an excerpt from “Green: A Pro Wrestling Novella”
“Ay,” he said to me, tugging the ropes, “is gonna be a coun’out— da bot’ of us outside. I tell you when. You jus’ coun’ ten, eh?”
“Count-out?” I said. “I thought …”
“You taught nuttin’! Jus’ count when I tell you!”
They announced his opponent and the guy came out to cheers— smiling, dark-haired and muscled and shaking hands in the aisle. I didn’t see or even feel him leave the ring, but under the guy’s ovation, Frenchie pounced on him from behind— mauling him onto the aisle floor and peppering him with both fists. Fans threw trash, aiming for Frenchie as he kept on their man— pulling his ring jacket up over his head and jabbing his ribs with kicks.
He left the guy in a pile in the aisle, scrambling back inside the ring.
“C’mon referee!” someone yelled out. “Throw that bum out!”
Frenchie answered him and the others, turning and flipping his fist at him. It made the whole place holler.
“Start da count,” French said. “— not so fast,” so I started to. Between five and six I asked French if the guy was getting up.
“Don’ know,” he said, laughing. “We see!”
At seven though the guy got up, propping himself on the rail— and at eight, with a burst, he ran for the ring— sliding inside like a bullet. He tore off his jacket and charged Frenchie— but French, a step ahead of him, beat it through the ropes and out of the ring— circling and riling everyone up at ringside. It carried back to the walls. The whole place was hot.
The guy chased after and eventually caught up to Frenchie, hurling him back in the ring and battering him down with dropkicks and a slam. He backed Frenchie to the buckles and climbed the ropes, balanced above French while he brought his fist down a dozen times to his face. French brought his hand up, as if to slow or block the barrage— but it fell to his side and blood began to trickle down his forehead to the bridge of his nose. Punch drunk, French looked defenseless as the guy hooked his head and hoisted him off his feet, bringing him down in the center of the ring— both their backs hitting the mat heavy.
My eyes followed the guy, getting the fans excited again as he pumped a fist in the air and ran to the corner. Starting to climb, the cheers got louder.
“Dis is it!” French said. Blood had crawled across and down the sides of his skull— to his temples, staining his sideburns and striping his face.
“Dis time coun’ ten!”
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