In the world of professional wrestling everything is over-the-top. The costumes are eccentric, the action is theatrical, and the fighters themselves are amplified comic book characters. But it is the pain and the politics that are very real and essential to the game. Some competitors would do anything to make it to the top...even murder.

REVIEW

If you love a good murder mystery, and you are a fan of Pro Wrestling, then this one is for you. Go backstage to the biggest venues of Sports Entertainment and see just how far some Superstars will go to be the Top Dog. I loved it. I've grown up around the Pro Wrestling scene and Cynthia Vespia is right on when it comes to the ins and outs of life in and out of the squared circle. Five stars and two thumbs up for Theater of Pain!

Reviewed by: Louis R

EXCERPT

Sports entertainment or not, it didn’t matter what the trendy label was, the danger element was real. The important part, the part that a man like Vinchelli would never understand, was the dedication, persistence, and hard work; elements for achieving success in any endeavor. It took passion and determination to devote all of your days to achieving success in such an uncertain and inconsistent business.

The hard part was traveling the two-hundred plus days, trying to stay in shape, find time for meals, trying to deal with life outside of the ring even as it encompassed most of it. Jason himself could testify to that fact.

His marriage suffered as his career flourished and he was not ready to choose between the two.

“Why don’t you slap the rack on him?” Blackie scowled. “Give a non-believer an education.”

Jason leaned over the top rope as Vinchelli approached.

“Detective Vinchelli, so glad you could make it,” he said with sarcasm.

“Cut the crap, Dunjeon. I want to tell you right off that I’d prefer asking my questions in someplace a little bit more respectable.”

Blackie huffed out a breath of anger. “See, now that just pisses me off.”

“Was I talking to you, friend? I don’t remember inviting you to this interrogation,” Vinchelli said with all the ethics of the junkies and sluts he rounded up week after week.

“I ‘aint your friend,” Blackie hissed. “Guys like you talk about pro wrestling and they get a snicker in their voice and a smile on their face.

When I talk about it I think of the blood, sweat, and tears that it takes to make it in this business.”

An echo of Jason’s own sentiments and he respected Blackie for telling it.

“Yeah, yeah, blood, sweat, and tears,” Vinchelli mocked.“Probably lots and lots of tears.”

Blackie stepped through the ropes and looked down on Vinchelli from the ring apron. Then he let his hunk of chaw loose down at Vinchelli’s feet.

“Prove me wrong.”

Vinchelli laughed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“C’mon, detective,” Jason said. “We’ll just show you some basic holds.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to hurt you,” Blackie added.

Vinchelli removed his sport coat and tie. “I guess I’m going to have to show you boys a little Brooklyn style hospitality.”

Jason and Blackie held the middle rope up so Vinchelli had to duck down low in order to enter the ring.

“There you go, Miss,” Jason scoffed.

“Very funny. What is that the girlie way to enter the ring?”

Before receiving an answer Vinchelli was grabbed by one and launched forward into the other. He came rushing full bore and all at once his upper chest connected with Blackie’s beefy right arm, violently stopping him in his tracks.

Vinchelli landed hard on his back, his head and neck snapping as though he had been in some sort of terrible car wreck.

Jason and Blackie hovered over him with large grins spread across their lips.

“That’s what’s known as the clothesline,” Jason told him. He was going to enjoy giving the arrogant detective his crash course in wrestling.