Jansen’s Journal – May 18, 2018

May 18, 2018
Franklin’s Gym

Never in a million years did I ever think this could possibly come true. I mean, I always dreamed and wished and prayed and rubbed every lamp I came by to see if perhaps a genie might appear to grant me all that I desired, but today… today is the greatest day of my life so far.

“C’mon, kid. That dummy only weighs about 250 pounds. For crying out loud, that’s probably the average weight of most wrestlers you’ll be in the ring with!” Mr. Franklin hollered at me from ringside.

You see, he’s created this giant tackle dummy — at least that’s what he called it, but in reality it was an oversized doll that he shoved weights into the make it heavy. He wanted me to practice the piledriver without actually hurting a real person. Problem is, I weigh 130 on a good day. I can’t even squat 250 pounds.

Don’t get me wrong, Biff Franklin is probably the greatest man, besides my own father, that I have ever met. He’s a twice former tag team champion and spent years as a color commentator. He has seen it all in his day, though things do still surprise him about pro wrestling these days.

“I don’t know how those pansies wrestle with all those goddamned piercings,” he mutter aloud to himself as we would watch matches from around the country. He’d point to things and say, “Don’t do that. Do that. That was a good move. What the fuck he’d do that for?” Stuff like that. So anyways, where were we?

Oh yeah, I’m trying to lift this 250 pound doll into a piledriver position. So I’ve got my arms around this things “waist” and I’m trying to pull back, but it’s not budging. “Seriously, sir. I’m never going to wrestle anyone this size,” I say as I am trying not to let the sweat get into my eyes.  He doesn’t answer so I look over and he’s looking at his phone and I take this opportunity to drop the doll and sit down in the middle of the ring.

“Everything okay?”

He mutters something under his breath and then waves me over so I push myself up and walk over and lean down. He’s looking at some website and he shows me the phone and my mouth drops.

“Is that for real?”

“Probably so, kid.”

“They booked me in a match? My first match?”

“Looks that way, kid.”

I grab his phone from his hand and I scroll back to the top and sure enough the Rose City official web page and I give a little squeal and begin to dance around the ring, probably looking like an idiot.

“Oh. My. God!” I squeal again.

“Cut it with the noise, kid. Giving me a headache.”

I immediately pull up Twitter on his phone and log in and there’s the posting! It’s one hundred percent true. I’m going to be in my first match and it’s a triple threat match. My heart begins to race and I rush over to where he is on the side and lean against the rope. “What if I’m not ready? What if I lose? Maybe they won’t use me again? Maybe I’ll never wrestle again! What am I going to do?” The words came out superfast out of my mouth and Biff just looked at me and shrugs, “You’ll do just fine. You’re getting better every day and you need this experience. Win, lose or draw, we’ll use this match to find where you need to focus on before your next match. You ain’t gonna win no match if you can’t drop someone on their head, so get back to work, kid.”

I hand him his phone and try to relax, but… Oh my god, I’m gonna wrestle my first match! I go back to where the doll is and I mutter to it, “You’re gonna get dropped on your head if it takes me all day to do it, dummy.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

And it took me all day.

But, that dummy got dropped on his head in my piledriver and I have been walking on cloud nine ever since.

Rose City Wrestling, here I come.