket of his brain.

“Speaking of smoke,” the Doc segued, “I can’t keep giving you urine samples. I think they're on to me. Inventory variances were off when they did an audit on fluid samples. You might want to consider quitting?”

“Nah, tried that before and ya boi fell into a deep depression. Talkin’ like aimless wanderin’ the crib in my Sponge Bob snuggy, lights off, gots Bill Withers on the in house speaker system, depress-seshes with them Taco Bell quesaritos; didn't feed my clown fishies for like three days. Poor thangs went from two feet long string dookies to droppin’ them microscopic dookie dots. Ya boi was messed up, fam. I gots to be all-in, say less.” Baez cracked his knuckles and continued.

“And ain't nothin’ wrong with a little dank in the tank. That goody good is what makes Black Sheep Baez tick. Smoke a lil Jiminy Cricket, tug on that charmander, a lil’bubbly, and go in Gawd mode. Ya’ll need to be more like a Bob Ross paint brush in life. Gotta dip that beesh in an odorless paint thinner and give it an emotional beat down against the easel. Clean that beeb up and then keep paintin’ that serene big picture. Feel me?”

That's a question worth debating. The doctor’s eyes flickered twice before widening and he wore a stone cold stare. He was surprised that he understood Baez’s philosophical retort yet undecided about why it made sense. He shook his head and changed the subject.

“I’m excited to see you're back to your normal self,” the Doctor said while putting a hand on Baez’s shoulder. “Be careful in the ring and bring home the big one, OK?”

“Say less, fam. Ya boi got his eyes on the upper echelon. Finna tap dance on some them danglies and send em-effs to the ER for an X-ray of my size 14 lodged up they bougie hole.” Baez grabbed his Peter Milar Crown Flex Fleece off a nearby chair. That’s a very expensive jacket.

There was nothing more to be said. The Doctor smirked knowing that Alex is an out of pocket goofball. He tapped Baez on the shoulder with a manilla folder and exited the room.

A new vibe is present. Alex has a new swagger to his gait similar to a man that just won the lottery. The Doctor’s advice was still swirling in his mind: be a different Black Sheep Baez. He doesn't quite understand the complexities of change, but there's a twinkle in his eye that signifies he's getting there. Being different is Alex's m.o., but being a different Alex wasn't on the bingo card. This would be a challenge.

There's a spot on the outskirts of Buffalo where Baez and his entourage used to record their podcast. The small brick building sat unused for over a year. Baez could still hear the laughter bouncing off the walls. This is part of being a different Black Sheep: celebrate the good, but move on.

Alex still owns the building. The podcast studio is now equipped with unique lighting and cameras positioned for the best angles. There’re old cardboard professional wrestling advertisements on the walls. The room is large with exercise equipment, a small wrestling ring, a mini kitchen in the corner, a hot tub, and an oval metal tub for ice baths. This is his sanctuary and where he will create many of his promos with PRIME.

The production of his segments will be under unexpected supervision. Eduardo Baez slowly entered the room alongside Joe Jr. Both men studiously surveyed the area. They are intense individuals that demand respect regardless of their characterization in the business. Eduardo shrunk with age but is still an impressive man. Joe Jr. lost muscle mass and now looks like a chubbier version of Alex without the goatee.

“Whatcha think?” Black Sheep asked the duo. “Finna be a lot of bangers in here fam.”

Impressing Eduardo is difficult. He's a man of very specific standards that have solidified his foundation for over six decades. He's the epitome of the idiom: fuck around and find out. Eduardo had to fight harder than most to earn his keep. The man’s skin is thicker than iron.

“It's ok,” Eduardo responded.

Alex knew not to respond to Eduardo when his retort was two words or less. Black Sheep checked himself out in the mirrored walls near the exercise equipment. A tight, nostalgic, t-shirt that promotes the cover of ICE-T’s POWER album and compliments Al’s chiseled physique: check. A bougie pair of Valabasas jeans that could have been shredded by Freddy Krueger: check. Tom Ford sneakers, a Versace V-Code Medusa on his wrist, and a pair of rimless Cartier glasses: check, check, and check. He was ready to go.

“Do you know who you're wrestling?” Joe questioned. He began to power on the equipment. That seemed like an odd question to ask when they're prepping to record a promo, but it's Alex Baez: he may have no idea who he's wrestling and this could turn into a shit show.

“Por supuesto que sí, viejo,” Alex answered. “Y'all gots lil faith in ya boi. I've been reformed! Y’all feastin’ them peepers on the new and improved Alejandro Eduardo Joseph Baez! Is that Valentino you smell? Yee yee!” He throws his index finger in the air and stomps the ground.

“Cálmate chico,” Eduardo intervened. The bass in his voice can be frightening. He sat on an ergonomic leather desk chair like a sagging bag of mulch. His tired eyes mercilessly stared at Alex. “You'll always be the Black Sheep. That doesn't change.”

The remark bounced off Alex. He had no reaction. Eduardo’s attitude toward his great grandson is reminiscent of a broken record. It gets worse with age.

“I traveled with Josh,” Joe said. “He’s very good. Es un hombre de virtud. PRIME chose a very strong opponent for your first match. His experience is light-years ahead of you, hijo. I hope you understand the hand you've been dealt?”

“Yo I think all the PRIME talents are far more experienced than I am. I know what I signed up for. Y'all can play them scare tactics but you'll never faze someone numb to fear. Let's get on with this so that you two can go back to smokin’ them Don’s and talkin’ bout what could have been. Im’a spit fire bout what it will be.” Alex was ready to start the promo and stepped forward.

Joe looked up from the camera. His half smirk meant that he felt Alex was being facetious. Joe pointed at Alex and nodded. That's the signal for Black Sheep to begin his promo.

“Two years ago ya boi was given a chance to enhance the Baez legacy,” Al said. He initiated the promo with a subtle jab at the men behind the camera.

“I did just that, and some. I came, I fuckin’ conquered, and I became the first Premier Champion of a celebrated company. The first Baez to win a championship belt. The first Baez to main event a prime time show. The first. They call me Black Sheep not because I’m irredeemable. Nah, it's because I’m singled out. I'm built different. Bet.”

“Viejo tells ya boi that North Star finna be a battle. I hope so. I pray for it. You’ve spent years aiding the rise of talented youth, J-Con. Respect. You put in work. You got that unmatched swagger. We both know this banger we finna produce, win or lose, will define our future with PRIME. You still gotta’lotta gas in the tank, Conweezy. Ya boi ain't teachin’ the old dawg any new tricks. You took a 280 pound man to task at Rev-57. On God. Over thirty years in the trenches and still bendin’ bones. That’s what I strive for, ya know? I can’t wait to be middle-aged and beatin’ up fools of all Bobby Dean shapes and Hessian sizes. Breakin’ no sweats. I like you, J-Con. North Star. I like that. You bring that smoke. I bring that smoke. Finna be a fight party in that ring, feel me?”

“Stop,” Eduardo interrupted the promo. “Do you even understand anything you’re saying? You’re saying a whole lot of nothing, hijo. What the Hell is finna?”

If Alex was aggravated then he wasn’t showing it. He slid his glasses to the tip of his nose and blankly stared at Eduardo. Joe belly laughed into his forearm.

“Yo, you finna let me get this promo good or you finna sit there and smell like a fart’? That’s finna in sentence form, fam,” Black Sheep replied. “Just because you stuck in yo’ways doesn’t mean you gotta act all high’n’mighty. Shit done changed, abuelo. You gotta get over the fact that it aint 1965 anymo’. No disrespect, fo’real fo’real, but you old. Yo’shit is old. Them balls done drop-dropped. Give it up already. For fuck sake.”

Eduardo slowly shook his head and let out an audible grunt. Alex’s great grandpa is very stubborn. He crossed his arms and looked away. Alex wasn’t finished.

“You and I aint that different, abuelo. You did yo’thing just like I’m doin’ mine. You coulda stayed in Puerto Rico, but you followed the dream. Right? This is my dream, fam. You fought for your dream. Right? I’m fightin’ for mine.”

“Right there,” Joe interrupted. “Use that passion and put a bow on this promo.” He followed with the point and nod.

“Heh,” Black Sheep laughed to himself. He looked down and paused for a moment. The Doctor’s advice crept back. Being a different Black Sheep Baez is applicable to more than just professional wrestling.

“This is my dream, fam. I thank God every day. Ya boi could be in a wheelchair. I could be dead. Nah, I’m right here puttin’ together that fire for the greatest wrestling promotion in the world. The dream is reality, y’all. My revival comes at 59. I couldn’t be more honored to do the dance with you, North Star. Bring that smoke, bro. Win, or lose, I’m shakin’ yo’hand and we’ll celebrate the moment. That’s on God.”

Alex believes that God is in control. Whatever God that may be based on one’s own belief. There’s a reason for everything. There’s a purpose for everyone. Black Sheep Baez’s purpose is crystal clear. There’s no hidden agenda; just a different approach. The rest of the story will continue to follow Alex’s journey to be his best self in his perceived reality. Join alongside him while he traverses the unknown, battles mythical beings, and hurdles everyday human emotion; like a true G.