Statlander vs. Bayne: Two Bricks Colliding in the Dark
There was no elegance to it. No finesse. Just two big women who came to hurt each other for a paycheck and a sliver of attention. That’s the business. Kris Statlander, the alien who stopped being an alien because some suit decided fans wouldn’t buy it, versus Megan Bayne, a walking battering ram with thighs that could crush your nuts. First time they ever fought, and you could tell neither of them gave a damn about looking pretty.
They threw fists and boots like they were paid by the bruise. A German suplex that looked like it snapped something important. Elbows that sounded like car wrecks in the parking lot of a strip club. Neither one gave an inch, because inches are hard to come by in this game. You give one, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong.
Statlander tried to fly, but flight’s for birds and rich men with lawyers. Bayne yanked her out of the sky and dumped her back to earth like an overdue bill. The whole thing should have ended clean. One woman standing, the other not. But this is wrestling, and in wrestling, nothing ever ends clean. Penelope Ford slithered in, all bad intentions and cheap perfume, and put her stink on the match. Referee didn’t see a damn thing. They never do. Ford softened Statlander up just enough, and Bayne did the rest.
One, two, three.
Fans screamed robbery, but if you’ve watched enough of this sport, you know better. Wrestling’s a back alley game. Fixes come standard. Justice doesn’t live here.
Statlander got screwed. Bayne got her hand raised. And Penelope Ford got to remind everyone that being the biggest shark in the tank doesn’t matter when the piranhas decide they want a bite.
That’s the business.
That’s life.
That’s how it goes.