It was Saturday night and it was, literally, the best thing going on in the beat-up, dusty, old town. The girls that dragged us there all wore their fancy dresses, and they made sure we wore nice collared shirts. It was what almost everyone in the venue would refer to as “Sunday attire.” The marquee in front read, “Extreme Midget Wrestling”, and by god, it was in every facet or sense of the word. However, I thought the term would be offensive—I asked if they’d rather I call it something more politically correct. They said it was a sanctioned event.
The sponsors chose to hold the event in a gnarled skating rink. The place had seen its hey-day during my childhood.