Continuing the theme of magnificent legs, I just watched Joey Angel take on Garrett Thomas over at Wrestler4Hire. Joey has caught my eye before, but I haven’t watched one of his matches from start to finish before now. The sparse color commentary and 3-D fan experience at W4H simply describes Joey as an “amateur bodybuilder with martial arts experience.” While both facts are self-evidently true, that doesn’t begin to describe what is equally as obvious, like he’s got to be over a half a foot shorter than Garrett Thomas, and he’s gorgeous as fuck, and those legs are nothing short of sensational!
There’s an oft repeated theme at W4H of the pro versus the poser. This match dabbles in that genre, with some sweet twists here and there. Garrett is the pro. He’s long and lean and rock and roll to Joey’s angelic, clean cut beauty. Garrett’s profile gives a few more details to inspire a fan’s fantasies. He’s 6’1″ and 205 pounds. He’s reportedly 28 years old and described as a “well-traveled pro wrestler looking to make a name in the underground scene.” Now there’s some drama that I love. There’s a little backstory to suck us in and make us ask questions. And I love knowing ages. I immediately picture myself at 28 and wonder what life would have been like in Garrett’s shoes. It will surprise no one who knows me that I love the details.
The match description signals to the novice Joey-fan that he is notoriously a babyface-to-slaughter in a singlet and a “fuck-you-up muscle god ready to conquer” out of his singlet. Again, I love the nuanced device. I love the homage to the way that wrestling gear sets the table for us. And I particularly love it when, in his pre-match warm up, Joey shrugs those gargantuan shoulders out of the babyface singlet straps and starts flexing for the camera with a little passion behind it. Based on the trajectory of my loving thus far, it should come as no surprise that I’m ready to propose marriage when Joey is celebrating a nice run of having his way, muscle bullying the shocked pro, and about 2 minutes into the match he steps back, bends over, and peels the singlet off his mammoth thighs. “Woah!” Garrett says in surprise. “You came here to party! Now that’s what I like to see, man,” he marvels unironically. “Those are shorter than mine!” he says with just a bit of enthusiasm. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a pair of super briefs as perfectly fitted and aesthetically ideal for a body. Joey scores points for wearing them to perfection, and Garrett scores a point for channeling his gay wrestling fan within.
Garrett is also obviously familiar with the pro versus poser motif. He quickly dismisses Joey’s cage fighting expertise and offers to show him a few pro wrestling moves to up his W4H game. He towers over the pint sized muscle stud, expertly utilizing leverage and muscle memory to work Joey’s fine, fine ass into vulnerable positions. He’s clearly putting on the harsh, unforgiving coach’s hat and calmly demonstrating his mastery, hoisting Joey way, way off his feet in a butt-beautiful bearhug. He rolls him into a camel clutch, describing the hold along the way for the ring rookie. He exploits some advantage to snag Joey’s ankles, hook them beneath his armpits, and squat low, explaining, “Now we’re going to go to the main street of Boston!” Thing is, though, this poser’s got muscle and moves. He spins and kicks free. He scrambles headfirst into the fray fearlessly, and about 4 times out of 5, he comes out of the full throttle scrambles on top, in charge, and instantly owning a seriously jeopardizing joint hold.
“Woah!” Garrett gasps with shock when Joey systematically neutralizes the pro’s offense and muscles his way into the driver’s seat. An exquisitely vulnerable arm bar from Joey makes the pro’s long, baby oiled body suddenly go rigid, not daring to move too far for fear of helping his opponent actually cripple him. “I’m going to break it,” Joey says. Calmly. Like an objective observation, more than a threat. “No, no, no, no!” Garrett absolutely begs, holding up his open free hand pleadingly, living into the terror of this moment of another man possessing the very real power of putting him in the hospital.
Joey lets him go. I’m not sure if there was an actual submission. There could have been. There are a lot of unintelligible grunts and random tapping of the mat here and there, sometimes seemingly as signals for breaking holds. Nobody’s counting, either way. “Listen man,” the pro says pleadingly on his knees, having been granted the largesse of his muscle-tastic opponent. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you were going to be this good.” It’s pro crow eating time. I believe him, frankly. This turns out to be no pro versus poser contempt fest. Joey may be green, but he’s the real deal, and I believe him, and I believe Garrett’s grudging respect. Still on one knee (and therefore, nearly eye to eye with the gorgeous muscle kid standing in front of him), the pro extends a hand. Joey looks suspicious (see, not a complete poser!). Shockingly, Joey bats the hand away and lifts a heel to pound into Garrett’s baby oiled chest. Great instincts, Joey. Just a half second too slow, though. Garrett swings a nasty fist into Joey’s balls, like he’s clearly been planning all along.
“Ain’t got no balls of steel, huh?” Garrett taunts, climbing back into the saddle and riding this thoroughbred like the pro he is. He continues the initiation theme. “I was just trying to be friends,” he says disarmingly enough. “You really ought to invest in a pair of boots, though,” he thoughtfully offers unsolicited advice. “Because people can do THIS!” He stomps the heel of his boot down into the top of one of Joey’s bare feet. The magnificent muscle gladiator drops to the mat, clutching his foot. “And also, when you don’t wear boots, what else people can do is take your little piggies to the market.” Garrett sadistically toys with a toe hold, playing with each of Joey’s toes until he abruptly attempts to rip his little toe off his foot. “How’s that feel, brother? Let’s see you walk now, huh?”
I don’t know if this is really a match that will help Garrett make a name for himself in the underground scene. The other legit pros that Cameron Matthews recruits are surely docking Garrett’s cred for letting a muscle kid with next to no ring experience take him to the edge and back. When Joey is punching the accelerator, there’s nearly a script flip, with Garrett almost looking like the poser getting taken to school. Joey uses all of that incredibly juicy muscle to hoist the 28 year old off his feet into a breathtaking bearhug. He shows that he already knew full well what that full nelson was all about when Garrett was condescendingly explaining the hold to him earlier. “On your knees!” Joey growls. Fuck, who would NOT obey that command, that muscle, that force of will!?
Then, with astonishing certainty and deliberateness, gorgeous little muscle beast Joey locks the pro up in a magnificent, oil-rubbed, glistening abdominal stretch. “Where…where did you learn this!?” Garrett asks in open shock, grimacing with pain. “I took a few wrestling classes,” Joey replies coyly, before flinging the long haired bad ass to the mat in a heap and treating you and me to a truly delightful posing session, demonstrating each and every lovingly crafted, aesthetically marvelous, magnificently powerful muscle that just brought a 6’1″ pro heel to his knees with a whimper.
Other bloggers are much, much more respectful of avoiding spoilers than I am, but in this case, I’ll leave you in suspense as to how this pro/poser versus pro/poser teeter totter turns out. I, for one, love the self-critical play on the motif. I enjoy precisely that suspense, sold with surprising clarity by both battlers, that has me honestly not knowing until the very, very end which abundantly skilled combatant will finally bring this to a climactic ending with an out-cold dragon sleeper finisher. I appreciate the respect for underground wrestling and for fans that Garrett shows us, channeling his inner Joey Lawrence by repeatedly gasping, “woah!” with sweet sincerity when he finds himself honest to god at the MMAer’s mercy. And I now have a huge fan crush on Joey Angel for being nobody’s poser, for fucking going to town on a much taller, much more experienced pro and making me believe every last second.
Oh, and those legs. Those fucking sensational, power packed, monstrously massive, muscle worship-ready legs. I fucking love those things.