THE BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO TAG TEAM WRESTLING

A PRIME ANIMATION STUDIOS PRODUCTION PRESENTED BY ACE NETWORK

A big bright sunflowery sun bobs over a cloudless sky, eyes closed and mouth puckered, blowing out a chorus of musical notes to indicate the jaunty tune that it’s whistling. A deep, disembodied voice with a lazy Southern lilt starts to speak, warm and friendly and resonant, drawing the attention of the sunflowery sun.

Narrator: Well howdy boys an’ girls. Mighty fine day, ain’t it? You’re lookin’ swell, Mister Sun.

One of the sun’s large black Pac-Man-shaped eyes winks as a gloved hand pops up and gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Narrator: Looks like perfect weather for gettin’ out there and seizin’ the day, if you ask me. What say we head on down an’ take a looksee at what’s goin’ on in the world today?

The sun gives a great jellybean-shaped smile full of healthy white teeth and nods emphatically as it starts to elevate out of the picture, the gloved hand waving goodbye until it disappears completely. Clouds start to ascend. As they float upwards, like bubbles, a clumsy looking eagle enjoying a midday soar flies into the scene and gives a sudden shriek at the sight of them all, hovering in place as one of the clouds threatens to clip it. It scoots to and fro, searching for a clear path to cross the scene, only for another cloud to float in its way. Then another. Then another. The eagle quickly realizes the futility of the situation and hops aboard the next cloud to pass, extending a digit-like feather and pressing an invisible elevator button. Folding its wings, it taps its foot impatiently as it rises up out of frame.

Then, in all its glory, the Stars and Stripes comes wafting into view, blowing in the breeze atop a flagpole. A triumphant burst of music plays as it passes. The flagpole continues to scroll through the frame for a few moments more before a rooftop appears, followed by the words SCHOOL HOUSE, in big black letters. A big clock ticking around to 3pm hangs below, followed by two rows of windows. Finally, two large doors at ground level.

For a moment, all is quiet. Then the bell rings. The doors blast open. A flood of children spill forth, cheering and throwing bags and lunchboxes into the air. A parade of school buses bumbles up to the sidewalk, filling to capacity with happy faces before shuttling off in quick succession. Then, after another momentary reprieve, the sound of rumbling and tumbling. The front doors blow open once more and a little thundercloud appears, shooting out fists and shoes and tiny lightning bolts all the way to the sidewalk.

Narrator: Well well well, what do we have here?

The thundercloud evaporates and two figures appear. A grimacing young lad with a bruised cheek and wavy-line hair, wearing a striped T-shirt and dark shorts. One hand pulled back in a fist and the other wrapped around the neck of a young girl. Her black bob is immaculate, despite their fussing and fighting, though her dress is marred with scuff marks. She too has a fist pulled back and a hand wrapped around her brother’s neck.

Narrator: My oh my, if it ain’t the little prince and the little princess. Gettin’ up to no good again, if my eyes don’t deceive me.

The pair separate in a flash and pose politely, arms folded behind their backs. All innocent smiles and big, angelic eyes.

Narrator: I sure hope y’all have been puttin’ as much effort into your studies as you have your quarrelin’?

The pair exchange a mischievous look before producing two report sheets marked with a B+ and an A- respectively. The smiles grow bigger, jellybean-shaped and full of healthy teeth.

Narrator: Well ain’t that somethin’. You kids had me worried there for a second. After all, how can you expect to achieve your dreams if you don’t stick in at school?

They stroke their chins in genuine contemplation before shrugging their shoulders.

Narrator: That’s right, you can’t. A good education is the foundation for success; that’s lesson number one in life. Judgin’ by those grades, y’all have learned it well. So what’s with all the ruckus?

The kids’ faces light up and they wave their hands excitedly before spinning like little tornadoes. Clothes and school bags go flying. They come to a sudden stop, looking very different indeed. The little prince now wears a fancy horned mask, spandex singlet and tasseled boots. All bearing a flaming motif. Hands on hips and chest puffed out. The little princess meanwhile has on a sports bra and a pair of trunks emblazoned with sponsor logos. Bob braided, wrists taped and scowling mouth filled with a gumshield. She’s hunched forward with her arms out, ready to grapple.

Narrator: Oh, I see now. Y’all fancy yourselves wrestlers, is that it?

They nod furiously with all their hearts. The narrator chuckles heartily.

Narrator: Well, I’ll be. Good grades and ambition. Y’all are tickin’ every box so far. Say, how’d you like to make those dreams reality?

Their eyes bug as though they’ve just been asked to go on a sleigh ride with Santa. They regard one another hopefully and simultaneously start jumping up and down, fists pumping the air, cheering wildly.

Narrator: Then that settles it I suppose. An’ if you want to become champions of the ring, well, there’s only one surefire way to get there.

A series of loud bangs above their heads cause the pair to jump. They gaze up towards the source of the commotion and, upon examining it, jump for joy once again. As they cheer, the scene scrolls upwards once more, past the school and into the sky where seven huge words in a cartoonish font have been stamped, accompanied by fanfare:

THE BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO TAG TEAM WRESTLING

The big bright sunflowery sun reappears, saluting with one gloved hand before grabbing the title and snapping it like a towel, causing it to stiffen and change shape into the form of a steel chair. With another wink, the sun delivers a blow with the mock chair that causes an eruption of stars and sparks.

The little prince and little princess reappear on the sidewalk, stumbling around dazed and holding their heads, tweetie birds flying around their crowns. Shaking off the cobwebs, they glance back to find the school has been replaced with a block of large, gleaming windows.

Narrator: Mighty fine lookin’, ain’t it?

The kids nod eagerly, cooing at the marvelous structure before them.

Narrator: ‘Course, if you want to be the best wrestler you can be, there’s only one place to go.

The kids crane their necks and gaze up, past multiple floors of glazed windows to the top of the skyscraper where the name PRIME WRESTLING is proudly emblazoned. Upon reading the sign they positively vibrate with excitement.

Narrator: That’s right: Number One by Definition, so they say. But can’t just any ol’ soul walk through those doors. Y’all are goin’ to need to work on those physiques, first an’ foremost.

The terrible twosome frown at the remark, curling their arms proudly in response. Little sparrow egg pops up where biceps should be. As they stick their tongues out in defiance, however, the little muscles droop and fall, hanging off their arms like raindrops. The narrator chuckles heartily.

Narrator: My goodness me. What happened there?

The kids hold their hands out and shrug, unsure themselves.

Narrator: Here, let me help y’all out.

A magical puff of smoke emanates from their open hands and the pair suddenly find themselves holding a plate in one hand, brimming with steak, eggs and vegetables, and a tall glass of milk in the other. Their shoulders droop. They expected candy, perhaps.

Narrator: Now don’t be shy kids. That there’s jet fuel for superstars.

The little prince and little princess sigh as they regard their meals.

Narrator: Well, if y’all don’t want to be big an’ strong like your favorite wrestlers…

They consider that for a moment. Then, with a reassuring nod to one another, they start devouring the portions like rabid Piranha, downing the milk just as quickly. In mere moments the crockery is clean, their bellies big and round. The plates and glasses disappear with another puff of smoke. They rub their tummies, tired from the feast. The little princess looses a burp and holds a hand to her mouth, embarrassed. A sudden toot emanates from the little prince, catching him unawares and causing him to look around sheepishly before offering a cheeky smile.

Narrator: That’s the spirit. Glory don’t come easy after all. A healthy diet can be hard work but, if you stick to it, can't nothin’ stand in your way. Now…talkin’ of bein’ big an’ strong.

Another magical puff. The little princess looks down to find she’s standing on a treadmill, while the little prince finds himself lying on a weight bench.

Narrator: Ain’t no use in scoffin’ all that grub if it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Time to turn that protein into muscle!

The treadmill starts to turn and the little princess stumbles momentarily before settling into a walking rhythm. The little prince laughs as she trips, only to wheeze suddenly as a barbell finds itself in his grip, bearing down on him.

Narrator: Now you mind your manners little prince. See, strength an’ conditionin’ are vital if you want to be able to beat your opponents. No sense rushin’ into the ring all skin an’ bone. Let’s get those reps in; the more you manage, the more you can achieve.

The kids pause to consider the math. With another reassuring nod to one another, the little princess picks up her pace while the little prince grits his teeth and starts pressing. Beads of sweat pop from their brows as they work out, huffing and puffing all the way. The little princess glances over in shock as the little prince’s sparrow eggs start to swell, his musculature increasing with every pump. She responds by breaking into a full sprint, her legs a buzzsaw-like blur on the treadmill. The little prince looks over to see her running so fast that she’s whipped up a strong wind. A mailbox flies into the scene, followed by a parking meter, a manhole cover and more. All sucked into the vortex and shredded into confetti by her powerful legs. Envious, he presses the barbell furiously, his muscles inflating with each rep until the sidewalk cracks beneath him and the weight of his frame causes the apparatus to start sinking into the dirt below.

Narrator: Boy howdy look at ‘em go! I’d say that’s a job well done kiddos.

Another magical puff brings the workout to a halt and the pair stop to admire their bodies, flexing their new muscles and posing heroically. They gaze at the narrator, smiling proudly.

Narrator: A coupla star pupils if ever I saw ‘em. Now that you’re on top of your diet and exercise, it’s time to talk about training!

The kids seem excited at first. Then, the little prince backhands the little princess’s shoulder and gestures to the doors of the skyscraper. She nods back. With mischievous smiles they erupt into a tornado of violence once more, scrapping with one another much like they did in school. Now though, the fists, boots and lightning bolts pack much more punch. They tussle all the way to the steel doors.

Narrator: Hey let’s not be hasty there buckaroos. We’re not quite ready to-

An open palm appears through the flurry. The little princess, motioning that they have everything in hand. Then more fists fly in the ruckus. Bang, bang, bang. Knocking on the doors. The tussling doesn’t abate.

Narrator: Now don’t get ahead of yourselves there kids, there’s still a long way to go yet. We still have to cover fundamentals before you even think about going-

The steel parts and a figure appears before the feuding pair. Heels, flared pants, sparkling vest. Hands clasped around folded, muscular arms. A mop of curly, black hair falling across strong shoulders.

Narrator: Uh oh. Y’all better act right, that there’s the Boss Lady…

Boss Lady: Hwah wah? Wah wah hwah wah. Wah wah hwah.

The Boss Lady reaches in and plucks the pair from the tumult.

Boss Lady: Wah hwah wah. Wah wah.

The doors shut and the cloud of mayhem dissipates completely. Peace is restored.

Narrator: Huh, don’t that just beat all. How about we fast forward a little an’ see how this turns out for the little prince and little princess.

The scene changes. Bright lights. Big crowd. We’re in the arena now. Destiny awaits. The music hits. The air vibrates. They’ve made it at last. It all feels very real now. The little prince and the little princess wade through the clamor. Their outfits are immaculate. Their bodies are primed. Hands reach out to them. Voices holler for them. The announcers tell the world who they are. They soak in every moment. The dream is realized.

Narrator: Well I’ll be. Looks like they got everything they ever dreamed of.

They enter the ring and stand across from their opponents. One in yellow and blue tights with a smiley face over the crotch. Coiled serpent tattooed on his abdomen. Grinning even when he isn’t smiling. Beside him, the biggest boots they’ve ever seen. They gaze up, up, into the clouds, into the face of God. Wait…that’s not God. Alarm bells start to ring. Their opponents move with purpose. Violent intent. Every response measured.

Narrator: Hold on a tic, those ain’t rookies…y'all shouldn’t be wrestlin’ them.

The little prince and little princess take their corner. The bell rings. The cloud of mayhem roils again. But there’s screaming this time. The crowd recoils. The announcers protest. Spit flies and blood spills. Inhumane noises. And then…

Narrator: Oh, sweet Carolina-LOOK OUT!

SPLAT.

The giant sweeps the leftovers aside and departs the crime scene. The grinning one covers the remains still stuck to the canvas. The bell rings. The lineage is dead. The kingdom has fallen.

Narrator: Well, that sure escalated quickly. They were doin’ so well too. If only somebody’d taught ‘em not to jump in at the deep end…

Storm clouds rumble in the distance.

Narrator: Oh my, sounds like we’re in for some rain. Time to skedaddle I suppose. ‘Til next time, boys an’ girls. An’ remember; don’t get ahead of yourselves, else you might end up like our little prince an’ little princess here.

Rain starts to fall. Away we go from the arena. Away up into the sky, past dark clouds. The downpour turns torrential. Our clumsy eagle friend soars into view once more. It shrieks abruptly as a bolt of lightning frazzles it, turning it into a roast dinner. This is flood weather. There’s that big bright sunflowery sun once again. Jellybean-shaped smile turned upside down. Gloved hands covering its eyes as it cries and cries.

THE END =-=-=-=-=

“I have to say, when Hess and I were talking about our potential opponents for Ascension, Kazuhiro Troy and Cecilia Ryan were definitely not on our bingo cards.”

A smile.

“Color us surprised to find out that not only are we not getting a tag team title shot, but we're not even getting the chance to face a tag team with any relevance.”

That smile.

“That probably sounds like a jab at the two of you not being on our level, not being deserving of a match against two hall of famers, or being worthy of having your first match be on a stage as big as a premium live event. Well that's exactly what I intended when I said it, so you'd be right.”

The Grin.

“You both know that you don't deserve this match, but being who you are and who your parents were…you don't actually give a damn.”

The massive arms.

“It takes a special type of person to walk around demanding to be taken seriously for your own accords, only to accept a match you didn't earn. You expect people to look past who your mother is, Kaz, to believe that you're not just here because of her. Then we have the prodigal daughter that has decided to join you, that wants to do this on her own and actually tried to do so a few years ago.”

That barrel chest.

“Yet, here you are accepting the hand out mommy gave you, Kaz.”

The Murder Express.

“Here you are taking an opportunity from Auntie Troy, that you clearly didn't earn on your own, Cecilia.”

PRIME Hall of Famers.

“I guess talk really is cheap.”

The eGG Bandits.

“I can't say that I'm surprised though, who wouldn't jump at the chance to step into the ring with Hessian and I. Far be it from me to sit here and pretend that you haven't trained just as hard as anyone else on the roster, or even harder than some. It's just that they're not walking in the door getting a match against the number one contenders to the PRIME Tag Team championships.

Did we mention Tony is sitting on a stool, or that Canceris still frozen in time?

“Titles that are losing their prestige every day, because they are being held by paper champions that never deserved to have a shot at them in the first place. Flamberge doesn't give a damn about those titles the way Hess and I do, but him and Joe are allowed to just walk around here with titles that haven't been defended in three months.”

It's not The Stool, but it is a stool. Crazy how something so popular can be easily replaced. Makes you think.

“Three damn months, and we're walking into Ascension for a match against a couple of damn kids that think they deserve their seat upon thrones your parents haven't sat on since Revolution went off the air. What a joke.”

A scoff can be heard from the big man as Tony rolls his eyes.

“I mean, you're not even a real damn Troy, Kaz. You could have easily been an Eenie, Meenie, or Miney, and we'd have a whole different Moe stepping into the ring against us demanding we show him respect. Respect that he probably hadn't earned either.”

Tony stands up, as Hessian leans down and says something to him.

“Oh, I haven't forgotten about the great Dan Ryan's daughter, it’s just that she's grown up hearing all this stuff about her Dad being this great wrestler and I hate to say it's all been a bunch of bullshit. The man tarnished his own legacy, and I actually feel sorry for her. It's a pretty damn low throne she's about to inherit, and I'm not sure anyone is going to fight her for it.”

A chuckle from the big man causes his arms to bounce against his chest.

“I actually feel sorry for both of you, knowing that there's a really good chance that you'll never actually deserve to sit at the top here in PRIME. It might be better for you to run along and go wrestle in Defiance or Shoot Project if they're still around, because around here the only thing you're ever going to be heirs to is the word nepotism.”

Tony steps toward the camera.

“You may have heard this many times, enough that it's a broken record you've become numb to, but you're never going to escape it until you go out there and tell your mom to let you work your way from the bottom, pay your dues, and earn what is given to you.”

The Grin widens.

“And get rid of that ridiculous team name, because that really doesn't help your case.”

Tony turns and walks away from the camera. Hessian uncrosses his arms and smiles, as he blesses us with a few parting words.

“Couple of damn kids…Fuck ‘em.”

And with that, he follows his fellow hall of famer. Leaving us alone with the new stool, one that understands his role and his place.