LadySports ::: Trisha Parker


A Trainee Talks

By Trisha Parker

"You’ve gotta love the business."

LadySports Online is always proud to encourage new talent by sharing their stories. Today, we have a tale of wrestling school rivalry, as told by the young lady who decided to do something about it. Please welcome Trisha Parker…a name we’re certain you’ll be hearing more of in the years to come!

"You’ve gotta love the business."

This phrase has been drilled into my head since the moment I stepped into a wrestling ring. Before that, even. The pain professional wrestlers go through, the bruises and cuts they endure, they do it all for one reason: they love the business. At some point in time, I decided I wanted to be a part of that. I wanted to go through the unimaginable pain to prove one thing --- that I loved the business more than anyone.

The person who brought me into the business was my illegitimate dad, Erik Watts. He wrestles under the name Wallace Gordon all over Texas and is one of the reasons I fell in love with wrestling. He was hesitant and held out on me for a while, knowing how hard and cutting edge the business could be. I persisted for months before he finally broke down, paying the hundred dollars a month for me to get into the ring and learn everything I could about wrestling. I now train at the TCW wrestling school in Austin, Texas under Papa Don and Mr. B.

The very short time I’ve been around the business has taught me so much. Friendship, pain, rivalry, pain, even pure happiness at times…and I’m still only in training.

One of the reasons I’ve learned about rivalry is because I’ve had an ongoing opposition with another student at my training school, known as Chris Kings, for the past few months now. He’s constantly trying to better my best. Sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he fails. He’s been there a few more months than I, but as soon as I started training, I knew there was going to be problems. He smirked and sneered every time I did something wrong, no matter how small the mistake was. He was the typical arrogant egomaniac.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this guy did have quite a bit of skill to allow him to act this way, but so did half the other students in the class. Words have been said and combated in an indecent fashion. Finally, after three months of constantly trying to one up each other, we were put into what is referred to as a "practice match” at the TCW training establishment. No crowd, no distractions, just two people put into a ring together, vying for the title of top dog.

This match started out as any other match would…ref checking us for weapons, trash talking for a few minutes, the average build-up. Finally, the time came for us to lock-up. The lock is a vital piece of knowledge every wrestler must acquire, and for that reason it’s one of the very first things you learn. As we go to lock-up, Chris dodges to the side and steps around me, showing off his "cunning”. I stare at him for a brief moment and make a "let’s go again” gesture.

A second attempt at the lock up, and he does the same thing as before. Frustrated, I whip around and raise my hand, calling for the "test of strength” instead. Kings scoffs and gets into position, taking his time, and finally slapping his hand into mine. As soon as our other hands lock I start shaking from the exertion, never realizing how unsettlingly stronger he was than me. Kings suddenly shoulders up with me, forces my arm around his head, and forces me up into a move known as Northern Lights, immediately covering me afterwards.

I kick out at one and roll away, thoroughly upset. Kings - 1, Me - 0. I wanted desperately to even the score, so as he laughed and talked to the other students that were there about how easy this was, I advanced on him, grabbing his hair roughly and giving him a few forearms, forcing him into the nearest corner. After a couple of abdominal kicks, I Irish whipped him into the other corner, the impact briefly knocking the wind out of him.

I ran at him, jumping up onto his thighs and grabbing his head, rolling back and shooting him off with a monkey flip. The ring gives a bit at the collision of his back on the mat, and I bounce back up, racing for the cover. I hook his leg, pleading for this to be the end, but he still kicks out at two.

As he lies on the mat, holding his back and his face in pain, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. Finally, I pick him up again, going for a vertical suplex. As I try to lift him he holds his ground, reversing the suplex. Cringing in pain, I stagger up, only to find that he’s still on me. He grabs my hand and shoots me off into the ropes. I see the clothesline coming and duck it, as well as the back elbow. As I come off again he lifts me up and slams me into the mat with a devastating powerslam. He goes straight into the pin, hooking both my legs and nodding his head with each count.

I kick out at two and he looks at me, unbelieving, and immediately goes for another pin. Again, I kick out at two. Kings begins arguing with the ref, stepping over me and dropping his knee straight onto my throat, distracting the ref by talking emphatically to him. I struggle to lift his knee off my throat, but he brings it down even harder, crushing my windpipe so I can’t breath. Finally, the ref notices my flailing limbs and looks down, seeing the illegal placement of King’s knee. He immediately yells for him to get off, and Kings obliges reluctantly.

Kicking me in the abdomen a few more time, he picks me up and shoots me off into the ropes once more, putting me into an abdominal stretch as I come off. I scream in pain as he wrenches it, and the ref asks me if I want to give up. I say no and Kings wrenches it once more before dropping it, causing me to fall to the ground. He picks me up again and throws me into a corner, driving his shoulder into my stomach a couple of time before shooting me off into the other. He waits a moment, showboating again to the trainers, and I take the time to recover.

He runs at me and I give him a back elbow at the last second. He staggers back, shakes it off, and runs at me again, straight into a boot. As he staggers back again I come out with one clothesline, another clothesline, and finally I use that adrenaline to lift him up into a scoop slam. I cover him, and he barely kicks out at two.

I pick him up and push him into the ropes, planning on shooting him off, but he reverses it and I hit the ropes. He kneels over, going for a back body drop, but I sunset flip over him, grabbing his legs and rolling him up. He kicks out at two and I stand up, stomping his chest and dropping a knee before lifting him up again, going for my finisher, the fisherman’s suplex.

Completely out of it, he doesn’t attempt to wriggle out as I grab his leg, throw him over me, and arch my back. The referee counts…one…two…three!

I roll over, gasping for air. I teeter up, legs shaking, and grab a towel from the side of the ring, mopping the sweat my face off with it. Then, putting my pride behind me, I walk up to Kings and extend a hand. King’s stares at it…at me…then hesitantly takes it. I pull him up, congratulating and thanking him for the match. He smirks and pats me on the back as well. That’s when I knew I’d finally gained his respect.

photos provided by Ms Parker