Bobby Minio

Fun fact, my Mom worked at the Bellagio as a craps dealer when that was the high roller casino in Vegas. She got to meet and bullshit with a ton of celebrities and athletes, including Sgt. Slaughter. Slaughter took a liking to my Mom and started asking her to go out on dates every time he rolled through town. He gave us some swag and some signed glossies... the one he gave me was, "Hey Bobby, be good for your Mom" or something to that effect. I think there was more after that but that was the gist. What he wrote on my Mom's signed glossy though was, "Hey Dee, let's wrestle sometime, no holds barred!" She said he was flirty but respectful and very laid back, funny dude. When he first started asking her to go out she told him she had a kid at home and he immediately said "Is he a wrestling fan?" she told him I was a big fan and he was adamant about bringing me out to dinner too. I BEGGED my Mom to at least go do the dinner so I could meet a fucking CHILDHOOD ICON of mine. This dude was a WWE superstar, a GI JOE, a cartoon character... but my Mom was retarded. She would date dummies and losers and refused to be seen as a gold digger by dating the people she met at work. So now I write ewrestling storylines instead of WWE storylines. Thanks Ma! Random added name dropping but she went to a REO Speedwagon concert with Adam Sandler and David Spade, and had them call me up on her phone afterwards and chat me up. Also, Ben Affleck is a down to earth funny guy and a great tipper, but at this era he was married to JLO, and she would actually reach out and take the tips back off of the table after Ben would drop it, which is why JLO is a HUGE HEEL here in Vegas. Everyone in the casino industry hates her fucking guts, because taking tips off the table like that, and the twatty way she did it, is a huuuuuge faux paux in the casino world.

I have to watch the match after work but we knew that I hit double red somehow, it was discussed on the mic when it happened. I'm struggling figuring out how to be aggressive without hovering. I try to back off a lot but that fucks the pacing up. It's gonna come with time but like you said, I'm actively trying to not be shitty which is making my work in ring shitty. I realized I was being very hovery on a few of those (apologized after the last one too cause that shit was egregious!) but then when I ended up backing off I got smoked with a finisher, haha. So I'm still trying to figure the pacing stuff out, so I appreciate the feedback and people noticing the thought behind my unfortunately slow pace. Minio's style and moveset is something like a Jericho or a Eddie, technically sound, fast paced, high flying offense. I just don't know how I apply the fast pace and high flying part without coming off TOO aggressive or spammy.

Oh literal Raze.

http://i.imgur.com/hcX2Hzt.gif

Just my outsider two cents here but, the faction thing is usually a really good springboard for deep feuds. Either with opponents of the faction or splitting off and feuding with members from the faction. It's early in this season yet so this sort of Riot warzone between C4 and OMG is a good way to get things rolling and we can see the more personal feuds splinter off from here.

"Try and take it, or you can, pry it out my cold dead hand." Muffled lyrics escapes from the confines of the headphones hugging Bobby Minio's head as the scene opens. The light is low, and as the camera comes into focus, we see the all to familiar scene of a window seat on a plane. Coach. The song grinding bass against the sides of Minio's skull is , a moody declaration of determination and dedication that could not be more perfect for the moment in his life. Minio shares his seat aisle with his thoughts, something he is thankful for. He glances to his right to see two mostly empty seats, with the exception of a bag in the seat immediately beside him. He stares out over the night, indiscriminate civilization below him that sprawled somewhere between Grand Rapids and Columbus. It was a puddle skip, a short flight that Minio had opted for instead of renting a car. Driving alone could be an express ticket to injury or worse for a tired wrestler, and with Minio being a newcomer to the OCW roster, he had yet to meet a traveling partner, a necessity for any hard working, over night driver. The bass of the song continued to roar from the headphones while Minio watched the world below, he thought to himself, foolishly, childishly, that he wished state-lines were more prominent to the naked eye. He immediately saw the silliness in the thought, smirking to himself before turning his attention back to the cabin of the plane. Fan: "Hello Bobby. Er... Mr. Minio!" An enthusiastic voice broke the silence, the first interruption of the peaceful world of loud music aside from the occasional cough or sneeze. Minio's safe haven of his empty aisle had been invaded, a man, no older than Minio, was sitting in the aisle seat. He had a shy smile, a star struck look plastered across his face. Minio was caught off guard, he fumbled to pause his music, rolling his headphones back from his head to drape around his neck. Minio: "Hello... stranger?" Minio replied, offering a hand out towards the newcomer. Minio was in social auto-pilot, but when the man quickly returned the gesture with an eager handshake, it seemed to drag Minio's conscious back into the moment. Fan: "I'm sorry to bother you, I just... I was at the show." The man was self conscious about coming off as a fanboy, a mark, it was obvious. Minio attempted to adjust his body language, come off less intimidating, trying to make the man feel welcome in row 8 of flight 946. Minio: "Me too." Minio joked with a casual sarcasm to assist in the attempt to comfort the fan. Fan: "I know you guys like your privacy, I'll make this quick." The fan was speaking fast, he was going about 15% faster than normal. It read in his voice, it read on his face. This was a familiar, yet distant experience for Minio. A fan. A fan who gave a shit. A fan who wanted to respect Minio's privacy. "Where have they been hiding this guy?" Minio pondered as an active commentary on the entitled generation of fans these days. The man found his voice. He spoke concisely, with confidence. Fan: "I remember you." Minio: "Excuse me?" Fan: "I REMEMBER You. Thank you. For years ago, and for coming back. I'm sure you guys don't hear it enough, but thank you." Minio was stunned. He wore a look, close to confusion, over his brow and eyes. The man offered his hand again, which the stunned Minio quickly shook, and like that, the fan had slipped out of the row and headed quickly back to his seat. This was as good as a fan interaction could possibly go. Somehow, the FAN had left MINIO wanting more. Minio smiled to himself, thinking that the most well behaved fan he can remember meeting was someone who had followed his career a decade ago. Something about that was reassuring to him. He slipped his headphones back over his head, hitting play inviting the music to resume. He rested his temple on the cabin of the plane, feeling the impossibly cool touch of the air outside pushing it's way through the window of the plane. "Fuck the landing, I'll man the weapons, and hold the barrel to my own fate." The words battled with the music against Minio's ears. Something about the lyrics, holding the figurative barrel to his fate, it resonated with him. He probably knew that, he probably put that song on for that very reason. While he debated that internally, his mind wandered from the music and he found himself thinking about second chances and their rarity. He was deep in thought now, and not even the digital beep of the flight attendant paging the in-plane PA and detailing their preparations for landing broke his train of thought.

Get ready for Minio picketing the backstage area with "OCCUPY OCW" signs.

I mark out for the double red rule. For heels, this could constantly be a key to the storyline of a match, forces you to target and work specific limbs. Very cool rule.

Thanks guys! I can't wait to get home in a couple of hours and actually read/watch. I've been peaking here at work but it's not getting the justice it deserves. I love reading the feedback on here about the matches though, gives me stuff to look for when I watch them.

fif?

I know this echos my "wah wah I was injured" gimmick but this is the first time in a decade that I've been this excited for a card. Thanks for getting me involved so soon guys.

Minio: "Crowded. It's always fucking crowded." Bobby Minio had thought to himself, perhaps out loud, definitely not loud enough to be registered by another soul around him. At a lean 6'3, Minio stood out above a few crowds in public. He looked down over the other passengers, who would stop just short of a stampede to get to the baggage claim. Minio found himself counting the steps until he could break pack with the fellow passengers of the direct flight here from Vegas. He packed light, something he had learned over a decade earlier when the circuit was his grind. Visual frustration twisted across his face as he squeezed through two wheel chairs that had been throttling the foot traffic for nearly fifty yards. Salvation was in sight. A man, wearing a suit too expensive to be a gag, and too cheap to be a status symbol, stood holding a sign with the OCW logo in front of his chest. Minio stepped up his pace to close the distance between himself and his escape route. It was only four hours earlier that he had realized just how little tolerance he had for crowds, which, he immediately realized was going to be a problem that would need facing, given his return to a specific profession and all. Stranger: "Uh... Hey!" The unmistakable sound of the fan who couldn't place a name. A decade earlier, Minio was an up and coming name in the wrestling industry. A decade in today's world is a damn long time, and if that decade was spent not only out of the spotlight, but under a submerged rock, you will be lucky if someone recognized you in passing. Minio was feeling particularly unlucky as the man cut directly into Minio's path towards the driver in the mediocre gray suit, who stood some thirty feet away. Stranger: "You're a wrestler? Right? ... At least tell me I got that right!" The man spoke into Minio's face, who, in a sudden moment of P.R. clarity, searched his brain for a reply that ranged somewhere between "Holy shit, someone remembers me!" and "fuck yourself, stupid". The latter of which had been a more common reply from Minio's mouth in the rare occasions that he was recognized in public. Sidelined by what was considered by many to be the injury that would serve as the back cover to Minio's short but promising career, living in partial darkness to add some relief to the never ending symptoms, Minio had become a bit impatient and callous with others. Minio: "Bobby Minio, I made my way around North America in the late nineties and early thousands. Ring a bell?" He half asked as he did his best to put on the proverbial happy face, anything to cover the overwhelming desire to check into a hotel room, kill the lights and relax after even the short flight to Michigan. Despite the fact that he had been symptom free for over a year, the lifestyle adjustments from his time on the shelf had left him less social than he, or anyone, would really like. Stranger: "I think so! I know your face... that much I'm sure of!" The man stated with a raised voice, before motioning over Minio's shoulder to someone else. Minio heard the pitter patter of small feet, a kid. No older than Minio's post concussion symptoms, eight, maybe nine. Cute, he was beaming, Dad had mentioned that he saw a wrestler and of course the child had hoped he was going to finally meet Paul Pugh in the flesh. Once the boy had made it to Minio and the stranger, his face fell. He had no idea who Minio was, it was blatantly worn across the boy's face. Minio: "That's two of us, kid." Minio thought to himself as he read the unspoken words from the child's expression. Stranger: "Sorry if this is rude but, could we get an autograph? Just for the kid? He's a big fan!" Minio and the boy shared a look as if they were both sharing the same thought that the father was very shoddy at lying and the boy clearly was not a big fan. For a brief moment, this bonded the two, and Minio flashed a lazy smile as he slipped a sharpee out of his dufflebag and took the boy's flight stub. He signed it "Bobby Minio, remember the name" and nodded to the boy, who read the signature and nodded back. Minio and the man shared forced pleasantries before he could finally reach the driver, who led him out to a waiting town car and had the dufflebag in the trunk in the same amount of time that the autograph session had taken. Before he was even aware of it, Minio was sitting in the backseat of the vehicle in the direction of the hotel. He reflected on the experience, coming to terms with the fact that his career, simply did not exist anymore. Time and the internet had been unkind on his reputation and history, and aside from the occasional passing glance of familiarity, he was starting over entirely anew. Something about that realization really appealed to Minio, who found himself excited again after a window of cynicism that coincidentally lasted as long as the trip to Grand Rapids. Minio: "Nine years..." Minio was muttering to himself while watching the city pass by through the car window. He found himself obsessing over that fact, the length of time that he had been off of the circuit and battling recovery. He began writing a speech in his head, scripting out word for word what he would have to say from the bottom of his heart, all with a thousand yard stare firmly glued to his face as he stared through the city outside. Minio: "... Nine long years..." He trailed off into his thoughts.