The Moose Versus the Cowboy

Cornelius approached his rented Plymouth Voyager van, stuffed with suitcases and duffle bags. Two men occupied the middle and back rows, each contorted in compliance with the narrow benched. The dank smell of bad breath and farts hit him like a brick upon opening the door.

“Time to wake up, ladies!” he alerted his road buddies in his deep, but deliberate voice. The two stirred in their respective seats. Growls and groans of pain ensued as the result of nagging injuries and the cramped conditions in the van.

Out of the van first was Takayashi San, the brutal Japanese ninja who wielded his sword, Yūjin, at any enemy who dared to confront him. Takayashi San, of course, was Jimmy Villanueva, a Filipino-American from New Jersey.

Next was Isaac Barton Meyer, a computer genius from the Silicon Valley. “IBM” carried with him his trusty Thinkpad, which was more often used as a weapon than a laptop. However, IBM had never gone to Silicon Valley. He was Forest Battle, straight out of Shorter, Alabama and every bit as “southern” as one would expect.

“Moose” was Corny’s nickname, short for “Moose Mansaur,” Corny’s ring name. Moose was the 6’4” 310 lb. grappler from the “Great North,” who played something between Jason Voorhees and the mountain men from Deliverance. Despite his large frame, Moose could move like a gazelle, flying through the ring like a Tomahawk missile.

The three men each grabbed their large, oversized duffle bags, with Takayashi also carrying a long case for Yūjin, a case that always gave him headaches at the airport. Isaac began whistling Bob Seger’s Turn the Page as they approached the arena.

“Moose!” cried a voice as soon as the men walked through the secure entrance door. Richard Small, a short, portly producer was sweating bullets as he approached the men.

“Moose,” Richard continued, “we need you to shoot a promo ASAP. You’re going over Cade tonight.”

“No way, Dickie! Are you sure? Is this a rib?” replied Moose.

“I’m dead serious, dude!” pleaded Richard.

“Is this like the battle royal you told me I was going to win last year in Nashville?” Only to have 19 guys throw me out of the ring in 20 seconds?” asked Moose.

“Dude, get ready!” Richard ordered, “I need you back ASAP.”

Moose walked down the hallway, musing about the surprise turn of events. He hadn’t been on the winning side in a while, and Cade Jennings was in the middle of a push to make him the next big star.

“Sincere” Sal Santoro sat in his makeshift office, with his trademark cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Sal” was once the top heel in the business back in 1970, a time when he toured the country against the likes of Bruno Sammartino and Pedro Morales. “Robert Weiner,” the Jewish kid from Brookline, Ma., had come to carry himself like his pseudonym, sitting perched in his chair like Don Corleone while directing minions and doing favors.

“Sal,” said Moose as he half-heartedly knocked on the half-open door.

“And what does your dumb ass want?” replied Sal.

“I want some damn respect when I come in here. This is my state!” the Mainer replied.

Sal stood up from his chair and held his arms open as Moose met his embrace with a giant bear hug.

“What do you know, what do you say, ya big lug?” asked Sal with a big grin.

“I missed you, pal,” said Moose.

“Are Debbie and Kristi still going to make their way down?” Sal asked.

“Yeah, they should be on their way. Kristi gets out of school at 3.” the big man replied.

“Good,” Sal said before releasing his grip, “just in time to see you go over Cade Jennings.”

“Dickie just mentioned something, is this serious?” he asked.

“Yep,” Sal responded, “boss wants to build a little more heat on him before he puts the belt on him. I figured who better to give it to, especially since your wife and daughter will be watching.”

The “boss” was Johnny Sullivan, the most successful pro wrestling promoter in history. Johnny liked Moose, but never envisioned him as a main eventer. Johnny served as a gatekeeper to stardom. If he saw “it” in you, you were a made man. If not, you’d be relegated to “journeyman status.”

“Listen, he shouldn’t give you any trouble. Stay cool, be professional, and come up with a match. If he gives you problems, come talk to me,” Sal assured him.

“Aye Captain,” Moose replied with a grin and a sarcastic salute.

In the small, cramped locker room, Moose laid his duffle on a long wooden bench. Several of the “boys” were hanging out, playing cards while halfway in costume. Others stretched or napped on the floor.

“There’s the big man!” shouted the muscled up Russian mercenary from Detroit, Vlad Konikoff, “heard you’re going over tonight!”

“Ha, yeah,” Moose said, “I’d be happier not to deal with Cade.”

“Just shoot on the little asshole,” interjected “MC Fight,” the resident rapping wrestler, encouraging Moose to make things real.

None of the boys liked Cade. The 5’11” 218 lb. had taken his rise to fame without much grace. He was full of talent, full of potential, and oftentimes full of shit and himself.

Moose donned his brown singlet, which hadn’t been washed in over a week and reeked of a rotten carcass. A light colored emblem of a large rack emblazoned with MOOSE sat at the front dead center of the outfit.

“You got any oil?” Moose asked the Torch, a young, high flying worker with long bleach blonde hair. Torch tossed him a bottle of Johnson & Johnsons.

Before long, he was “TV-ready.” One look into the full-length mirror would put him “in character.” He quietly growled to himself as he manipulated his face from stoic to mean.

“Moose, you’ve got people here!” shouted a voice from the hallway.

His heart grew warm and started to beat heavily. Through the doorway, he could see the beautiful dark straight hair of his wife Debbie. A few steps more, and 7-year old Kristi appeared.

“There’s my girls!” he shouted as he bellowed a deep laugh. He grabbed Debbie by the hand, giving her a peck on the lips, and in one giant swoop, had picked up Kristi. It had been 5 weeks since he saw either.

“We missed you,” said Debbie, a voluptuous shorty from the Sandy River Plantation,” and we brought you your favorite blueberry bars.”

“Oh God, I’ve missed you guys too!” he said as tears began to well up.

It wasn’t easy living life on the road, and the paychecks were inconsistent. There’d be $3,000 for the Madison Square Garden, $300 from the Mid-South Coliseum on Memphis, or even the $23 he made in Savannah. But Debbie, his high school sweetheart, helped make all the ends meet.

“Did you book the hotel?” Moose asked.

“Yes, and I was able to use your points to get it for free!” she responded, with a slight pinch to his butt.

“MOOSE!” Richard yelled from the other end of the hallway, “promo, now!”

“Okay guys, I have to go work!” he said as he gave his two loves more kisses.

As Moose approached the filming area, he saw Cade providing the finishing touches to his speech.

“Mansaur, I’m going to show you that you’re no Bull Moose. You’re nothing more than the tick sucking the blood out of the moose’s ass!” Cade said to the camera with conviction.

“Cut!” shouted Richard, “Okay, now go to post-match!’

A team of 3 surrounded Cade, spraying him with mist and roughing up his hair.

“Hey hey,” he said, “not too much I don’t want to spend an hour doing my damn hair again. Besides, he’s only getting offense in at the end.”

“Remember Cade,” Richard coached, “you’re embarrassed, frustrated, and you’re not going to let that get in the way of your championship dreams. We’re ready when you are.”

Cade pace back and forth for a few moments, rubbing his hands over his hair, before beginning.

“Moose Mansaur, you got lucky, son! Right in front of all the inbred imbeciles in your home state! But the joke’s on you, because after I win the championship, I’m coming right back after you!”

“Cut!” yelled Richard, “good, good.:

“Not good!” interrupted Moose, “I got my wife and daughter out there. I know you’re building heat, but not tonight.”

Cade kept his head down, looking blankly at a 45 degree angle, purposely not making eye contact with Moose.

“Okay, are we selling tickets, or are we making family happy?” a frustrated Cade asked to nobody in particular.

“Moose, it’s okay,” Richard said, “it will be taped, they’re not going to hear it live.”

Moose nodded his head in approval.

“All right Moose you’re next,” Richard ordered, “You’re not going to let some Texas redneck punk come into your home state, yada yada yada, you’re going to kick his ass.”

“You ‘yada yada’d’ over the best part!” Moose exclaimed.

“I mentioned the bisque!” Richard replied, “ready when you are.”

Moose took 3 deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“Cade Jennings,” he began, “in Maine, there are three things we don’t like: punks, rhinestone cowboys, and rednecks. And by my calculation, you cover all three. Well after I hit you with the Stomp, the only three things I’ll care about is the ‘1,2,3’ count while you’re looking at the ceiling.”

“Cut!” shouted Richard, “I’m good if you’re good.”

Moose was good. He hated promos, and they were never his strong suit. He was just happy to get something down in one take.

“Okay,” Richard ordered, “we’re good!”

Moose approached Cade’s dressing room with a little hesitation. The arrogant young star had become beyond difficult as he rose up the ranks. But he was the bad guy, the heel, and he got to ‘call’ the match.

“Cade,” Moose said, knocking at the halfway open door, “wanna go over the match?”

“Yeah,” Cade halfheartedly said, not bothering to look at his opponent.

Moose walked in, intentionally remaining silent.

“I’ll call it in the ring. I beat your ass, you shock me at the end while a schoolboy rollup when I’m arguing with the ref. The only big spot I want is I’ll plancha you after I clothesline you over the rope.” Cade said matter-of-factly.

“All right,” Moose said, “the only thing I want to do is a gorilla press with…”

“Dude,” Cade interjected, “you’re not getting in any spots. This is a shock upset. We’re still getting me over.”

“All right, Cade,” Moose said, the gentle giant replied, “see you in the ring.”

It was 8:49 p.m. when Moose got the call to “Gorilla,” the small control area next to the entranceway. Moose stood by the doorway, butterflies in stomach. He was a ring veteran, but he’d never performed in front of his family.

“Standby!” shouted Richard, perched in his metal folding chair at a table filled with TV monitors.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the ring announcer’s voice could be heard, “this next contest is scheduled for one fall.”

“Grrrrrrrooooooooar!” began Moose’s theme music, which was set to the beat of the ‘clip clop’ sounds of a moose stomp.

“Introducing first, from Caribou, Maine, weighing in at 350 lbs., Moose Mmmmmmmmansaur!”

Moose walked though the curtain, standing with his legs shoulder width apart for a brief moment, before theatrically stomping his right foot. A big bellow followed, then a sprint to the ring, sliding under the ropes. He made a 360 degree turn in the center of the ring, arms wide open. He saw Debbie and Kristi in the front row, both pretty faces lit up at the sight of the man they loved.

“And his opponent,” the announcer began, “from the Great State of Texas, weighing 225 lbs., the Lasso from Lubbock, Cade Jennings!”

His custom theme song, “Cowboy Love,” blared through the arena.

He wore white leather chaps, a red sequined vest, and a blue 10-gallon hat. He stood, feet positioned at a 90 degree angle, as he bent down, drawing his left arm across his body, before finally lifting it high above his head. He then walked to the ring, a chorus of ‘boos’ surrounding him, as he slowly strutted to the beat of his music.

Moose exited the ring to allow for Cade to do his pre-match ritual in the center of the ring, which consisted of him gyrating his hips and making a lasso motion with his arm. After a few moments, he began to remove his outer garments.

“Ding, ding, ding,” rang the bell. The two grapplers circled around, facing each other, before finally locking arms.

“Side headlock, drop toe,” Cade whispered as Moose wrapped his right arm around Cade’s neck.

“Uuuuuuugh uh,” the big man blurted out as Cade tripped his right leg, forcing Moose to fall flat on his stomach and on the receiving end of a drop toe hold.

“30 seconds. Ropes. Clothesline over top. Placha knocks you to floor,” Cade called again.

Before the time had elapsed, Cade let go of Moose’s leg, quicky positioned himself in a seated position on Moose’s back, then proceeded to “ride” him like a bull, slapping his butt cheek with enough force to be heard in the cheap seats.

Moose quickly got up to the ropes as Cade followed to set up the clothesline, but Moose quickly applied another headlock.

“The fuck you doing, asshole,” Moose said angrily.

“Selling tickets,” Cade replied.

“Don’t you ever do that shit to me!” Moose replied.

“Let me call the match, fucker,” Cade retorted, “clothesline now.”

With that, Cade broke free of the headlock, and delivered a crisp clothesline as Moose flipped over the top rope, landing on his feet before falling on the floor mat.

“Take that, fatty!” Cade yelled out loud, “you suck, you dumb ape!”

Moose feigned pain as he gingerly rose, keeping Cade in his sight with his peripheral vision.

Cade pointed in the direction of Debbie and Kristi, smiling with an evil grin, before flexing his muscles and gyrating his hips in her direction.

That gesture violated the unwritten protocol with families. Moose’s anger turned into an apoplectic rage. He needed to give Cade a receipt.

“30 seconds,” the ref said, informing the performers of the upcoming commercial break.

Moose stood up completely, positioning himself to catch Cade and fall onto his back. As he rose, he looked in the direction of Debbie and Kristi, both with distraught looks on their faces. The man instinct kicked in at the wrong time.

Cade leaned into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring before accelerating into a sprint. In a single bound, he leapt over the top rope and into the arms of Moose.

Only, there were no arms.

At the last second, Moose stepped out of the way, as Cade landed like a pancake on the concrete aisle.

“Ohhhhhhh,” the crowd of 6,000 gasped, sensing something didn’t go right.

Cade’s body laid motionless. The ref stopped his count out, slid under the bottom rope and tended to Cade. Moose tried to pander to the crowd, but was met with silence.

The ref approached Moose.

“Was that a botch?” he asked.

“Not from my end,” replied Moose.

Cade’s lifeless body started to move, and the crowd slowly started to cheer in approval. Blood poured out of his broken nose and lower lip.

Moose approached the battered cowboy, grabbing him by his blonde locks, and forced Cade’s face into his.

“You call the match, right,” Moose said, “don’t fuck with my family.”

Cade groggily said something incoherent.

“You go back in, I hit the Ram, then the stomp, 1,2,3.

Moose took Cade by the hair, face barely recognizable, and pushed him under the bottom rope before sliding back in himself. He grabbed the hair again and forced Cade into the corner.

“Irish whip. Ram.” The giant Mainer said.

Moose grabbed Cade by the wrist, speckled with splats of blood, and threw him, into the opposite turnbuckles.

“Hooooooooooot!” he shouted as he charged into the corner sandwiching Cade between the corner and his massive frame.

Moose looked at the crowd for approval. He expected more of a pop, but they remained silent, locked in on Cade’s bloodied face.

“Hey take it home now, we need to get him to the back,” the ref softly said to Moose.

Moose body slammed his opponent in the middle of the ring and gave his sign for the Stomp, to a chorus of boos. He leaned against the top tope, took 3 big steps, jumped, and planted his two feet onto Cade’s stomach. A spray of blood shot from Cade’s nose.

He then took his right foot and gently placed it on Cade’s chest.

“One,” the ref counted out loud while his hand slapped the mat. “Two.”

A quick scream from the crowd erupted as the ref had his hand just inches from the three count.

“Oooof!” Moose hard as a light forearm hit his back. He turned around to see Takayashi San in a mock martial arts stance.

“Ding, ding, ding,” the bell rang.

“DQ Moose, go to the back.” The ref directed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, as the result of a disqualification, Cade Jennings!” said the ring announcer. The medical team rushed to the ring to tend to Cade.

Moose made his way back through the aisle, a louder chorus of boos following him. He slid through the curtain to find Richard, red faced and sweaty. Next to him was the promoter, Johnny Sullivan, with an unpleasant look on his face.

“He’s getting up on his own!” Richard shouted, “thank God!’

“Corny,” said Johnny, “come follow me.”

The big man followed his boss past a series of backstage onlookers.

As Cade rose to a standing position, face and torso covered in red, the crowd stood and cheered at their new hero.