Lincoln Storm posed in the middle of the ring before handing his shining championship belt to the referee. He leaned back on the turnbuckle and waited for his opponent. After twenty seconds, a nu metal song started playing over the straining sound system of the high school gym. Five seconds after that came the faint sound of a voice yelling “track 8!” Finally, there was the buzzing noise of a CD player skipping followed by a slightly different nu metal song.
A man in a worn and ill-fitting black suit announced the competitor’s hometown (not his real hometown), his weight (not his real weight), his height (only exaggerated by three inches), and finally his name (not the one on his driver’s license). The man who was mostly not himself burst into a sprint, slid belly first into the ring, and jumped into a fighting pose; his right shin was bleeding from scraping the ring apron during his slide.
While the ref delivered his instructions, Lincoln attacked his opponent. Trapping him in a headlock, he whispered, “You went with Falcon Andrews, huh?”
The bell rang.
Andrew Młynarczyk (AKA Falcoln Andrews) replied, “I thought it would be cool if they chanted ‘Falcon A!’”
“You’re such a dork,” Lincoln replied working the hold. “All right, shoot me off, tackle, drop down, leapfrog, hiptoss.”
“You going to Applebee’s tonight?” Andrew asked, pushing out of the headlock.
“Naw, I’m subbing at Lakeside Prep tomorrow,” Lincoln said, running the ropes.
“No way! My sister goes there!”