A half-human, half-tiger that drove the big red engine and rescued people from the towering inferno. Whom, after a long day at the fire station, would go home to eat raw steaks and drink as much coffee as he wanted.
Thad had whined until he was ten for the chance to drink coffee -- not for any particular reason other than he thought it might be made of magic syrup. For Christmas one year, he even wrote a letter to Santa Claus expressing his wish:
Dear Santa,
I don't want for Christmas anything but a cup of coffee. Mom and Dad say I am to little so you will have to put it in my room under the bed instead of the tree because they would get mad. Thanks Santa.
Your friend,
Thad
P.S. - I am sorry I put gum in Marissa's hair.
Unfortunately, like all boyhood fantasies, Thad realized at the age of nineteen that his dream of becoming a fireman tiger would probably not come true. Luckily, the starry-eyed youngster had since developed a few back-up dreams throughout the course of his childhood. While music had been the more realistic goal, Thad thought that two other talents he'd discovered may have a brighter future -- and since the pog phenomenon had disappeared years ago, the retarded Earth-visitor persona of Spacely was born.
What wrestling insiders don't know, however, is that Spacely was not Thad Denver's first gimmick.
Most greenhorns to the sport are quite nervous in their first match, and understandably so -- the pressure to compete in front of an armory packed with nearly twenty fans can really get to a person. However, imagine if your debut contest not only happened in front of TWENTY-FIVE people, but it was also a title match?
A couple of nails, a webbed cotton scout-style belt, and a wooden cutout of a friendly house cat turned upside down with 'TWF' written crudely in magic marker was the prize for the winner of this afternoon's inaugural Trampoline Wrestling Federation's main event. Kids from as far as the north end of the subdivision had gathered into the fenced-in area, all eager with anticipation for the exciting match that was to come!
In actuality, two-thirds of the crowd consisted of girls, who congregated at Mike and Robyn's house every other afternoon to converse about boys, lip gloss, underwear, or whatever it was that preteen girls talked about. They kept their distance far away from the boys and the big bouncy circle at the right corner of the yard next to an old wooden swing set. As far as the boys were concerned, three were completely uninterested in the ongoings, as they were engaged in a cutthroat game of HORSE at the Cooper family's basketball hoop.
The vested interest in the TWF lay in the hearts of four individuals. Tony McCurley, a rare kindergartner deemed cool enough to hang out with the fifth graders, kneeled down next to a blank boom-box with a pinky poked through the hole of a CD. Although he was just a 'little kid' in the eyes of Thad and his friends, Tony had earned their respect this summer by jumping his bike really high off a dirt ramp they'd constructed in the wooded area next to Mike's yard. Plus, his dad drove a motorcycle, which gave Tony some cool points and the hope that Mr. McCurley would take them for a ride someday. His role in TWF was that of ring announcer and music guy -- until he got older, of course.
Acting as referee for the championship match was Mike Cooper, whose yard and trampoline they were currently using to hold the big event. Naturally, you would think that being not only the host but also the tallest one of the group would warrant him to be a competitor rather than just a ref -- but this was the nature of the beast. Mike was deemed the weak musketeer in the triad and subject to whatever Thad and their other friend Terrell wanted. However, in addition to being taller than the two, Mike was also a bit more intelligent than his counterparts -- which would pay off in his favor once this match was all said and done.
'We ready, Mike?' Tony chirped up, placing the compact disc inside the top of the stereo and pushing down on the cover.
Mike nodded down at him, straightening the collar on the striped ref shirt that hung down to his knees. His dad, a giant of a man, had worn it only once as part of a bank robber costume last Halloween. 'Start it.'
Tony smiled in response and pushed the 'Play' button on the boombox. A familiar fuzzy tone coupled by a wave note beeping in rhythm was one that the boys weren't supposed to be listening to. Terrell, however, had stolen the disc from his brother for this occasion.
With so much drama in the L.B.C.
It's kinda hard bein' Snoop D-O-double-G
But I
Somehow, some way
Keep comin' up with funky ass shit like every single day
Cupping his hands to form a makeshift megaphone, Tony began his introduction for the packed yard in attendance. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he cried, having rehearsed it in his head about thirty times up until this moment. 'From South Central, California...'
May I
Kick a lil' somethin' for the G's and
Make a few billions as I breeze through
Two in the mornin' and the party's still jumpin' 'cause my mama ain't home
Snoop Dogg's 'Gin and Juice' quickly became just a light background haze as the sound of a screen door opening revealed Terrell Gilles, dressed in black ankle-low basketball shorts, a white wife-beater, and a blue rag tied Aunt Jemima-style on his head. Throwing up the Westside symbol much to the chagrin of everyone (read: Tony and Mike) watching, Terrell crip-walked to the trampoline with an intense 11-year old swagger.
'He is BLAAAAAAAAACK ICE!' Tony rounded out the introduction by playing the role of crowd noise and booing at Terrell 'Black Ice' Gilles, who in return smiled to reveal a platinum grille formed by Hershey's Kisses wrappers covering his teeth.
'What then, cracka?' Black Ice challenged, getting in the face of the much smaller Tony, who backed up quickly.
'Dat's what I thought!' Terrell then placed his hands on the blue protective padding over the springs of the trampoline and sprung himself onto the surface, landing on his side and striking a gangsta lean pose. Tony, collecting himself from the mock threat delivered by the Original Original Gangsta, bent over to push the stop button on the stereo. Black Ice had since then stood on his feet, and holding a pretend microphone in his hand, proceeded to cut the best interview in the history of Winterville-based backyard wrestling. With both hands gripping the 'mic,' the kid allegedly from Los Angeles piped up.
'I'm fitna bust somebody's head!' Pointing an imaginary gun at the door, he fired out. 'CAP-CAP-CAP! Nigga, YOU DEAD!'
As Jimmy Bonafide quickly snuck off into the forest, tucking a tiny notepad into his back pocket, Tony pressed the 'Play' button on the stereo once again. Standing back at attention and cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted out the introduction with authority. Electric piano and the sound of a guitar wailing omits from the speakers...
'And his opponent, from Colorado...'
Well, it's Monday night and we're ready to strike
Our special forces are in full flight
We're comin' by air and on the ground
MONDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL's takin' over the town
We gotta get ready, we gotta get right
It's gonna be a battle in the NFL tonight!
Walking out of that screen door, you'd never seen a happier-looking little shit. Dressed in a generic white mesh football jersey with the number '22' in blue on the front and a vintage leather helmet covering about half of his entire head and practically blinding him, Thad tucked a pigskin underneath his arm and began to juke to the tune of Hank Jr.'s Monday Night Football theme.
ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?
Tony grinned as he continued. 'He is...THAD...DENVER...BRONNNNNNNNNNCOOOOO!'
Yes. Thad Denver Bronco. You thought shitty gimmicks were limited to adults, huh? Well, you apparently thought wrong, as Thad continued down the 'aisle.' Tony then made crowd cheering noises over the music, which prompted Thad to extend his arm out to accept high fives from the audience (read: imaginary) lining the entrance way. He eventually came to the edge of the trampoline, and pointing at Black Ice, he spiked the football between his legs and proceeded to perform an alternate version of the Ickey Shuffle, only whiter. Thad then retrieved the 'microphone' that lay next to Tony and pressed the stop button himself on the boombox.
'Today,' Thad declared, 'I am going to score a touchdown! And like John Elway, I will win! Now ring the bell!'
As Thad rolled onto the trampoline, Referee Mike made a 'ding' sound to signify the start of the match. Black Ice, obviously wanting to take full advantage of his opponent's prone position, immediately knee dropped the blond little ruffian in the back. Straddling him, he then turned the leather helmet all the way around so as to restrict all sight and then proceeded to lock in a not-so-vicious camel clutch!
'You DEAD! YOU DEAD! YOU DE...OWWWWWWWW!'
THWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAACK!
The sound of a wooden cat belt breaking in half due to the impact of colliding with Terrell's head was pretty damn awesome. However, to an eleven-year old not used to such a blow, it doesn't feel pretty damn awesome. The audible whine and the welling of tears in Black Ice's eyes was not enough to stop Mike the Referee from forcing him to his back and pinning him.
'ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING DING DING DING! I'M THE CHAMPION! I'M THE CHAMPION! I'M THE...oh, I broke it...'
The sneaky bastard had double-crossed the Bronco and the First Bonafide.
'You okay, Terrell?'
As Mike rose off of his sobbing victim who rubbed the back of his head in pain, Thad Denver Bronco sat up to examine the situation.
'I can't see shit!'
And thus a career was born.