A camera operator settled in front of them and held their fingers out for countdown. Mitch attempted to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He hadn’t even noticed that his leg bounced until Rod reached under the table and placed a hand on his knee. “Sorry,” he whispered, embarrassed.
Rod tilted his head towards him, but stared ahead at the camera, and Mitch took the cue to follow suit. The camera operator flashed the OK signal, and Rod’s face shifted from casual indifference to a split grin, his full broadcaster caricature. The man was either the paradigm of professionalism or a cartoon character come to life, with no inbetween.
“Good evening, ghosts, ghouls, and goblins at home, and welcome to another episode of Monster Mash Wrestling! We have a stacked card for you tonight as we move past The Harvest and march forward towards The Graveyard Smash. As always, I’m your host, Rod Snarling, and tonight I’m joined by-” Rod’s glance drifted to Mitch, and he gestured towards him. “Zevon, of Bad Moon Rising! Zevon, how are you tonight? Last we saw you, you took a rather nasty spill.”
Mitch turned to him and cleared his throat once more, trying his damnedest to channel Zevon outside of the ring. The sudden awareness of how ridiculous he must look painted up weighed heavy on him, and the makeup itched the more he dwelled. “Rod!” he rasped in the wrong pitch, and refrained from externally flinching. “What’s going on, buddy? How am I? Couldn’t be better!” Stretching his left arm, he waved it around in an exaggerated manner and hoped that it would compensate for any deviations with his characterization. Not that it mattered. Despite Jodie’s insistence, no one was tuning in to catch Zevon make an ass of himself.
“That’s great to hear! Any idea how long you’ll be out of action?” Rod’s upper lip had a subtle curl to it, and either he was pretending to be interested, or he was holding back a laugh. If Mitch knew Rod better, getting him to corpse would be a fun endeavor.
“Well, it should take a full moon or two to fully heal up, I think Lagoon Goon dipped their claws in some silver before our match, the cheap bastard! But I’ll be back sooner rather than later!” He pointed directly at the camera. “And then I’m coming for that title!”
“Alright, we’ll talk more about that later. However, right now, let’s kick it over to our announcer, Desdemona!” Muting both of the mics, Rod turned to Mitch and said, “More confidence, but stick to that. And be sure to drink water.”
“Can do.” Mitch took the advice and took a sip from a nearby waterbottle. His heart jackhammered in his ribcage, and the sensation reminded him of the first time that he stepped out of the curtain to a crowd of no more than thirty people. Scanning the room, he sought Jodie out and eventually spotted her by the sound guy, wearing a headset as she monitored the audio levels. Seeming to sense that she was being watched, her head lifted and she looked over, then gave him an enthusiastic wave and a thumbs up. A few seconds later, a text from came through for her that read ‘you’re doing great <3‘
Rod unmuted the mics, and Mitch doubled down. He snarled at the vampire stable Coven, provoking Yours Truly to saunter over and threaten to put him through the announcement table, resulting in the two getting into a shouting match. As the matches progressed, he felt more at ease about calling the occasional move, until it almost became effortless; he tried not to come across as too excited, but Rod didn’t give any indication that the minor theatrics were unwelcome, so Mitch leaned into it. During a break in filming, he inquired if he should dial it back. Rod thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
“If you were doing this every week as an commentator, I’d say yes, absolutely. But you’re supposed to be your character, and in that vein, you’re doing fine for your first venture.”
“I did college radio for a while, so it’s not exactly an uncharted territory for me. Just. Didn’t have such an audience.” He regretted disclosing that. No one cared, especially not a person that had a a career in this field.
“Ah. That explains it a lot,” Rod nodded to himself. Mitch couldn’t read the guy for the life of him, but he assumed that if the intent was derogatory, Rod would have framed it in a much harsher way. But he didn’t mince his words, so Mitch took it at face value, a cut-and-dry assessment. He could live with that.
If all else failed and it turned out that everyone thought that he sucked at this, he’d just never do it again. And maybe change his character. And maybe never wrestle here ever again. Or anywhere, even. That was clearly the best option.
