Boots Martin vs. Psico

BOOTS TO HEARTS
EPISODE ONE: DO WORK

Here we go. We rolling?

Fine. Then let's get everyone up to speed.

Three weeks. Three weeks ago I learned about Elysium, a wrestling promotion with Finale at its head. A chance for me to escape my three-year exile in Los Angeles, wrestling for the underground women's deathmatch promotion American Hardcore. An exile brought on by me being blacklisted by nearly every mainstream promotion after I got involved in a sex scandal involving one of wrestlings biggest married couples. But Finale knew the people who had trained me... all of them, not just the one I'd been caught sleeping with, so I figured there was a chance that he might take a risk on me simply based on my wrestling pedigree, and overlook my bad press.

I was right.

I was signed & flown over here to Ireland, the sight of my first booking for Elysium. Simple, right?

Should have been.

See, what happened next, what should have just been a few days wait, turned into much more when the upcoming event was delayed. I was alone, lonely, sitting in this hotel room in a country full of alcoholics where I didn't know a soul. It's not good for me, as my past has shown, to be lonely & bored.

I should have just flown home to Detroit.

Instead, I got into a conversation with an infamous wrestling reporter over social media. One thing led to another, and now you lot are here. A reality television camera crew, who I apparently agreed to have follow me as I start my career in Elysium, all of which will be turned into an episodic web series for The Baumer Network called 'Boots To Hearts'.

Catch all that? Everyone up to speed so far?

Good.

So, here we are, in Dublin. in nine days, I step into a wrestling ring... one where the canvas isn't permanently stained with blood... and I face my first ever opponent outside of American Hardcore. A masked man named Psico. Very clever.

Now, Mr. Psico, I recently watched your Elysium introduction video. I hope you've watched mine. Because I want to talk to you... and thanks to the magic of my new permanent companions here, to all of the internet wrestling community... about work. Yes, work. It's a concept that I think is at the center of this narrowing circle between us, Psico... a circle that will close in on us completely in just nine days.

Because all I've ever known is work, masked man. As a teenager, determined to graduate high school & enroll in the best wrestling school I could find, I worked several jobs to save up the money I'd need for that endeavor. I pumped gas and waited tables... in the heart of downtown Detroit... for years to achieve my goal. And I did.

So when I was 18 I took that money and I drove to Toronto, where I enrolled in a 2-year wrestling school. A school with the prestige that would not only give me the tools to do what I do in that ring but that would carry the pedigree to open doors when the time came. And I worked my ass off. I learned my lessons well & people started to talk about the young rising star in the city by the lake.

Yeah, this was also the moment when I made a mistake. The mistake. The biggest mistake of my life, the one that made people question if I'd actually earned it, or if I'd slept my way to the top of the class. If you're one of the people who's asking yourself that very question, Psico, then you'll have your answer in nine days.

Anyway, so three years ago, I graduated, three years ago, the scandal hit, and three years ago the doors that were supposed to open did not. So I went into exile, to the only promotion that would have me: American Hardcore. And that's where I've been until now... three years. I won't feel bad that you haven't heard of American Hardcore or have seen any of my matches there... few outside those who wandered into the wrestling shows held in that that former department store in downtown L.A. ever have. Here's what you need to know... I fought there, won & lost there, bled buckets there. I worked there. Worked hard.

And here's the thing, Psico... I get the impression that you really don't like to work. You like cartoons & porn, not necessarily in that order, but not so much work. In fact, you chose Elysium over other promotions where you thought you'd have to work harder to get to the top and chose Elysium specifically because you decided that beating any of its champions wouldn't take much in the way of work to accomplish.

So I can only imagine how your heart must have sunk when you realized that you'd drawn me both of our Elysium debuts. In fact, it must drive you nuts, crazy man, huh? Because surely even you know, as plain as day, that while you might be bigger, stronger, maybe even more experience or as equally well-trained... there's no way in hell you're gonna out-work 'Born To Kill' Boots Martin on her worst day, let alone when she's got something to prove, which will clearly be the case in nine days here in Dublin. And that'll be the difference maker. I'll do what you're not willing to... the work. And it's gonna pay off in that ring. Bring everything you've got, Psico... although I'm not sure that you have much more than crazy, and crazy doesn't scare me in the slightest. I hope I'm wrong... I hope you and I put on a clinic and steal the show. But you'll never outwork me, you'll never outlast me, and I'm gonna be the one standing when the night's over.

Frontline. Dublin. Martin Vs. Psico.

It's just not going to work out very well for you, masked man.

BOOTS TO HEARTS
EPISODE TWO: NOT PLAYIN'

Roll film, lackeys.

Alright, here we go. Live from Dublin, going out to the Elysium fans and the Baumer Network viewers, another installment of Boots To Hearts.

Let's cut to the chase. I guess since nobody has seen Scott Free for years and Deadpool was a hit at the box office, somebody in the wrestling game would come forward with the idea that being the most creative in the use of curse words and toilet humor would be the way to go, and lo and behold it would appear that I just got him in my Elysium debut. Happy day for me. Just a heads up though, both Free & Wade Wilson did it better, Psico. Seriously, find a new shtick. I mean, I usually don't give a fuck how my opponents want to promote the match, so long as... to quote the redheaded bitch, they 'put asses in seats'. But really? It's 2018 and the best you can come up with is creative swearing, dick jokes, and misogyny?

Then again, you are the self-professed laziest man in wrestling, so I guess expectations shouldn't run much higher than that. Fuck me. Finale knows who I am and where I came from. Booking this match is either a cruel, sick joke or it's a test. Maybe a punishment. Doesn't matter. The outcome is going to be the same regardless.

What I do think is funny is the fact that this idiot thinks he's playing chess. Cool. Believe that. Can't remember the last game of chess that ended with some masked fucker getting his face driven into the mat by my boot, but I guess there's a first for everything. Of course, it's much, much more likely that this cartoon character is in actual fact making some sort of reference to a sort of 'verbal' chess... thinking that his schoolyard vocabulary and 'edgy' attitude somehow give him an advantage once we step into that ring... an idea seemingly backed up by the fact that I haven't gone off and watched his promos from other promotions.

His promos from other promotions?

Let's get one thing perfectly clear here... I give zero fucks about your promos from other promotions. I pretty much give zero fucks about anything you have to say here and now, Psico. See, while I appreciate that I need you to say something... anything... in order to help promote our match, get eyes on the screen, make money for the promoter which in turn means money and opportunity for me... if you believe for one single second that any of this act of yours, anything you have to say or whatever this clown of a character you've decided to portray yourself as actually makes a lick of difference once we're in that ring and that bell rings?

Give me a fucking break.

Your shit is tired, and this is the first time I've ever heard you open your mouth. I'm sure there's a crowd that your shit plays to, but it's not the true fight fans, the people whos respect I intend to earn. You're the mid-card comedic talent at best, masked man. The position once solely held by midgets and wrestling bears. You're the piss break, the beer run, the smoke outside the arena. You could serve as Elysium's gatekeeper, but I hear that jobs already been filled. Nonetheless, I'm sure you have a role to play here, but it's not on the same path as mine. There is literally no scenario, outside of this being both of our debut matches for this company, where any promoter worth their salt would actually book the up-and-coming hungry young lioness against the misogynistic, fart-joke clown character.

That's just a fact.

So here's what's gonna happen. I, having said my piece and done my duty to sell tickets, will send this Baumer Report camera crew home after this clip, as I won't be needing their services again until after Frontline and Dublin. That will allow me to get down to... and here comes that word you hate so much again... the real work. I'll do what I've been trained to do and work my gameplan right up until you're left laying on your back staring up at the light. You, on the other hand, will play some more verbal chess. For you, it's less about selling tickets and much more about loving the sound of your own voice and the misguided thought that your dick jokes are in some way clever, and so you'll talk. And as bad as your little routine is, it's the best thing you can bring to the table, so have at it.

You'll toss some more baseless insults around, you'll call me ugly like my appearance has anything to do with what I'm going to do to you when that bell rings, and you'll talk about your dick some more. Probably a lot more.

But eventually, in just a few days, we'll be in that ring. And it's not gonna take long for me to change your tune on the value of hard work. Because you did get one thing right, Psico. I have worked hard, for years, and have little to show for it because I was working in a small, regional promotion with no TV deal. Shedding bitches week in and week out with little to no payoff. Working harder than you ever have, and knowing almost no one would see it.

I'll let you think about what that does to someone. What it does to someone who only ever wanted to be great in this sport and to earn the respect of fans who instead spit on her because she made one bad decision and tarnished the shine of one of their idols.

Chess?

Fuck that, Psico. I'm not playing games. I've got one shot at this, under the bright lights, with the cameras on and with everybody watching.

Play time was over the second this match was signed.