Samoa Moa by James Hanna

 (A Novel Excerpt)

Author’s Note

Gertie McDowell, a naïve young girl with a talent for misadventure, has joined a women’s wrestling troupe called Christian Ladies of Wrestling. The troupe was put together by Wanda Sue, a bank robber with a streak of religion whom Gertie met while serving prison time because she “trusted the wrong sort of fella.” The mission of the troupe is to bring folks closer to Jesus by having women posing as Christians wallop the daylights out of women posing as transgressors. Gertie’s wrestling persona is Haystacks Holly, a lustful temptress who leads married men astray. Her tag team partner, an Apache girl named Cocheta, is billed as Blasphemous Berta, an outspoken atheist who deifies witchcraft. Both girls incense Christian audiences by flaunting their unsavory lifestyles.

Gertie and Cocheta have caught the attention of Samoa Moa, the star of Women of Wrestling, a nationally syndicated show that is broadcasted on Pluto TV. A brutal behemoth of a woman, Samoa Moa has never lost a match and often injures her opponents. Moa feels the girls need to be taught a lesson because of their godless behavior, and she signs a contract with Wanda Sue to wrestle them simultaneously in a locked cage. The match is held at the Toyota Center in Houston, and Gertie, standing hand in hand with Cocheta, trembles as she watches Moa approach the ring.

The match was held on a Saturday night in Houston’s Toyota Center, a gigantic colosseum the likes of which I ain’t never seen before. It musta had a million seats and ’bout half of ’em was full, and there was television cameras all over the place and the ring was inside a steel cage. When I asked Cocheta how come we hadda wrestle in a cage, she told me Samoa Moa always wrestled in a cage. That’s ’cause most of her opponents were so afraid of her that they was likely to scamper away before she could pulverize ’em.

Well, this bossy usher herded me and Cocheta into a big ol’ locker room, and the two of us put our costumes on while the preliminary bouts went on. I put on my wig and bib overalls though I weren’t feeling sexy and all, and Cocheta put on this black cat outfit that made her look like a witch. After about an hour, the usher mustered us back to the arena, and I felt like I needed to pee as we was walkin’ toward the cage.

Well, this announcer in the ring shouted, “Here they come, folks! A coupla sinful girls!” and the arena went dark and this red spotlight hit us like we was descending into hell. And the sound system it started playing “Victory in Jesus,” and the crowd musta been full of Christian folks ’cause they started singing along.

As we mounted the ramp and stepped into the cage, Cocheta slipped her hand into mine, and a coupla folks shouted, “May God protect you!” while we waited for Samoa Moa. I s’ppose them folks mighta been rootin’ for us, but I took no comfort in that ’cause the only one stickin’ her neck out for me was an atheist Apache girl.

Well, after the crowd finished singing “Victory in Jesus,” the red spotlight went off and the lights of the arena came back on again. And the sound system it started playing, “Another One Bites the Dust,” and Samoa Moa, bathed in white light, came struttin’ toward the cage.

Samoa Moa hadda be the biggest woman I ever saw. She was ’bout six feet tall and her legs were like tree trunks and she musta weighed three hundred pounds. And, although she was wearin’ a hula skirt, there weren’t nothin’ that said aloha about her. She pounded the palm of her hand with her fist as she stepped into the cage, and when the announcer fella interviewed her, her voice was fulla rage. She told the crowd that Christian Women of Wrestling oughta be shut down ’cause Berta and Holly were too busy breaking Commandments and whoring around.

Well, my heart it started leapin’ like a grasshopper on a hot stove ’cause I remember how Ma once told me there was two ways to be mean. There was meanness folks felt when their expectations weren’t met and they sometimes got over that, and there was junkyard dog meanness and that kinda meanness don’t never take a rest. As I listened to Samoa Moa hollerin’ ’bout all the Commandments we broke, I knew we were facing a junkyard dog and there weren’t no avoidin’ that.

When the announcer was done talkin’ to Samoa Moa, he introduced us all to the crowd. He said, “In this corner, we have Samoa Moa, Polynesian Priestess and unbeaten champion of women’s professional wrestling. In the other corner, we’ve got two godless girls who need a good punishing. But put your hands together anyhow, folks, for Haystacks Holly and Blasphemous Berta.”

When the announcer was done with the introductions, he shouted, “Let’s get it on!” and the crowd it started cheering like all its Christmases had come. And this referee fella came into the cage and gave us a coupla instructions, and while he was talkin’, I saw the announcer put a padlock on the cage door.

Well, the referee he was so skinny a breeze mighta blown him away, and his teeth were so bucked he could have probably eaten an apple through a picket fence. He sure didn’t look like he was capable of controlling a wrestling match, so I felt a little bit grateful that at least we had us a script. Cocheta and me was to wrestle Samoa Moa as a tag team—one at a time—and after we tagged off three or four times, Samoa Moa was s’pposed to win. She was s’pposed to lay on top of Cocheta after body slammin’ her to the canvas, and the ref was to slap the canvas three times and call the match for Samoa Moa.

When the match began, I stood behind the ropes in our corner while Cocheta stayed in the ring. Right away, Cocheta jumped behind Samoa Moa and put a full nelson on her, but Samoa Moa reached back with both hands, grabbed Cocheta by the neck, and flipped her through the air so hard that she sling-shotted off the ropes.

Well, Cocheta bounced off the ropes so quick that she banged into that referee fella, and that fella he acted real dizzy and started weavin’ around the ring. And while that fella was staggerin’ like a chicken without no head, Moa tied Cocheta up in the ropes and started wallopin’ her. Moa was s’pposed to be slappin’ her palm steada strikin’ Cocheta’s head, but Cocheta’s noggin was bouncin’ around like a hare on a trampoline.

Now I was hopin’ that referee fella would keep Cocheta from getting hurt, but that fella was bending over the ropes like maybe he hadda puke. He didn’t seem too interested that Cocheta was gettin’ walloped—instead, he was quarrelin’ with Wanda Sue who was standing outside the cage. And since that fella weren’t doin no reffing, I didn’t wait for a tag—I just ducked through the ropes, grabbed Moa’s skirt and dragged her away from Cocheta. Some of the crowd started jeering ’cause I didn’t wait for no tag, but their jeers turned to cheers when Samoa Moa put an arm lock around my neck.

Well, next thing I know, Samoa Moa was crushin’ my head to her waist then she pulled a hard object outta of her skirt and used it to pound my face. And my lungs was tuggin’ like hungry orphans ’cause I couldn’t capture no breath, and all the time, the referee fella kept jawin’ with Wanda Sue. Shucks, everyone in the place but the ref could see what was going on, and even some of the crowd started shoutin’ for him to turn around. But that fella kept wavein’ his hands in the air and squawkin’ at Wanda Sue ‘cause he was about as useful as tits on a razorback boar.

Now while that ref kept debatin’ with Wanda Sue, Cocheta freed herself from the ropes, and she didn’t go back to our corner like she was s’pposed to do. Instead, she hopped on Samoa Moa and pounded her for real, and all the time she kept hollerin’, “Let go my blood sister, bitch!”

The ref musta heard Cocheta yell ’cause he stopped arguing with Wanda Sue, and as he turned around, Samoa Moa tucked that object back into her skirt. So, the ref he didn’t do nothin’ but pull Cocheta off Samoa Moa then he puffed himself up like a mudpuppy and scolded Cocheta good. He said, “Honey, go to your corner or I’m going to disqualify you” and his voice sounded just like air that was squeakin’ out of a balloon. So, Cocheta ducked behind the ropes in our corner but not before telling the ref that if he didn’t start doing his job she was gonna hammer his silly ass.

After that, the match kinda settled into a regular routine. Samoa Moa broke her headlock on me and kept that object tucked in her skirt, and we flipped each other a coupla times although Moa was hard to flip. After that, I climbed the turnbuckles and threw myself down on her but Moa didn’t catch me like she was s’pposed to do, and the canvas pounded my tits so hard it felt like a kick from a mule. So, I tagged off to Cocheta ’cause my tits were throbbin’ like drums, and Cocheta eased herself through the ropes and took over the match for me.

Now Samoa Moa was huffin’ and puffin’ ’cause she hadn’t had no rest, and that made me hope the match could end before someone got pulverized. But Samoa Moa weren’t happy and the crowd was still on her side, so that was kinda like hopin’ that the sun weren’t gonna rise.

When it happened, it happened so quick I didn’t have no time to be surprised. Samoa Moa plopped herself down on her butt ’cause she was all outta breath, but she still had ahold of Cocheta’s arm and was stretchin’ it between her big legs. And then I heard a crack that sounded just like a rifle shot, and I heard Cocheta holler, “That bitch broke my fucking arm!”

Well, Cocheta managed to roll to her knees and stagger to her feet, which musta been hard ’cause her arm was dangling like a branch that lightning had broke. And the ref he started scolding Cocheta for using bad language around Christians, and Samoa Moa just sat there with a strange look on her face.

I dunno if Samoa Moa was thinkin’ she mighta gone too far, and I weren’t thinkin’ at all when I tagged Cocheta and jumped back into the ring. But this weren’t no time for thinkin’, and I was kinda glad about that when I scissored my legs like a lumberjack around Samoa Moa’s waist. And as Moa lumbered to her feet with that strange look still on her face, I head-butted her right between the eyes and I heard her nose go pop.

Well, the arena it started spinnin’ like I was on a carousel and lights was jumpin’ all over the place, and the canvas was pressin’ my palms. And the crowd was buzzin’ so loud it sounded just like a hive of hornets, and Cocheta was bawling as though she’s been stung a coupla hundred times. Seconds later, I saw Samoa Moa lying flat on her back, and that referee fella was kneeling beside her and trying not to count her out. It took him ’bout half a minute to slap the canvas three times, and then he jumped up and begged the announcer to let him outta the cage.

After Moa was counted out, things kept on happinin’ fast. The crowd started hollerin’, “Hang the ref!” and the announcer unlocked the cage quick, and that referee fella he bolted away just like a gut-shot stag. And a buncha frightened security guards came pourin’ into the cage, and one of ’em pulled me to my feet and said, “Girls, get outta here now!” Well, my legs felt softer ’an butter and Cocheta could only moan, so them security guards carried both of us back to the locker room.

Later, while Cocheta and me was recoverin’ at the Houston General Hospital, some producers from Women of Wrestling came to see us in our room. They said they thought I was the most exciting wrestler they’d ever seen, and they wanted me to join their show and become the new champion of the world. Well, I told ‘em I weren’t signing no contract unless they hired Cocheta too, so them fellas gave us both contracts and now we’re both part of that show, and if ya turn on Pluto TV you’ll probably see us tusslin’ there. Shucks, I never thought I’d become the champion of the world, but when ya don’t follow scripts, there just ain’t no tellin’ how things are gonna work out.    

James Hanna

Image: Wrestling ring in a crowded arena from Pixabay.com