In an alternate universe…. maybe…… perhaps…. you’d have spent months training your body for the rigors of in ring battle and redemption. There would be an endless stream of cuts and bruises, preparing yourself to take your bumps, and give as good as you get. However: you know that real wrestling takes place in the emotional center of the minds of the rubes who want to be enraged, and have their own personal petty human dramas redeemed in the ring by steroid destroyed minds pretending they can improvise a hype interview without coming off as a completely insane potential criminal who should be incarcerated for the benefit of all polite society. As such: you spend three months meticulously drafting legal forms to be filled out on the fly to suit every possible legal/wrestling eventuality you could expect to encounter in the NOW ring. In other words; you’ve driven yourself stark raving mad with paper-work. A glint of un-adjustable madness gleams from your heavily bagged eyes. An air of potential axe-wielding rampage surrounds your aura. You don your pre-de-stitched bargain store suit, your permanently glued moustache, your now necessary-due-to-endless-hours-staring-at-a-computer-screen-documenting-documents-conceived-in-your-legally-damaged-imagination-station glasses; and your trusty briefcase filled with the necessary documents demanding the commissioner of the NOW league institute you as its newest member immediately. Well, of course your entire disturbing demeanour impresses him so deeply that you are instantly awarded a match a week away from the current day. You are so massively engrossed inside the Canadian legal system at this point you no longer feel the need for a Process Server Manager. You can take care of all eventualities yourself. You can issue a restraining order against the ref yourself and then cram assault and battery law suits in your opponents face while the ref struggles to free himself from the legalese.
The day of your first match is exhilarating. You make your epic entry into the ring waving a child support document with the blanks left unfilled, threatening to add the names of every fan in attendance. The frightened boos fill your soul with power and joy. The smarminess spreads into your face and the worst, most despicable shit eating grin grows beneath your spiral jungle mustache. You have won this battle. The crowd hates you! Your career is bound to success!
As you place your suitcase within easy reach in your corner of the squared circle, trying to conceal the outward expression of triumph, you hear 3 loud gavel smacks emanate from the speaker system. A disturbingly well paced courtroom metal song with typographer percussion begins as you see your opponent march purposefully towards you. He carries a thick document which he slams into your unsuspecting hands. As you desperately try to grasp what is happening, you realize that you have been pitted against another lawyer character who has been climbing the ranks of the NOW league for years. As you grapple with the legal ramifications of this copyright infringement law suit from the wrestler known as “Sal the Solicitor”, you are blind sided from behind by a bevy of police officers, who, after deftly slamming you to the mat face first, hand cuff you while citing criminal violations based on in-numerous legal errors soaked throughout the summons and law suits you had been sending your opponent throughout the build up to this match. You have no time to consider your massive mistake made in not hiring a licensed lawyer to draw up your imaginary legal documents as you scream that being slammed face first does not constitute a legal pin, and demand the ref intercede. If he weren’t howling with laughter at your jungle explorer moustache, he might have intervened.