Hello, everyone.
Hello, everyone.
I’ve used this space before (Prose Night) to preview some writing projects I’ve been working on. It’s been a hot minute or two since I posted a sneak preview, so I decided you, the readers, were due for one.
You might recall I let you know I was working on a project, an Untitled Wrestling Project, as it is1. I have had a lifelong obsession with pro wrestling since I was a kid, despite my parents’ despair. At a book fair back in 2023, as I sat around a quiet crowd, the idea of a young writer exploring the world of his wrestling family and becoming drawn into such a world leaped into my consciousness.
I went ahead and wrote a short story to try out the concept, and I found I was inspired by the epic ideas raised by a storyteller raised in a family of professional wrestlers who told stories through their matches.
When it gets to the point where I’m starting to build complete family trees for my characters and begin to have conversations with characters, I need to start building a story. Like, a story already 32,500-plus words and a ways to go before the end of this book, one of a projected trilogy. And this is no different.
Let me introduce you (or reintroduce you, if you’ve read my past posts) to Robbie Traynor, a Minnesota native and brand new member of the prestigious Iowa Writer’s Workshop. He’s made an impression on his fellow students and workshop instructor Peter Lowry, with his story about a young man trying to reconnect with his professional wrestler father. However, a chance incident at a party for workshop students and faculty, hosted at the home of Robbie’s fellow student Artie, reveals the depth of Robbie’s entanglement in the wrestling world.
Wrestling on the Tube
A fiction excerpt by Jason Liegois2.
Iowa City, Iowa, August 2017
In among the cross-talk and the regular gossip, there was a bit of writing discussion amongst the partygoers. They’d talk about what they were working on, how it was going, and what particular problems they had to overcome to keep the stories moving. Since he had been the first one to put his work forward that week, Robbie assumed he was going to get a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer, and he didn’t know exactly how he was going to handle it. But finally…
“So, what prompted you to use pro wrestling in your story?” Lowry said as he took a pull off one of the Corona beers he’d brought with him to the party. “Are you a fan? I’m not one, but I follow Iowa wrestling. I even visit the wrestling program here and have a chance to train with the kids.”
“You wrestled?”
“Back in college, University of Minnesota,” Lowry said. “Anyway, what connection do you have with pro wrestling?”
Robbie mind was blank as he tried to think of what to say and took a first sip from the second IPA he’d brought to the party. “Not exactly sure I’d call myself a fan, although I watched a bit of it,” he finally said. “I’m not exactly sure why I added it into the story. Shoot, when I was in high school starting out writing, I usually liked to write fantasy stuff, usually soft magic systems. I always loved laying out the worlds they took place in too.”
“It was just a lark or something?” Ike asked.
There was a long pause as Robbie tried to formulate an answer. “Maybe… it’s been something bubbling up for a while. Something I was experimenting with.”
Tono started fiddling with the remote. “You know, I think I’ve got a channel or playlist here on YouTube all on pro wrestling. Anyone want to watch?”
“Ah, you don’t have to on my account…” Robbie mumbled.
“Shoot, why not? Hey, food’s on, everyone,” Artie said. “Not like there’s anything else on, right? Go ahead Tono, find something.”
“You know, when I was a kid, we’d watch all the videos for movies about El Santo, the Man in the Silver Mask,” he responded. “Used to get a kick out of them. Should be something here… oh, hell, yeah, we got some classic wrasslin’ on. Check it.” He pushed a button.
The scene was an old arena, smoky and dingy – even the ring ropes and mat were smudged with dirt. From the pastel colors of the clothes of some of the fans and the high teased hairstyles of the female fans, the time was the 1980’s.
There was a huge, muscle-bound bald wrestler with a full black beard in the middle of the ring. He was wearing a bright red freestyle wrestling singlet with the Soviet Union’s hammer and sickle insignia on his chest, paired with black boots. He had a length of heavy chain wrapped around his right fist. He was accompanied by another large man with a darker complexion and a full black mustache, He work a full-length white thwab robe, traditional among people especially in the Arabic Peninsula, and a red and white keffiyah covered his head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a non-title singles match,” the arena announcer proclaimed. “Accompanied by his manager, Sheik Abdul Al Shabazz, and weighing in at 285 pounds, from Moscow, the Red Nightmare, Sasha Zhukov!”
With a roar, Zhukov raised his chain-carrying fist to a rain of boos from the crowd.
Suddenly, a manic classic rock anthem rang out over the public address speakers, all crunching guitars and Southern strut, and the crowd screamed in recognition. Robbie looked at the side of the ring which had the letters GFW stenciled in neon green and gold lettering, and he knew immediately what the announcer was going to say next.
“His opponent is the reigning GFW world heavyweight champion, and one-third of the GFW world six-man tag-team champions! From Houston, Texas, weighing in at 245 pounds… he is The Boss himself, Jack Ryder!”
Down one of the aisles came a tall wrestler with a full shoulder-length mane of suicide blond hair. He wore a gold satin jacket with THE BOSS across the back, royal purple tights, and black boots with BOSS on the side. The men were jumping up and down in their seats while the women were reaching out into the aisle, screaming as they tried to grab Ryder and pull him into their embrace as he attempted to make his way to the ring. He kissed at least a half dozen of the more attractive female fans before he got to his destination.
Of course it would be him was the only thing Robbie could think of as he stared at the screen.
Ryder jumped over the top rope but got pummeled by Zhukov’s chain-wrapped fist before he even had the chance to take his jacket off. Within seconds, he was crumpled and sagging on the ring mat as Zhukov continued to pound him on his back and his head.
“There was a better way for him to handle that,” he thought he heard Ike say.
They saw the referee finally try to step in and Zhukov turned to argue with him. With the referee distracted, Abdul grabbed his head and struck him at least three or four times with what appeared to be brass knuckles to the screams of frustration from the crowd.
“Always wondered how blind pro wrestling referees were. Honestly, though, they couldn’t be more blind than major league refs,” Tono said.
Robbie wasn’t paying too much attention to the play-by-play either from the screen or his new companions. He knew exactly what was going to happen next.
After running against the ropes, Zhukov took a two-footed slide and knocked Ryder off the ring floor and down sprawling onto the concrete outside. Then he slid down off the apron and continued the attack. The referee began counting as Zhukov first pounded Ryder’s back for a few more heavy blows. Then, the Russian grabbed Ryder by the back waist of his tights and with a big heave hurled Ryder almost face first into one of the corner ring poles.
With a roar, Ryder collapsed on the floor, rolling back and forth while grasping his left arm. Zhukov rolled up onto the apron and then back standing into the ring. A clearly annoyed referee took the opportunity and grabbed the chain from the Russian, who was distracted from taunting the shrieking fans ringside. After tossing the chain out of the ring, where it landed next to the announcer’s table, he gave a stern lecture to Zhukov. As that happened, Abdul once again ran over and pounded Ryder in the back with his brass knuckles, and then scooted away before the referee returned his attention to the down wrestler and restarted his count.
Artie glanced at his guests in the living room. Most of them were watching the match with either casual indifference or mild derision. Robbie, on the other hand, was staring directly at the screen, one hand covering his mouth, not blinking.
“Motherfucker’s intending on getting an Oscar or some shit,” Tono cackled.
“I’ll be honest, the acting’s not that good,” Harmony said. “I mean, no offense to these guys, but it’s all an act.”
“I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated than that…” Lowry started to comment.
“He’s actually not work… not acting here,” Robbie blurted out, pointing the struggling Ryder. “He really got his shoulder separated. Just give it a second and he’s going to knock it back in. Watch.”
Everyone including Artie gaped at Robbie and then turned back to the screen to see Ryder totter to his feet. With a lunge, he rammed his left shoulder into the steel of the ring post, and his yelp echoed around the arena and even over the shrieks of the female fans. Taking three deep breaths, he pulled himself onto the ring apron with his good arm and flopped in between the ropes.
“Of course, he wasn’t supposed to get hurt, but ol’ Sasha went a bit overboard with the move,” Robbie mentioned in a matter-of-fact tone, more talking to himself. “Now he’s got a receipt he’s about to collect on.”
“What do you mean…?” began Tono.
“Hold up,” Artie said.
Zhukov approached Ryder, winding up for a massive left hook, but the other man lashed out with a lightning-quick right cross catching the Russian squarely in the throat. The blow collapsed the man to his knees, heaving and choking and grabbing at his throat, while Ryder repeatedly slapped him across the back and sides of his head until he rolled onto his side, arms wrapped around his head in pure defense.
“This is him reminding Sasha to behave. Right, he’s about to wrap this up,” Robbie said as Ryder dragged the still coughing Zhukov to his feet. Using his good arm, he flung him into the nearest corner, the Russian using the top ring rope to keep himself upright. With a wince, Ryder reached with his left hand for the elbow pad on his right arm. “Here it comes.”
Ryder slid the elbow pad off his arm and flung it with disdain onto the ground near his feet. He raised his right fist into the air and pumped it down next to his body like a trucker honking his rig’s horn. Finally, with a running start, he hurled toward Zhukov, right arm cocked and smashed his elbow full force into the side of his opponent’s head.
The man was on the ground in seconds. Ryder rolled over and covered him long enough for the referee to count one, two, three, and give the match to him. He glared at Zhukov on the floor as the referee raised his arm and his win was proclaimed. Cradling his left arm, Ryder rolled out of the ring, spitting on the floor outside the ring, and took the most direct route to the backstage area, still cradling his left arm.
“So , how did you know all that?” Artie asked.
Time to unmask, I guess. Robbie took a deep breath. “Jack Ryder’s my father.”
“That wrestler, Jack Ryder, is your father?” Lowry said.
“One and the same.”
“The Boss, holy hell,” Benjiro said. “Can’t believe it.”
“You know about him?” Tono said.
“Ryder was big in puroresu out in Japan, one of the top Westernersthere when he wasn’t in the US. My dad even saw him back in ’93 wrestling in the Tokyo Dome for All-World Japanese Wrestling.”
Robbie took a deep breath as he felt eyes on him from all around. “Food smells amazing,” he said. “How about everyone get a plate and I’ll go ahead and continue the Q&A if anyone cares.”
#
As it turned out, Ike, Mary, and Alya had no such interest in the conversation and got involved with some more hands of Milles Borne and UNO, as well as some writing chatter. Everyone else including Lowry and Tono filled their paper plates and found some seats on the couch or folding chairs in the living room as people started playing 20 questions with Robbie.
“So, wait, is Traynor your real name or some pen name, then?” Tanisha asked.
“My real name’s Robert John Traynor, same as my birth certificate,” Robbie said. “Ryder is… the family stage name, so to speak, like Sheen was for Martin and Charlie Sheen or Douglas for Kirk and Michael Douglas. If you look up Jack Ryder in Wikipedia, he’s listed as…”
“…John William Traynor Jr.,” Harmony joined in, raising her cellphone.
“That’s the one.”
“Your father come up with the name?” Lowry asked in a casual tone.
Robbie shook his head. “My grandfather, John Traynor Sr. He heard Ryder was an English word meaning mounted warrior. Guess he thought it made sense for a pro wrestler from Houston.”
“He was the one you said served in Korea?” Tono asked.
“Yeah, he started wrestling after he got back. He was Johnny Ryder.”
“Wait, my old man talked about him once. Wasn’t he some sort of wrestling promoter too, used to do shows out in Los Angeles?” Tono said.
“He owned Global Force Wrestling years back, when it was Gulf Coast Continental Wrestling. I know they eventually started doing shows out in Los Angeles, but I don’t know when that started. My grandfather… I never grew up around him.”
“So, your dad and grandfather were from Texas, but you’re from Minnesota?” Harmony said, disbelief in her voice.
They’re wondering if I’m working them, Robbie thought. Shit. “My mom was from Minnesota; she convinced him to move up there with her. It worked for a while at least.”
“A while?” Harmony said.
“He never liked hanging around home much. They divorced when I was in elementary school.”
He saw her relax as she absorbed the news. “Sounds like a creep. Sorry for you, though.” Harmony sighed.
“Appreciate it. Nothing Mom didn’t say, although she got over it.”
“Hey, another question,” Benjiro said. “Back in class you said your uncle grew up by the Salton Sea, but I thought most of your family was from Texas?”
“I was talking about my uncle Cody. He grew up out there, but he married into the family, my aunt Maggie.”
“What was his last name?”
“Ritter, Cody Ritter.”
“The Monster was your fucking uncle? The Codymonster?”
“Who the hell’s Cody Ritter?” Lowry asked in irritation, eyes narrowed at Robbie.
“The Monster, Cody Ritter. I mean, Jack was big in Japan, but Cody was a fucking legend. Over two meters and a hundred-forty kilos, big bastard. Craziest gaijin I ever saw in the ring. He won world championships in three different Japanese wrestling companies. So, that would make the Ritter Brothers…”
“My cousins, yeah,” Robbie nodded.
“Sounds like pro wrestling was a big part of your life then, unlike what you said in the workshop,” Lowry said, his words hard.
Robbie shrugged. “Maybe it’s a part of my family’s life, but it’s not really mine. My dad was gone more than he was with us, and I grew up way away from his world. I was never part of it.”
“Your dad never showed you anything, never trained you?” Artie asked in disbelief.
“Nothing much at all, especially after he split from Mom. Look… I’ll be honest, pro wrestling was something my family did, and they made a lot of money off it. There’s a reason I don’t have to worry about money coming to school here, and I know I got breaks a lot of kids didn’t because of the money. But I. Never. Was part of it. So that’s the reason I don’t hardly know why I even added that scene. I usually write fantasy stuff.”
“And you just train MMA for the hell of it?” Faith scoffed.
“Yeah, I appreciate being able to take care of myself and keep in shape, not to compete or for something else,” Robbie replied. “I never was into playing team sports.”
“You say so,” Faith replied. “Wait, I’ve got a question. There’s a Jordan Ryder who wrestles for WWW. She any relation to you?”
Robbie snorted at the question. “Ah, yeah, she’s my older sister.” He could see Lowry scratch his head trying to sort it all out while he heard Artie mutter “unbelievable.”
“Really? Oh, fuck, that’s wild. She’s really amazing,” Faith said.
“Didn’t know you were a fan,” Harmony said.
“Well, sort of…” She faced Robbie again. “I don’t make a big deal about people’s looks, but your sister is about the most perfect female I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, here we go,” Harmony cackled.
“Have you ever seen her? She’s got the face of Wonder Woman and the body of She-Hulk. I saw her in The Body Issue of ESPN Magazine and she blew me away. You two close?”
“We grew up together in Minnesota and still keep in touch all the time,” Robbie chuckled. “She’ll appreciate the well-wishes.”
“Robbie, I need to ask you a writing question, and I need you to be straight with me,” Lowry said.
“I will, Peter,” he said, remembering Lowry’s request to use his first name.
“You said in class you didn’t know specifics about how wrestling matches were… staged, arranged, whatever. That was the truth?”
Robbie nodded. “I don’t know all the details of how things went, even though I grew up around it. Sometimes what my dad used to talk about, I don’t know how much of it was the truth and how much was kayfabe.”
“Kayfabe?”
“Basically, it’s everyone pretending all this going on in and around the ring was real, not planned out in advance,” Robbie said. “It’s maintaining the illusion, sort of like when magicians act like what they’re doing is real. When you lie for a living, the lies mix in with the truth enough it’s hard to tell which is which.”
“So, assuming you’re not dealing in… kayfabe, you think you might be able to find out the information? Or maybe you should drop the whole thing.” Peter retorted.
Robbie was silent for a while, leaning over and gazing at his feet before responding. “I might lean toward doing the latter. A lot of that shit… it’s tough to even think about.” He got up from his chair. “I need some air for a moment.”
Peter looked around the room after Robbie walked out. “What was that about…?”
“It isn’t your fault, Peter,” Artie said. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what, Artie?”
Artie shook his head. “All those guys we were talking about? They’re all gone.”
“Wh… what do you mean, gone?”
“All dead,” Benjiro said. “His dad, his three uncles, his grandfather, they’re all dead. Everyone except his sister and those two cousins.”
“All of them?”
Artie nodded. “I’d seen some stuff on YouTube and I think maybe Word Television’s series on wrestling. Almost all of them died one way or another… even his brother.”
“His brother died?” Harmony said.
“Look up John William Traynor III,” Artie said.
Harmony glanced down at her phone and tapped at it for a minute. “John William Traynor III, better known as ‘The Lion’ Jackie Ryder… oldest son of professional wrestler Jack Ryder. God, that’s depressing.”
“Okay,” Peter said, getting up from his chair. “Right. I’ll talk with him.”
#
One More Thing…
Just remember, next weekend will be the debut of The Writing Lab! On the third weekend (almost always Saturday) of the month, I will be posting a short essay focused on writing advice or something about a writing difficulty I’ve overcome (or perhaps haven’t overcome 😅). I think I’ll start off with a short series on something I’m wrestling with at the present: the revision process.
In addition, tentatively scheduled for 7 p.m. Central Time for that Saturday, I will be hosting a live AMAAW (Ask Me Anything About Writing) on Substack Chat. You can find me on Substack at @jasonliegoisauthor to join in. If you’re looking for some writing advice or just want to bounce some ideas off me, I’m open to it. Hey, try and stop by so I’m not talking to myself, will you? I think it might be fun.
While I do appreciate you following this blog, I really would like you to subscribe to my Substack page. By subscribing to that page, you’ll not only be receiving my Substack newsletter, The Writing Life With Jason Liegois (the companion blog to this one), but you’ll also be signing up for my email list. Just click the button below.
- I get very superstitious about putting out the actual titles of my projects until they are ready to be released and ready to go. So, you get these weird titles. ↩︎
- As always with these works in progress, I warn the following excerpt can and will contain spoilers for the plot of this project, so take a break from the blog this week if that’s really important to you. ↩︎
