(PWA) Jatt Starr & Dan Ryan Present: Nosotros estamos luchando en Mexico de nuevo

(PWA) Jatt Starr & Dan Ryan Present: Nosotros estamos luchando en Mexico de nuevo

Posted on June 3, 2023 at 2:44 pm by Dan Ryan

Obsession is not just fragrance by Calvin Klein. There are many types of obsession. Some obsessions are healthy like exercise and a healthy diet. Some are very much unhealthy such as stalking or, as in the case of Jatt Starr, sitting in a dark hotel room in Mexico City, the curtains drawn, the lights turned off, the only illumination coming from the screen from his tablet as he stares at his elimination for the ninety-eighth time, counting from the time his shoulders hit after being rolled up by Joe Bergman to the time Lee Best dropped his hand for the third time. He had timed it thirty-two times and it ranged from nine to eleven seconds. And so, timed it for the thirty-third time….

The shoulders hit the mat, he began the count in his head…One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi…”ONE!”….One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi, Four-Mississ—….”TWO!”….One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi, Four-Mississippi, Five-Miss— “THREE!”. Eleven seconds by his count that time. How he had wished he had a stopwatch.

The HOW Hall of Famer hit pause. Lee Best, a split second before slamming his hand on the mat in frustration, there was an expression on his face as he looked at the Ruler of Jattlantis. It was the same look his father gave him when he dropped a fly ball in the bottom of the fifth during the C.Y.O. Little League Playoffs: Disappointment.

Of course, he was disappointed in himself. Disappointed? More like humiliated. Any wrestler, regardless of experience, should be able to kick out of a simple roll-up in under five seconds, much less ten to twelve.

With a click of the mouse, he began rewinding back to the moment when Joe Bergman started to roll him up.

Had the HOW passed him by? Lee Best no longer held the Mayor of ManJattan in high regard. There was no respect. The only reason the Starrabian Knight was in the Final Alliance was out of pity or obligation. Lee had the Macho Mucho Man Grande (Jatt never did learn his name), Christopher America, Steve Solex, STRONK, and Dan Ryan (Although….). Jatt Starr was an afterthought. He hadn’t won a singles match since January against Steve Harrison. One could say that the reason he was one-half of the HOTv Tag Team Champions was because of Dan Ryan. Perhaps he should just hang up the boots.

The HOTv Tag Team Championship was buried deep in his duffel bag underneath his socks, underwear, and t-shirts. It made him sick to his stomach to even look at it. “HOTv Co-World Champion”?! What the hell was he thinking? He’s no champion. He couldn’t even kick out of a simple roll-up. “World Champion”? More like a “World Class Imposter”.

His phone buzzes. Another text. Probably Natalie telling him that she saw War Games and couldn’t believe she married such a failure or Dan Ryan telling him he wants a new partner or Lee Best kicking him out of the Final Alliance or Darin Zion laughing at him. Fuck. Even Darin Zion was laughing at him and deservedly so (but it didn’t make it right, dammit!). If he didn’t check the messages, then they didn’t exist. At least that was what he had been telling himself.

The Duke of Jattmandu had begun counting his head, he had been so laser-focused he did not hear the knocks on the door. Instead, the door to his motel room opened, and the brightness from the sun caused him to recoil like a vampire. The hotel manager stepped aside and Dan Ryan entered.

The hotel manager flipped the light switch from behind Jatt Starr’s partner. Standing before Dan was the Jattlantic City Idol, dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled, a stubble forming on his face, and he could tell through Jatt’s squinting that his eyes were bloodshot. Cans of varying sodas were strewn on the floor. After a few blinks, a look of recognition crossed the Sovereign of Starrgentina’s face.


DAN RYAN: What the hell, Jatt!

JATT STARR: Don’t. Don’t say anything. I know why you’re here.

The Thane of Starrkarth made his way to his bag sitting on the bed. At least Dan Ryan came to tell him he was kicking him off the team, deservedly so, in person (although he could have texted, Jatt wouldn’t have known). He dug deep inside the bag and pulled out his HOTv Tag Team Championship. He held it out to Dan Ryan, doing his best not to look at it. Zzzzt! Zzzzt! Jatt’s phone went off on the desk, which he again ignored.

JATT STARR: Here. Who’d you get to replace me? Xander Azula? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter, whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be a more reliable partner than I.

DAN RYAN: Put that away! I’m not replacing you. Why would I do that?

JATT STARR: Did you see War Games?! I can’t kick out of a roll-up! A ROLL-UP! What-what-what-WHAT kind of pathetic loser can’t kick out of a fucking roll-up for eleven seconds?!?!?! I suck! I might as well join PRIME where HOW wrestlers go to die. And to-to-to make matters worse, if I still partner with you, we would have to square off against a couple of far-out, outta-sight surfer dudes and-and-and pirates! It’s SEA THEMED! I can’t swim! I can’t even doggy paddle! Take it and go so I can quit HOW with what little dignity I have left….

The Ruler of Jattlantis forced the HOTv Tag Team Championship into Dan Ryan’s hands before he turned around and slowly shuffled back to the motel desk, to his paused tablet.

Dan just stood there for a moment, blinking. Finally, he walked over to his partner, belt still in hand, and tossed it back on the desk where Jatt was sitting.

DAN RYAN: Keep the goddamn belt, Jatt. There’s no time to feel sorry for ourselves. We have a job to do. I don’t care if you tried kicking out of that rollup for ten minutes or twenty or thirty minutes. War Games is over. It’s done. It’s the biggest show of the year but it’s over now. Nothing’s gonna change what happened down there. We are the HOTv World Tag Team Champions. And this week, we’re about to challenge for the PWA World Tag Team Titles as well. We’re well on the road to being one of the greatest tag teams of all time, and… wait a second. What do you mean you can’t even doggy paddle? How is that even possible? Also what the hell is stuck to your shoe?

Dan pointed at a small piece of paper affixed to the side of the Baron of Boca Jatton’s leather slip-ons. Jatt looked down.

JATT STARR: Oh… that’s nothing.

DAN RYAN: You have a piece of paper stuck to your shoe.

JATT STARR: They’re slippers. And these are just some notes I jotted down last week before War Games when I was researching our PWA opponents. You know, before my life was over.

Dan ignored the depressing comment.

DAN RYAN: And you stuck them to your shoe??

Jatt stared at him, blankly.

JATT STARR: Again, they’re slippers. I like to read in bed, okay? They’re my footnotes.

DAN RYAN: That might actually be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and I once listened to an entire Scott Stevens promo.

Jatt’s shoulders slumped so far, they nearly made a forty-five-degree angle.

JATT STARR: Thanks a lot. You’re really helping.

DAN RYAN: Come on, man. You’ve been doing this a long goddamn time and so have I. There are gonna be ups and downs. Things aren’t always gonna go your way. The reason why people like us are still around is that when the shit does go down, we get right back up and come out fighting again. And that is exactly what we’re gonna do. I’m not losing a match to a couple of surf bros and some goddamn pirates. PIRATES, Jatt.

JATT STARR: You know, a week ago my Long John Silver would be at half mast at the thought of making a couple of wannabe pirates walk the proverbial plank, but now? I feel like the poop deck’s poop.

Dan ignored him.

DAN RYAN: I swear if you make a joke about ‘booty’…

Jatt Starr scoffed and shook his head.

JATT STARR: I’m not in the mood for hilarity right now. I’m going through an existential crisis. You think my wife wants to wake up against some Scaramouch that can’t even kick out—–

DAN RYAN: Enough! I get it, alright? Pull yourself together, man. If your wife gives a crap that you had a bad night, well, she’s a dirty, rotten whore, okay? And! AND! Keep in mind, Lee sicked his dogs on me, sacrificed me for the good of the Alliance, and am I sitting around feeling sorry for myself? Hell no! I took it like a man. I did what I had to do. If you can’t suffer for the Alliance, you can’t be Alliance at all. No one is immune. You should know that by now. What matters is what you do with it. Now get your act together and let’s get back to work.

Zzzt! Zzzt! The Starrson City Icon’s phone again.

DAN RYAN: Will you please get that?

Jatt Starr, who was standing before his tag team partner in a robe, pajama pants (stained on the right leg with orange soda), and sticky note slippers shuffled across the room, tossing the championship on the bed, and he picked up his phone. He checked his messages. Six missed calls and twenty-one unanswered texts from his wife. None indicated that she was disappointed in him, and none referenced how much of a loser he was. They were all messages ranging from concern to panic, requesting he contacts her.

DAN RYAN: Let’s go.

As he stared at the phone, the Hero of Jattlanta could feel his eyes burn as they welled up with tears. He could feel his voice crack like a pubescent teen as he spoke to Dan.

JATT STARR: Can-can I make a call first?

DAN RYAN: Sure. And take a shower, you reek.

An emotional Jatt turned his back and headed to the bathroom to call his wife and to take a shower hoping to wash the despair and insecurity away.


Dan had rented out a villa for War Games and added an extra week to the rental. It gave him time to make sure everything was in order before heading back to the States. As he walked through the side gate and passed through the patio area, he glanced up and saw his longtime assistant Phyllis Anderson walking down the stone steps from the upper patio level. He absent-mindedly tapped his finger on a table as he walked by and headed in her direction.

PHYLLIS: How’s the head? Bells ringing?

He shrugged the question off.

DAN RYAN: I’ve been kneed in the head a thousand times, Phyllis. I can take one more.

PHYLLIS: Yeah but… you took four more… at the same time.

He smiled.

DAN RYAN: It’s fine, really. Not even a headache. It could’ve been much worse.

PHYLLIS: It’s a shame though. I thought you had a good chance to come away with the win.

Dan nodded.

DAN RYAN: You never know about big matches like that, Phyllis. I was prepared, I trained, I was ready for whatever was coming, but there are always extenuating circumstances. The goal was to make sure the Alliance came out on top, and we did. Every HOW title is in our hands, and that’s about as successful as you can be in an event like that. It’s not just all about me.

Phyllis shook out the cobwebs.

PHYLLIS: I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say ‘It’s not all about me.’

Dan chuckled.

DAN RYAN: I did.

Phyllis frowned and reached into her sharp business suit’s front pocket, and pulled out her phone. She pretended to type something into it, then spoke slowly, as if multi-tasking.

PHYLLIS: Hang on… I wanted to check my weather app… hmm… let’s see… Well, what do you know? One hundred percent chance of pigs flying.

Dan frowned and rolled his eyes.

DAN RYAN: You’re absolutely hilarious, Phyllis. Truly you are the Milton Berle of our time.

Phyllis smiled, then motioned toward the large sliding glass door which led into the grand dining room of the villa. Sitting in the middle of the room was a rather remarkable and fancy table, befitting the luxury of the surroundings.

The table was large, capable of accommodating a substantial number of guests. Its surface was made of exquisite, polished marble, veined with delicate patterns that lent an air of sophistication and elegance. The smooth, cool surface of the marble glimmered softly under the warm glow of the crystal chandelier hanging above.

The edges of the table were adorned with intricate carvings, depicting ornate motifs and scrolling patterns. The carvings were meticulously crafted, showcasing the skill and artistry of the artisans

The table legs were made of solid mahogany and hand-carved with intricate details, reminiscent of the Mexican colonial era. The chairs surrounding the table were upholstered in sumptuous, plush fabric, carefully selected to compliment the colors and patterns of the dining room.

At the center of the table was a centerpiece, arranged with a crystal vase filled with fragrant flower blooms.

Dan sat at one end of the table, while Phyllis started to sit at the other end.

DAN RYAN: Phyllis, this isn’t Batman, and I’m not Bruce Wayne. Come sit over here so I don’t have to yell at you.

Phyllis smiled and stood back up, then walked over to the chair next to Dan and sat down.

She looked up at him, but he was simply staring at her, waiting. She took her cue and pulled out a manila folder and plopped it down on the table in front of him. At the top of the folder, in black Sharpie was the name “Lindsay Troy”.

He stared at it, frowning, then finally looked up at Phyllis again, but said nothing.

PHYLLIS: Everything is in here. Plans, hotel arrangements, daily schedule, arrangements for PRIME personnel… everything.

He continued to stare, the frown getting deeper.

PHYLLIS: If you want to see her, you’ll know where she is. If you want to avoid her… you’ll know where she is. Do what you want with it.

Phyllis was always thorough, and Dan always appreciated that about her. But sitting there, all he could do is stare a hole straight through her head. After a few moments of silence, he picked up the folder and haphazardly tossed it over his shoulder, where it hit the wall behind him and its contents scattered all over the floor.

DAN RYAN: Cool. What else you got?

Her eyes briefly go wide, then he pulls out two more folders.

PHYLLIS: Oooookay… well… these… are you and your partner’s opponents this week.

These, he picked up and opened, looking inside at the contents of each.

DAN RYAN: The surfers and the pirates.

She nodded. Dan sighed.

DAN RYAN: Alright, get Craig… have him set up some time for training, and get in touch with Jatt. The dude’s going through a bit of a mental crisis lately. I’m gonna work it out of him.

She nodded again and stood up.

PHYLLIS: Will do. I hope you won’t be taking these guys less seriously than you should. Looks can be deceiving, you know.

Dan smiled an insincere smile.

DAN RYAN: Thank you, Phyllis. I’ve been doing this for quite a long time. I’m very familiar with the concept of not judging a book by its cover. I don’t care what these guys do outside the ring. Inside the ring, we’re gonna bash their fucking skulls in.

PHYLLIS: Lovely.

He smiled again, more sincerely.

DAN RYAN: Yes. Yes, it is.

She smiled back and turned, then walked out of the room toward the foyer. Dan sat there for a moment, and as the smile slowly left his face, he glanced over his shoulder at the papers on the floor. His expression deepened into a frown, and he stood up and left.


Jatt Starr had done a lot of thinking since he spoke with his partner in the hotel earlier that morning.

Over the next several days, after more than one long, heartfelt phone conversation with Natalie, Jatt Starr, still feeling like a wretch unworthy of her love, promised himself that he would regain that worth. He did his best to exude confidence but, much like a cockroach to a home, self-doubt crept inside of his brain, not that he would allow it to show through. Especially toward Dan Ryan. When he saw Dan, all he could think of was how Dan’s career would take off without the Sheriff of Jattingham weighing him down. After all, what else did Jatt Starr contribute to the team other than preventing an opponent from breaking up a pin as Dan Ryan covered their teammate?

And yet, today he would show (if not completely believe it himself) that the Rembrandt of Wrestling was back to form.  He sat in his chauffeur-driven ride listening to an espanol cover of a Doors song, the large gift bag resting on the backseat next to him.   He looked out as they came to a stop on a bridge that crossed a small man-made lake outside the arena, and he could feel a twinge of panic as he gazed upon the site of his most recent humiliation. The irony of meeting his tag team partner in the parking lot of the location where the cause of his most recent crisis of confidence was not lost on Jatt.  Right after PWA02, he would be on a plane back to Chicago where his wife would greet him with a big sign (or so he hoped).

Moments later, another vehicle approached. Jatt Starr grabbed the gift box and exited his luxury car and waited. The other vehicle pulled up and Dan Ryan exited. The Starrabian Knight forced a smile.

JATT STARR: Danaconda!

DAN RYAN: Jatt. Are you ready?

JATT STARR: As ready as I can be. Here.

The King of Jatten Island handed the box to Dan.

JATT STARR: We’ve been a team for a while now, and I think it’s high time we make this official. So, I took the liberty to name our team.

DAN RYAN: It’s not some ridiculous combination of our names, like RyStarr Enterprises, is it?

JATT STARR: Of course not! That name was already taken. Go on, open it!

Dan Ryan looked at the box suspiciously as if it were filled with a bunch of snakes ready to spring out in some lame practical joke as Jatt looked on with the giddy expectation of a parent that just gave their child exactly what they wanted for Christmas and was dying to see the look on their face. Dan tore off the silvery wrapping paper and tossed it aside like a common litterbug. He opened the box and pulled out a cream-colored shirt with patterns or cracks as if it were marble and Ancient Roman Lettering that read…..


JATT STARR: That’s our new tag team name. It says we’re invincible.

DAN RYAN: The name is…..

JATT STARR: You don’t like it?! And I suppose “Winds of Change” is such a great name! They’re basically calling themselves farts!

DAN RYAN: I was going to say pretentious and obnoxious, but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter what we call ourselves going into the match as long as we call ourselves the PWA TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS after the match.

JATT STARR: Perfect! I knew you’d love it…

Dan sighed as Jatt turned and pulled out another box, which he excitedly opened.

JATT STARR: …so… I got us these!

Jatt pulled out two full-blown togas, one larger than the other, and two Roman olive leaf crowns.

Dan looked at the togas, then back up at Jatt, then back at the crowns, then back at Jatt again. He raised both hands to the sides of his head and started massaging his temples.

DAN RYAN: Would you happen to have any Advil?

Jatt laughed, then stopped suddenly.

JATT STARR: No, why?

Jatt watched as Dan stopped, sighed, then turned and headed for the door to his limousine.

DAN RYAN: I set up a training opportunity for us. Tell your driver to follow me. Oh…

Dan turned and motioned to his tag team partner one more time.

DAN RYAN: Can I see the togas?

Jatt got excited and happily handed them over. Immediately, Dan took both of them and flung them over the side of the bridge and into the water below.

DAN RYAN: No togas.

Jatt’s face dropped into a pouting expression. He watched as Dan climbed back into his car and flashed an annoyed expression in his direction. The limo door closed, and Jatt mumbled to himself in a mocking voice.

JATT STARR: No togas, no togas. He’s no fun at all.

As the car started to drive away, Jatt saw the olive branch crowns on the ground next to the railing, as they failed to clear it when the contents of Jatt’s box were flung into the water. Smiling, Jatt picked them up, satisfied, and placing one on his head, climbed back into his car, happy.