Up and at 'em! Race! Run! Push past the petty peasants, they may sue, but you know you can body-slam any claims of battery they lay against you in a court of the squared-circle. Screw 'em! You can still make it! You can still make it! If you'd been able to grow a mustache, you can rest assured that half a hamburger would have been hanging from its bristles. As is, you smell rancid, and are riddled with filth. As you sweatily round the corner and pull up to your subpoena'd meeting location, "The Plaza Strip", you notice Harrold, the league commissioner, leaving with a giant hulk of a man dressed in a tattered business suit.
You race up breathlessly, "I'm.... we're..... it's me Boris the Barrister!" You proclaim proudly despite your disheveled demeanour. "I'm ready to take on any and all comers!" You keel over and suck some deep oxygen.
Harrold looks you over, and after a moment's pause, "I'm sorry Boris, but here at NOW, we need dependable wrestlers. You know, the kind of character that's always early and ready to rock at all times. We waited 5 hours for you to show up." The large man in the suit behind him chortles. "Okay, we waited five minutes and then decided to fuck it and soak back some brewski's while the fine bovine's of the Plaza Strip got goin' for us you know what I mean? But our day is done, and you missed the boat. If you were committed to the Kayfabe you would have known a Barrister needs to be precise and exactly on time, accounting for everything in perfect six minute slices." He very nearly pats you on the shoulder before another whiff of your enrapturing aroma hit his senses. "You know it's sad kid..... we really needed a barrister character to team up with Sal the Solicitor here. You guys could have been the most amazing tag team." He sighs, and begins to walk away.
You look longingly down the street towards them.