Post by johnnydorn on Oct 13, 2020 3:02:02 GMT
Johnny Dorn stands outside the familiar two-story, beige building of the Schoolyard Tavern, with its black, wrap-around awning and beer garden in the back, and slumps his shoulders. He watches one of the bartenders, Lauren, tape a sign to the inside of the door which reads, ‘CLOSING FOR GOOD THIS WEEKEND.’
It’s the third worst day of his life, the other two coming when John Barleycorn closed across from Wrigley Field in January and when Red Line Wrestling shut a few years ago. At least Barleycorn’s a weed dispensary now so, y’know, silver lining.
“Can’t fuckin’ believe it, bro,” his roommate, Jason, affirms with a shake of his head. “End of an era.”
“No shit, bro,” says Johnny. “Fuckin’ beer virus.”
“Fuckin’ mayor,” counters Jason. “Cuttin’ capacity. Shit’s not a party when a place is only 25% full.”
“Fuckin’ masks,” Johnny spits on the ground, careful to miss the neck gaiter under his chin. “Can’t fuckin’ breathe with ‘em.”
“Fuckin’ right.”
The two look at the ground and solemnly pour a bit of their energy drinks onto the pavement. This has been the way of things across the city since the spring. For a man-child like Johnny, who thrives on the vibrant social scene that Chicago’s Wrigleyville neighborhood offers, every place that shuts is like watching one of his children being taken away.
If he had children, that is. Which he doesn’t. That he knows of.
“So we’ll get in one more good weekend at Schoolyard,” Jason offers. “Close it down right.”
Johnny opens his mouth to answer, but before he can even get a word out, he notices a girl - maybe late 20s, early 30s - scowling at him and Jason as she deliberately walks into the street to avoid them.
“Hey!” he calls after her, matching her scowl with one of his. “The hell’s that look for?”
“You’re supposed to be wearing your masks, assholes!” she yells back, pointing to her own for emphasis.
“Oh are you the Mask Police? What are you gonna do, narc us out on Nextdoor?” Johnny retorts while Jason pantomimes typing on his phone. “Besides, we’re in fuckin’ mourning here.”
Jason points to the sign on the door. “Show some respect for the fallen!”
The girl looks at the both of them, rolls her eyes, and continues down the street.
“Anyway bro,” Johnny continues, “before I was rudely interrupted, I was gonna say not only are we gonna close the Schoolyard down right but we’re also gonna send me off in style.”
“Send you off…?” Jason, confused, scrunches his eyebrows together as Johnny reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his wallet. “What’re you talking about?”
Johnny triumphantly shoves a folded-up piece of paper into Jason’s hands. “Check it out!”
“Tony Russo presents … Cheap Pops Pro Wrestling…”
“Danny Stevenson Carmageddon...yadda yadda...Look at the bottom!”
It only takes a few seconds for Johnny’s Brommander in Chief to go from confused to excited. Jason two-handed shoves his friend, and the man who calls himself ‘Wrigleyville’s Finest’ stumbles back a couple steps.
“Oh no fuckin’ way, bro!”
Johnny responds with a shove of his own. “Fuckin’ way! I’m back in the saddle, baybee! Got me a big bear to wrangle.”
The TBOX Titan shadow boxes a bit, with Jason dodging, weaving, and laughing. His form is awful, and this doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Your thumb’s in the wrong position,” says a man walking by with a black lab.
“Jesus, does everyone have a fuckin’ opinion today?” Johnny exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air.
“Only trying to help, buddy.”
“Yeah well, keep walkin’, that’s how you can help. I’m a pro wrestler, I think I know how to throw a punch, alright?”
The man’s eyes widen in a classic OOOOOKAY expression as he continues on his way.
“Don’t listen to that rando, Johnny, you’re gonna knock this,” Jason looks at the flyer again, “Boston Bennette clean out!”
“Damn straight. It’s been a little bit since I competed but I’m not one to let the skills slip away. I’ve been gettin’ ring ready, gettin’ my game back, and the way I figure it, the only way to put this big sunuvabitch down is with a shot or two of Malört. He might outweigh me, but he ain’t gonna outsmart me.”
“Well he could,” says Lauren, stepping outside for a smoke. “It’s wrestling. Anything could happen.”
Johnny stares at Lauren, then slumps his shoulders and moans. “Everybody’s fuckin’ against me.”
It’s the third worst day of his life, the other two coming when John Barleycorn closed across from Wrigley Field in January and when Red Line Wrestling shut a few years ago. At least Barleycorn’s a weed dispensary now so, y’know, silver lining.
“Can’t fuckin’ believe it, bro,” his roommate, Jason, affirms with a shake of his head. “End of an era.”
“No shit, bro,” says Johnny. “Fuckin’ beer virus.”
“Fuckin’ mayor,” counters Jason. “Cuttin’ capacity. Shit’s not a party when a place is only 25% full.”
“Fuckin’ masks,” Johnny spits on the ground, careful to miss the neck gaiter under his chin. “Can’t fuckin’ breathe with ‘em.”
“Fuckin’ right.”
The two look at the ground and solemnly pour a bit of their energy drinks onto the pavement. This has been the way of things across the city since the spring. For a man-child like Johnny, who thrives on the vibrant social scene that Chicago’s Wrigleyville neighborhood offers, every place that shuts is like watching one of his children being taken away.
If he had children, that is. Which he doesn’t. That he knows of.
“So we’ll get in one more good weekend at Schoolyard,” Jason offers. “Close it down right.”
Johnny opens his mouth to answer, but before he can even get a word out, he notices a girl - maybe late 20s, early 30s - scowling at him and Jason as she deliberately walks into the street to avoid them.
“Hey!” he calls after her, matching her scowl with one of his. “The hell’s that look for?”
“You’re supposed to be wearing your masks, assholes!” she yells back, pointing to her own for emphasis.
“Oh are you the Mask Police? What are you gonna do, narc us out on Nextdoor?” Johnny retorts while Jason pantomimes typing on his phone. “Besides, we’re in fuckin’ mourning here.”
Jason points to the sign on the door. “Show some respect for the fallen!”
The girl looks at the both of them, rolls her eyes, and continues down the street.
“Anyway bro,” Johnny continues, “before I was rudely interrupted, I was gonna say not only are we gonna close the Schoolyard down right but we’re also gonna send me off in style.”
“Send you off…?” Jason, confused, scrunches his eyebrows together as Johnny reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his wallet. “What’re you talking about?”
Johnny triumphantly shoves a folded-up piece of paper into Jason’s hands. “Check it out!”
“Tony Russo presents … Cheap Pops Pro Wrestling…”
“Danny Stevenson Carmageddon...yadda yadda...Look at the bottom!”
It only takes a few seconds for Johnny’s Brommander in Chief to go from confused to excited. Jason two-handed shoves his friend, and the man who calls himself ‘Wrigleyville’s Finest’ stumbles back a couple steps.
“Oh no fuckin’ way, bro!”
Johnny responds with a shove of his own. “Fuckin’ way! I’m back in the saddle, baybee! Got me a big bear to wrangle.”
The TBOX Titan shadow boxes a bit, with Jason dodging, weaving, and laughing. His form is awful, and this doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Your thumb’s in the wrong position,” says a man walking by with a black lab.
“Jesus, does everyone have a fuckin’ opinion today?” Johnny exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air.
“Only trying to help, buddy.”
“Yeah well, keep walkin’, that’s how you can help. I’m a pro wrestler, I think I know how to throw a punch, alright?”
The man’s eyes widen in a classic OOOOOKAY expression as he continues on his way.
“Don’t listen to that rando, Johnny, you’re gonna knock this,” Jason looks at the flyer again, “Boston Bennette clean out!”
“Damn straight. It’s been a little bit since I competed but I’m not one to let the skills slip away. I’ve been gettin’ ring ready, gettin’ my game back, and the way I figure it, the only way to put this big sunuvabitch down is with a shot or two of Malört. He might outweigh me, but he ain’t gonna outsmart me.”
“Well he could,” says Lauren, stepping outside for a smoke. “It’s wrestling. Anything could happen.”
Johnny stares at Lauren, then slumps his shoulders and moans. “Everybody’s fuckin’ against me.”