The Simpsons: Bart

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***

Despite being carried away on a stretcher and not giving the appearance of being alive at all. I don't feel too bad, at most my pain I could call discomforting....

- Fucking hell!

However, when I found myself in the changing room, I was scared of my own reflection.

- Ha-ha-ha! - causing laughter from the other fighters as they prepared to leave.

The thing is, I'm literally covered in blood. My arms are cut, my chest is red, and my forehead is punctured.

- Hey, don't I need a doctor?! - in a panic, I turned to one of the referees.

- Bart, calm down. - who apparently doesn't speak English, so he called El Bandito. - How many fingers am I holding up?

- D-two?

- There, you don't have to worry. Le Bestia Morada is a fan of these matches, he'll open you up so it won't hurt or scar you.

- When did I ever get bladed? - I don't remember cutting my forehead.

- Because of that bitch. That was a good one.

- Ouch!

Without much ceremony, El Bandito removed the button from my forehead. By the way which were still in my right palm, and on my back....

- Ugh. That looks painful. - is littered with barbed wire cuts. Which was wrestling wire, but that meant more gaps between the spikes than no spikes. - Are you sure there won't be any scars?

- Maybe a couple of inconspicuous ones. - Despite his rather playful personality, El Bandito answered seriously. - Bart... - although afterwards his voice took on a note of disappointment. - This is professional wrestling, scars are the lesser price of this business and.... Hey, Pedro, where'd you get your scar?

- Huh?' one of the preparers turned to face me, along the left side of his face, running along his temple, was a horrible looking scar. - I bumped into a chair when I fell out of the ring. Why?

After patting me on the shoulder, El Bandito walked away, apparently seeing from my look that I understood what he wanted to convey. That in this business - danger lurks at every bump and in every match.

.....

The show ended, on a fancy match for about twenty-five to thirty minutes. I'm not sure exactly though, for I easily lost track of the time, and only heard it from the announcer.

Both participants in the match made me lose the ability to breathe. The way they fluttered in and out of the ring, the killer looks of their holds..... I actually forgot that wrestling is a production.

- Ha ha ha ha, it worked!

- I told you I'd catch it!

However, the fact that the two luchadors who almost killed each other in the ring are sitting together and laughing negates any idea that they forgot and started fighting for real.

- Hey, schoolboy, why aren't you drinking? - addressed me Morada, whose back is bandaged after two button landings.

- No reason... - maybe if I keep doing the angry American thing, I should mention in the promo that Mexican beer is piss.

- All right, guys, well done, everybody! - as El Bandito entered the locker room. - Another successful show!

- Shudder! - as the locker room collectively raised their bottles.

- Also tonight we have a debutant! Let's all congratulate him on his first match!

Not to say with much enthusiasm, but the guys clapped for me. El Bandito then started handing out pay envelopes for the show, which brought out a lot more smiles and shining eyes than my debut.... And not to say I don't understand them.

- ...What's that? - Well, I did. Because my salary is just enough to buy a day's worth of food. And no, not cooked.

- What did I say about the cost of being in this business? Congratulations on meeting the man in charge. Ha-ha-ha-ha!

While El Bandito was laughing heartily, all I could think about was whether I should spend my 'salary' on coffee and ice cream, or still on groceries.... After all, I knew it would be a small salary, but to spend it like this....

-About a year later-

I continued to perform as the angry American, who, of course, got beat up by the good Mexicans every time. Basically, I was the jabroni.

After a while, however, I started getting opportunities to book smaller promotions, some of which were one-show affairs. I tasted my first victories in them.....

Which wasn't so bad. But I had a new dream, a Main Event, a championship title.

And I guess the chance that I could start dreaming again has to do with the fact that in Mexico nobody cares about the Terry story. The spectators are too lazy to even google my name, and the blokes in the changing room are generally supportive, talking about how all women are c*cks just waiting for a chance to betray. I'm not sure how much I agree with them, but I appreciate the sentiment.

- We're all set.

- Huh, nice.

I've solved the salary issue in a different way than I planned. Instead of food or treats, I decided to save up for a new suit and mask. The mask because my face is kind of obscured and in terms of wins and losses, not in a good way..... Although my face is basically unlit in a good way.

Speaking of the costume, I chose dark red as my main colour, with yellow as all sorts of embossing. Also, my mask is the opposite of yellow, with red lines that look like creepers framing my eyes. The mask itself is more like a theatre mask, a carnival mask, with a cutout for hair and mouth.

Once I tried on a one-piece mask, I nearly choked to death after ten minutes of cardio. Well, there's also a good reason for the hair...

Speaking of working out. I've gotten much better at wrestling, I can even do more complicated moves than lariats and belly flips. Basically that's also one of the reasons why I decided to start all over again, in a new gimmick. Which I've given a name to....

- Allow me to introduce you to our debutant today.... - in a shrill voice, the announcer spoke into the microphone. - El Barto!!!

- Yes!

For the first time in my short career, the audience met me with support rather than shouting insults, which.... Surprisingly, it helped me a lot.

Because of a kind of boundary between the real world and wrestling. Which is probably based on the fact that we - wrestlers play our roles, and the fans are mostly aware of it, with their aggressive remarks not so much trying to hurt us - performers, but to vent their own frustration on the characters in the ring.

Of course, sometimes fans cross the line and say whatever they can think of. I've been called a lot of things this year. Starting with something as banal as 'American Shithead'; continuing with insults based on my appearance, like 'where's your hairline, freak?!'; and getting personal, like 'criminal', 'rapist' and so on.

But with all that said, on the way out of the arena, the fans weren't interested in me at all. Which made me realise that I had heard the worst of it, but it didn't make my world fall apart. And it sort of helped me accept myself and my past and for that, to the rude bastards screaming at me, I am truly grateful.

- El Barto knocks Le Bestia Morada off the third rope with a dropkick to the face! What kind of crazy jump height is that?!

In a funny coincidence, the first opponent for my gimmick was the same Le Bestia Morada. This time, however, I was entrusted with a classic match.

- El Barto jumps the third rope and goes plancha! - and flips forward with his arms and legs spread.

- YEAH!

Good thing I'm wearing a mask, for it's unusual to have people cheering you on.

- El Barto throws Morada into the ring and signals that it's time to end it!

Probably the only thing I didn't do a good job on was the finisher, the finishing hold....

- Spreads him into the ropes and. TOSSES HIM UP AND DELIVERS A POWERBOMB!

Yes, my finisher is a pop-up poverbomb, and yes spanish fly is also in my arsenal.... And no, I'm not ashamed of it at all!

*♪ Punch ♪

*♪ Punch ♪

*♪ Punch ♪

- And our winner is El Barto. - announced the announcer.

- Yaaaaaah!!! - as I posed on the third rope, the fans rewarded me with cheers for my victory.

.....

- It's a celebration-fest tonight! - I came home loaded with all sorts of delicious, and far from healthy, food.

My spirits are lifted not only by the win and successful redebut, but also by talking to El Bandito after the show....

- El Barto. - ever since I got the mask, I've been called that in the locker room... Or they still call me the boy. But nobody calls me by my first name. - On the next show, there's a Battle Royal. - a match with a dozen or so contestants where you have to eliminate the other contestants in various ways, depending on the rules. - As you know, it's for one of the power rings.

Last year I participated in a battle royale for the Chaos ring and in a tournament for the Life ring. Naturally, in both the former and the latter, I crashed out in the early stages without achieving anything meaningful. I didn't participate in the Ring of Destiny match because it's a four-way, so it's only for the top stars.

- And I want you to win it. - My boredom at knowing everything about rings and match types was broken by El Bandito's sudden words.

- That means...

- Yes, there's a main title match waiting for you at the show afterwards.

Naturally, El Bandito said I would lose it. Because I'm too young and not ready to be a major star. I didn't have any problems with El Bandito's words, because the very possibility of being in the main event gave me a fit of euphoria. And that's without even remembering that I would win one of the rings of power.....

- Haha, El Bandito's a geek, surprisingly. - Before I embarked on a marathon of films with a Chinese actor, a master of the drunken style, and eating yummies, a happy smile came out of my mouth.

Who knew life would turn out like this? That I could be happy again? To be honest a year ago it was so hard, after the paycheck, the ten minute matches, the experiences alone, that I thought about taking my life.

Maybe not as seriously as before that, but still..... And now, I'm probably as close to being happy as I ever thought I could be.

- Am I a masochist? Definitely a masochist...

Before going to bed, I decided to go to my email for the first time in a long time. Where, amidst a flood of death wishes and other nonsense, I found--

- Hey.

Messages from Maggie.

- How are you?

And from Mum.

- Haaaaaaah.

Which gave me a heavy sigh and complicated, incomprehensible feelings.