"Sure!" you proclaim proudly, "I'm up for whatever you have to throw at me!"
"Good! Now before I spend the dollars necessary to transform you into the fighting freak Northern Ontario so deeply deserves, I need to test out your physical virility. It's obvious you have the theatrical fortitude to commit to character, but can you put a bitch in a body cast? This is what I need to know." Commissioner Harrold motions towards his wife. "Take my wife Clarice here. No really, take her, and body slam her through the floor. Let's see if you can back up your own hype. Put her in a wheel-chair son."
This is it! Your moment of truth, no backing out now. You eye up Clarice, she adopts a practiced wrestler pose, her knees creak as she limbers them into attack stance. Probably an old pro from the circuit. "What a lovely couple," you think to yourself as you reach a firm hand into her crotch and rocket her above your head. She must have osteo, as you are surprised how easily she lifts above your pathetic frame. No bone density. Shattering this shit should be a cinch! You ram her body into the floor and it reverberates through the house with a satisfying shudder. Surely you have proven yourself a MAN! (Or a woo-man... it's up to you really how you want to imagine this.)
"You okay honey? Can you sit up?" Harrold inquires of his wife.
"Oh ya Harry, Bobby-Jayne's a pussy. Didn't even break a hip."
"Hmmmm..." Harrold presses his finger against his lips in thought. "Okay Bobby-Jayne, I like your moxy, but you just aren't ready yet. If you are committed though, I'm willing to send you to Rasslin' University. I'll foot the bill, but you'll have to sign this contract agreeing to take the necessary steps required to become the ultimate off-colour heel in the NOW. It's up to you kid. What will you do?"
