Capitulación

Subordinación

Sumisión

These are the words every professional wrestler must live by. These are the words tattooed across my mother’s chest. A tear drips from my cheek onto my mother’s favorite nightgown as I stare at the wrinkled artwork on her skin. I can’t bear to look into her suffering eyes, no matter how much that big smile on her face tries to hide her pain.

I’m so excited to see your debut! ¡Mi pequeña niña! All grown up and wrestling just like her madre!

I nodded silently as another trio of tears fell from my face. Her tattoo has been with her longer than I have. It isn’t fair. I loosened my grip on my mother’s hands as I worked up the courage to make eye contact with her.

I’m excited too, mom.

My voice trembled slightly. My bottom lip couldn’t hold still. My mother was still stronger than I could ever dream of being.

Go kick some ass!

I nodded along in submission. My mother’s fire hadn’t dampened a bit.

I’m going to try my best, mom.

I barely had time to wipe the tears from my cheek before my mother’s wildfire stirred my spirits.

¡No, al diablo con eso! ¡Vas a ganar!

I couldn’t help but chuckle at my mother’s smiling outburst.

You’re right, madre! I’m going to win, then I’m going to win again, and pretty soon I’m going to be winning so much they have no choice but to give me a championship belt of my own! A real, real, real one, and not just a little spinner!

That’s right, sweetie! Just remember what I taught you!

If they don’t tap out quickly, just go ahead and snap the bone?

Exactly! You’re the..the…..the….

My mother looked off into the distance for a moment. Her thoughtless eyes seemed to lock onto nothing. I leaned in as I spoke softly to her.

Madre? I’m the what?

Suddenly, as if she hadn’t missed a beat, my mom turned back around and locked eyes with me. A big, stupid smile was affixed to her face as she finally finished her thought.

You’re The Mexican Rice Krispy Girl!

I’m….the…..what?

The Mexican Rice Krispy Girl! Snap, crackle, and POP!

I throw my hands up in confusion. I’m sure my face bore the same expression.

¿De qué mierda de cerdo de corral estás hablando, madre?

You’re the Mexican Rice Krispy Girl! You’d look so cute AND intimidating in your mask next to those little elfy boys!

Why am I the “Mexican Rice Krispy Girl”? What does sugary breakfast cereal have to do with wrestling?

You are the latina master of the snap, crackle, and pop! When you lock in the imanari roll, their ankles are going to SNAP! When you break through their defenses with roundhouse kick after roundhouse kick, their brain is going to CRACKLE! When you cinch in that armbar, their shoulder is going to POP out of the socket! So you’re the Mexican Rice Krispy Girl!

I couldn’t help but smile at my mother’s sense of humor.

Is that right?

Of course it’s right! I raised you that way! I raised you to be tough as nails! Trying to step over my little Máquina de Sumisión will leave with you nothing but tetanus and broken bones!

Oh madre, they usually tap out before anything like that happens!

But sometimes they don’t, and that’s always the most fun! Breaking bones and ripping ligaments apart was always your father’s favorite part of the sport! And it was my second favorite part of wrestling, right after winning championship belts!

I roll my eyes.

Oh madre, we don’t talk about that man.

My mother shrugged.

Oh child, I understand. Your father wasn’t a good man. Wasn’t much of a father either. But he was a good wrestler, and a GREAT lover!

MOM!

I facepalm as my mother cackles wildly like a witch riding in the wind. I shake my head from side to side in embarrassment. My brown cheeks probably glowed bright red when I took my hands off my face.

JajajajaajajaajACK-ACK-ACK

I can’t help but cringe as the cackling gives way to yet another heavy coughing fit. Bloody phlegm flies out of her mouth and onto her soft linen sheets as I rest my left hand on her extremely thin arm.

Oh, Miss Gonzalez!

The hospice nurse rushes into the room, her bouncing bosom a welcome sight for my sorry eyes. I take a few steps back so as to allow the shapely blonde nurse access to the bedside area. She daps my mother’s forehead with a wet cloth before using that same cloth to wipe the blood off of my mother’s lips.

Ohhhhhh Miss Gonzalez let’s go ahead and give you something for the pain.

The nurse reached into my mother’s bedside end table and pulled out two orange pill bottles. She grabbed half a pill out of each before putting them on my mother’s tongue and offering her a sip of water from a nearby paper cup.

That will make you feel a whole lot better.

My mother smacked her lips together just after the water washed down the pills and blood.

Gracias.

My mother’s voice was weaker than it was mere moments ago. Mere moments ago my mother’s voice was weaker than it was months ago. Months ago my mother’s voice was weaker than it was years ago. Seeing my mother perish before my own eyes felt like too much to handle. I’m not sure how anyone ever handles it. Maybe they never do, and the pain just eats away at them forever.

As I looked down at the only parent I’ve ever known I felt a tinge of guilt building inside of my stomach. She gave up her whole life to raise me. Her career, her social life, her dreams: she put them all on hold to give me a chance in this world. She didn’t hesitate to drop everything on a dime to keep me sheltered, fed, and out of trouble for 18 years.

Why did I deserve such love? What have I ever done to deserve such a great mother?

I shook the pitiful thoughts out of my head, my red hair briefly covering my eyes as it waved from side to side.

If I wasn’t worthy of such a great mother, I had to BECOME worthy of the blessings she gave me. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I wasn’t raised to whine and complain. I wasn’t raised to give up and fold at the first unfortunate turn. I was raised to be great- and that’s exactly what I will have to become if I will ever be able to truly honor this wonderful woman who gave up her dreams for me.

You better get some sleep, Miss Gonzalez. You’ll feel better after a nice nap, I’m sure of it.

I want to wish my daughter good luck first!

Well I’m certainly not rushing you, Miss Gonzalez.

The nurse began fluffing my mother’s pillows as my mom turned to face me with a pained smile stretched across her wrinkled face.

I can’t wait to watch your debut, honey. I’m going to be cheering my ass off for you on Saturday!

You need to keep as much ass as you can, madre! How else are you going to find a sugar daddy to take you on lavish vacations overseas?

Jajajajaajajaja oh I’m not sure I’m looking for a man right now! Haven’t you heard the news? Your cousin was telling me about how, on the tweeter bird app, they say all men are trash…..and I think the tweeter birds have a point!

Madre, you love men!

No, men love me! JajajajajajaajaACK-ACK-ACK

My smile soured as my mother’s laughter turned into another expression of pain. I took her hand inside of my own as I looked down into her prideful eyes.

I’ll make you proud tomorrow night, madre, I promise.

I know you will, Robyn. I know.

My mother gripped my hand with all the strength she could muster before she let her head lay down on the newly fluffed pillows.

Sleep well, madre.

I squeezed my mother’s hand once more before she quickly dozed off into a drug induced nap. I turned to look at the hospice nurse, who quickly motioned for me to follow her out of the room. I looked back at my wonderful mother before leaning forward and kissing her forehead.

I won’t let you down.

I stepped away from my mother and followed the curvy nurse out of the room, flicking the light off and closing the door some, but not all the way. As the nurse and I walked away from my mother’s room and into the living area, we passed through a hallway decorated with most of my mother’s major achievements.

You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in just a minute.

The nurse nodded understandingly as my gaze fell upon the relics of my mother’s life. The nurse continued to walk down the hall, her footsteps slightly echoing off the wooden floorboards and walling. I approached one of the frames hanging off the wall in the hallway, caressing the slightly dusty glass with my fingertips. Inside the frame sat my mother’s old lucha mask. The very mask that mine was modeled after. The red, the green, the white- the colors of the Mexican flag. My mother was so proud to not just be a wrestler, but to be a luchadora- and she had earned every ounce of that pride.

My eyes drifted across all the championship titles, plaques, and medals fixed to the walls of the hall. It was almost like it’s own little hall of fame, dedicated to my favorite professional athlete of all time. I continued to walk down the hall, appreciating belt after belt and medal after medal. My mother had won each and every one of these on her own, with nothing but blood, sweat, and tears. She pulled herself up by her own bootstraps and put in the hard work needed to be great.

I paused once more as I came across the last frame hanging at the end of the hallway.

I smiled softly at the photo of my mother holding me in her arms. I looked back down the hall, then back to the photograph in front of me. She gave up all her championship dreams for me. It all ended for me…...

No.

It all started for me.

All those savage years of warfare and anarchy, all those championships she won…..she was so happy to give them up to raise me.

And now I can finally understand why.

The quest championships turned her into the woman she was. That journey turned her into the wonderful mother she was. As I stare at this photograph of my mother holding me with that same bright smile on her face, I can finally start to realize the truth.

My mother didn’t give up her glory for me.

I am my mother’s glory.

SOME TIME LATER.....

¡Hola a mis fans! ¿Cómo están todos?

¡Por aquí está todo bien! Hasta ahora, en mi pronóstico, no hay nada más que sol, arco iris, victorias fáciles y destellos. ¡Es genial estar vivo!

On Wednesday night your favorite luchadora is bringing a little latina heat to Moine, Illinois! I’m going to open the show on a Warfare highlighted by some of the all-time greats like Jim Caedus, “Chronic” Chris Page, and Corey Smith- who I almost pinned! I was only half-a-second away! But anyways, I’m on the same card as these legendary names! That’s so cool!

They gave me three opponents, well truthfully I had to bully my way into getting three opponents, but either way I now have three opponents on the flagship XWF show! It doesn’t get better than this!

The men in suits are giving me a shot on the grandest stage of them all and I promised mi madre I would make her proud! As the only luchadora signed to the roster, I have a special torch to carry forward! The weight of Lucha Libre’s tradition and heritage is on my shoulder, but I wouldn’t want it any other way! My opponents might be some mean girls, but not a single one of them is good enough at what they do to keep me from taking them down and making them tap out.

As soon as that bell rings it’s going to be clear that the competition in this match can’t hold a candle to me. Let’s run through the list.

Jessica Tremor- tremor, tremor, tremor. Where have I heard that name before? Oh, I know where! From the cult classic film: ‘Tremors’! Mi madre loved that cinema! It’s a great ring name for you. From what I read about you in my scouting report, the name seems to fit. Petoskey, Michigan might as well be Perfection, Nevada. Neither village has anything going for it, neither can compare to mi illustrious Juarez. Just like those young kids in Tremors, Jessica wanted to get out of that city as fast as she could! She wanted to get as far away as her feet could take her, and then some!

Jessica was able to get herself all the way to Japan, but those kids in Tremors weren’t so lucky! Maybe it was Jessica’s weebish love of anime and manga that got her all the way to Tokyo, perhaps if Kevin Bacon had watched more Naruto he too could’ve gotten away! But alas, he was a cool and perfectly normal kid, so he just couldn’t stomach that weird stuff. Instead, Kevin Bacon found himself fighting for survival against a giant and disgusting worm! It’s all very phallic imagery! GROSS!

But it’s deeper than that! It’s very, very deep! No no, not like that!

It’s really a story about the battle for his soul! Kevin Bacon tries to leave his trashy podunk town, but no matter how hard he tries, there’s always something keeping him from leaving! That’s because the worm is inside his HEART. That’s why it TREMORS! The tremor of his heart represents the slithering worms deep inside of his soul! It’s all very, very deep: but the message is fundamentally simple. You can try to leave your podunk, whitetrash town but your podunk, whitetrash town will never leave you! Where you are from, and I mean where you are really from, it imprints on your soul! Those whitetrash heartworms bury into your heart and go with you everywhere!

And that’s why Jessica TREMORS when she’s inside the ring! No matter if that ring is in Michigan or Japan, her heart is always in the same place. From this scouting report alone I can tell you as a matter of fact that Jessica TREMORS inside of the ring because she’s constantly losing blood! Those whitetrash worms inside of her heart are shaking, seizing up, starving! You’re supposed to keep the blood INSIDE of your body, amiga!

Ay Dios Mio.

I bet you took to Japanese style wrestling exceptionally quickly. You’re billed out of Tokyo and I can only imagine that you fight like it too. Low-brow bleeding fests are all the rage in Tokyo these days, and I don’t care to imagine how much Michigan blood you’ve left between those Japanese ropes. GROSS!

Michigan and Japan are both places of lowbrow wrestling, where the only rule is that there are no rules. Despite the weebish narratives there is no honor, legacy, or tradition in that hardcore psycho-style wrestling. Neither of those circuits can prepare you for warfare with a real luchadora. Neither of those circuits have athletes with my athleticism, my technique, my finesse, or my latina heat!

Lucha libre is something Michigan and Japan can’t prepare you for. Lucha libre is the refined art of freestyle wrestling. Professional bleeders are nothing when they’re trapped between the ropes. Inside of that squared circle, mano e mano, they are limpiada. I have over a dozen submissions at my disposal. I’ve practiced each one for hundreds of hours. I can hit you with a moonsault from any turnbuckle no matter where you are in that ring. All those psychos like Jessica know how to do is swing sledgehammers and bleed out.

The difference between luchadoras like me and professional punching bags like Jessica is that we luchadoras do not need to be creative with weapons to win matches. Do you know why? Because we actually know how to wrestle. I don’t need to be cheered for breaking rules and bones, because técnicos are cheered for breaking records. I’m not excessively violent; I’m excessively excellent. Call me old-school, call me a traditionalist, call me whatever you will: at the end of the day the history books are still going to call me el mejor luchadora!

Frankly, I don’t think professional wrestling’s foremost midwestern weeb has the chops to compete in this fatal fourway. There are rules to this match! That’s not going to play to her strengths whatsoever. If she starts up with any of that weirdo weeb wrestling she’s just going to get disqualified! Jeez, whoever pairs up with her to start the match is probably going to win the whole thing by technicality. Hmmm…...I’m starting to get an idea.

Last time I checked our match wasn’t booked under any variation of X-treme, hardcore, or Japanese rules. It’s just a totally normal match between three debuting women and a larger-than-life roBoBt! So that means no baseball bats, barbed wire, nail tables, light tubes, car batteries, jumper cables, or brass knuckles. There goes half of Jessica’s arsenal! I’m not sure if what she has left in her toolbox will be enough to put three people, or better yet, two machines and a horse girl, away! That’s tough luck, Jessica.

But then again, knowing the XWF, maybe this really will just be a no holds barred anything goes kind of match. There’s going to be three world class athletes and a tremoring weeb in the ring, but only one referee. He may not be able to keep his eyes on all the action at once, and he may even be told to look the other way for chair shots and low blows! We are debuting into the X-TREME wrestling federation after all, ladies. I wouldn’t put it past these bookers to change the rules on the fly to try and get some color out of our beautiful faces. Either way, I’ll be ready!

I’m confident in my abilities to carry me through, no matter what challenges are maliciously thrown my way! I’m pretty sure Jessica can’t say the same with a straight face. As soon as the card was initially announced she was already trying to make alliances to even her playing field! She didn’t like her odds in a triple threat, so she thought to forge a pact weeks in advance. Ha! That’s what passes for hardcore these days? Pffft.

I just had to throw my mask into this match because the fans deserve to watch some real professional wrestling to start off the show! They deserve headlocks, tie ups, and arms drags- the whole shebang! The complete razzle dazzle! The legit luchadora experience! No one wants to see three young women put on some sort of a menstrual bloodshow, at least, nobody worth catering to! That’s weirdo GROSS stuff! Blagh.

That’s not happening on Wednesday night. Nope. No way Jose. I won’t allow it. I got involved in this match specifically to prevent it. I don’t even want to theorize just what Arcana had planned for her debut. If she’s anything like Lycana and, Jesus Christo forbid, Marf, she was probably planning to perform some sort of sicko satanic ritual. Calling on the help of some dark goddess is the only way Arcana can realistically win this match, and that’s borderline cheating at best. Outright foreign interference at worst. Either way, it’s no bueno with me.

Whatever happened to old fashioned wrestlers having good wholesome, 5 star classics? Why does everybody want to get involved with satanic cults and barbed wire nowadays? It’s not only unladylike, it’s downright dishonorable. It’s starting to get repetitive, if not robotic. Chicas, I know you can do better than this. On Wednesday night just sit back and take notes, I’ll show you ladies how the real professionals handle business in the squared circle.

Everyone in this match is making their debut, but when I look in the mirror the only green I see is in my mask and on my tights. But when I look across the ring, I know I’m going to be seeing three long strands of green grass just waiting to be mowed down. I may be a decorated and nationally renowned amateur wrestler, but chicas, there’s nothing amateurish about me! I’ve been running the ropes and jumping from the turnbuckle since I was a toddler! The first time I ever spoke I cut a scathing promo on my broccoli. I was born to be a great pro wrestler!

I was blessed with life by one of the greatest luchadoras to ever walk this earth. Aracana probably sprouted from the afterbith of an incestuous pagan orgy. She’s a real witch’s brood.

I was built to break records and win championships, my mother drilled into me the will to accept nothing less. Mr. BOB was built to process his own buttwhoopings in real time, an amalgamation of BOB’s most unworkable attributes were drilled into him so he can accomplish nothing more. He’s a cog in a rusting machine.

Mr. BOB’s parts look like throwaways and scraps, probably the garbage refuse leftover from the collective failures of BOB’s past. Oh wait, what’s that piece of scrap metal on his upper body....

Is that Bobby Bourbon’s back brace? Uh oh, Bobby’s going to need that back if he hopes to keep carrying Thunder Knuckles through their championship defenses! BOB might be overextending themselves with this collective ‘worst of’ machine. But they shouldn’t worry too much. I’ll be sure to break this two-bit piece of robotic trash into a hundred little pieces until it submits! Maybe BOB can reconstruct a better robot out of it’s loose parts! You know some people do say that the individual parts are sometimes greater than their sum, right? I think I heard Bobby Bourbon mumbling that to himself in the locker room when I went to sign my contract!

But in reality this roBoBt is the last of a dying breed. My trainer told me that this is the only robot to have survived BOB’s fatal recall. What lustrous luck. Anyways, I told him there’s no way that’s true! That it has to just be a guy in a suit. My trainer assured me this robot was as real as they come. I trust my trainer, but still, I am starting to grow a bit suspicious. I know wrestling companies like to exaggerate from time to time, and a six foot seven hundred pound robot sounds a bit larger than life. How far is the suspension of disbelief supposed to go? But if this is real, oh boy, am I going to have my hands full.

Full of metal! I wonder how fun it is to choke out a robot? I wonder how that works exactly? I guess we’ll all find out together on Warfare! Although I might not even have to go that far. My trainer floated a pretty interesting idea: what if the robot has an off switch? Or maybe a secret, hidden off button? I could see a designer putting in some sort of emergency stopping mechanism in case the robot ever got off of it’s designed programming. I wonder where that button is! I wonder how many pieces of metal I’ll have to remove from the robot’s exoskeleton before I find the center of that tootsie pop?

Speaking of tootsie pops...what is with Arcana’s hair?! Haha no I’m just playing amiga!

That’s what mi madre said when she saw Arcana’s photo! That her head looked like a tootsie pop because her pale skin looked thin as a stick and her hair looked candycoated! I had to remind her that I also have a bright and colorful pelo of my own! She said I wore it better, whatever that means.

Aracana, my mother told me that there was no way you could ever beat me. Not if I brought my A game- so that’s exactly what I plan to do. I won’t turn mi madre into a liar. I’m going to break you like the skinny gringo twig you are because that’s what momma told me to do. I don’t mean to look down on you just because you’re wolfgirl junior, but you’re only pento’quatro”, so what choice do I have? I bet it’s more like pento’dos without the high heels, but it is what it is! We all have to pad our stat sheets somehow! Some of us force our way into easy bookings, others play pretend with their physicals like they’re hoping to be signed to the WNBA. It is what it is, I don’t judge! A girl’s gotta eat somehow! Especially those skinny putas!

But I had to ask my trainer- is Arcana a werewolf like Lycana? Or does Arcana just wear a wolf tail and catgirl ears to fit in? He said he couldn’t say for sure, but that he was betting on the latter. How many werewolves could there possibly be in one wrestling company? Would Jim Caedus really make woohoo with a dog? Is that what those two mean by doggy style? I shudder at the thought.

Either way, both real and make-believe canines are easy pickings when you’re searching for submission. Dogs are always looking for an alpha, or something- I don’t know. I was told that the whole ‘alpha wolf’ thing wasn’t real in high school, but the way Arcana obeys Jim’s beck and call makes me think there might be some merit to the theory.

Truth be told, if Arcana is going to go anywhere in this business she’s going to have to learn a thing or four about independence. Jim Caedus and Lycana aren’t going to be there at ringside for her, she’s going to have to learn to forge her own road in the XWF. She’s going to make or break it based on her own, individual, merits. But what are those merits? I think we’re still going to be asking ourselves that very question after she starts tapping the mat on Wednesday night.

They don’t call me the submission machina for no reason! Well, technically the reason is that the XWF marketing team didn’t think that the name ‘La Máquina de Sumisión’ would sell as many t-shirts. But that’s just phrasing, just a bit of translatory window-dressing! It doesn’t change the intent, the meaning behind the phrasing! I am a submission expert. When I am rolling around on that ground I’m so swift and automatic they started calling me the machine. Even in Rio De Janeiro my brazilian jiu jitsu is considered top notch. I can lock in an armbar from any position, I can even get the armbar from bottom after you sprawl! It takes me less than three seconds!

Even if you try to keep the fight standing, I will still get you by the limbs and make you cry ‘Tío’! The imanari roll will snap your ankle rapida if you don’t smarten up and tap the mat. And no, Jessica, we’re not talking sushi! I’ve got all kinds of rolls you’ve never even heard of, let alone learned how to counter. You’re in for a tough match-up when we square up, chica! I might not make you bleed but I will absolutely gut your outsized ego. That’s a promesa!

And no, Arcana, before you even ask- rolling around with Jim Caedus beneath the sheets does NOT prepare you for the machina roll! Even if they both only last about three seconds, that doesn’t make them interchangeable! Ahahahaha.

I wonder what Jimmy told Arcana to get her in bed. Maybe he promised to get her booked for a match she had no qualification to be in- if so, at least he kept up his end of the bargain! When did Arcana even become a wrestler? I thought she was just a side character, a friend of a wrestler, a member of an entourage? Or maybe she’s like Lycana's arch-nemesis or something? I thought for a while she was Lycana’s Fantasia, but we don’t always get the best TV signal in Mexico, so maybe I missed something.

Either way, I’m not scared of her gothic horse-girl aesthetic and I’m certainly not intimidated by the fact that she knows people who know how to wrestle. I’ve more than proven my chops as an amateur folkstyle national champion, and I have enough black belts to keep even Bobby Bourbon’s pants from falling down! Arcana’s magic tricks and ‘powerful connections’ aren’t going to help her very much when I make her arm feel like it’s going to fall off!

But don’t get me wrong- I don’t want to hurt her...not that much, at least! I’m all for a friendly, professional fight between Técnicos! I just need these ladies to know where their limits are! And once I push them to those limits, these ladies need to give up and say ‘GG’! If they make me push them too far, well, that’s how accidents happen! I don’t want to break any bones that don’t have to be broken, but I will do what it takes to win. How far the submission machina goes is solely determined by how hard you try to ward off the inevitable. It’s nothing personal, it’s just business!

I plan on showing the whole wide world what a real submission machina can do in her debut. And I mean a REAL MACHINA, not just a heartless tin wrestler who can’t seem to find his brains or courage. I’m not sure if Señor Bob is just slow, or actually sllooowwww. I mean, have you seen the way he walks around backstage with glazey robotic eyes, one baby step at a time? The more I think about it the more likely it seems that BOB just found an obese man with down-syndrome, stuffed him inside a garbage can, and spray painted his face silver! It would explain why he’s always spending so long trying to process what’s happening in front of him- all the stimulation, all the noises, bright colors- it’s all too much for his limited senses!

It’s a diabolical plan. No one can really say that this DOESN’T sound like something BOB would do. I don’t get to see very much XWF programming in Mexico, but what I do see is BOB doing pretty mean-spirited stuff! Group beatdowns, organized crime, mocking the weak- it’s what BOB’s about! But this is pretty sick stuff, even for them.

They’re probably trying to make noble wrestlers like ME into the bad guy! After I snap Bob’s arm in two, Fury and Bourbon will probably come sauntering down the stage for the big reveal, telling the world that I just beat up a disabled man!

Ugh. Odio rudos.

I guess there’s only one way to find out….

Sorry in advance, Señor Bob.