Old Dogs, New Tricks

Unbeknownst to Dasher, but perhaps known to his compatriot, a disgruntled and sparse number of scattered wrestlers within the bar began directing irate glares towards the bowl-cutted veteran. In particular, the lady grapplers in the house who couldn't help but eavesdrop on that part of the conversation due to Dash's bellowed vocal range. Being an opinionated and old-school curmudgeon like Dasher meant expressing his antiquated opinions to the world and stubbornly insisting he was in the right no matter what. The gruff bowl-cutted billy goat was never one to censor himself or mince his words, and he was intent on going to the grave with this opinion on the matter. And in an odd juxtaposition, it was a long-time rival who ended up being the first wrestler he can recall who shared his sentiment on lady wrestlers.

"Heh, and they say I'm old fashioned. I see it in my students everyday, eyes glued to their cellphones. You may be her Father, but you have no hope of being as impressionable upon her now than when she was a tyke. Nowadays teenagers have their social media, and tweeters, and twitchers, and all sorts of nonsense inundating their brain 24/7. You're hopelessly outgunned, my friend." Dasher smirked before taking another swig of drink, still not feeling the buzz but well on his way should he keep this up. "And I'm no fan of those weak-kneed doormats calling themself wrestlers either. It's because of namby-pamby's like them that woman think they can lock-horns with a real man and think they stand a chance. Hmph...still, I suppose they're preferable to that King person. What a disgrace to the profession, he gives us legit muscled grapplers a bad name..."

Dasher slumped back and crossed his arms while staring out the window of the bar onto the zooming city streets."Bah...to be honest, sometimes I wonder if my boy should find another profession. I just can't recognize this business anymore. And...I'd rather his impression of me now, where he sees me as some fabled hero...not be tainted by what people are saying about me nowadays."

Dasher's apprehension about his spirited offspring following along in his Father's gigantic footsteps being multi-faceted in practice, but he knew that eventually his boy could overcome any obstacles stemming from the preferential treatment of having such a renowned grappling lineage. Be they exorbitant expectations that he could match his Father's legacy, or enviousness and resentment projected upon him from other wrestlers not being granted the spotlight they felt Katsuo never earned and was merely a result of his birthright. His stalwart son could heap those burdens upon himself and never allow them to dampen that boy's emboldened spirit. But having his son think less of his old man or see him as some ogre-like villain thanks to all of this hooplah generated from Dasher's staunch beliefs about women in wrestling, that was the true roadblock preventing him from giving his son the green light on pursuing his wrestling aspirations. Dasher harrumphed at Wolf's sage advice and took another swig of his freshly poured sake to perhaps make his compatriot's word's easier to digest.

"HMPH. You with all of your...hippy-dippy, free spirited, peyote smoking, drum circle, follow your heart gibberish again. Beginning to sound more and more like that boy's mother, I say." Dasher sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, closing his eyes and concentrated on what was to come of the wrestling business. "This business will never be like it once was. With REAL MEN showcasing true girt, strength and grappling ingenuity with muscled bodies forged from sheer granite...now there's perverted speedo boys and vapid, teeny-bopping instagamers. Whatever whole new world is being slapped on top of what WE built, I want no part of." Dasher began pouring himself his drink before setting back down the bottle. "But you be wary of this social media. Some scrawny puke has been posting defamatory messages under my name, someone I intend to snap in half once I get my hands on them...but who was this Charlie you speak of? Some ex-boyfriend of Cheyenne's who broke his heart? You just say the word, and I'll have him tapping out in my INOBA CLUTCH in no time flat!!!" Dasher bellowed out with an angered grimace while flexing up his arms to the point muscles were beginning to stretch the fabric of his suit jacket...

Despite whatever scurrilous and scandalous rumors one may have overheard about Dasher from fake twitter accounts and unprincipled online wrestling journalists, the Bowl-Cutted Bruiser had never partaken of any psychedelic hallucinogens or performance enhancing drugs in his life. A man of his prideful caliber being taught from a young age that such drug use would ultimately only serve to shorten one's wrestling career through their negative drawbacks and were ultimately a cheat, and nothing more. Yes indeed. Clean, sober living was the high benchmark that he himself lived by, and such ideals were always a emphasized part of Dasher's training curriculum. He knew full well that instilling such virtuous morals with today's youth must be done at a young age and with stressed importance. Unfortunately, this noble act was typically done through long-winded diatribes on Dasher's part and subjecting his students to hours of embarrassingly dated educational VHS tapes. Of course, an occasional drink with your friend/co-workers at a bar is absolutely acceptable and a harmless vice...but as of right now Dasher was intent on teaching this supposed Charlie fellow a lesson for breaking the heart of-

"...Charlotte?!! UH-UHM...I knew that." Dasher relaxed his flexing posture with widened eyes before settling himself into his chair and crossing his arms, putting up a strong and stoic front to salvage the conversational confusion as best he could while continuing to hear about this Charlotte person. About the extensive and prolonged history that seemed to wind about until it appeared this was what had Wolf all in knots over. "Sheesh...It appears all of your accursed luck with women has finally been turned right back on you. Rebellious daughters, pill-popping former pupils...women troubles are apparently all you have now. A far-cry from the types of headaches they've been giving me lately but it seems we are indeed in the same boat. And it's currently up a creek and without a paddle." Dasher stroked his prodigious chin with closed eyes and contemplated further about this situation of Wolf's. "Does Cheyenne know that this "idol" of hers betrayed your trust and disgraced both you and herself by resorting to drug use? I cannot see that little girl with the pigtail I knew from so long ago looking up to such a deplorable person as this Charlotte harlot...oh, that rhymed. Kanpai~..." To commemorate that accidentally poetic wordplay Dasher took another swig of sake with a smile, a buzz definitely starting to be felt.

Stories with Wolf when it came to his daughter were making Dasher quite appreciative that he never sired any daughters of his own. He surmised that several of his compatriot's stress wrinkles were due in large part to Cheyenne running her poor father ragged over this particularly bizarre issue of his. One that Dasher admittedly failed to relate to considering his boy Katsuo worshiped the earth to which his Father steps upon. A byproduct he surmised of the abysmal lack of discipline from American parents allowing their children to run roughshod all over them. Spare the rod, spoil the child...he always said. Seeing his American rival became such a pitiable shadow of his former self was beginning to boil his testosterone-laced blood until he'd finally smack his massive mitt upon the table.

"HEY!!!! LISTEN TO YOURSELF SPEAK!!!! What kind of man are you to let some drugged up, pill-popping trollop usurp your own relationship with your daughter??!! Baby-sitter~...Big sister~...She's only Chey's best friend because she isn't family. Well you're not there to be her friend. BECAUSE YOU'RE HER FATHER FOR GODSAKES MAN. That means doing what's best for her even if she hates you for it. Show her the truth of whoever this "Charlie" person is before your daughter ends up taking in the same bad habits. Why just look at me and my boy Katsuo. The child knows that my word is LAW...no questions asked. You think some fair-eyed floozy is going to come between me and my boy?...Hah, unlikely." Dasher confidently swigged back another drink, than proceeding to start scarfing on the free bread provided by the restaurant.

One could perhaps attribute Dasher's rather terse, boorish, and testosterone-fueled ramblings as a mere symptom of imbibing more than his fair share of hard liquor this night. Except that when it comes to the Bowl-Cutted Bruiser, this was all rather par for the course. Dasher would have offered this same advice no matter if he was soused up or not. Seeing a fellow compatriot, once considered capable of being on par with The Mighty Inoba in the ring, become reduced to a weak-willed and defeated shell of his former self had all made Dasher's mighty blood boil. He'd begun to consider slapping his drinking partner in the face to snap himself out of his pitiful doldrums if he continued on with this woeful display. That is until Wolf suddenly become interested in his boy Katsuo...

"Hmm? Well he's-HEY!!!! My boy Katsuo has had no desire to enjoy the company of men in that manner...not that there's anything wrong with that." Dasher remarked before taking another swiff of beer before dipping his Karaage chicken into the accompanying sauce and scarfing down on the plate of them served to the table. "But well, hmm...now that I think about it, I don't believe he's currently seeing anyone, and that well-mannered boy of mine confides everything with me. He mainly sticks to his wrestling training, in between helping me manage the gym's finances and help train the new recruits. He's a strong-willed, polite, friendly and responsible young man with a promising future I'd say. Why do you ask?" Dasher casually asked while continuing to eat, far too thick-headed to make the blaring obvious connection himself.