The Match

It was about to be the match of a lifetime. Or, well, not really a lifetime, but saying that it would be the “match of the decade” wasn’t bold and snappy enough for the promoters. They certainly hyped it to hell and back, wanting to act as though this particular match was like the second coming of Christ or something, even though it was just a brawl between two guys in a ring in an old baseball stadium. These two guys had known each other for years. They were friends since childhood, but broke off sometime during high school and became fierce rivals. Both went into the wrestling circuits, and fought and trained hard for years and years, each hoping to face each other, and finally, after a decade spent honing their skills in the art of wrestling, prepared to face each other again.

Inside the stadium, where faded signs hawked a variety of products ranging from soda to life insurance as a faint smell of urine and body odor stank up the place, on top of a field that though still green was starting to show slight signs of browning, was the ring. Above, it was nighttime, and the Moon shone in the sky as the stadium’s overhead lights glared from on down. The main point of this, however, isn’t to talk about the stadium or everything else going on, but rather, to focus on the two men inside the ring. Before the match itself could begin, however, the referee had to start it, and the referee there was a rather portly gentleman. He was somewhere in his mid-forties, I was later told, with balding hair and a pencil mustache, and wearing a polo shirt and shorts, like those a referee’d wear, he rang the bell.

“3.....2.....1.....!” he roared, and with that, the match began.

At that moment, both men eyed each other warily. It was the first time they’d seen each other in years, with all the pent-up frustrations each man held about to be released, and yet, it seemed as though neither man quite wanted to make the first move. Instead, with their fists raised and with them in combat stances, they ambled on to and fro in the ring, moving along the ring, shifting position several times while still locked to each other’s eyes. The crowd, somewhat unfazed, chowed down on their popcorn and hot dogs and beer, and it seemed as though the match was at a bit of a lull.

During that lull, I took a moment to look at the two men in that ring. On one corner stood a man with light skin, brown hair, and green eyes. He was 5’11 and weighed 160 lbs, I later learned, and had an athletic body that was decently muscled without seeming like a body builder at an exhibition. On another corner stood another man, this one more imposing. He was 6’2 and weighed 210 lbs. He was also light-skinned, but heavily muscled, ripped, as one would say, with black hair and blue eyes, and had a Japanese-style tattoo sleeve that covered his left arm.  Despite both men having their hair closely cropped, each wore a headband—one blue, and one red.

If there’s one thing to know about matches though, it’s that a winner must ultimately come home with the win. Wrestling matches are ruthless in that sense—there’s no room to half-ass anything. This wrestling the two men were about to do wasn’t being shown on TV or any of that. Hell, the stadium itself had barely any people watching the match in the first place. This wasn’t a TV show fight for fame, but rather, the settling of a score between two men. Ultimately, however, one of the men would need to kickstart the match. And soon enough, the black-haired man struck first, with a straight punch to the jaw. That one, however, was rather easily blocked by the brown-haired man, who responded by attempting a drop kick against the black-haired man, who also blocked the drop kick.

Their initial movesets not having gone anywhere, the black-haired man prepared an offensive attack by launching a volley of punches in quick succession. Though the brown-haired man managed to block most of them, he at one moment slipped, and one of the black-haired man’s punches landed, causing the brown-haired man to be flung into a corner. Getting back up, the brown-haired man attempted another drop-kick, which the black-haired man attempted to block. Unlike the first time, though, this time, the drop-kick succeeded, and the black-haired man was knocked over. As he got up again, he then taunted the brown-haired man.

“Get up here and fight me already! Stop prancing around and fight me” the black-haired man jeered, to which the brown-haired man merely stared at the black-haired man with eyes dirtier than any swear word uttered.

I was later told that the brown-haired man decided that what he needed to do was to tire the black-haired man out. He couldn’t win through strength, since the black-haired man was both taller and stronger than he was, but he could win if he managed to exhaust the black-haired man down. Similarly, the black-haired man knew that he needed to use his superior strength and height to his advantage in winning the match.

Their two strategies in mind, the brown-haired man started wandering around the ring. Not staying in one place for very long, he’d amble to and fro as the black-haired man attempted to follow him. However, the black-haired man was starting to slow down a bit, and sweat was beginning to drip from his face. The brown-haired man also had sweat fall from his eyes. The black-haired man panted a bit, taking a moment to regain his composure, before heading back to face off against the brown-haired man.

This time, he realized that trying to follow the other man around wherever he went would merely tire him out and drain him, and that if he wanted to win, he needed to do it decisively.   Both men resumed their strategies. The brown-haired man attempted to goad the black-haired man into moving along, and though the black-haired man did indeed move a bit, he did not move nearly as much as the other man would have wanted. The brown-haired man became a bit aggrieved by this. He wanted the black-haired man to start following him around to tire him out, and therefore tried his hand at taunting as well.

“Fight me. Stop being a pansy and just fight me” he crowed. To that, the black-haired man merely sighed. Almost suppressing a yawn, he replied, though great indifference in his voice, “Yeah, okay, sure. I’ll fight you. Whatever”. The brown-haired man wondered if the black-haired man was being serious or not. In his hesitation, the black-haired man took advantage of that hesitation and proceeded to pummel the brown-haired man.

Standing atop him, it seemed as though the match would have been won right then and there by the black-haired man, and indeed, it almost was. The referee was about to say 2....1.... to significantly the end of the match when the brown-haired man suddenly turned the tables on the black-haired man.

Now, it was the brown-haired man who was on top, but not for very long, as the black-haired man flipped the brown-haired man. Both men then proceeded to wrestle each other for a while, each briefly seeming to be on top before being topped by the other.