05/29/2026
Part of my job as a top-tier wrestling manager is to scout ahead of my talent's arrival at the venue. The promotion and I have a signed contract, and it's up to me to ensure that the promotion fulfills their end of the bargain. Are we getting what we demanded? I mean, we are professionals, and when we are hired to wrestle, we bring the show all the time and every time! Of course, things like a private dressing room, a steak dinner for the winner after the match (of course, that's us), and at least a four-foot buffer between my wrestlers and the croaking toads seated on the front row are our basic demands. Including, but not limited to, a private ride to the venue. Absolutely no interaction with any fans of any kind. We have a job to do. We do it well. We collect our compensation and leave. So, here I am, a day early in the defunct metropolis known as Blountville, Tennessee. A town so backwards that they took out their oldest functioning traffic light and put in one of those pip-pip-cheerio roundabouts. How do you figure that people who are so inept that they can't even tell the color green from red are going to understand a complex circular traffic flow? When I tried to go through it on my way to the venue, it reminded me of Walmart. Just people staying in one spot staring at each other! Oh well, my business associates and I are in our hotel until showtime tomorrow. 7 pm at the Blountville Elementary School arena. Make yourself a potted meat sandwich, then come on out! Oh, and some dude named Jimmy Valiant is going to be there (yawn).
