01 The Sanchez Story

"Tell me everything. From the beginning."

She picked up her pen and notepad and gave him a subtle wink. Ramona Silenzi was, in the eyes of many, the best journalist to ever write about professional wrestling. She tapped into the hearts and minds of both readers and subjects in a way that very few of her contemporaries or predecessors had been able to. Jefferson immediately felt at ease, as he stirred the minuscule drop of sugar into his tea - to have none at all would be a sin, but a full teaspoon would be a crime. After all his body was his temple.

"Well, behind every dream there's a story. And I'm no different."

He took a sip from the lukewarm mug. It wasn't enough sugar for his liking but then again it never was. He continued.

"Like many people in this business I have pedigree. Not everybody knows this but my Father was a professional wrestler, but before all that he was actually a professional soccer player. He grew up on the island of Jamaica, and his athletic prowess was spotted from an early age. He had the speed of a gazelle, and the poise and agility of a ballet dancer. He darted in and out the opposition's defence like they weren't even there. The man had a gift, and when you have a gift you have to use it. When manhood came he packed his bags and left for the United Kingdom, the motherland of the commonwealth. His only contact was a talent scout in the East End of London by the name of Freddie Matthews. Back in those days the big sides wouldn't dream of signing a black footballer. It was local boys, playing for local clubs. That's what the fans wanted. Of course they were willing to forego their ideals when a marquee name from a different part of the country rolled into town, but a West Indian in the team? No thank you, Mr Sanchez. Well in sport you can't have winners without there being a few losers. Soccer's no different. There was a local side to Freddie's East End home. They weren't the most glamorous of clubs but a reputable outfit that had fallen on hard times - poor choice of coaches, bad business acumen, everyone was pointing the finger at everybody else, but one thing was for certain; they were rock bottom of the league. "I've got a player," Freddie told the despairing coach. By this point his players were already engineering exit plans to other sides and had all but downed tools. "Ok I'll take him," said the coach, in an act of desperation and probably faith to his Freddie's eye for talent. Suffice to say when my Father turned up for training the next day there were a few surprised faces. Rumour has it one of the players left the training ground in protest and never played for the club again. 'Pops' put on his boots and was put through his paces. A burly veteran, I forget the guys name, be in his younger days he'd played for England national team, well he kicked the ball in my Father's general direction. "Lets see what you're made of then, monkey man," he said. He wasn't supposed to control it. Quite the opposite in fact. The ball flew towards his abdomen at a hundred miles an hour. The other players were already laughing at the trick but when my Father raised his leg and trapped the ball on his laces with technical proficiency the likes of which they'd never seen, they all fell silent. He placed his foot on the top of the ball and looked up at the man. "If that's how you pass the ball it's no wonder you're bottom of the league," he replied. He didn't take any shit my Pops."






The promo started like any other. Dark room, Redemption Wrestling emblazoned in the background. Jefferson stood facing the camera in his casual attire.

"Sup guys? My name is Jefferson Sanchez. That may mean something to a few you. And to those that it doesn't I hope it soon will. So for the uninitiated it's only right I tell you exactly what I'm all about..

I'm a man of principal. A man of morals. A man that stands up for and fights for what's right and what he believes in. Being great on the mic and having a big personality are great to get your name across in this business, but ultimately it comes down to what you do in the ring. And I'm not talking about success, and I'm not talking about just winning matches. I'm a man that believes if you cheat your way to the top, you’re nothing but a fraud. If youre the sort of wrestler that runs from a fight, then you’re a coward. If you manipulate the authorities and take shortcuts to the top, you’re a charlatan. I don’t like frauds, I don't like cowards, and I don't like charlatans, and my goal is to rid Redemption Wrestling of anyone that falls into these categories.

Why? Because I know that thousands of people watch this company every other week - either at ringside, or at home. Either way they see what goes on in that ring. Young kids see what happens in that ring. Believe me I know. I was once a fan watching from the sidelines as my Dad bust his gut trying to be the best he could be. I saw him strive to make his dreams come true just like I am now, just like you guys do in your everyday lives. I saw his hopes and ambitions disappear before his eyes, vanish from his reach, because of frauds, cowards and charlatans. These kind of punks were around then, and they're still around now. Why? Because they saw their predecessors cut corners and cheat their way to the top and they saw that it worked. But that's not why I got into this business. That's not why I'm here today. History will judge you harshly if you don't wrestle or live your life with good intentions. I believe in being a positive example, an upstanding citizen and a role-model. And if you can do that while you do something you love, well, that's the best way to make a difference in the lives of people who need it. I don't want to sound pious, I don’t want to come across holier than thou. But for every man, woman or child who sits in that crowd, or watches me through the lens of a camera and looks up to me for inspiration, I owe them.

And first on my list is Spike Steel. I don't have any personal problems with you, Spike. But any man that thinks it's acceptable to expose himself on camera and bully a medical practitioner into declaring him fit has no place in this business. You don't belong here, you're exactly the sort of person I'm talking about. You're not fit to wrestle, you have no concern for anything or anyone but feeding your own ego and sadistic pleasures. The way I see it you're taking up a valuable spot in the locker room. A spot that could be filled by an aspiring young man or woman looking to achieve their dreams. Last week you were so intent on taking out John Blade you completely took your eye off the ball. You failed to see or recognise the talented two women in front of you, and because of that you lost. You proved to me, to yourself and to everyone else that you don't have what it takes to cut it in this industry any more. Now I'm not a barbaric man. I will hurt you, that's what we do, but I don't humiliate people with violence. I will out wrestle you, I will school you, I will tie you up in knots to the point where you don't have the time, energy or desire to face another wrestler in this company again. So enjoy your last fifteen minutes of fame!"