[Commentator 1: Can you imagine this is Lee Ray’s son’s first pro match?]
[Commentator 2: Where better to do it than right here at the Mexican Impact Association!]
The racket of the crowd on the inside of the arena exuded intensity that could be felt by all in the building.
The Arena Coliseo in Mexico was everything for regulars.
The blinding lights hovered over the ring, piercing through the theatrical atmosphere that had draped the mat for more than 50 years. That mat had been covered with the blood, sweat and tears of legends.
The night was charged with a certain excitement. There was a certain expectation from the fans that a spectacle was upon them, something that only a beginning to a career could bring.
In one of the corners of the squared circle was Ray Jey, his arms showing their veins as he held the top rope. At 21 years old, he was an athletic man with the body of a middleweight, dressed in a plain outfit of black trunks and kickpads...the usual starter-pack gear.
His chest rose and fell as he bounced up and down on his feet, attempting to control the adrenaline that now circulated through him.
The noise of the crowd was overwhelming... Spanish chants, pounding feet and the cardboard signs of the local fan.
His opponent was Hector "El Bufalo" Vargas, a veteran of the Mexican wrestling circuit who had been around the ring for 15 years. Vargas was tough, and didn’t give a shit about the lineage of the kid across from him. He had a thick chest and had a shaved head, with eyes that had been exposed to all the tricks, traps and shortcuts this harsh industry had to offer.
The man, the myth, and the legend was standing outside at the ring-side.
The name of this man was Lee Ray.
He was carved into the Mount Rushmore of the land of Mexican pro-wrestling. Now, he was old, had injured knees and had scars on his back resulting from multiple surgeries... but his eye for talent remained as keen as ever. He offered no smile or no wave to the crowd, there was only a focused look, fixed squarely on his son, Ray Jey standing in the ring.
A small man in a vertically-striped shirt was the referee. He called for the bell.
The metal rattle of the bells shattered the chatter and shrieks of the arena. Ray Jey and Vargas turned the ring into a must-watch as they circled the middle, the ring mat squeaking beneath their boots. They lunged forward, locking up in a classic collar-and-elbow tie-up.
The effect made a loud cheer from the fans, that reverberated throughout the building. Vargas immediately came out the bigger man and bulldozed Ray Jey backward into the turnbuckles. The referee stepped in and counted to signal for the break. Before he could go into the final set of counts, Vargas took a step backwards, but not before giving Ray Jey a hard chop on the chest with an open palm.
The crack it made sounded like a pistol was fired. Ray Jey gasped loudly, a crimson handprint immediately blossomed over his chest muscles. The crowd broke out in a synchronized "Oooooh!"
Vargas smirked but Ray Jey didn’t back down. He was dropped into the reality of pro wrestling by the sting. It quelled whatever jitters remained from the start of the bell and replaced them with pure focus.
They squared up again.
This time, Ray Jey passed through, under Vargas’s fat arm and effortlessly went into a tight waist-lock. Vargas threw a back elbow at him to break the hold but Ray Jey put his weight firmly on the ground and made a perfect German suplex.
The manoeuvre was executed quickly and was a surprise to all in attendance... except Lee Ray.
Angered by this, Vargas scrambled to his feet and charged at the rookie. Ray Jey sidestepped, grappled Vargas’s arm and used his own momentum to drive him to the mat.
A Japanese arm drag.
Vargas had barely gotten to his feet when Ray Jey came running at him then jumped in the air with his legs tucked together, and hit the veteran with a corkscrew dropkick that twisted him around like a fan blade. It sent him flying off the ground.
[Commentator 1: Can you imagine Ray Jey isn’t even Mexican?]
[Commentaor 2: Wow! We would have never thought that. He’s certainly moving like he is]
The tempo picked up, stressing the cardio systems of both men. Ray Jey’s offense was a gorgeous amalgamation of his father’s rigid and technical catch-wrestling, and the acrobatic, high flying lucha libre Jey acquired during his training in wrestling school. He was a blur of movement as he ran into the ropes, dived, rolled, and striked from all angles.
Experience is a hard master, though. When Ray Jey was trying to springboard from the second rope, Vargas simply moved out of the way. The air flew out from Ray Jey’s lungs as he hit the canvas ribs-first.
Vargas wasted no time in following through. He jumped up and stomped his way through Ray Jey’s bare back, forcing the air even farther away from the rookie’s lungs. The game was a methodical demolition job for the next 10 minutes.
Vargas dialed up the agony tenfold.
He used submission holds...the grounded abdominal stretch, heavy chin lock and the punishing bow and arrow. No matter how hard Ray Jey tried to get away, Vargas would chop him right in the middle of his chest or hit him in the back of the head.
Both men were coated in sweat, which dripped off them onto the mat. Ray Jey’s sight went out of focus. It hurt to breathe and he had a stabbing pain in his ribs. He was being pulled into deep waters by an old timer who had a knack for drowning young talent.
Vargas was able to whip Ray Jey into the ropes. Vargas threw a huge lariat as Ray Jey bounced back towards him.
But instinct took over.
Instead, Ray Jey bent down, sliding under the swinging arm. He was up almost immediately, he jumped up and grabbed Vargas around neck, sending his head into the mat, with a spinning DDT.
The two men were lying still on the canvas. The standing ten count that the referee started was being repeated by a large amount of fans in attendance.
One! ... Two! ... Three!
Ray Jey was rolling onto his belly, getting up with shivering arms. He peered through the ropes. His eyes met his father’s, but he could not really see him clearly, because he was exhausted, in pains, and sweat was entering his eyes.
Lee Ray was standing with his hands clenched. The legend’s voice cut through the general chants of the crowd, as he leaned forward towards his son.
"Get up, kid!" Lee Ray barely shouted, his crunchy voice echoing with definite power. "You’re not done yet! Stand up and complete the match!"
Six! ... Seven!
Pushing himself up using the lowest turnbuckle pad, Ray Jey got to his feet. Vargas was also climbing up, shaking the DDT off his head. The veteran was looking a bit shaky on his feet. He stumbled, making a crazy, desperate attempt at a right hook.
Ray Jey caught the wrist, twisted it, and drove a stiff knee into Vargas’s gut. The veteran fell to his hands and knees. This was the exact time that Ray Jey wanted to arrive. He had worked on it a thousand times in the damp gymnasiums.
Ray Jey backed up into the opposite corner facing Vargas’s back. He fixed his gaze on the bottom of Vargas’s neck. He took a deep breath and ran towards the veteran.
[Commentator 2: He’s going for it! I hear he calls it the--]
With speed, he fired his whole body sideways across the canvas, almost like a human missile. He pressed his right arm close to his chest, showing the knobbly bone on the back of his elbow.
SMACK
It was the sickening sound of bone against bone that echoed throughout the arena. The veteran was knocked out cold, lying completely still on the canvas just as Ray Jey’s elbow gave him a solid slap on the back of the head.
[Commentator 2: The Rayyyy Gun!]
It was devastating. A perfect combination of punishing and precise attacks.
Ray Jey showed no hesitation. He hooked both of Vargas’s thick legs, tightly towards the veteran’s shoulders, and pressed his own weight down on him for the pinfall.
1!
2!
3!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
[Commentator 1: He’s done it! He’s done it!]
It was a moment filled with joy. The referee lifted Ray Jey’s tired arm in the air.
Adrenaline, relief and great pain all rolled into one, washed over the young wrestler as he fell back against the ropes.
He had done it. He had been through the fire. He’d proven himself to be more than just a popular legacy name.
He got out of the ring, his boots landing on the padded floor. The fans were reaching over the steel barricades, trying to pat his shoulders. However, Ray Jey had eyes for just one man at that moment. He pushed past a cameraman, limping toward the ringside apron where his father stood.
Lee Ray glanced at his son.
Lee Ray’s wrinkled face lit up. He nodded, putting out his hand and showing off his boy. This was the final approval, the one that a rookie could only dream of, from a legend of the game.
Ray Jey smiled back, reaching out to grasp his father’s outstretched hand.
Their hands never touched.
The happy expression on Lee Ray’s face turned to something stiff and unrecogniseable. He looked around slowly, his eyes dilating. The legend cried out sharply as his left hand grasped the middle of his chest. His fingers were gripped tight in his shirt, twisting the cloth as his face became pale.
"Dad?" Ray Jey asked, his smile faltering, the adrenaline of the match instantly turning to ice in his veins.
Lee Ray didn’t answer. His knees buckled and he came crashing down onto the padded floor of the ringside at Ray Jey’s feet, his body convulsing violently.
The deafening noise of the Arena crowd faded into a muffled whisper in Ray Jey’s ears, it was replaced by the sound of his own frantic heartbeat as he dropped to his knees beside his father.
"Dad?"