Post by Jules on Jan 23, 2013 9:12:19 GMT -4
Men’s Locker Room; Wembley Stadium, London, England.
Three hours until Survive & Conquer goes live.
So is this it – the last locker room I ever use as a professional wrestler? To be fair, I couldn’t ask for a more regal setting, they seem to cater to athletes at the height of their sports here. I read in the corridors that this place, Wembley Stadium, is where the England soccer team achieved their greatest success, winning the World Cup of 1966.
What I wouldn’t give for a bit of that English spirit right now; all that stiff upper lip stuff.
Let’s be honest, does any professional athlete ever really believe it will one day come to an end? Especially in wrestling, where we seem to engage longer than we really should, believing there is still one more bite of the apple we can stomach. I certainly never thought this day would come; there were days, many days, when I wished I did something that didn’t make such a wreck of my body, but then I could never let go, so addicted I have always been to the highs the ring gives us all.
But now my downfall may be just a few hours away, and you know what – I’m nervous. I thought I was ready for this, I thought I would be able to let John Dionysus R.I.P. once I’d done this unfinished business with Evan Envi. But now I’m faced with it, I don’t want to let go.
I thought it was the right thing to do, to quit. I haven’t won a match in God knows how long, which leads me to believe I simply cannot cut it anymore with the very best...and why climb hills once you’ve savoured the peak of a mountain?
I thought I was doing it for my family; it was my ticket to reconciliation and familial redemption.
I thought I was doing it for myself, to give myself an ordinary life in which I could enjoy all the things this business forces you to sacrifice.
I thought I was doing it to put an end to all the pain, the consultations, the refusal to accept medical advice.
I thought I was doing it to give myself a life, but now I’m faced with the reality I know this is my life, this is what gives me the strength to continue; it’s the only thing I have that gives me dignity.
And yet, it could be taken away from me in mere hours. Suddenly, this fight comes not down to pride, but preservation.
And whom do I thank for this? None other than my dearest mother; the only one who could teach me how to save my life.
*
“It’s this one, right?” Vern Wheeler asked as he pulled up outside number 318.
“Yeah, this is it. Thanks for the ride, bud,” I replied.
I pushed the door open and unclipped by seatbelt when I could sense Vern, John Dionysus’s manager and best friend, had something on his mind. I relaxed in the seat and closed the door again, my eyes drawn to dustbin, on its side, rolling to and fro in the wind, a disposable plastic bag fighting to free itself from its grasp.
“What’s on your mind, Vern?”
He shook his head to dismiss my question.
“I know something is plaguing you; I could sense the...atmosphere. It’s been with us since we left Boston.”
“Listen, I just don’t understand why it has to be so extreme. It’s not too late, we can amend the conditions.”
“This is how it has to be, Vern. The match doesn’t happen under any other conditions; can you see that?”
“But your career John! It’s so much risk.”
“Every day in this business is a risk, you know that. Besides-”
“It’s not too late,” Vern interrupted me, “I can call Rebel, Jeff, whoever makes these decisions. Get them to change or remove the stipulation. We could change it to you switching to Asylum.”
“I don’t want to draft to Asylum,” I cut in, barely able to quell the agitation in my voice.
“Or maybe just moving to one of APW’s associates,” Vern continued. “Anything but this. Please John!”
I had tried to explain already on three occasions, but he still didn’t understand. I don’t think he ever would. I knew his agency was struggling, and my contract with APW was sustaining it. As much as Vern had been a reliable ally for me down the years, I knew this wasn’t a friend fearing that my decision was a personal mistake I would regret; it was a business partner pleading with me not to pull my investment.
“The stipulation stays, Vern. If I don’t offer Evan my career, he doesn’t take this match.”
“Then don’t give him the match. Renegotiate, I’m sure if I speak to his people I can talk them into Rasslemania,” he brightened at this idea, “think of the payoff for that: biggest show of the year, then you can sail off into the sunset after that.”
“Rasslemania is too far. It’s Sunday, and that is not negotiable. You’re just going to have to accept this. I’m not asking you understand it, Vern.”
He pulled a face like he did when he knew he wasn’t going to swing something in his favour.
“I need this match now,” I continued, “not in two months. I can’t wait that long, not this time, not for this match. I simply cannot walk into another APW locker room knowing that Evan Envi is smirking the day away. It’s a matter of principle.”
“It’s ludicrous, John,” he ?. “You know it too. It’s reckless to sacrifice something you have worked over a decade for on a revenge mission. I know your ego is bruised, but really, you want to throw it all away on some squabble.”
“Look here, the contract...that means nothing outside of this match. If I can’t confront Evan in that ring, then I simply cannot cash the cheque. What Evan did to me, I can’t allow that to pass. It may be okay for some people to take that, smile and think about the money, but I can’t.”
A stony silence descended; I could sense this may not only be the road for my career, but also our friendship, which had been so dependent on my career; it was borne of it no less.
“I was ready to walk,” I eventually said. “You know that, but he took all of that away. My career means nothing to me if it remain stripped of what he stole. Maybe there is some ego here, but a man can’t look at himself in the mirror if he can’t live his life on his own terms. You get that, right?”
He nooded.
“It’s just,” Vern began, “I listened to your promo yesterday...”
“And?”
“It sounds like you’ve already accepted your fate.”
“I do not fear my career ending at Survive & Conquer, but if it does end, at least I know I won’t go tamely like a broken mule. That’s all I ever wanted, and on these terms that is something Evan Envi can never take away from me.”
I glanced at the clock and knew my host would be anxious.
“I have to go inside; I’m late. The flight’s at 10, right?”
He nodded.
“I’ll be waiting out here at seven.”
Bidding Vern goodnight I stepped in front of the steps leading up to no. 318. I couldn’t believe I was about to step over the threshold to this house. There had been an open invitation in place for seven years, but I had not once accepted it. It had been ten years since I had seen or spoken to my mother. Even when my kid brother, Francis, stayed with me for a time last year there was no direct communication between us.
Tracing the source of the fissure was difficult. It was easy to say my descent, in my twenties, in drug addiction, had driven the relationship to breaking point, but I knew it was more complicated than that. My father’s death and her subsequent re-marriage, her opposition to my chosen career path, the theft and the drugs also – together they formed a cocktail that drove us apart. Now, on this day, we were trying our hands at reconciliation.
I had fight back the urge to turn around and never come back. I could stand toe to toe with any wrestler in the world with any a speck of trepidation, but the prospect of having to look upon my mother’s face after all these years, fearing instead of forgiveness a reproachful eye, reduced me to a villainous coward.
In the end the choice was made for me as my kid brother Francis appeared at the top of the steps.
“John, you’re here!” he greeted me with a friendly smile. “But why are you standing out here?”
I stammered to get out a sentence.
“I’ve just arrived, not been here long.”
Down the steps he plodded, giving me a vigorous shake of the hands, then inviting me into the house. This was it, no way back from here.
Inside the house was warm and emanated that cosiness of a family home. Francis led me through to a large sitting room where my step-father was sitting in an easy chair, pouring over a book of some sort. Getting up to greet, his smile put me at ease, so full of generosity and accompanied by a firm, yet open, handshake. I could sense the presence at my shoulder, turning I got my first glimpse of my mother in a decade. For a moment I felt frozen in the spot I stood, I could feel beads of perspiration manifesting on my skin. She held out her hands and the spell was broken, I fell forward into her embrace, and of her flooded all of her emotions – maternal forgiveness granted for a decade of neglect by the touch of her first born’s arms around her shoulders.
*
Dinner passed in a jovial and sociable manner. My mother’s smile was warm and charming throughout, I was pleased to see her so comfortable and happy with her family unit. Francis fawned over me a little, recounting every story he could remember about his weeks ‘on the road’ with me last year: the places he’d seen, the wrestlers he’d met, the matches and feats he’d seen me perform. My mother and step-father humoured him and laughed along, but I could see in my mother’s eye a touch of fear that Francis might try to follow my footsteps into this brutal life.
After dinner I accepted my mother’s invitation to help her with the washing-up; I could feel the lump in my throat as the look on my stepfather’s face told me we weren’t going to be interrupted during this chore. As my mother washed, I dried.
“I’m really pleased you came, John,” mom began. “I can see Francis’ time with you was well spent. He really looks upon you as quite the idol, you know.”
“Kid needs to get himself a girlfriend.”
“He was quite taken by his little glimpse into your life.”
“Believe me it’s not all strawberries and cream.”
“But it did help him,” she continued, “really got him straightened out. I think it helped him to see that the world is a lot bigger than what he could see through his eyes. I know he looks at you like his hero, like a great success he wants to emulate somehow.”
“Look mom, I’ll have a word. I won’t let him follow my lead.”
“Knowing how headstrong the boy can be, I doubt that will be your choice to make.”
“Well, unless there suddenly appears a niche for scrawny teenagers, I think he’ll be out for a while.”
We exchanged an awkward laugh.
“I’m serious, though,” I started, “Francis shouldn’t have to make a living having his brains bashed in by some brute with a chair; he’s better than that. Better than I could ever be.”
Then the silence descended again. Usually those natural gaps in conversations were of no hindrance to my mind, I could endure them easily. But here I could feel my guilt creeping up my back like a migrating vine, its tentacles slowly wrapping itself around my throat ready to choke me. Feeling oppressed by this I blurt out.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
Then I broke down. I don’t know how long I wept for, all I know is that my mother was there to reassure me.
“John, it’s all forgotten. You’re my son, and you don’t ever have to apologise.”
“I let you down,” he replied fighting off the tears, “I took everything from you.”
“But you came back to me John, and that is all that matters.”
Having composed myself, we took a seat at the breakfast bar, my mother’s hand on my knee.
“I am so proud of you, John.”
I was astonished by this admission. She saw this, smiled and continued.
“Yes, there were times when you broke my heart, but this is a mother’s prerogative. But I look at you now and I can see you are so strong; I see you fighting and that makes me so happy because I remember when nothing mattered to you, when I thought the day was near when the last bit of will inside you would be lost forever.”
“I’m going to give it all up, mom. I mean it, after this match...when it’s over, I’m going to let John Dionysus rest for eternity. I’m going to give you back your son.”
Patting my knee, she smiled into my eyes.
“You gave him back to me a long time ago. Whoever ‘John Dionysus’ is, he saved my boy ‘John Francis McLeary’. You should not be so ungrateful for that.”
I was confused; after our last fight the impression had remained with me that mom had seen wrestling as the source of all my pain. I reminded her of that.
“Those days were very different. I was angry, John, I needed something to blame. I could see what you were doing to yourself with the drugs, and I thought it was because your body was hurting. I believed it was the wrestling that was eating you from the inside out. I know now it was more than that.”
I nodded, said nothing.
“I see you now, and I see someone who is so empowered by what they do. I remember watching you before Christmas, and even though it hurt me to see you lose, to see you suffering, I could see the strength and the motivation that burned inside. I could sense someone who was at peace.”
She raised her hand to cheek.
“And that is all any mother wants for her children, for them to find their place in life and enjoy the solace that comes with that.”
She paused for a moment.
“Those were darker days, but now I see only light in your life. You do whatever you have to do to sustain that peace, if that means continuing as a wrestler then you have my support.”
“And if I lose?” I cut, anxious to know my mother’s thoughts, in spite of her lack of wrestling authority.
“Then take it, John, will all the strength I see within you now, with your head proud and your mind at ease. You will never have to make excuses to about the choices you make John, as long as you know they are the right choices for you. Back then I could see you destroying yourself, but hating yourself for it; now I see a man embracing life and full of vitality. What else can I expect of my eldest boy?”
I smiled. She stroked my face and patted the back of my head before getting up and heading back to the sink, but before stopping to look back at me again.
“Just one thing,” she began. “whatever happens, make sure you kick that sonofbitch’s ass!”
*
The following promo was recorded by John Dionysus and broadcast by APW.com in the days leading up to Survive & Conquer.
End.
Three hours until Survive & Conquer goes live.
So is this it – the last locker room I ever use as a professional wrestler? To be fair, I couldn’t ask for a more regal setting, they seem to cater to athletes at the height of their sports here. I read in the corridors that this place, Wembley Stadium, is where the England soccer team achieved their greatest success, winning the World Cup of 1966.
What I wouldn’t give for a bit of that English spirit right now; all that stiff upper lip stuff.
Let’s be honest, does any professional athlete ever really believe it will one day come to an end? Especially in wrestling, where we seem to engage longer than we really should, believing there is still one more bite of the apple we can stomach. I certainly never thought this day would come; there were days, many days, when I wished I did something that didn’t make such a wreck of my body, but then I could never let go, so addicted I have always been to the highs the ring gives us all.
But now my downfall may be just a few hours away, and you know what – I’m nervous. I thought I was ready for this, I thought I would be able to let John Dionysus R.I.P. once I’d done this unfinished business with Evan Envi. But now I’m faced with it, I don’t want to let go.
I thought it was the right thing to do, to quit. I haven’t won a match in God knows how long, which leads me to believe I simply cannot cut it anymore with the very best...and why climb hills once you’ve savoured the peak of a mountain?
I thought I was doing it for my family; it was my ticket to reconciliation and familial redemption.
I thought I was doing it for myself, to give myself an ordinary life in which I could enjoy all the things this business forces you to sacrifice.
I thought I was doing it to put an end to all the pain, the consultations, the refusal to accept medical advice.
I thought I was doing it to give myself a life, but now I’m faced with the reality I know this is my life, this is what gives me the strength to continue; it’s the only thing I have that gives me dignity.
And yet, it could be taken away from me in mere hours. Suddenly, this fight comes not down to pride, but preservation.
And whom do I thank for this? None other than my dearest mother; the only one who could teach me how to save my life.
*
“It’s this one, right?” Vern Wheeler asked as he pulled up outside number 318.
“Yeah, this is it. Thanks for the ride, bud,” I replied.
I pushed the door open and unclipped by seatbelt when I could sense Vern, John Dionysus’s manager and best friend, had something on his mind. I relaxed in the seat and closed the door again, my eyes drawn to dustbin, on its side, rolling to and fro in the wind, a disposable plastic bag fighting to free itself from its grasp.
“What’s on your mind, Vern?”
He shook his head to dismiss my question.
“I know something is plaguing you; I could sense the...atmosphere. It’s been with us since we left Boston.”
“Listen, I just don’t understand why it has to be so extreme. It’s not too late, we can amend the conditions.”
“This is how it has to be, Vern. The match doesn’t happen under any other conditions; can you see that?”
“But your career John! It’s so much risk.”
“Every day in this business is a risk, you know that. Besides-”
“It’s not too late,” Vern interrupted me, “I can call Rebel, Jeff, whoever makes these decisions. Get them to change or remove the stipulation. We could change it to you switching to Asylum.”
“I don’t want to draft to Asylum,” I cut in, barely able to quell the agitation in my voice.
“Or maybe just moving to one of APW’s associates,” Vern continued. “Anything but this. Please John!”
I had tried to explain already on three occasions, but he still didn’t understand. I don’t think he ever would. I knew his agency was struggling, and my contract with APW was sustaining it. As much as Vern had been a reliable ally for me down the years, I knew this wasn’t a friend fearing that my decision was a personal mistake I would regret; it was a business partner pleading with me not to pull my investment.
“The stipulation stays, Vern. If I don’t offer Evan my career, he doesn’t take this match.”
“Then don’t give him the match. Renegotiate, I’m sure if I speak to his people I can talk them into Rasslemania,” he brightened at this idea, “think of the payoff for that: biggest show of the year, then you can sail off into the sunset after that.”
“Rasslemania is too far. It’s Sunday, and that is not negotiable. You’re just going to have to accept this. I’m not asking you understand it, Vern.”
He pulled a face like he did when he knew he wasn’t going to swing something in his favour.
“I need this match now,” I continued, “not in two months. I can’t wait that long, not this time, not for this match. I simply cannot walk into another APW locker room knowing that Evan Envi is smirking the day away. It’s a matter of principle.”
“It’s ludicrous, John,” he ?. “You know it too. It’s reckless to sacrifice something you have worked over a decade for on a revenge mission. I know your ego is bruised, but really, you want to throw it all away on some squabble.”
“Look here, the contract...that means nothing outside of this match. If I can’t confront Evan in that ring, then I simply cannot cash the cheque. What Evan did to me, I can’t allow that to pass. It may be okay for some people to take that, smile and think about the money, but I can’t.”
A stony silence descended; I could sense this may not only be the road for my career, but also our friendship, which had been so dependent on my career; it was borne of it no less.
“I was ready to walk,” I eventually said. “You know that, but he took all of that away. My career means nothing to me if it remain stripped of what he stole. Maybe there is some ego here, but a man can’t look at himself in the mirror if he can’t live his life on his own terms. You get that, right?”
He nooded.
“It’s just,” Vern began, “I listened to your promo yesterday...”
“And?”
“It sounds like you’ve already accepted your fate.”
“I do not fear my career ending at Survive & Conquer, but if it does end, at least I know I won’t go tamely like a broken mule. That’s all I ever wanted, and on these terms that is something Evan Envi can never take away from me.”
I glanced at the clock and knew my host would be anxious.
“I have to go inside; I’m late. The flight’s at 10, right?”
He nodded.
“I’ll be waiting out here at seven.”
Bidding Vern goodnight I stepped in front of the steps leading up to no. 318. I couldn’t believe I was about to step over the threshold to this house. There had been an open invitation in place for seven years, but I had not once accepted it. It had been ten years since I had seen or spoken to my mother. Even when my kid brother, Francis, stayed with me for a time last year there was no direct communication between us.
Tracing the source of the fissure was difficult. It was easy to say my descent, in my twenties, in drug addiction, had driven the relationship to breaking point, but I knew it was more complicated than that. My father’s death and her subsequent re-marriage, her opposition to my chosen career path, the theft and the drugs also – together they formed a cocktail that drove us apart. Now, on this day, we were trying our hands at reconciliation.
I had fight back the urge to turn around and never come back. I could stand toe to toe with any wrestler in the world with any a speck of trepidation, but the prospect of having to look upon my mother’s face after all these years, fearing instead of forgiveness a reproachful eye, reduced me to a villainous coward.
In the end the choice was made for me as my kid brother Francis appeared at the top of the steps.
“John, you’re here!” he greeted me with a friendly smile. “But why are you standing out here?”
I stammered to get out a sentence.
“I’ve just arrived, not been here long.”
Down the steps he plodded, giving me a vigorous shake of the hands, then inviting me into the house. This was it, no way back from here.
Inside the house was warm and emanated that cosiness of a family home. Francis led me through to a large sitting room where my step-father was sitting in an easy chair, pouring over a book of some sort. Getting up to greet, his smile put me at ease, so full of generosity and accompanied by a firm, yet open, handshake. I could sense the presence at my shoulder, turning I got my first glimpse of my mother in a decade. For a moment I felt frozen in the spot I stood, I could feel beads of perspiration manifesting on my skin. She held out her hands and the spell was broken, I fell forward into her embrace, and of her flooded all of her emotions – maternal forgiveness granted for a decade of neglect by the touch of her first born’s arms around her shoulders.
*
Dinner passed in a jovial and sociable manner. My mother’s smile was warm and charming throughout, I was pleased to see her so comfortable and happy with her family unit. Francis fawned over me a little, recounting every story he could remember about his weeks ‘on the road’ with me last year: the places he’d seen, the wrestlers he’d met, the matches and feats he’d seen me perform. My mother and step-father humoured him and laughed along, but I could see in my mother’s eye a touch of fear that Francis might try to follow my footsteps into this brutal life.
After dinner I accepted my mother’s invitation to help her with the washing-up; I could feel the lump in my throat as the look on my stepfather’s face told me we weren’t going to be interrupted during this chore. As my mother washed, I dried.
“I’m really pleased you came, John,” mom began. “I can see Francis’ time with you was well spent. He really looks upon you as quite the idol, you know.”
“Kid needs to get himself a girlfriend.”
“He was quite taken by his little glimpse into your life.”
“Believe me it’s not all strawberries and cream.”
“But it did help him,” she continued, “really got him straightened out. I think it helped him to see that the world is a lot bigger than what he could see through his eyes. I know he looks at you like his hero, like a great success he wants to emulate somehow.”
“Look mom, I’ll have a word. I won’t let him follow my lead.”
“Knowing how headstrong the boy can be, I doubt that will be your choice to make.”
“Well, unless there suddenly appears a niche for scrawny teenagers, I think he’ll be out for a while.”
We exchanged an awkward laugh.
“I’m serious, though,” I started, “Francis shouldn’t have to make a living having his brains bashed in by some brute with a chair; he’s better than that. Better than I could ever be.”
Then the silence descended again. Usually those natural gaps in conversations were of no hindrance to my mind, I could endure them easily. But here I could feel my guilt creeping up my back like a migrating vine, its tentacles slowly wrapping itself around my throat ready to choke me. Feeling oppressed by this I blurt out.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
Then I broke down. I don’t know how long I wept for, all I know is that my mother was there to reassure me.
“John, it’s all forgotten. You’re my son, and you don’t ever have to apologise.”
“I let you down,” he replied fighting off the tears, “I took everything from you.”
“But you came back to me John, and that is all that matters.”
Having composed myself, we took a seat at the breakfast bar, my mother’s hand on my knee.
“I am so proud of you, John.”
I was astonished by this admission. She saw this, smiled and continued.
“Yes, there were times when you broke my heart, but this is a mother’s prerogative. But I look at you now and I can see you are so strong; I see you fighting and that makes me so happy because I remember when nothing mattered to you, when I thought the day was near when the last bit of will inside you would be lost forever.”
“I’m going to give it all up, mom. I mean it, after this match...when it’s over, I’m going to let John Dionysus rest for eternity. I’m going to give you back your son.”
Patting my knee, she smiled into my eyes.
“You gave him back to me a long time ago. Whoever ‘John Dionysus’ is, he saved my boy ‘John Francis McLeary’. You should not be so ungrateful for that.”
I was confused; after our last fight the impression had remained with me that mom had seen wrestling as the source of all my pain. I reminded her of that.
“Those days were very different. I was angry, John, I needed something to blame. I could see what you were doing to yourself with the drugs, and I thought it was because your body was hurting. I believed it was the wrestling that was eating you from the inside out. I know now it was more than that.”
I nodded, said nothing.
“I see you now, and I see someone who is so empowered by what they do. I remember watching you before Christmas, and even though it hurt me to see you lose, to see you suffering, I could see the strength and the motivation that burned inside. I could sense someone who was at peace.”
She raised her hand to cheek.
“And that is all any mother wants for her children, for them to find their place in life and enjoy the solace that comes with that.”
She paused for a moment.
“Those were darker days, but now I see only light in your life. You do whatever you have to do to sustain that peace, if that means continuing as a wrestler then you have my support.”
“And if I lose?” I cut, anxious to know my mother’s thoughts, in spite of her lack of wrestling authority.
“Then take it, John, will all the strength I see within you now, with your head proud and your mind at ease. You will never have to make excuses to about the choices you make John, as long as you know they are the right choices for you. Back then I could see you destroying yourself, but hating yourself for it; now I see a man embracing life and full of vitality. What else can I expect of my eldest boy?”
I smiled. She stroked my face and patted the back of my head before getting up and heading back to the sink, but before stopping to look back at me again.
“Just one thing,” she began. “whatever happens, make sure you kick that sonofbitch’s ass!”
*
The following promo was recorded by John Dionysus and broadcast by APW.com in the days leading up to Survive & Conquer.
“I’ve been a professional wrestler for sixteen years; that’s 5840 days spent on the road, 140,160 hours of torment on my body, with no few hours spent patching it up, just for the another journey through Hell the next night. I’ve sacrificed my health, my comfort, any kind of meaningful relationship, probably the prospect of having a family; I’ve all of that up for professional wrestling, and what do I have to show for it?
“More cracks in my bones than the justice system, persistent aches in every joint in my body, probable partial brain damage, and a dependence on pain killers that will probably render me impotent for life. I have don’t a large savings account of all my earnings to comfort me over the years, I’ve no great reputation in this business, no hall of fame place waiting to keep flush for years to come. There’s been a few high points along the way, the odd Championship win here and there, that occasional bit of praise for a great match, one or two flings in some seedy motel to keep me warm on those nights. But aside from that what have I got?
“I’m 37 years old and the only life I have ever known could be over in a matter of days, and if it does I know I leave with nothing. It’s taken everything from me, this business, and on the face of it I have nothing in return. But you know what – offer to trade me one million dollars for all of that and I’d plain refuse, turn you down. That’s the honest truth.
“I wouldn’t give up a single moment of the last sixteen years; where it lacks in tangibles it more than makes up for in magic. Every single night I have lived ‘the dream’, that is go out and perform before a willing audience with hope in your heart, with perfection in your sight. That is what we do as professional wrestlers, from the most successful veteran to the rookie who has barely got through his own match; we’re all seeking perfection, we’re all crossing that rubicon night after night in the hope that tonight we can attain and achieve it.
“That’s why we suffer the pain and bear the physical torment; that’s why we shrug off our shoulder the anguish of defeat, no matter how many times it happens, no matter how hard we get beat down, we get back up with hope in our heart that next time everything will be different. The prize is too great, the addiction is too strong, to just give it all up. What as it someone once said, “it’s better to try and fail a thousand times, than to never try at all”.
“Take away the hope and you lose the wrestler.
“That is what has sustained me for so long, and by sheer force of will it finally got me to a place like Action Packed Wrestling. Despite all of my personal struggles over the past four months, it is that same hope I had as a rookie that kept me going, kept pushing me to drag myself off the canvas, defeat after defeat. Even though I knew everyone in the back was looking at me and either shaking their head with disappointment, or laughing at me with schadenfreude.
“The breaking point was Christmas Chaos. I thought that was my final chance to restore some faith in myself; one last chance at redemption in a career that has been given many...too many some might say. But the difference on that day was down to belief. The other man’s greater self-belief. When Evan Envi pinned me and I couldn’t find the will to kick out, to show the world I still had the fight in me, I knew it was over.
“I was ready to leave, to put behind me the last sixteen years, to leave this world of dreamers and join the ordinary procession of reality. When you can’t sustain the dream no more, that’s when reality bites hardest, and it got its teeth sunk firmly into my flesh.
“I promise you, I would have walked away that day, never to return, but with my held head high. All I have ever wanted was to try and be the best I could be, and when they day came when I could no longer look myself in the mirror and justify my place on the roster, then I would walk away; but it would be my choice, that was paramount, then I could step away with my dignity intact.
“But Evan Envi tried to take all of that away from me. It was his choice to turn my head back into the fold, not through any good will, but because he wanted to rip from my grasp the only thing I ever wanted to leave this business with.
“Okay, maybe I let my ego get in the way a little. I won’t deny I wasn’t flattered by Evan’s courting me as a mentor. Maybe I thought I could still be of service in this business, even if my best days in the ring were long behind me. I’ll give Evan is dues, he read me like a cheap novel, saw right through me and knew exactly what buttons he had to press to reel me in.
“You see, I’ve always tried to conduct myself in a certain way. In a world full of egotist it’s easy to get drawn into that web of conceit, a couple of wins here and there, maybe a title win, and it all builds you into this bloated manifestation of the id. But you soon realise that the wrestling gods are a fickle lot, they never hold in favour any one person for too long, and no fall hurts harder in life than the fall everyone takes, sooner or later, inside the ring, with the whole world watching. It’s brutal, but it’s a mirror of nature; it’s amoral, doesn’t expect understanding, and has no trace of sympathy for the damned.
“Bearing that in mind I have never once got ahead of myself in the business. I never asked for more than my due, never made demands of others I wouldn’t expect of myself, never taken a shortcut, never cheated anyone or this business to put myself ahead. Some people call that naive, some say it’s about being a ‘paragon’ or a ‘good role model’, others say it’s sanctimonious. I think it’s neither, it’s a matter of dignity.
“The dignity of one’s self; the dignity of the opponent and the fans; the dignity of this great sport.
“There is nothing beige about a man who stands up and says ‘this is what I believe is right; sure it’s hard work and it means I have to make sacrifices that others will not, but I won’t corrupt the dignity of what I am doing, what I am part of’. That’s where the Terry Marvins and the Evan Envis of this world get it so wrong; they think they can simply take away from this business and offer it nothing back, and while they’re on top it all looks rosey....but trust me, these people will not be on top forever; and when the edifice of egotism they have built for themselves collapses, who is going to dig them out?
“I was at a recent Asylum event and I saw more support for Keaton Saint, a man who is yet to win a single APW Championship, and is enduring a spell of bad fortune, than I did for men like Phil Atken, the current World Heavyweight Champion, and Michael Callahan, the principal pretender.
“Why? For the very obvious reason that Keaton Saint is a man, rags or riches, the fans can connect with because he makes that connection possible through the dignified manner he conducts himself, the respect he shows this business and its supporters. People like Atken and Callahan remain in the spotlight as long as they give the people a chance to jeer them, but when they’re gone, it’s like they never existed. Just look at Michael Lively, until he started breathing his noxious breath in the APW corridors again, did anyone give him a second’s thought? How about Sally Talfourd? I can tell you, when she retired in 2011, not a day on the road went past when some fan didn’t ask ‘when’s Sally coming back’.
“That’s the difference between egotism on the one side, dignity on the other. There is nothing beige about that, that’s magic in all its brilliant luminosity.
“So when Evan tossed out that hook, yeah I bit hard and let him reel me in. Why? Because I believed in Evan Envi. Beneath all the exterior bullshit, that bravado he creates for himself, there is a talent so dynamic that it can change this business for the better. I believe Evan Envi is a once in a generation star; that performer who can draw knew people to this great sport and give the world a reason to see why professional wrestling is the greatest gladiatorial spectacle.
“Evan’s problem, I thought, was that he was too hungry, that he wanted success too soon; but if he could only learn what it really takes to become the greatest, then he would see the riches at the end of that yellow brick road.
“I still believe in that, in spite of everything Evan Envi has done. But what I realise is that Evan Envi has much further to go. I thought I could help him with words, but I know now that the only way someone like Evan Envi can be taught is through actions, by exposing them to ugliness of their own souls, by showing them that there is no shortcut in this business worth taking, that there is no liberty taken that will not be avenged.
“Evan Envi is going to learn the ugly way about dignity in this business, that you cannot steal it away from people and the fans. You cannot take respect because you demand it, instead it must be given to you. Terry Marvin has earned respect because, in spite of his misdeeds, he has stood up to every comer in the last twelve months and, like him or not, he remains on the throne.
“As the Biblical story of creation shows, there is, unfortunately, no modesty before the fall. Evan Envi will realise this harsh lesson when I get my hands on him and finish this thing. One way or another this will end of Survive & Conquer. Whatever happens I guarantee I will put Evan Envi through the kind of despair that will make him weep for years to come; I will make him see that there exists torment in this world that he will struggle to accommodate with his misplaced view of life – hard work, dedication, and above all else, back-breaking, muscle-burning pain is the only way to climb the mountain.
“If Evan can overcome all of that, defeat me and put an end to my sixteen years in this business then he is free to continue along the path he has chosen, but I can only hope that through his survival instincts he can see that glimmer of dignity, that light that allows the greatest to conquer above all. I win, then Evan will be forced to accept that as many short-cuts he tries to take in this business, there is always some angry, frustrated, knuckle-dragger like yours truly, who knows only how to fight, ready to cut him off at the pass and send him back whence he came.
“Whatever happens, under these terms, I know I will be able to step away, head held high, dignity intact, knowing that whatever I did in my sixteen years, it was the best I could possibly do.
“More cracks in my bones than the justice system, persistent aches in every joint in my body, probable partial brain damage, and a dependence on pain killers that will probably render me impotent for life. I have don’t a large savings account of all my earnings to comfort me over the years, I’ve no great reputation in this business, no hall of fame place waiting to keep flush for years to come. There’s been a few high points along the way, the odd Championship win here and there, that occasional bit of praise for a great match, one or two flings in some seedy motel to keep me warm on those nights. But aside from that what have I got?
“I’m 37 years old and the only life I have ever known could be over in a matter of days, and if it does I know I leave with nothing. It’s taken everything from me, this business, and on the face of it I have nothing in return. But you know what – offer to trade me one million dollars for all of that and I’d plain refuse, turn you down. That’s the honest truth.
“I wouldn’t give up a single moment of the last sixteen years; where it lacks in tangibles it more than makes up for in magic. Every single night I have lived ‘the dream’, that is go out and perform before a willing audience with hope in your heart, with perfection in your sight. That is what we do as professional wrestlers, from the most successful veteran to the rookie who has barely got through his own match; we’re all seeking perfection, we’re all crossing that rubicon night after night in the hope that tonight we can attain and achieve it.
“That’s why we suffer the pain and bear the physical torment; that’s why we shrug off our shoulder the anguish of defeat, no matter how many times it happens, no matter how hard we get beat down, we get back up with hope in our heart that next time everything will be different. The prize is too great, the addiction is too strong, to just give it all up. What as it someone once said, “it’s better to try and fail a thousand times, than to never try at all”.
“Take away the hope and you lose the wrestler.
“That is what has sustained me for so long, and by sheer force of will it finally got me to a place like Action Packed Wrestling. Despite all of my personal struggles over the past four months, it is that same hope I had as a rookie that kept me going, kept pushing me to drag myself off the canvas, defeat after defeat. Even though I knew everyone in the back was looking at me and either shaking their head with disappointment, or laughing at me with schadenfreude.
“The breaking point was Christmas Chaos. I thought that was my final chance to restore some faith in myself; one last chance at redemption in a career that has been given many...too many some might say. But the difference on that day was down to belief. The other man’s greater self-belief. When Evan Envi pinned me and I couldn’t find the will to kick out, to show the world I still had the fight in me, I knew it was over.
“I was ready to leave, to put behind me the last sixteen years, to leave this world of dreamers and join the ordinary procession of reality. When you can’t sustain the dream no more, that’s when reality bites hardest, and it got its teeth sunk firmly into my flesh.
“I promise you, I would have walked away that day, never to return, but with my held head high. All I have ever wanted was to try and be the best I could be, and when they day came when I could no longer look myself in the mirror and justify my place on the roster, then I would walk away; but it would be my choice, that was paramount, then I could step away with my dignity intact.
“But Evan Envi tried to take all of that away from me. It was his choice to turn my head back into the fold, not through any good will, but because he wanted to rip from my grasp the only thing I ever wanted to leave this business with.
“Okay, maybe I let my ego get in the way a little. I won’t deny I wasn’t flattered by Evan’s courting me as a mentor. Maybe I thought I could still be of service in this business, even if my best days in the ring were long behind me. I’ll give Evan is dues, he read me like a cheap novel, saw right through me and knew exactly what buttons he had to press to reel me in.
“You see, I’ve always tried to conduct myself in a certain way. In a world full of egotist it’s easy to get drawn into that web of conceit, a couple of wins here and there, maybe a title win, and it all builds you into this bloated manifestation of the id. But you soon realise that the wrestling gods are a fickle lot, they never hold in favour any one person for too long, and no fall hurts harder in life than the fall everyone takes, sooner or later, inside the ring, with the whole world watching. It’s brutal, but it’s a mirror of nature; it’s amoral, doesn’t expect understanding, and has no trace of sympathy for the damned.
“Bearing that in mind I have never once got ahead of myself in the business. I never asked for more than my due, never made demands of others I wouldn’t expect of myself, never taken a shortcut, never cheated anyone or this business to put myself ahead. Some people call that naive, some say it’s about being a ‘paragon’ or a ‘good role model’, others say it’s sanctimonious. I think it’s neither, it’s a matter of dignity.
“The dignity of one’s self; the dignity of the opponent and the fans; the dignity of this great sport.
“There is nothing beige about a man who stands up and says ‘this is what I believe is right; sure it’s hard work and it means I have to make sacrifices that others will not, but I won’t corrupt the dignity of what I am doing, what I am part of’. That’s where the Terry Marvins and the Evan Envis of this world get it so wrong; they think they can simply take away from this business and offer it nothing back, and while they’re on top it all looks rosey....but trust me, these people will not be on top forever; and when the edifice of egotism they have built for themselves collapses, who is going to dig them out?
“I was at a recent Asylum event and I saw more support for Keaton Saint, a man who is yet to win a single APW Championship, and is enduring a spell of bad fortune, than I did for men like Phil Atken, the current World Heavyweight Champion, and Michael Callahan, the principal pretender.
“Why? For the very obvious reason that Keaton Saint is a man, rags or riches, the fans can connect with because he makes that connection possible through the dignified manner he conducts himself, the respect he shows this business and its supporters. People like Atken and Callahan remain in the spotlight as long as they give the people a chance to jeer them, but when they’re gone, it’s like they never existed. Just look at Michael Lively, until he started breathing his noxious breath in the APW corridors again, did anyone give him a second’s thought? How about Sally Talfourd? I can tell you, when she retired in 2011, not a day on the road went past when some fan didn’t ask ‘when’s Sally coming back’.
“That’s the difference between egotism on the one side, dignity on the other. There is nothing beige about that, that’s magic in all its brilliant luminosity.
“So when Evan tossed out that hook, yeah I bit hard and let him reel me in. Why? Because I believed in Evan Envi. Beneath all the exterior bullshit, that bravado he creates for himself, there is a talent so dynamic that it can change this business for the better. I believe Evan Envi is a once in a generation star; that performer who can draw knew people to this great sport and give the world a reason to see why professional wrestling is the greatest gladiatorial spectacle.
“Evan’s problem, I thought, was that he was too hungry, that he wanted success too soon; but if he could only learn what it really takes to become the greatest, then he would see the riches at the end of that yellow brick road.
“I still believe in that, in spite of everything Evan Envi has done. But what I realise is that Evan Envi has much further to go. I thought I could help him with words, but I know now that the only way someone like Evan Envi can be taught is through actions, by exposing them to ugliness of their own souls, by showing them that there is no shortcut in this business worth taking, that there is no liberty taken that will not be avenged.
“Evan Envi is going to learn the ugly way about dignity in this business, that you cannot steal it away from people and the fans. You cannot take respect because you demand it, instead it must be given to you. Terry Marvin has earned respect because, in spite of his misdeeds, he has stood up to every comer in the last twelve months and, like him or not, he remains on the throne.
“As the Biblical story of creation shows, there is, unfortunately, no modesty before the fall. Evan Envi will realise this harsh lesson when I get my hands on him and finish this thing. One way or another this will end of Survive & Conquer. Whatever happens I guarantee I will put Evan Envi through the kind of despair that will make him weep for years to come; I will make him see that there exists torment in this world that he will struggle to accommodate with his misplaced view of life – hard work, dedication, and above all else, back-breaking, muscle-burning pain is the only way to climb the mountain.
“If Evan can overcome all of that, defeat me and put an end to my sixteen years in this business then he is free to continue along the path he has chosen, but I can only hope that through his survival instincts he can see that glimmer of dignity, that light that allows the greatest to conquer above all. I win, then Evan will be forced to accept that as many short-cuts he tries to take in this business, there is always some angry, frustrated, knuckle-dragger like yours truly, who knows only how to fight, ready to cut him off at the pass and send him back whence he came.
“Whatever happens, under these terms, I know I will be able to step away, head held high, dignity intact, knowing that whatever I did in my sixteen years, it was the best I could possibly do.
End.
