Sergei Blumm Joins the Job Squad

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Scene opens at Navy Street MMA. A bustling gym located in Venice, California. The gym is at about 65% capacity with everyone having ample space to work out with their teams on the excellent-quality equipment. In the back corner of the gym is Rock-A-Fella FC lightweight fighter Sergei “Sad Face” Blumm. Blumm is shadow boxing in front of a large heavy bag, but instead of punching the bag, he is allowing the bag to hit him in the face each time it swings in his direction. Blumm is essentially face-butting the bag, letting out a loud “Ommf” every time the bag connects. Besides the heavy bag, stands a colossal, bald-headed goon. The goon is barking instructions at Blumm in an Eastern European language. The buzzer sounds signaling to the fighters the start of their 30-second break.

Sergei, clearly frustrated, throws his hands in the air, exclaiming to the goon “What is this training? This isn’t striking defense!” The goon stares down at Sergei annoyed. Blumm gets the hint, shakes his head, and goes back to the bag

The buzzer sounds. Blumm takes a deep breath and resumes faceplanting himself into the heavy punching bag.

A few feet away from Sad Face’s workout area, a cadre of oddly shaped men and women are in the process of an “unorthodox” workout. They are being led by a bulky man, just over 6 ft. in height. He’s got long hair tied up in a pony tail and black-rimmed glasses. The gray lightly sprinkled in his hair and goatee are the only tells that he has advanced into middle age. The man pulls out his phone and films their “workout.”

The odd bunch lines up, each with a folding chair. A chubby midget with a mullet haircut and NASCAR t-shirt emerges to the front of the pack. One by one, his cohorts proceed to smash him over the head, back, and face with their folding chairs. The portly midget takes the shots surprisingly well, prancing about from chair shot to chair shot like a sleep-walking toddler.

The round-ending buzzer sounds once again. The chair shots cease. On his end, Blumm removes his face from the bag. He sits down glumly on a chair against the wall next to the bag, resting his elbows on his knees with his head in his palms. He looks sad. Even for sad face. The man leading the workout next to them walks over. “Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Blumm looks up at him and signs deeply. “I think my career is over. Look, they are having me train to take punches I’m supposed to be training to give punches. Now the Kaufman lawyers sent me this fight and I don’t know if I can even compete with this guy. He’s got way more experience, even though he’s a few years younger.” The man looks Sergei Blumm up and down with a knowing smile. “I know exactly how you feel. Hey, my name’s Allen. Most people know me as Al. You’re Sergei Blumm, aren’t you. I caught the highlights of a Rock-A-Fella FC card recently. Tough break there on that decision.”

Blumm looks up at Al confused. He glances at the midget cleaning the blood pouring out his ear. “Nice to meet you, Al. No offense, but what do you know about how I feel. And what is this training you are doing. This is worse than the “striking defense” Slava, over there has me doing.” Sergei motions over to the goon, who remains emotionless.  Al smiles, “You must not be a professional wrestling fan. Most people familiar with pro wrestling know me as Al Snow. Trust me, I’ve been in your shoes before. Sometimes in MMA, just like pro wrestling you need to take one for the team. In wrestling we call it “jobbing.” You know ahead of time you’re going to lose, but you go out there and you put on a show.”

Sergei shakes his head in disbelief, “Lose? On purpose?? And you know ahead of time. How could you agree to this???”

Al Snow acknowledges Sergei’s point with a nod, and continues… “I get what you’re saying. You sound like you’ve never heard of pro wrestling at all. It’s not exactly like MMA. Let me tell you a little story. I started wrestling back in 1982. For more than 10 years, I plugged away on the regional circuit hoping to get a chance at the bigtime, the WWF. That would be like you getting a contract with the top promotion in the world, Synchronicity. I had brief stints where I got called up, but it didn’t stick. Until 1998. I got another callback from the WWF. I created a gimmick where I was a “jobber” and had a stable called “The Job Squad.” I was going through some shit at the time. But I’ll tell ya, that was when the fans really started to recognize me. I even got to compete for the Hardcore Championship Belt at WrestleMania.”

As Al tells the story, Sergei’s eyes narrow in confusion at various points. As Al takes a breath,Sergei pipes in, “Now I’m really confused. You became successful in the WWF by…losing?”

Al Snow picks up where he left off… “I’m getting to that, kid. Here’s what you gotta realize. It’s not always about you. Sometimes it takes putting others over, to get ahead. As Dwayne used to say back in the day, ‘you better know your role…and shut your mouth.’ Think about it from the promotor’s perspective, there are only so many fighters in each weight class they can book. Sometimes the match-ups can go your way, sometimes they don’t. In wrestling, sometimes the angle just goes over better when you lose. Now, think about how frustrated you would be if you couldn’t get a fight. That’s where your opponent may be at right now. In pro wrestling, when you lose, you can “put over” the other guy. That means you make them look good and make fans believe their character. That’s the key, Sergei. You do it for the fans. The fans don’t care who wins or loses. They pay their hard-earned money to see YOU put on a show. And hey, you probably get a couple bucks in the process too. You see what I’m saying, son?”

Sergei nods slowly as he absorbs Al’s wise words. Still unconvinced, he pulls out his phone from the duffel bag underneath his chair. “Ok, I hear you, Mr. Al. It just seems unfair. This is the guy they want me to fight.” He clicks a few times and presents the phone to Al, who looks it over. Al glances up at Sergei and shrugs, “I mean, it doesn’t look great for you on paper. You just gotta go in there and fight like hell. Give it your best and leave it all out there. You’re a pro fighter, time to sack up and do your job. Even if that means being a “jobber” for now…Shit, I haven’t even gotten to the point of the story yet and the round is about to start.” Al’s eyes meet Sergei’s and he places his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “The bottom line is, I’ve been in the pro wrestling business for 38 years. Even though I jobbed matches here and there, and had the “Job Squad” gimmick, no one that knows a damn thing remembers me as a jobber. If you talk to people who know pro wrestling, I have one of the most impressive careers out there. You keep your head down and train hard, you’ll get there one day too. Now, quit your bitching and hit accept already.

Also, I got something for you.” Al walks over to his area and digs in his stuff. After digging through his gear for a moment, he pulls out a ratty t-shirt that has to be at least 20 years old. He takes a few steps towards Sergei, and tosses him the shirt.

“Welcome to the Squad, kid. I think you need this more than I do”

Sad Face catches it and holds it up in front of him.

Sergei “Sad Face” Blumm folds the t-shirt and sticks it into his bag. He takes a deep breath and clicks “Accept” to the fight offer. Just as he does, the buzzer sounds and a new round begins.   

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