#15 Unleashing Mayhem, pt. 1

[Jules]

#15: Unleashing Mayhem

Part 1: Retribution

*

Excerpt from Brice Lennon’s ‘notes’.

The principles of wrestling are quite simple. You have two persons in a ring and one person defeats the other by pinning their opponent’s shoulders to the mat for a three count. Its essence is simple, or in the language of the metaphysicians, ‘primitive’; it strikes a chord with the ‘primitive’ concept of duality that seems to permeate the human experience of reality.

However, a more ‘primitive’ concept still is the construct of ‘dichotomy’, which manifests itself in the form of opposition, the fundamental nature of the human experience of reality: light and dark; the weak and the strong; winners and losers. In human interaction opposition takes on the form of conflict; since humans are creatures so incapable of harmony, conflict is its modus operandi when faced with the duality of reality. It is the transformative process of the imagination to turn the conjunctive dualism into the disjunctive dichotomy, viz. Opposition, from which is spawned the notion of conflict (the assimilative ‘and’ is transposed by the discordant ‘or’).

This dichotomy is the nutrition of such human ventures as professional wrestling. At its heart is the concept of two irreconcilable opposites, one which must overcome the other. In the language of conflict ‘assimilation’ and ‘harmony’ become dirty words, embodying the concept of ‘surrender’. In this dichotomy, ‘surrender’ belongs to the weak.

Yet in spite of its metaphysical essence, professional wrestling is approached in a wholly non-metaphysical way; the PR campaign in its favour transposing the metaphysical concepts of ‘conflict’ into the more earthy notion ‘competition’, bringing with it a truckload of constructs such as ‘victory’, ‘reward’ and ‘merit’ – after all wasn’t succour from death the reward bestowed upon the ancient gladiator who had proven his merit through victory. This is the basis of competition: victory earns one reward that in turns grants one merit.

Add to this lashings of pomp and ostentatious fanfare and you have the sport of professional wrestling, yet in spite of all this gladiatorial dressage, the fundamental truth is that it propagates the false dichotomy of opposition.

I’m no philosopher, but it has been urged by others that where human beings find this dichotomy they are inclined to impose classifications such as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ according to their want; usually whatever lies in opposition is ‘the bad’. Conflict ensues and when it does it invites such psychological forces as ressentiment which, in its turn, introduce ‘debt’ to the tete-a-tete. Anyone who has given the most trifling amount of thought to ‘justice’ will understand how closely it is bound to ‘debt’, the sense that one is owed, or owes, something. Failure to satisfy such ‘debt’ invokes ‘retribution’, a righteous force demanding repayment.

The illusion of harmony is created amongst the blind, but what is really present here is our ‘primitive’ dichotomy and conflict, whereby ‘the just’ is synonymous with ‘the good’ which demands retribution for what is owed; ‘the unjust’ is synonymous with the ‘the bad’ (or ‘the evil’ to become even more technical), those who have incurred ‘debt’ that is yet to be repayed.

*

“For those regarded as warriors, when engaged in combat the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior's only concern. Suppress all human emotion and compassion. Kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself. This truth lies at the heart of the art of combat.”
- Hattori Hanzo –

*

John Dionysus pushed himself through the final few reps of his heavy bar in what had been an unusually intense workout. This was the part of the job he had never liked, but given that physical strength was a gift given to him by nature, he had always been able to get by without being a ‘gym monkey’. Nevertheless, the situation he was faced with, staring straight ahead at the biggest and most daunting challenge of his career, demanded it.

“Come on now, just five more!” barked Charlie Continental.

Dionysus tried to power through, but there was an inferno raging through his arms and shoulders, consuming every sinew in its wake.

“Fight that pain, you Yankee sonofabitch!”

Dionysus gritted his teeth and fought, in a way he had never done before. This was all preparation ahead of the storm, one so big he knew it wouldn’t just tear his house down, but rip the soul from his body. He pushes his hard, but right now gravity isn’t his friend.

“You think Mr. Greatest Ever is gonna sit around and wait – PUSH!”

The pain is excruciating, but Dionysus keeps going...four....three....two...and with one final strain he pushes upwards...

“DONE!”

Two ‘regular nobodies hoping to one day become somebody’ under tutelage jump in and ease the bar on to its rests for Dionysus, whose contorted muscles flop as the pressure is released. A single pat on the chest is all the praise Dionysus will receive from Continental, who throws a towel onto his student and wastes no time in providing the plenary to that activity.

“You remember that pain, son. That’s the hurt you gotta embrace on Sunday. Michael Harris is coming to smash to a million tiny fragments, you understand?”

Dionysus nodded.

“You’re gonna be hurting like you never been hurt before, but you gotta fight through it and you gotta use it like you did today. That’s your motivation. This match – Last Man Standing – it’s not about no flashy moves, who can perform the most takedowns, or the accolades before or behind you. It’s about substance – your substance as man, as a human being. It’s not about what you got up here,” Continental fingers his head,” it’s about how big those balls are between your legs.”

Dionysus wiped his face.

“I get it, Charlie. I know what it’s gonna take.”

“Do you? You sound like a cocky sonofabitch to me. You ain’t ready until you feel that burn deep inside of you, and your body and your mind wants to quit, but you’re heart tells you quitting is impossible.”

Dionysus handed Continental the towel.

“I’m ready.”

Watching from the background was Dionysus’ agent Vern Wheeler. Until he’d finished his workout Dionysus hadn’t realised Wheeler was present; a short nod in the agent’s direction acknowledged his presence. Ten minutes later, showered and getting himself changed, Dionysus spotted his agent lurking in the locker room.

“I’m assuming you’re not here to enquire into the brand of aftershave I use.”

Wheeler rose from his seat and walked over to his client.

“I watched that session. I haven’t seen a fire burn inside you since, well, you know.”

“I’d say it’s burning whole lot better right now.”

“It’s great to see that intensity, that’s why I brought you into this business again. That’s why I agreed to work with you again last summer, because I sensed that intensity he re-ignited itself.”

Dionysus nodded along, curious as to the purpose of Wheeler’s unannounced visit.

“You’ve always been a very intense competitor, you just didn’t have that belief.”

“If you’ve come to give me another a pep talk, can we cut to the chase. I’ve had enough inspiration pushed down my throat today by that whack-job out there.”

Wheeler nodded and sat down again.

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye, John, but I always believed in you...”

“I guess there is a but coming up.”

Wheeler was silent, but his fidgetiness exposed his nerves; he stood up again.

“Do you really think this fight is the right fight?”

Dionysus turned his back on his agent and closed his locker, turning around a full 180 degrees to face head on. The expression on the Xtreme Champ’s face telling his agent he wanted to continue.

“I mean for business – is this fight such a good idea?”

“I’d say it’s the best idea,” Dionysus paused before adding, “in the circumstances.”

“I can’t agree with you. Why couldn’t you just take the Xtreme rules match as a defence, why go add these extra layers of drama.”

“Drama? I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention for the past three months, but this guy wants to put an end to my career; not just my career in APW, but my career period. It doesn’t get any more dramatic than that.” Dionysus shook his head with disbelief, then added: “and from where I’m standing, if anyone has stirred the pot lately it’s been you.”

Wheeler smiled sheepishly at the reference to the recent episode of him assuming the role of on-screen spokesperson for the injured Dionysus.

“I understand all that, but listen here John, I’m pleading with you to make a concession here. You don’t need this match.”

“I’m obligated to take this match; he’s the number one contender.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean. You don’t need it to be Last Man Standing.”

“I disagree. I know it has to be Last Man Standing. This is the only way.”

Wheeler shook his head vociferously.

“No; it doesn’t; and if you were thinking straight you’d agree with me. You want to put yourself in this situation, a situation you might never come back from, and because some two-bit punk calls you out. This is a ridiculous situation. You are a professional, John, a professional wrestler, but you’ve let you pride overrule your reason, and now you’re walk straight into a disaster.”

“My pride!” Dionysus spat outraged. “You’re damn right this is about my pride! Do you think I am going to allow a guy like Michael Harris just to walk up to me and do whatever the Hell he wants without consequences? Then what next? Delikado takes a shot; Assassin suddenly thinks he has a chance; Nick Watson, Blade – all these guys are going to look on me as easy pickings, nevermind what the main guys will think.”

“So you’re doing this to try and impress – who, Kurt Noble? C.J. Gates? Level-One? You think those guys give a damn...”

“No, I don’t think they give a damn,” Dionysus interrupted, “but they will!”

Silence descended on the locker room; Wheeler exhaled heavily and shook his head.

“You’re a champ, John, you call the shots, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I’m the Xtreme Champ – do you even know what that means? Anyway, you want to make money from me; believe me, Last Man Standing makes money at this pay-per-view.”

“And you get to salvage some pride.”

“You’re damn right I will. It may be easy for others to go about this in a professional manner, but when someone threatens your very existence as a wrestler, well in my eyes that a personal matter. Everything Michael Harris has said and done has been about me; he made this personal. Now I’m gonna finish this, and I’m gonna show Harris that he may have been able to pull this crap where he came from, but as long as I am around, and as long as I am breathing, I will do everything in my power to make he, and men of his ilk, do not destroy my dreams.”

“And what if you can’t pick yourself again after Sunday; what then?”

“That’s a bridge I’ll cross when I come to it. But until then I’m not compromising a single thing.”

Dionysus grabs his gym bag and looks at his agent again to add.

“No matter what it costs me.”

*

Excerpt from Brice Lennon’s ‘notes’.

I’ve been reviewing the brief history of the Dionysus vs. Harris ‘feud’ and it appears to me a simple case of good against evil. Actually, now that I’ve written that it sounds rather platitudinal and makes the whole affair seem somewhat trite. Maybe instead I should say it’s a duel between the strong and the weak.
Of course, this leads us into a realm of perplexity because the really pertinent question is who is which? D. has certainly suffered at the hands of Harris, to a much greater extent than its opposite, and the man who calls himself ‘The Greatest Ever’ and ‘The Untouchable One’ has certainly given some indication that he isn’t a liar. I perused the tapes and I was astonished at how ruthlessly he has demolished the opposition thrown his way following the Rasslemania disappointment. (I should add, even to myself, that I profess no expert knowledge on the technical aspects of wrestling combat, but those beaten foes of Harris were certainly enough to intimidate me.)
The match at Rasslemania certainly reflected the not uncommon belief that in this bout Harris is the strong. For nearly twenty minutes he subjected D. to a most brutal physical deconstruction; it was staggering how surgical Harris was in his methods. To have dominated another wrestler 30lbs heavier was an astonishing feat, and if Harris had no admirers he has now gained one in me. Nevertheless, the outcome of that match was that D. walked out the victor. It wasn’t convincing, but it certainly gave hope to the belief that sometimes sheer determination is the making of winners, and even champions.
Actually, when you give yourself an overview of the feud you do see the familiarity of repetition – more often than not D. has suffered and Harris has walked away gloating. Twice D. was injured by the hands of Harris – a rib injury before Rasslemania, and a recent concussion that kept D. off television for three weeks at the insistence of W. All the signs then point to the conclusion Harris is the strong and Dionysus is the weak and the vulnerable. (As I write this I am left to consider whether W. is right to say this ‘Last Man Standing’ is a disaster-in-waiting.)
But is the stoicism D. has demonstrated over the weeks and months rather a sign of strength? (After all, D. is still standing.) Even as recent as the last Overdrive broadcast before the tantalisingly named ‘Mayhem’ pay-per-view D. steeled his spirit against the latest onslaught by his nemesis, although in a clever change of tactic Harris this time chose psychological rather than physical warfare. The end result was failure and frustration for Harris (or at least that is my interpretation). If we make the analogy with a war it may look from one perspective as though Harris were able to score victories in a vast number of minor skirmishes, without ever landing a significant blow in the decisive battles...

...Maybe I’ve approached this in entirely the wrong way; maybe instead I should think of this more as a battle between physical strength and strength of will. The history suggests that certainly Harris has the upper hand in the case of the former, but D. outweighs his opponent in terms of the latter.
I think the real essence of this clash lies in the spirit of the two protagonists – on the one hand D. embodies a strength of spirit that embraces a meritocratic ideals, and Harris encompasses that weakness of spirit that champions utilitarian virtues. It is no interpretation to say, once you have examined the historical record, that Harris has tried every shortcut to success he could muster, yet D. has not yielded yet. Of course, anyone who reads these notes will point to my obvious bias by dint of my professional association and vested interest in D...

...However, what seems obvious to me that in that ring in Montreal all virtues will cease to exists because two men with a seething dislike for one another are going to have free reign to kick and punch and whack several lumps of flesh and bone out of each other. To see this so close up is gruesome, and even though I hardly know D. well, I have sensed a change in him. In his eyes there is a darkness that no light can expunge; the time I spend with him largely involves observing him train with an intensity that I’ve only ever seen rivalled by the religious fervour of fundamentalist rallies, and a possessed study of those old tapes of Rasslemania and matches beyond.
Sometimes you can want something too much, and didn’t somebody once say something about exploring caves you cannot find your way out of?

*

As Dionysus’ pulled his car into the driveway of the small church he felt a pang of guilt deep in his gut. It had been a while since he had been here, but he had deliberately avoided making a visit. His busy schedule was a ready-made reason, but he knew also it was hardly an excuse.

Father Augustine, not quite a surrogate father, but certainly a source of guidance, had been of great help during some of Dionysus’ past troubles. The Xtreme Champion was certainly surprised when he received a message from the churchman requesting an urgent conference. Augustine knew the darkness of the heart that rested inside Dionysus’ chest better than anyone; he was one of few people Dionysus had introduced to the demons that had threatened to destroy him years ago.

Having parked Dionysus made his way to the gardens where he was told Father Augustine was waiting. He found churchman tending to some flowers, and after a brief, yet warm, introduction they took a seat on a wooden bench. Dionysus began the conversation abruptly.

“So what’s this all about, Father? It’s unusual for you reach out for my company the way you did.”

“It has been a long time, John. Your visits become fewer with every passing year.”

“I’m a different person now; I’m in a very different place.”

“Yes, and from what I’ve seen and heard, very busy too. I’m very pleased about your success, John, and I’ve been waiting for a moment to congratulate you face to face.”

“I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come here just so you could congratulate me,” Dionysus retorts suspiciously. “So let’s cut to the chase.”

“You always were an abrupt individual,” says the churchman, but his attempt to lighten the mood or quell Dionysus’ agitation fails. “I called you here because I am always intrigued about your welfare.”

“You could’ve used the phone.”

“The truth is I’m concerned about you.”

Dionysus eyed Father Augustine quizzically; this direct approach was not his style.

“I see you are embarking on some kind of revenge mission.”

The penny dropped inside Dionysus’ mind.

“You haven’t by chance had a conversation with Vern Wheeler in the last few days?”

“We did have a conversation,” said the churchman, he shifted uncomfortably now that his cover was blown. “But I have been keeping an eye on your ‘career’ from a distance. I can’t pretend I’m not concerned.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.”

Dionysus shook his head lividly.

“Anyway,” Dionysus began, getting to his feet, “if that is all you have to say then I have to go. I have too much to do and too little time to do it.” Dionysus looked at Father Augustine, there was disappointment in his eyes. “Goodbye, Father.”

“John, revenge is a bitter pill to swallow.”

The churchman said this as a desperate final gambit; it worked because Dionysus stopped after two steps and turned.

“Retribution,” Dionysus retorted.

Father Augustine looked puzzled. Dionysus filled in the gaps.

“It’s retribution, not revenge. I would expect a man of the cloth to know the difference.”

“My faith is based on neither, but instead on forgiveness.”

“Well, sometimes people don’t deserve forgiveness. Michael Harris is a prime candidate.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what is right. I am owed, Father. You say you have been watching, then you should know that it is only right that I take from Harris what he owes me.”

“Then you’re not talking about right and wrong.”

“I want justice!”

“And you’re the one to deliver that? This is a revenge mission, John. You do not seek what is right, and it is not for you to hand out retribution against those who harm you.”

“Maybe according to your book; but the one that runs my business says this man has to be put down, and he has to be made to suffer. You want to talk about what is right and what is wrong? Well, I’ll tell you, what is certainly not right and is certainly wrong is that a man like Michael Harris is allowed to take shots at me and expect no consequences.”

“This path you are taking is not going to give you the vindication you seek.”

“Maybe not,” Dionysus spat, “but it will damn sure make me feel a lot better when I have beaten that man into the ground.”

Dionysus turned again and began to storm off, but Father Augustine called out to him one last time.

“He ‘who fight with monsters might take care lest he too become a monster’.”

Dionysus stopped in his tracks and said quietly to himself the rest of the passage.

“What’s your point?” Dionysus asked as he turned.

“I remember you repeating that quote to me years ago when you decided you had to change something in your life.”

“And?”

“You were a very angry young man, and rightly so. But that anger nearly destroyed you. It drew you into an abyss I thought you would never escape. But you did. You turned your life around and now you can look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of the man you have become, the man you are striving to become.”

Father Augustine paused before moving directly to his point.

“I want to ask you, what next? What happens next? You destroy this man, as you seem so intent on doing so, but will that really satisfy you? You stand there and tell me that you want retribution, but retribution is about justice, it is about harmony, it is objective. What you are doing is embarking on a crusade to right some wrong you feel has been done to you. That is revenge. That is about pride, not justice.”

“And what if that is true? Doesn’t your book promote vengeance?”

“Vengeance is not man’s to give. All I can say to you, John, as a friend, is that I see in you the same anger that once nearly destroyed you; the same chaos that once consumed you like a raging inferno. Justice demands you beat this rival in this match; however, it does not require you become the monster you want to vanquish.”

Dionysus smiled, it wasn’t the sincere smile of someone who recognised the sagacity of the advice, but one that did not hide its ironic bent.

“You know, Father, didn’t someone important once say that all it takes for wrongdoers to prevail is for good men to be of feeble hearts? You have to understand that men like Michael Harris, they don’t understand your righteous language, they speak only in swords and fists and claws. The only justice they know comes in the form of broken bits of flesh and bone, and a decisive three-count.” Dionysus drew a breath before continuing. “You don’t have to like what I do, I’m certainly not looking for your blessing, but you have to know that this path is the one I chose, it is the path that makes me. As for Michael Harris, what I have to do to him is the only thing I can do if I am able to wake up, look myself in the mirror and consider myself a man.”

Dionysus half-turned, but looked back to finally add.

“Remember, it’s chaos that gives birth to dancing stars.”

*

[Promo]

The time has come. There can be no holding back or looking over the shoulder. The game is standing there right in front of me. The way I look at it, this is an ‘all-in’ situation; a moment when a feeble heart will fail me.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about this match and what it means to me. It is no exaggeration to say that I have been tormented by Michael Harris for months. To some that may not be as frightening a prospect as having The Sindicate run rampant all over your career and what you believe in, and it may not be the ordeal of seeing a fissure separate you spiritually from someone you considered a good friend. But let’s put this into a perspective: this is a man I have beaten twice and still he demands more.

No, demand is the wrong word. He is fixated on me; he is fixated on the idea of beating me; he is fixated on destroying something I have worked so hard to reclaim.

As a result this is no mere match for some title; this isn’t a match about who is the best in the business; it is not a match that may set a precedent that takes the future of APW in a brand new direction; it is match between two foes who are diametrically opposed in every conceivable way.

This is a match between two men who cannot stand to breathe the same air.

That has been my problem all along: I simply haven’t accepted this rivalry for what it really is. It isn’t entirely about the Xtreme Championship because Michael Harris has not set himself up as a merely a threat to my title reign; his conduct befits a man whose intentions have been all along aimed towards something darker and permanent.

That is why I cannot continue to ignore the truth that is staring me in the eyes: this rivalry is a whole lot more personal than I ever let it on to be.

Harris, to this day I still don’t understand what fuels your hatred of me. I’ve heard several reasons and each one carries the stench of a lie, of something covering a deeper meaning. I know you want the Xtreme Championship, but I also know this thing runs deeper than that.

However, none of this is really that important anymore. Sitting around thinking about why you are so passionately consumed with putting an end to me will not make the threat you pose go away. That has been exactly my problem all along – I have spent too much time trying to understand why you want to annihilate me instead of just taking you down.

But all of that has brought us to this point, Michael.

Last Man Standing.

We both know this isn’t about proving who is the better wrestler, it’s not even about proving who deserves to reign over the Xtreme division. If that is all that were on the line in this match then we could have thrashed it out with chairs and see who could carry out the three-count. But that wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t good enough last time, when you threw everything you had at me at Rasslemania, but lacked that what was essential to turn what was eventually a victory of fortitude into a victory of strength.

It must have galled you, Michael, it must pick away at you day after day to know that you gave as good a beat down to me as it is in your capacity to give, but still you couldn’t beat me. Trust me, I know that feeling, I know that aching pain; that pain brought about by the failure to overcome a hated adversary. Like an itch that can never be scratched because it always lies out of reach, it plagues your mind and your will.

However, to your credit you did pick yourself up; that is commendable. You were given another opportunity and you grabbed it with both hands. Now here we are again. What is more, while I had to sit idle at your hands, you’ve gained momentum on Overdrive with a string of victories. Dare I say it: you’re probably the favourite right now.

But the question that remains, the question you still have to answer is: do you have the resources to beat me? That is why Last Man Standing is so important because it elevates this battle beyond merely winning a match in Xtreme rules; it presents the challenge that this rivalry has always been about – the domination of one man’s will by another.

Every one of your actions so far has been motivated by this goal, and a straightforward Xtreme rules match is never going to provide the resolution we both crave; it is never going to give an answer of lasting truth to the question we are confronted with demands.

It has to be Last Man Standing because after all the crap I’ve had to take from you for three months I simply do not want to pin you to the mat for a three count. It has to be Last Man Standing because when I reap the retribution your misdeeds have sowed I want you to know that I am not someone you can overcome. It has to be Last Man Standing because when I have put you down for a ten-count I want you to know that as far as we’re concerned I am a force you cannot reckon with, a force you cannot contain, and a force you simply cannot outlast.

Michael, when that bell sounds in Montreal I have to in no uncertain terms beat you. How I get the job done doesn’t matter, but I must get the job done. This time I’m not fighting for the fans, I’m not just fighting to retain the gold – I’m fighting for myself. For my own piece of mind, for my own vindication, for the retribution I need. I’m fighting because if I am even a slice of a man, in Montreal, between you and me, I have to be the last man standing.