Oh, that this too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Because in November, right as the deep abjection of my seasonal affective disorder was cranking into high gear, the local booking unfolded into a biting allegory of Alaska’s colonial history.
I was deeply unsettled by this turn of events. I did not expect such depth of concept from this little dog and pony show.
As I descended into my scheduled yearly abyss two months ago, the story was suddenly compelling again. The most slept on wrestler in Area Code Pro Wrestling squashed the much beloved upstart champion. It was magnificent! The ‘Monster from Kotzebue’ Jet Lucas absolutely humiliated the ‘Rad One Himself’ AJ Radical, soundly beating him down with brute force for a clean win. Oh, how I love me some brute force for a clean win!
AJ was thoroughly outmatched. It was a sight to behold.
Now, AJ Radical had been champion for something like eight months. He defended the title in multiple states. Most notably, he channeled deep dark Randy Savage vibes to persevere against all odds and come out on top in a nightmare feud against ‘The Giver’ Jerry Bishop, who is by far the most formidable wrestler in the area code. I wrote about their feud here, here, here, and here.
So in the calculus of wrestling capital, Jet made a huge leap: he shot past both AJ and The Giver to claim his place as the top man in the company!
For one month, anyway.
At the December show, the Monster from Kotzebue came to the ring and cut the most heartfelt promo, the sort of thing you don’t hear often in a failing resource extraction colony. Jet said he would be a fighting champion, and that he would represent the entire state of Alaska, not just its capital, which Jet seemed to think was decidedly mid. He rattled off a bunch of place names he knew the Anchorage crowd would struggle to find on a map–Kotzebue, Kiana, Noatak, Kivalina, Kobuk, Ambler, a bunch of other places–and he described the people of Anchorage as rude, disrespectful, and “unaware of anything.” Amen, I hollered, because nobody ever has the courage to speak honestly about this hopeless city.
Jet’s title reign consisted of soundly bulldozing pretty boy hoss Bryson Axl in the main event of the December show. But then things got really lame. Just as Jet was basking in his win, that twerp cult leader Tyler Payne marched in with his fitness goons and his knockoff Money in the Bank briefcase to take the belt the cheap and easy way.
I was so disgusted, I stormed out in a rage. I will admit it was cathartic to storm out in a rage. In the video it looks like I’m walking out calmly, but I assure you I was ready to break a chair on somebody.
Would pipsqueak Tyler have had a chance against Jet if Jet had been fresh? Doubtful, unless shenanigans were involved, which they usually are with that little punk. But I’ve lived in Alaska for the better part of two decades. This is how things go for those who forge their own paths in this state. Just when you think you’ve got a good thing going, some political hack on a power trip catches you with your guard down and wrecks everything.
TYLER ISN’T EVEN FROM THIS PLANET. But the local mouthbreathers love to cheer for his gimmicky crotch thrusting and yoga party tricks. So the ‘Yoga Ninja’ (as this nerd calls himself) surfed that momentum to get over on a noble warrior with a much more compelling story to offer the area code.
Thoughts and prayers that Big Kotzebue Sexy is not just a chess piece doing the J-O-B for a colonizer with tons of political clout. Let’s hope that in 2023, Jet Lucas makes that smarmy off-planet yoga goober regret ever having the gall to settle in these parts.
As for me, I shall perch atop the ship’s mast with my most fiery sneer, looking down on the crew as we sail haphazard into the stormy night. Those with pure intentions will recognize that I am good luck on the journey, whereas those who need to reckon with themselves will clamor to destroy me.
Relax, it’s a literary reference. You should crack a book sometime.
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