THE SCENE: STRUGGLE Pro headquarters in the closed-down Blockbuster location next to the arena. Acting company president Nate Ruggle, looking like he hasn’t slept in days – because he hasn’t – sits at a desk covered in receipts and invoices, desperately trying to figure out a way to keep the company afloat during the COVID-19 health crisis. He has now reached the point of last resort: Calling his his mom and asking for money.
NATE: Look – No, mother, there is nothing left! Between replacing the wiring and – No, we couldn’t leave it alone! It was a fire hazard! But between that and the pipes, I’m wiped out!… No, we couldn’t just ignore the plumbing problems! The basement was full of sewage! It was a river of shit!… No, we couldn’t just close the door!… Yes, mother, yes I know that Stevie always found the money. He found it by laundering it for the mob! Hell, not even the mob, more like eight different mobs!… No, that’s not just a rumor, it’s why he’s in prison!… Christ, you had to pay half of them back yourself!… What!? No, it wasn’t a bank loan! A bank doesn’t ask you to repay a loan by going to a parking garage at night and handing a briefcase to a guy named “Vlad the Bull!”… His legal defense fund!? There’s nothing to defend!… No, it’s not that I have no faith in the legal system, it’s that he was guilty as hell, and exposed himself to a judge!… Mother! He’s not a “good boy!” He tried to bribe a 75 year old judge with sexual favors!… No, no, no, the liberals didn’t make it up, there were witnesses and a security camera!… No… No, we’re not doing this right now… NO! Goddammit, I am hanging up this phone!… Love you too, bye.
(Nate throws his phone down on the desk and lets out an exasperated sigh, then looks up to see STRUGGLE head booker/producer/building supervisor/etc. Uncle Abdul standing in the doorway, looking both concerned and highly entertained)
ABDUL: So, uhhh… Bad news, boss?
NATE: Yeah, you could say that. We’re fucked, Abdul. There’s no more money. We were this close to actually turning this thing around, but there’s no telling how long everything’s going to be shut down, and we simply don’t have the cash to keep the company running while we can’t run any shows. It’s over. At this point, it’s all a question of whether or not selling the ring and the title belts – which we never even used – can get us enough to pay the rent we still owe.
ABDUL: Okay, first of all, stop it. We’ve always figured this shit out before, and we’ll figure it out this time. Second of all, you might wanna walk back this “can’t run shows” talk.
NATE: What? Are you crazy!? We’re in a global pandemic! People are dying by the thousands! Have you even seen the news lately?
ABDUL: Well, yeah, but have you seen the news today?
NATE: Not following you.
ABDUL: Ah, shit… Just gimme a minute here…
(Abdul turns on the TV and spends like five minutes positioning the antenna so that something resembling a human can appear on screen for more than three seconds)
NEWS ANCHOR: …And in local newsszzzzgghbrbrbrbbrbr
ABDUL: Goddamn digital bullshit!
(He spends another minute or so moving the antenna to different parts of the room)
ANCHOR: …After Tri-State Area provisional governor “Fast Eddie” Gambino announced-bbbvvvrrxxxnnkkk
ABDUL: Motherfucker!
(more antenna wiggling)
ANCHOR: …ordered local strip clubs and casinos closeddddzzzbbrrbrbrbr… angry mob stormed the governor’s mansskzkzkzkz…
NATE: Wait, what!?
ANCHOR: …burned to the groundzzkzkzk… torn to piecessszzkkzkz… critical conditionnznznz…
(Abdul finally gives up and turns it off, while Nate sits silently, slack-jawed in shock)
NATE: So… What the hell is going on right now? Are we going to die?
ABDUL: No. Well, I mean, eventually, but… Never mind. Look, the government shut down the casinos and strip clubs. And I know you’re from the North End, where people have families and hopes and dreams and all that shit, but here in South Central, that’s all these people have! Gambling, titties, and wrestling, Nate. And now two out of three are gone, and society’s coming apart. Wrestling is the only thing that can save this godforsaken place from itself! We have no choice here. Besides, the old folks’ bingo has been cancelled for the near future, and they’re willing to cut us a deal on rent for the duration.
NATE: Well, okay, but what about the pandemic? What about social distancing?
ABDUL: Shit, have you seen the people that attend our shows? Half of ’em have so much alcohol in ’em that their blood is effectively a sterile solution, and the rest already have so many damn diseases that there’s no room for any more!
NATE: Okay, that sounds like a slight exaggeration, but even if people attend, the wrestlers… Abdul, I’m not going to force the talent into a dangerous situation.
ABDUL: Eh, it won’t come to that. I figure the roster’s an even split between stupid and crazy, and there’s only a couple in high-risk groups, so we should have enough volunteers. If we don’t, we’ll just see who wants to put on a hood and wrestle twice. Besides, back to the audience thing, do you really think any living thing – be it viral, bacterial, or otherwise – could survive in Ross Coke’s bloodstream? Or Reverend Freakout, or PARTY TIGER, or Lil’ Xeljanz, or you know, hell, I could sit here naming people for an hour.
NATE: Okay, fine. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but I’ll start making calls to see who’s still willing to wrestle. But just… Man, I dunno, this seems…
ABDUL: Does it seem dangerous, unethical, immoral, and like it can’t possibly end well?
NATE: Yeah.
ABDUL: Seems like pro wrestling to me, boss.
NATE: My god.
