Rayne Young vs Lisa Seldon

[Alex Smiley]

Reminder:

- Word limit for Group Stage matches is 1500.
- 1 RP per wrestler per match.
- Deadline: December 9, 2018, at 11:59PM Pacific.

[Lisa]

You'll never do anything more awkward in this business than shoot a wrestling promo. Trying to maintain a heightened level of vitriol in front of a dead eyed camera crew who really couldn't care less about why you're so mad at Big Billy Hate Machine and TJ O'Wrestleguy that the only way to deal with it it is to shout into a microphone for 9 minutes and then throw it on YouTube.

I've had scissors dragged about my face and had my teeth chiselled out from a chairshot backhand that could only be described as Roger Federeresque in its weight and precision.

I would wake up to that everyday like a delighted bearer of a Promethean curse over ever doing another one of these; because you will never feel less like an international sporting superstar than when you're spewing bile in front of half a dozen faceless goons looking down on you with the same disdain they showed the star of the dog food commercial they shot 3 hours prior.

"It is a testament to the breadth and depth of this sport that even this far into my career I can still find new crowds to introduce myself. So hi, I'm Lisa Seldon, and up until about a year ago I was done with this business.

I started wrestling far too young and struggled bitterly to find a voice. My family name carried a community. The Lee family; Misery, Ransom, November, the Fatal Charms. They were kingmakers and legacy deniers. There was weight to their name and I spent years chasing after it.

I didn't get the name or a chance to carry the moniker. I wasn't a Charm, I was a hidden shame, a constant reminder of an old man's failings and creeping infidelities. I was cast out for his shortcomings and I didn't take to it well. I was bitter and sad and tedious and annoying; every monotonous cliche of the needy brat, like I shouldn't have to build my own name or carve my own niche."

I worry sometimes I'm being to hard on myself for the sake of a narrative. My father was a commentator, and at the height of my career he was sat behind a desk tearing me down because he needed to keep up appearances.

I didn't need the family name. I just needed the family. I was right to be annoyed.

"I don't look back at myself fondly. I was a tiresome little shit but I came through better for it. I made my mark, I carved out my name, I outran and outlasted all my peers. By the time I was done I had a half dozen of which I couldn't be more proud, a star a community couldn't contain and no enemies left to speak of.

I looked out over my domain and so no mountains left to climb, no lands left to conquer. I had done enough. I had done it all. So I left, assuming I was content."

I drop my head to one side and beam a smile. Just a second for the joke to land.

"Obviously, it didn't take. I was bored to the point of self-destruction. My weight fluctuated, I drank, my sleeping patterns were destroyed. I ran through all the friends and family I'd managed to pick up over the years until I was just left miserable and alone. I had just my thoughts to keep me company and I didn't like what they had to say.

For the longest time I'd thought of wrestling as a miserable struggle for acceptance, but it was more than that. It was stabilising, rewarding. I lay in bed for hours after waking, staring at the ceiling and remembering nights when I'd been carried to victory, split open and spewing blood, by a crowd of thousands roaring my name.

Wrestling was the only reason I had to get up in the morning. So I got up and went back."

I sit back in the armchair chair where they've framed me, pretending to be relaxed. My blood is boiling, my skin crawls. There's always a creeping sense of dread doing these. Like you're just handing over the keys to a crowd looking for a way to unlock all your issues. You'd never tell from looking.

"In January I'll have been back a year and in that time I've put together a solid enough body of work. 9 titles in 3 different continents, tournament finalist, tournament winner. I did enough to make my point, I still have a place in the conversation, but I'm not content with that. I want more."

A tut escapes me.

"This isn't a vanity run, it's not a bucket list thing. I'm not rounding the world on one last tour before I finally hang up my boots for good, content that I still had a little diesel left sloshing about the tank. My motor is running, I'm still young, I've got miles to go and I'm going to ride until the wheels come off."

Then forward again, leaning into the camera. Everything part of the play.

"This tournament is a chance to breakout in front of a whole new crowd and I absolutely mean to act on it."

I'm not a fan of the light in which my critics have cast me. It bothers me I even have to bring it up. I shouldn't even care, I'm just creeping out of my twenties, but you're old in sport long before you are anywhere else in the world.

"I don't know all the names in this tournament. Not personally. I've been fortunate enough to see a few of them perform and I'll watch tape until I can run all their signature spots backwards in my sleep, but that'll only teach you so much. I don't know where their mind goes when the plan falls to pieces and the walls start closing in.

I don't know their breaking points, not yet, but I do know mine and I'm content with that. I've done this well and truly long enough to know what depths I'm willing to dive and I defy anyone to come down there and join me."

I've made a point of sounding cheer and upbeat. I snap that in an instant and drag the tone to a growl. There's theatrics at play and we're building to a crescendo.

"Rayne Young is in a spot not too dissimilar to mine. He's got a career behind him and wants to know what's left. The difference is that he's already done. He's in xWo counting down the days. Waiting for his wife to give birth so he can hang it up for good. This is a victory lap for Rayne and I won't be a part of it.

He will step to me with a litany of accolades and I will see him crushed beneath the weight of his own commitments. In one tragic instance he will feel his body cave for the last time. He will know it's done and he will leave a spent and broken man, all of a sudden quite certain that there are exactly enough trophies and belts lining the walls of Case De Young to show his kid what daddy used to be capable of.

I will unmake him. Then I will carry on triumphant."

And again we slow and settle as the smile returns, playing in the peaks and troughs.

"I may not know everything there is but the line up, but I know enough. Aidan Collins, Artemis Kaiser, I've seen enough of the names to know I'm in the midst of a stacked field and I could not be happier for it. I stand amongst the best of the best and I intend to stand out.

So that end I say fine, bring the best, bring the lot, bring the whole fucking world down on top of me and watch in awe as I push it right back.

I have done this for years, I will do it until it kills me and I will keep winning until it does."

The camera lingers on it. I offer a smile and a wink. I probably should have picked a sign off I can actually do but I'm committed to it now.

Then the camera crew go about their work, breaking down and talking around me like I'm another prop. Soon enough they're gone and I'm left with the quiet static of an empty room. I'm left wondering about myself. How much of that is just spin.