Sunday, January 26, 2014

Notes on a Classic: Rochelle versus Donovan at BG East's Wrestlefest 2







The tiny crowd boos Patrick Donovan as he makes his entrance at the start of BG East's Wrestlefest 2. He nonchalantly goes to his corner, his aristocratic face brimming with self-regard, clearly not giving a rat's ass what the inbreds at ringside think of him. Ring announcer Kurt Eriksen then calls in the fan favorite, young Brad Rochelle, working a black leather jacket on top of striped, candy-colored trunks. The crowd welcomes him warmly, one part hometown hero, one part boy next door.

The bell sounds, and the opponents circle, Brad stepping lively. Patrick looks at him as if uncomprehending, as if he can't quite fathom why The Boss would pit him against a pretty college-boy nobody. Brad stares back, eyes steady, confident in his preparation, sure of himself. "C'mon, Brad," somebody cheers from ringside. Brad initiates the lockup, but Patrick hip-tosses him to the mat. Brad's up in a flash and repays in kind. The enthusiasm in the room suddenly surges like an expectant geyser.

Donovan knocks Rochelle's ankle out from under him. Brad gets up and plows into Patrick, pushing him to the bottom rope. Then he breaks clean. Things are heating up. A solitary voice calls out encouragingly, "Let's go, Brad." Patrick extends his arm for a handshake. Brad slaps the proffered hand away. Donovan's gesture looks hollow, more patronizing than sportsmanlike. Besides, Rochelle's not in the ring to make a friend.

They lock up collar and elbow.  Donovan pushes Rochelle back a step. They circle, their torsos twisting. Patrick wrenches Brad's arm, prompting one appreciative onlooker to shout "Nice!" Patrick whips the arm savagely up and down, tearing at Brad's shoulder joint. Brad grimaces and grunts. Another arm wrench. Brad clutches his shoulder with his free hand. Another wrench flips him to his back.

Patrick tugs him back to his feet by the sore arm and again twists it over his head. Patrick throws his right leg over the arm and rests his butt against Brad's shoulder. He holds the arm up between his thighs like a giant erection. Then he flips down to the mat, bracing one white boot against Brad's chin and the other against his ribs. Brad writhes in agony. Brad's fans call out encouragement, fearful he might soon tap out. "That all you got?" Donovan jeers, the classic insult to top off the injury.

Manfully, Brad steers himself up to his feet but fails to break loose of Patrick's armbar. Donovan yanks him back to the canvas. The tiny crowd bristles with expectation. Patrick's so sure of himself that he begins a running monologue, pushing Brad to give up. Every muscle in Brad's body is tense. Brad grabs at the white boot at his neck, but the pain is too great as Patrick amplifies the paralyzing pressure.

Brad tries again, grabbing the toe of the boot and twisting it away from his face. He rolls his upper body up across Patrick's legs and snags the heel in a side headlock. Patrick slams his arm to the mat, nose smashed up against Brad's interlocked fists. Brad rears his shoulders back and tightens the lock.

Patrick's eyes roll up in his head. The crowd cheers. Patrick gets a leg up on Brad's thigh and tries to roll over on top. A fan shouts, "C'mon, Brad, work it!"  But Patrick pulls his head free and immediately twists Brad's left arm up in a chicken-wing. The fans boo.

Patrick leans on Brad's back, his crotch up against the seat of Brad's striped trunks, shoving the college boy's face to the mat under the bottom rope. Brad pushes himself up by his one free arm. "There you go, Brad!" a fan calls out. Fearing a loss of leverage, Patrick pulls Brad up to his feet and delivers yet another punishing arm wrench. Then he tries to break the arm by savagely chopping it three times against his own shoulder. He lands Brad with an arm-drag flip.

Patrick reasserts the armbar and then pulls Brad up for another harrowing wrench, but ... suddenly he feels the blunt force of Brad's fist to his sternum. The crowd noise intensifies as Brad unceremoniously slaps Patrick's back against the turnbuckle. He charges in with a stomp to the blond's chest. He grabs his head and delivers two knee-jabs to the heel's midsection.

With Patrick's arms hooked over the top ropes, Brad pulls the man forward by the front of his white Speedo and slugs him in the gut again. Something mighty satisfying about the sound of Donovan's UGHs. They seem to rise up from his scrotum. The crowd is crazy for them.

Brad thoroughly tenderizes the stuck-up bully against the corner. Corner work is one of my hot buttons, and Brad damn near wears this fan's button down to a nub. Bea-u-ti-ful! Patrick dangles on the ropes like wet laundry. He has no choice but to take whatever vengeance Brad chooses to heap on him. Memory of Patrick's reckless sadism is still too fresh, so there's no chance of his abject misery eliciting even one drop of compassion.

The hoity-toity big-shot is getting only what he's got coming to him, and I do suspect I see a chubby taking shape in those pristinely white trunks of his. Brad whips him over to the opposite corner, where the heel flips over and lands upside down, white boots caught on the top ropes.

Brad rushes in with a boot stomp that very nearly connects with Patrick's groin. Another stomp, black sole squarely against Patrick's navel. This is too much fun! Brad kneels, his thighs bracketing Patrick's face, and slams punch after punch to Donovan's welt-pinkened white belly. "Harder!" the crowd yells.

Brad punches and tangles Patrick's legs around the middle rope, his butt now on Donovan's chest. "Got him now!" a fan hollers. Brad stands and drives one knee down on Patrick's balls and then lifts the other leg so that the balls now bear Rochelle's full 190 pounds. Patrick goes all carp-mouthed and bug-eyed. Hoots and whistles from the crowd.

An elbow drop to Patrick's chest ... then Brad pulls the man's legs off the ropes and rolls back for a pinfall, the backs of his knees pressing Patrick's armpits and shoulders to the canvas. Patrick's got a great closeup view of his own crotch right now. "Crank it! Crank it!" the crowd demands, and Rochelle happily meets the demand. "I give I give I give I give," Donovan pleads, and Rochelle, gentleman that he is, lets him go. The bell sounds for the end of the round.

Brad can't resist giving the loser a contemptuous slap across the face. Enraged, Patrick rolls over, pulling up Brad's legs and resting his butt on Brad's face. From this vantage, Patrick goes for the cheapest of all cheap shots: twisting his victim's unprotected nuts. Boos and hisses from the crowd. By this point, the fans wouldn't mind if Rochelle out-and-out slaughtered Donovan on the spot, choking the blond weasel with his bare hands. But Brad's in no position to slaughter anybody. Not yet!

"Give it up!" Donovan commands. Brad's thighs flex and quiver as he struggles to power out of the hold. He can't. "Hang in there," the fans are encouraging. But no dice! Rochelle concedes, and the bell sounds for the second time in two minutes, signaling the end of Round 2.

What? You think there won't be a Round 3? You think it won't kick ass one hundred and fifty thousand ways? You think Rochelle won't be tossing Donovan around like a rag doll? You think both wrestlers won't be slippery with sweat before it's over? You think Brad won't dish up a truly cum-worthy comeuppance on Patrick before propping him up so each fan can take a poke at the once great but now fallen Patrick Donovan? Think again.

A few days ago I told Kid Leopard at BG East that this match in particular is "a personal benchmark of what I like in a match": two well-matched antagonists, an arrogant heel who oversteps himself and winds up on the hurting end of a beatdown because of it, a handsome and righteous executor of justice, lots of prolonged body work on the mat and against the ropes, sweat, muscle, and a vocal and appreciative crowd 100 percent into the action! One of the company's best matches (among oh so many great matches).



1 comment:

  1. Joe, Another enjoyable read being able to envision the match thanks to your detailed play by play (move by move) narrative. Among the many details that help in that letter print to vision process is the line, "Patrick goes all carp-mouthed and bug-eyed." Love them.

    ReplyDelete

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...