Alright, let’s talk about this… uh… Damian Priest fella, and all the turnin’ and twistin’ he’s been doin’ on TV. I don’t watch much, mind you, but my grandkid, he keeps yellin’ about it, so I pick up a thing or two.
So, this Damian, he’s a big fella, strong like an ox. Used to be with some group, “Judgment Day” they called it. Sounded scary, like somethin’ from the Bible. My old man, he used to read the Bible, but I never could make heads or tails of it. Anyway, this Damian, he was one of the bad guys in that group, always scowlin’ and cheatin’, from what I hear.
- Wrestlin’ is all about good guys and bad guys, ain’t it? Like them old cowboy movies.
- My grandkid, he tries to explain all the fancy moves, but I just see ’em punchin’ and kickin’.
Now, they’re sayin’ Damian’s turnin’ good, a “face turn” they call it. Sounds silly, like he just changed his face. But it means he’s gonna be one of the good guys now, I guess. Fightin’ fair and smilin’ more. I don’t know, these fellas change their minds more than I change my socks, and that ain’t sayin’ much.
This wrestlin’ business, it’s confusin’. One minute they’re stompin’ on someone’s head, the next they’re shakin’ hands. Like that Drew fella. He finally won somethin’ big, a “world title,” and my grandkid was jumpin’ up and down. Then, bam! Damian cashes in some “money in the bank” thing – sounds like somethin’ my old man woulda done, always hidin’ cash in the sugar bowl – and steals the title from Drew. That Drew fella must’ve been madder than a wet hen.
Now, they’re sayin’ Damian lost the title to some Gunther fella at somethin’ called “Survivor Series”. Sounds like a tough name, that Gunther. Probably eats nails for breakfast. I tell ya, these wrestlers, they got some funny names. Reminds me of that time my neighbor’s dog got loose and chased the mailman. We called him “Mailman Mauler” after that.
Heard tell Damian grew up in the Bronx. That’s a city place, ain’t it? My cousin, she went to the city once, said it was louder than a hog callin’ contest. Said Damian listened to this “hip hop” music, then some other kind, “Metallica,” when he moved somewhere else. Kids these days and their music! Give me good ol’ country any day. You can understand the words, at least. My grandpappy used to play the banjo, used to make the chickens dance.
So, this Damian, he’s been all over the place, good guy, bad guy, champion, no champion. They even got a whole thing about it, “face turns” and “heel turns”. Sounds like somethin’ you’d do on a dance floor, not in a wrestlin’ ring. But I guess that’s how they do things these days. Keeps it interestin’, I reckon, even if it makes my head spin.
I don’t know what’s gonna happen next with this Damian fella. Maybe he’ll stay good, maybe he’ll turn bad again. Maybe he’ll start wearin’ a tutu and singin’ opera. With these wrestlers, you never can tell. It’s like watchin’ the weather, changes every five minutes. But hey, as long as it keeps my grandkid happy, I guess I’ll keep listenin’ to him yell about it.
They got this internet thing now, where you can look up all sorts of stuff. My grandkid showed me. You can find out everything about this Damian, how old he is, how tall he is, how much he weighs, all the times he’s changed from good to bad. They call it a “wrestling profile.” Seems like a lot of trouble to go to, if you ask me. I’d rather be out in the garden, pullin’ weeds. But the young folks, they love this stuff. Keeps ’em outta trouble, I guess, most of the time anyway.
So yeah, that’s the story of Damian Priest and his “face turn” as best as I can tell it. He’s a wrestler, he fights, he changes sides more than a weathervane in a tornado. And that’s about all there is to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go make some supper. Got some beans and cornbread waitin’ on me.
