Post by The Dragon on Dec 31, 2022 21:57:36 GMT -5
Hold my hand while you cut me down
It'd only just begun but now it's over now
And you're in the heat of moments with your heart playing up cold
I'm between the middle watching hastiness unfold.
RETIREMENT.
I dread that word more than you could imagine.
Hanging up the boots, calling it a day, clearing out your locker.
It's hard when you literally eat, sleep and breathe something for a decade or more. You hear the guys who are on their way out saying they just got tired but how do you get tired of this? How can you burn out when every morning you can wake up, do something you love, and get paid for it?
How does that not make you feel fucking immortal?
Pro football gave me my financial freedom, but wrestling helped me live my best life.
That’s who I am. That’s what shaped me. That’s my legacy.
I’m not giving that up without a fight. Otherwise I fear slipping back. Becoming the old me.
Let me tell you a little story…
Sunday 16th June 2002
Somewhere between London and Brighton…
“You can do it Wario!”
“Keep going, Wario!”
And as the sign ahead read ‘12 miles down’, I knew how wrong they were.
It was the London to Brighton charity bike ride. It was ironic, perhaps, that in my first year of trying, in an event fundraising for the British Heart Foundation, some dude rode to the top of Ditchling Beacon only to have a fucking heart attack and die, and a sign that this wasn’t the kind of thing just anyone could enter.
It’d been maybe an hour since the slowest of my friends, all sporting Mario Kart character costumes, had left me in their dust. We’d all met through Canterbury Tennis Club, forming a little social group of the few members of the club who weren’t collecting their 401K, figuring that we’d all be able to complete the 55 mile ride with relative ease. Some of my friends were more comfortable on a bike than others, a few attempting Land’s End to John O’Groats the following summer (the only way to traverse the whole length of the British Isles), and it became clear as we began to split off and ride at our own pace.
I was eighteen years old, and far too overconfident in my physical abilities. I laughed off suggestions of being overweight, even though I was fifty pounds heavier back then than I am even now. After all, I’d played American Football for England at under-18s level (we know what that led to), I was playing one step down from County level in cricket and at tennis? My main sport? The very place I’d met this group of friends? I was playing at County level, and in the first team to boot.
What was a little bike ride? I was an athlete.
A morbidly obese athlete.
Whose post match routine included a couple of beers, a 12” pizza, and fries.
Whose McDonalds order was TWO large Quarter Pounder Meals.
Who drank heavily, three, four times a week…full nights out…getting home at 3am and trying, usually failing, to be at my desk at work for 9am.
I thought I had this.
I didn’t have this.
The truth was? I had hand-eye coordination, and technical ability, and I was deceptively quick for my size. I played Running Back, but I could catch better than a lot of the receivers in my team. That made me versatile, and meant I caught attention. For tennis…I was one of the best players at the club, but I had some of the worst footwork in the club, go figure. I could just dig myself out of those situations.
My coach gave me footwork drills that I ignored.
My coach gave me a fitness regime to follow, which I ignored.
I was succeeding without it. I was succeeding in spite of my weight.
In reality, it was all in spite of MYSELF.
At the next drinks station, I ripped off the Wario costume. I called my Dad, told him I couldn’t do it. He offered to come and pick me up, but no…I had a plan.
I rode my bike to the nearest train station. I got off one stop away from Brighton. I re-joined the route. I collected my medal, and then I hid in another part of town until roughly an hour after my friends had finished, went down to the beach to join them.
“Why do you never complete anything?”
That scathing remark that cut across me? They’d seen me walking with my bike along the promenade…not riding across the line…and since everyone had passed me not even 20 percent into the ride?
Well…I didn’t even need to come clean.
She was more of a friend-of-a-friend, someone who lived in the city, who came to cheer us on at the finish line. she didn't know me like the others did.
That was probably why she didn't sugarcoat things like the others did.
Have to say, looking back, I appreciate that more than she will ever know.
After all, talent only gets you so far.
And honestly, talent got me to points I know a lot of people would absolutely kill for. Many would take the chance to be a top level club player. A big fish in a small pond…but it was only scratching the surface of what could have been.
Talent was only one small piece of the puzzle.
Hunger, desire, hard work, conditioning, preparation, planning, organisation.
These are real skills that I had to learn before I could even consider professional sport.
These are habits that were ingrained in my early 20s.
These were habits that were cemented from NFL Europe…to the big show…to the bright lights of professional wrestling.
Wrestling was really hammered at home. Forged it in toughened steel.
I will be the first to admit that wrestling is probably the one sport that I stuck to that I didn't have any base level natural ability in.
It's pretty well-documented, by my own admission, that I sucked for the first 2 years in this business.
I kept learning, I kept working, I kept getting the experience. I trained harder than I've probably trained for anything in my life because talent wasn’t there to save me now. Not once.
The improvements didn't seem to come for years.
I could have done the London to Brighton thing. Bought a train ticket. Skipped the hard work.
I could have started my own little promotion somewhere in Florida, given myself the top title, and paid whatever it cost for credible people to come and make me look good.
I could have cheated.
But I’m long past that point now.
This is why retirement scares me because it gives me an excuse to fall back into old patterns. There will come a day when I don't have to get up at 6 am anymore. I can choose to, sure, but I won't have that same purpose. I tried that. I had three months out with a knee injury, a couple of year back, and even though there were bits that I could do there, there was no need for me to be in the gym for 4-5 hours every day. I took the chance to sleep in. I fell out of that old routine, and with it I lost some of my intensity too. I came back into the ring with the level of rust that I didn't know I could feel. Something that hadn’t been there in 7-8 years.
It scared the hell out of me. I was looking at a stranger in the mirror.
Yeah, maybe that's an attractive thing, the chance when they could finally get out. They had a goal, they achieved it, they left before the sport swallowed them up. Only, this wasn't something that I did for the money or the fame. I already had both, before I’d even stepped into a wrestling gym. This is something I did for me. It was an exercise in self improvement
An exercise in self improvement that led to victories, led to titles, led to immeasurable amounts of success. And still here I am hungry for more, hungry to start from the bottom, work my way up to the very top all over again. Just one more challenge, one more opportunity to put one foot in front of the other until I get to where I want to be.
The fact is it isn't hard to eat right. It isn't hard to stick to a routine. Isn't hard to push yourself to work out. The human body has this incredible ability to build habits. You start to put the right fuel in, that one time you don't the difference is profound, you're sluggish, you've got no energy, it makes you regret instantly that choice that you made. Your body builds the neural pathways, circadian rhythm locks in, and within the space of 6 weeks, you have a fully ingrained habit. It happens automatically, you just need a little bit of discipline to get yourself to that point. Endorphins exist, a pure chemical reaction, a way of self-policing. That dread you used to feel when you were getting ready to leave for the gym replaced with an OVERWHELMING sense of guilt when you skip a session and how long does it take? You guessed it. 6 weeks.
I'm not ready to accept a life without serial overachievement.
One day, there will come a point when I'll be quite happy to get fat, and work on my golf swing.
Maybe when there’s nothing else left for me to conquer.
That time it's a long way off yet.
BRING ‘EM OUT.
I got the crowd yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, all my hot girls yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, all the Dope Boyz yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, from the back they yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
The scene opens to a small carry-on suitcase being wheeled through an airport. The hand gripping the carry handle has a KAYFABE AIRLINES boarding pass sandwiched between pointer and thumb, as the camera is brought up to reveal the face of Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who attracts the odd sideways glance as he begins to address the camera.
Hey guys, got a little time to kill while I walk to my gate, so thought I’d take the opportunity to address a few things. Now if history were to prove anything, this is the kind of thing I win.
Bring ‘em out, bring ‘em out…feed them to The Dragon…because I’m big and I’m scary! Fucking John Cable man…Jesus. Anyway…From fluke…to probability…to certainty. When the ink sets on a contract with my name on the top, my rise to the throne is a WHEN rather than an IF.
While I’ll make my statements loud and clear, I’m not glamorous, I’m not clamouring for attention, I can go under the radar. That is…until my record speaks volumes, I’m standing at the precipice, and I’m a quick 1-2-3 away from winning the whole thing.
The West Coast Rumble? Nothing more than a rebadged Death Note sequel, because every name on that list? They’ll meet their untimely end at some point. Although talking of time? I’m not sure I’ll be able to get around everybody, so if I miss you off…I’m sorry okay? Forgive me. I still love you. Now…
Let’s start from the top? Fred Debonair. “Uh maybe you have some anger issues or something, hoss?” Congratu-fucking-lations. I kick people in the face for a living, a little anger goes a long way in this business, especially when opponents keep on coming. Anger fuels the fire, keeps the intensity, and stokes the coals. It was something my coach told me in one of my first training sessions in football. You need to find some anger from somewhere. Use it, channel it, unleash it on that man in front of you. I do have anger issues, dude. I’m working those all out of my system in the ring, where kicking heads off counts for something. Now as for you - Let me predict how this goes. You’ve done the asshole thing and sent yourself in dead last. I’m sure you smacked your head on that skill ceiling real hard after the last Brawl. You know, the one that separates the best from everybody else, and it beat some sense into you. Only…whoever’s still left alive turns on you, to prove that assholes and cheats never prosper, and you can join the queue where you belong.
We can hope that’s what happened, because that little blow sure didn’t knock the split personality disorder out.
A fucking airport worker, really?
At least pick a janitor or something. That would be cool. Oh wait…already been done, by a certain Mr. Peter Vaughn. Here we go again. Same setting, very different circumstances. For a start, I’m not getting a flaming mop swung at my face right off the rip, and I'm not being covered by a very green, but very talented rookie, don’t get me wrong…but the circumstances are just as chaotic. The Rumble has a certain sense of carnage to it, and I’m sure you excel in situations like that…but I’m not exactly representing the Dragon Lily Flower Squad this time, either. I’m sure you and I will cross paths, if not at the next opportunity…but in the future. You’ve had a hell of a back end to this year.
Just remember…one-on-one? There’s no distractions to hide from. Things will be very different.
Now next I feel like going round and round with Samantha is like smacking my head against a magical brick wall. What is that portal in Harry Potter, Diagon Alley, is that the one? becoming pretty repetitive. I'm not going to keep going over old ground. If by some witchy miracle Samantha is able to put something together in the Rumble then I will stand corrected, but from everything we've seen up to this point it's like she's outgunned. This is a competitive field and it’s one she acts like she doesn’t belong in.
Plus, she has about as much to say as Ace Sky. Period.
Johnathon “The Best” Cable? Is that your full name? Well fuck…that’s a mouthful. Gotta say I appreciated the little comedy skit and most of all? You know that looks like something I’d do. You should have been me trying to open this skylight window, in an AirBnB I stayed in last week? Had my partner in STITCHES, honestly. I’ll give you credit, it made me laugh out loud-
But I can’t help but notice you’re missing the point.
You can’t dine out on past successes. You can’t convert non-wrestling successes into victories in the ring. And your little puppet show? Funny. But not impressing anyone.
What you’ve done before? Irrelevant. There’s a new group in town now and if you want to sit at the top table with us? You have to do something you haven’t been lately and get your head in the game. This game. Not the ones you’re looking to play.
It’s wrestling. Not Monopoly.
I still haven’t gotten over the irony of Mark Flynn, honestly. King of the Midcarders but claiming to be the best wrestler in the world. Screaming it from the rooftops and you know what? I thought I was deluded. I’m a raging narcissist, I believe the world and everyone in it should revolve around me, like I’m the centre of the fucking universe and even I don’t get off quite like that.
The ring announcer has it right.
I’m calling it now, the ring announcer has it right.
For those of you that watched my piece earlier this week? About talent only being one piece of the puzzle? Well…confidence works much like that. Oh, and much like that last jigsaw square that falls under the table, with nobody noticing?
Confidence can be misplaced.
Sometimes, wrong people can be put up on pedestals too…but I think Mac Bane had it just about right.
Who’d have thought we’d be doing this all over again, huh Mac? You…coming toe-to-toe with your single greatest achievement in the wrestling business. Your crowning glory. Well I have to say I’m flattered, but I’m not surprised. Now I’m going off two things that I’m sure you’ve said over recent times…you love your underdog status…and everything in this business has to be earned so…
…you’ve earned your underdog status.
And you took your 1-in-10 opportunity to beat me straight up. Congratulations. You can dine out on that one as long as you want by the way, because when we wound up in the same place? It wasn’t to tango with you. All I know is you’re standing in my way, and whatever happened that one time, at Band Camp?
Well…if we wind up sharing the ring on Monday? You can expect normal service to resume.
I guess actually…speaking of Mac. Who was the guy who let him off the mark here, was it Paul Montuori? Does anyone have like…a universal translator for that guy or something? Some Star Trek kinda technology so I can figure out a word that comes outta that guy’s mouth? It’s like I’m watching a Vanilla Ice movie except it’s nearly 2023. It’s like I stepped into a timewarp. I’ve gone back to a time when Mike Angelo won his first title. Well, I guess we know where we’re headed to next.
Mike Angelo. Huh…this is a good one. Virtually the opening statement. I haven’t won a World Title since 2001. Great selling point. And I’m the one with the fucking brain damage? I’m sorry…what? Are you kidding me? What are we hoping for, that something is going to come good around here all of a sudden, while you’re still chuntering on about this Riley guy that still isn’t in the fucking Rumble? You’re living in the past. I said that before and again we see it…2001…here’s what happened twenty years ago…here’s what happened when we were just kids in this business…and still you haven’t told us why you’re back.
My guess is still that the money ran out. I’ll give you 20 bucks if I’m right.
Congratulations, Mike. You’re in a crapshoot. You might just scam your way into a World title. Let me tell you…that’s the only way you’re going to break that twenty year plus dry spell. Then we’ll all be queuing up to show you how out of touch you really are.
Some of us achieved what you want in the last 21 weeks.
NOW BOARDING FROM GATE 420…KAYFABE AIRLINES FLIGHT NUMBER 0069…
So as expected…I ran out of time before my flight to Vegas…got a World title to win, gonna be big news…and to be honest, very on-brand for me, I wanted to make sure I got the last word in anyway. It’s glorious that a match that’s just a little bit up from the roll of a dice is held in Sin City. Very topical location.
The biggest threats can get targeted, ganged up on.
Accidents can happen.
Upsets are so common, that really? The philosophy of ‘it is what it is’ comes into play.
It takes a special kind of competitor to ‘win’ a Rumble.
There’s always a winner…but how much of that is from the performance, and how much is just because of how the match plays out? How many situations would remain the same no matter who Person A and Person B was?
No…to really WIN a Rumble you need to have a few things on your side.
You have to be impactful, work fast, take opportunities. Some of my biggest wins and greatest successes started from neutral positions. One, two moves later…I’m in the driving seat, the match is over, my hand is in the air. Just like Debonair. On the night, I was a second too late…but over my career? Time after time, it’s me turning the tide, and it’s everyone else just a second too late.
It takes a warrior, someone who can go the distance. It takes a man who can withstand The Bar from Mac Bane twice and get back up to take one more. Someone that doesn’t know when to quit. Twenty more guys, get back up. Ten more guys, get back up. One more guy. Victory is assured. My hand in victory.
It takes intensity. Like I said…I’ve played a lot of sports to a decent standard, I work boxing and MMA training into my routines but NOTHING is like pro wrestling conditioning. I don’t spend 4-5 hours in the gym daily for the little sub-15 minute matches. I’m preparing for this shit. I’m training for war more often than not? All we face is a battle. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.
I spent the first two decades of my life cheating myself, living in denial. All these chances, all these opportunities laying at my feet, and I squandered them, because I wasn’t willing to put in the effort. I’d much rather sidestep, take the easy route.
Wrestling is my legacy. The time I turned my life around, truly. It was when I realised something about my past. Something that resonates with me even now.
I didn’t know why broken people were always drawn to me.
Maybe it’s because I’m broken too.
Maybe we were like magnets drawn together, because we were looking for solace in misery.
It's a contradiction, sure. But opposites do attract. Maybe it was decided that happy people should be with happy people and the rest of us were left to our own devices. Maybe it’s one of those laws of the universe that can’t be defined, or made sense of.
Maybe it was an unspoken agreement between fellow broken people.
But then again…maybe we’re just razed buildings. Waiting to be recycled, reborn again, into something better.
I’ve been spending the next two decades putting those pieces together, reversing some of the damage, and I have a few years of that left yet. I don’t consider myself mended, far from it. I know I have a long way to go. I accept anyone who is a little bit broken, because they’re a little bit like me. I have my shortcomings. I try and correct the issues, but when I plaster over one crack, another one appears.
I stand for those people now. I am proof that we can still achieve. We can still be the best in our fields. We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to try.
After all…broken people have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
I will become WGWF World Heavyweight champion.
It’ll happen at the first event of 2023.
And there’s nothing a single one of you can do to stop me.
The scene fades to black.
It'd only just begun but now it's over now
And you're in the heat of moments with your heart playing up cold
I'm between the middle watching hastiness unfold.
RETIREMENT.
I dread that word more than you could imagine.
Hanging up the boots, calling it a day, clearing out your locker.
It's hard when you literally eat, sleep and breathe something for a decade or more. You hear the guys who are on their way out saying they just got tired but how do you get tired of this? How can you burn out when every morning you can wake up, do something you love, and get paid for it?
How does that not make you feel fucking immortal?
Pro football gave me my financial freedom, but wrestling helped me live my best life.
That’s who I am. That’s what shaped me. That’s my legacy.
I’m not giving that up without a fight. Otherwise I fear slipping back. Becoming the old me.
Let me tell you a little story…
Sunday 16th June 2002
Somewhere between London and Brighton…
“You can do it Wario!”
“Keep going, Wario!”
And as the sign ahead read ‘12 miles down’, I knew how wrong they were.
It was the London to Brighton charity bike ride. It was ironic, perhaps, that in my first year of trying, in an event fundraising for the British Heart Foundation, some dude rode to the top of Ditchling Beacon only to have a fucking heart attack and die, and a sign that this wasn’t the kind of thing just anyone could enter.
It’d been maybe an hour since the slowest of my friends, all sporting Mario Kart character costumes, had left me in their dust. We’d all met through Canterbury Tennis Club, forming a little social group of the few members of the club who weren’t collecting their 401K, figuring that we’d all be able to complete the 55 mile ride with relative ease. Some of my friends were more comfortable on a bike than others, a few attempting Land’s End to John O’Groats the following summer (the only way to traverse the whole length of the British Isles), and it became clear as we began to split off and ride at our own pace.
I was eighteen years old, and far too overconfident in my physical abilities. I laughed off suggestions of being overweight, even though I was fifty pounds heavier back then than I am even now. After all, I’d played American Football for England at under-18s level (we know what that led to), I was playing one step down from County level in cricket and at tennis? My main sport? The very place I’d met this group of friends? I was playing at County level, and in the first team to boot.
What was a little bike ride? I was an athlete.
A morbidly obese athlete.
Whose post match routine included a couple of beers, a 12” pizza, and fries.
Whose McDonalds order was TWO large Quarter Pounder Meals.
Who drank heavily, three, four times a week…full nights out…getting home at 3am and trying, usually failing, to be at my desk at work for 9am.
I thought I had this.
I didn’t have this.
The truth was? I had hand-eye coordination, and technical ability, and I was deceptively quick for my size. I played Running Back, but I could catch better than a lot of the receivers in my team. That made me versatile, and meant I caught attention. For tennis…I was one of the best players at the club, but I had some of the worst footwork in the club, go figure. I could just dig myself out of those situations.
My coach gave me footwork drills that I ignored.
My coach gave me a fitness regime to follow, which I ignored.
I was succeeding without it. I was succeeding in spite of my weight.
In reality, it was all in spite of MYSELF.
At the next drinks station, I ripped off the Wario costume. I called my Dad, told him I couldn’t do it. He offered to come and pick me up, but no…I had a plan.
I rode my bike to the nearest train station. I got off one stop away from Brighton. I re-joined the route. I collected my medal, and then I hid in another part of town until roughly an hour after my friends had finished, went down to the beach to join them.
“Why do you never complete anything?”
That scathing remark that cut across me? They’d seen me walking with my bike along the promenade…not riding across the line…and since everyone had passed me not even 20 percent into the ride?
Well…I didn’t even need to come clean.
She was more of a friend-of-a-friend, someone who lived in the city, who came to cheer us on at the finish line. she didn't know me like the others did.
That was probably why she didn't sugarcoat things like the others did.
Have to say, looking back, I appreciate that more than she will ever know.
After all, talent only gets you so far.
And honestly, talent got me to points I know a lot of people would absolutely kill for. Many would take the chance to be a top level club player. A big fish in a small pond…but it was only scratching the surface of what could have been.
Talent was only one small piece of the puzzle.
Hunger, desire, hard work, conditioning, preparation, planning, organisation.
These are real skills that I had to learn before I could even consider professional sport.
These are habits that were ingrained in my early 20s.
These were habits that were cemented from NFL Europe…to the big show…to the bright lights of professional wrestling.
Wrestling was really hammered at home. Forged it in toughened steel.
I will be the first to admit that wrestling is probably the one sport that I stuck to that I didn't have any base level natural ability in.
It's pretty well-documented, by my own admission, that I sucked for the first 2 years in this business.
I kept learning, I kept working, I kept getting the experience. I trained harder than I've probably trained for anything in my life because talent wasn’t there to save me now. Not once.
The improvements didn't seem to come for years.
I could have done the London to Brighton thing. Bought a train ticket. Skipped the hard work.
I could have started my own little promotion somewhere in Florida, given myself the top title, and paid whatever it cost for credible people to come and make me look good.
I could have cheated.
But I’m long past that point now.
This is why retirement scares me because it gives me an excuse to fall back into old patterns. There will come a day when I don't have to get up at 6 am anymore. I can choose to, sure, but I won't have that same purpose. I tried that. I had three months out with a knee injury, a couple of year back, and even though there were bits that I could do there, there was no need for me to be in the gym for 4-5 hours every day. I took the chance to sleep in. I fell out of that old routine, and with it I lost some of my intensity too. I came back into the ring with the level of rust that I didn't know I could feel. Something that hadn’t been there in 7-8 years.
It scared the hell out of me. I was looking at a stranger in the mirror.
Yeah, maybe that's an attractive thing, the chance when they could finally get out. They had a goal, they achieved it, they left before the sport swallowed them up. Only, this wasn't something that I did for the money or the fame. I already had both, before I’d even stepped into a wrestling gym. This is something I did for me. It was an exercise in self improvement
An exercise in self improvement that led to victories, led to titles, led to immeasurable amounts of success. And still here I am hungry for more, hungry to start from the bottom, work my way up to the very top all over again. Just one more challenge, one more opportunity to put one foot in front of the other until I get to where I want to be.
The fact is it isn't hard to eat right. It isn't hard to stick to a routine. Isn't hard to push yourself to work out. The human body has this incredible ability to build habits. You start to put the right fuel in, that one time you don't the difference is profound, you're sluggish, you've got no energy, it makes you regret instantly that choice that you made. Your body builds the neural pathways, circadian rhythm locks in, and within the space of 6 weeks, you have a fully ingrained habit. It happens automatically, you just need a little bit of discipline to get yourself to that point. Endorphins exist, a pure chemical reaction, a way of self-policing. That dread you used to feel when you were getting ready to leave for the gym replaced with an OVERWHELMING sense of guilt when you skip a session and how long does it take? You guessed it. 6 weeks.
I'm not ready to accept a life without serial overachievement.
One day, there will come a point when I'll be quite happy to get fat, and work on my golf swing.
Maybe when there’s nothing else left for me to conquer.
That time it's a long way off yet.
BRING ‘EM OUT.
I got the crowd yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, all my hot girls yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, all the Dope Boyz yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
Aye, from the back they yelling (Bring 'em out, bring 'em out)
The scene opens to a small carry-on suitcase being wheeled through an airport. The hand gripping the carry handle has a KAYFABE AIRLINES boarding pass sandwiched between pointer and thumb, as the camera is brought up to reveal the face of Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who attracts the odd sideways glance as he begins to address the camera.
Hey guys, got a little time to kill while I walk to my gate, so thought I’d take the opportunity to address a few things. Now if history were to prove anything, this is the kind of thing I win.
Bring ‘em out, bring ‘em out…feed them to The Dragon…because I’m big and I’m scary! Fucking John Cable man…Jesus. Anyway…From fluke…to probability…to certainty. When the ink sets on a contract with my name on the top, my rise to the throne is a WHEN rather than an IF.
While I’ll make my statements loud and clear, I’m not glamorous, I’m not clamouring for attention, I can go under the radar. That is…until my record speaks volumes, I’m standing at the precipice, and I’m a quick 1-2-3 away from winning the whole thing.
The West Coast Rumble? Nothing more than a rebadged Death Note sequel, because every name on that list? They’ll meet their untimely end at some point. Although talking of time? I’m not sure I’ll be able to get around everybody, so if I miss you off…I’m sorry okay? Forgive me. I still love you. Now…
Let’s start from the top? Fred Debonair. “Uh maybe you have some anger issues or something, hoss?” Congratu-fucking-lations. I kick people in the face for a living, a little anger goes a long way in this business, especially when opponents keep on coming. Anger fuels the fire, keeps the intensity, and stokes the coals. It was something my coach told me in one of my first training sessions in football. You need to find some anger from somewhere. Use it, channel it, unleash it on that man in front of you. I do have anger issues, dude. I’m working those all out of my system in the ring, where kicking heads off counts for something. Now as for you - Let me predict how this goes. You’ve done the asshole thing and sent yourself in dead last. I’m sure you smacked your head on that skill ceiling real hard after the last Brawl. You know, the one that separates the best from everybody else, and it beat some sense into you. Only…whoever’s still left alive turns on you, to prove that assholes and cheats never prosper, and you can join the queue where you belong.
We can hope that’s what happened, because that little blow sure didn’t knock the split personality disorder out.
A fucking airport worker, really?
At least pick a janitor or something. That would be cool. Oh wait…already been done, by a certain Mr. Peter Vaughn. Here we go again. Same setting, very different circumstances. For a start, I’m not getting a flaming mop swung at my face right off the rip, and I'm not being covered by a very green, but very talented rookie, don’t get me wrong…but the circumstances are just as chaotic. The Rumble has a certain sense of carnage to it, and I’m sure you excel in situations like that…but I’m not exactly representing the Dragon Lily Flower Squad this time, either. I’m sure you and I will cross paths, if not at the next opportunity…but in the future. You’ve had a hell of a back end to this year.
Just remember…one-on-one? There’s no distractions to hide from. Things will be very different.
Now next I feel like going round and round with Samantha is like smacking my head against a magical brick wall. What is that portal in Harry Potter, Diagon Alley, is that the one? becoming pretty repetitive. I'm not going to keep going over old ground. If by some witchy miracle Samantha is able to put something together in the Rumble then I will stand corrected, but from everything we've seen up to this point it's like she's outgunned. This is a competitive field and it’s one she acts like she doesn’t belong in.
Plus, she has about as much to say as Ace Sky. Period.
Johnathon “The Best” Cable? Is that your full name? Well fuck…that’s a mouthful. Gotta say I appreciated the little comedy skit and most of all? You know that looks like something I’d do. You should have been me trying to open this skylight window, in an AirBnB I stayed in last week? Had my partner in STITCHES, honestly. I’ll give you credit, it made me laugh out loud-
But I can’t help but notice you’re missing the point.
You can’t dine out on past successes. You can’t convert non-wrestling successes into victories in the ring. And your little puppet show? Funny. But not impressing anyone.
What you’ve done before? Irrelevant. There’s a new group in town now and if you want to sit at the top table with us? You have to do something you haven’t been lately and get your head in the game. This game. Not the ones you’re looking to play.
It’s wrestling. Not Monopoly.
I still haven’t gotten over the irony of Mark Flynn, honestly. King of the Midcarders but claiming to be the best wrestler in the world. Screaming it from the rooftops and you know what? I thought I was deluded. I’m a raging narcissist, I believe the world and everyone in it should revolve around me, like I’m the centre of the fucking universe and even I don’t get off quite like that.
The ring announcer has it right.
I’m calling it now, the ring announcer has it right.
For those of you that watched my piece earlier this week? About talent only being one piece of the puzzle? Well…confidence works much like that. Oh, and much like that last jigsaw square that falls under the table, with nobody noticing?
Confidence can be misplaced.
Sometimes, wrong people can be put up on pedestals too…but I think Mac Bane had it just about right.
Who’d have thought we’d be doing this all over again, huh Mac? You…coming toe-to-toe with your single greatest achievement in the wrestling business. Your crowning glory. Well I have to say I’m flattered, but I’m not surprised. Now I’m going off two things that I’m sure you’ve said over recent times…you love your underdog status…and everything in this business has to be earned so…
…you’ve earned your underdog status.
And you took your 1-in-10 opportunity to beat me straight up. Congratulations. You can dine out on that one as long as you want by the way, because when we wound up in the same place? It wasn’t to tango with you. All I know is you’re standing in my way, and whatever happened that one time, at Band Camp?
Well…if we wind up sharing the ring on Monday? You can expect normal service to resume.
I guess actually…speaking of Mac. Who was the guy who let him off the mark here, was it Paul Montuori? Does anyone have like…a universal translator for that guy or something? Some Star Trek kinda technology so I can figure out a word that comes outta that guy’s mouth? It’s like I’m watching a Vanilla Ice movie except it’s nearly 2023. It’s like I stepped into a timewarp. I’ve gone back to a time when Mike Angelo won his first title. Well, I guess we know where we’re headed to next.
Mike Angelo. Huh…this is a good one. Virtually the opening statement. I haven’t won a World Title since 2001. Great selling point. And I’m the one with the fucking brain damage? I’m sorry…what? Are you kidding me? What are we hoping for, that something is going to come good around here all of a sudden, while you’re still chuntering on about this Riley guy that still isn’t in the fucking Rumble? You’re living in the past. I said that before and again we see it…2001…here’s what happened twenty years ago…here’s what happened when we were just kids in this business…and still you haven’t told us why you’re back.
My guess is still that the money ran out. I’ll give you 20 bucks if I’m right.
Congratulations, Mike. You’re in a crapshoot. You might just scam your way into a World title. Let me tell you…that’s the only way you’re going to break that twenty year plus dry spell. Then we’ll all be queuing up to show you how out of touch you really are.
Some of us achieved what you want in the last 21 weeks.
NOW BOARDING FROM GATE 420…KAYFABE AIRLINES FLIGHT NUMBER 0069…
So as expected…I ran out of time before my flight to Vegas…got a World title to win, gonna be big news…and to be honest, very on-brand for me, I wanted to make sure I got the last word in anyway. It’s glorious that a match that’s just a little bit up from the roll of a dice is held in Sin City. Very topical location.
The biggest threats can get targeted, ganged up on.
Accidents can happen.
Upsets are so common, that really? The philosophy of ‘it is what it is’ comes into play.
It takes a special kind of competitor to ‘win’ a Rumble.
There’s always a winner…but how much of that is from the performance, and how much is just because of how the match plays out? How many situations would remain the same no matter who Person A and Person B was?
No…to really WIN a Rumble you need to have a few things on your side.
You have to be impactful, work fast, take opportunities. Some of my biggest wins and greatest successes started from neutral positions. One, two moves later…I’m in the driving seat, the match is over, my hand is in the air. Just like Debonair. On the night, I was a second too late…but over my career? Time after time, it’s me turning the tide, and it’s everyone else just a second too late.
It takes a warrior, someone who can go the distance. It takes a man who can withstand The Bar from Mac Bane twice and get back up to take one more. Someone that doesn’t know when to quit. Twenty more guys, get back up. Ten more guys, get back up. One more guy. Victory is assured. My hand in victory.
It takes intensity. Like I said…I’ve played a lot of sports to a decent standard, I work boxing and MMA training into my routines but NOTHING is like pro wrestling conditioning. I don’t spend 4-5 hours in the gym daily for the little sub-15 minute matches. I’m preparing for this shit. I’m training for war more often than not? All we face is a battle. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.
I spent the first two decades of my life cheating myself, living in denial. All these chances, all these opportunities laying at my feet, and I squandered them, because I wasn’t willing to put in the effort. I’d much rather sidestep, take the easy route.
Wrestling is my legacy. The time I turned my life around, truly. It was when I realised something about my past. Something that resonates with me even now.
I didn’t know why broken people were always drawn to me.
Maybe it’s because I’m broken too.
Maybe we were like magnets drawn together, because we were looking for solace in misery.
It's a contradiction, sure. But opposites do attract. Maybe it was decided that happy people should be with happy people and the rest of us were left to our own devices. Maybe it’s one of those laws of the universe that can’t be defined, or made sense of.
Maybe it was an unspoken agreement between fellow broken people.
But then again…maybe we’re just razed buildings. Waiting to be recycled, reborn again, into something better.
I’ve been spending the next two decades putting those pieces together, reversing some of the damage, and I have a few years of that left yet. I don’t consider myself mended, far from it. I know I have a long way to go. I accept anyone who is a little bit broken, because they’re a little bit like me. I have my shortcomings. I try and correct the issues, but when I plaster over one crack, another one appears.
I stand for those people now. I am proof that we can still achieve. We can still be the best in our fields. We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to try.
After all…broken people have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
I will become WGWF World Heavyweight champion.
It’ll happen at the first event of 2023.
And there’s nothing a single one of you can do to stop me.
The scene fades to black.