Part 1 - Storytime with The Dragon
20th June 2012
Kyoto, Japan
KO-RO-SU! KO-RO-SU! KO-RO-SU!
If there was ever a time in my life where I lost a match, but still felt like I’d scored come out on top, it was then, hearing the crowd chanting my name...or...at least as close as the Japanese ever came to pronouncing it, that was it. Of course, becoming the Pro Wrestling JAPAN Exalted Grand Champion would have been problematic for contractual obligations with my parent company, since I was back home in the US by the end of the week, but doing so would have been the icing on the cake on what was, without question, the first and greatest redemption story of my career to date.
I’d been a professional wrestler for around two years before leaving for Japan, to embark on a three-month Spring Tour with PWJ. As one of my American company’s hardest workers, and unfortunately, also one of its worst in-ring technicians, I was a prime candidate to go out and work the shows, where my strike-based, brawling style would probably be a better fit, entertainment-wise anyway with the traditional puroresu style. Plus, it was a good excuse to get rid of me for a while, and if the plucky Brit came back a better wrestler at the end of it, well so be it.
The Japanese and US markets are very different things, generally. Of course, Japan has its own fair share of odd stipulations, brutal deathmatches, and bizarre characters to boot, but it’s expected that the wrestling, which is considered an art form by the largely purist fanbase comes first, with very little patience for gimmicks and showmanship. All the stories are told once the bell rings.
Then from stage right enters me, Mark “The Dragon” Cross, still living off his “former NFL football player” schtick, to the point where I was still wearing my Raiders jerseys to wrestle in. I was primed and ready to rub the general Japanese wrestling fan base up the wrong way as of course, nobody warned me. Interestingly, back home, the better my wrestling got, the less popular I seemed to become...as an ex 'baller it was almost like a working class hero kind of thing I guess...and if we were anywhere near the Raider Nation, where I spent all four seasons of my relatively short pro ball career? Better hope the arena didn't have a roof, cause those guys were blowing it off, win lose or draw.
But, I digress. When I left for Japan, I was loved by the fans in the US, and as I say I’ve stayed relevant, but my popularity has certainly waned. Back then, they didn't care that I sucked, I tried hard, and something about that resonated with them I guess. In Japan I was booed incessantly from the get-go. They didn't vibe with "Are You Ready to Fly" (by Dune, my original entrance music) like I thought they would, despite the kawaii high-pitched voice, they didn't get the jersey reference, and they despised my limited work in the ring. I didn’t really fit in after all, or have a right to belong compared to the rest of the roster, I stood out, for all the wrong reasons. From match number one, they railed me for it, let me have it with both barrels. Welcome to Japan, Dragon. You chose one of the nation’s most powerful mythical creatures as your nickname, and you disrespect it every time you set foot in a ring.
I asked about it the next day, when I arrived at the dojo to train. In Japanese. I already knew some of the language, having studied it for two years while I was in school back in England, and since I had about a month before I joined up with my new company, I jumped in with both feet, setting out to learn as much as I could. Besides, I set my alarm for 6am every morning to train. Aside from studying tape, I had the whole rest of the day to kill, and may as well do something productive with it. Aside from the Head Trainer, I was first in the building, and already speaking the native language to a passable level. I certainly didn’t have the fans on my side, but to the man who would essentially become my sensei between March and June of that year, he figured I at least had some 闘魂 (fighting spirit) about me.
ギミック,と言うことはない - “Gi-mi-ku is not possible”, he told me in no uncertain terms. The Japanese didn’t have their own word for gimmick, but we both knew what it meant. I could keep the blue and silver wrestling pants, “DRAGON” in big betters down the sides, and the matching blue and silver flame boots could stay as well, but from now on, I would do my storytelling in the ring too. I walked straight out of training that day to find a department store, buying up plain black t-shirts like they were going out of style. I also left my bottle of water in the locker room, rather than sipping it at ringside. I don’t know where that even came from, just...habit I guess. Gotta stay hydrated kids! I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, and to be honest, with my wrestling as it was, the little attention I drew on myself, the better.
The fans noticed the change in me, and they responded. They held off on booing me until I botched the bridge on a Northern Lights Suplex, where the perfect technique is to get up onto your toes for more torque. I lost balance and fell off the guy, breaking my own pin. Go on, laugh it up. You can probably find that miserable failure on YouTube.
Playing Running Back, there were two main rules. Keep your legs moving, and never show them you’re hurt. Translation, my legs were more powerful than two hydraulic pistons, and I was tough. The Japanese Strong Style I learned has two main elements, power grappling and stiff striking. The original style had a heavy submission focus, but this was less of a priority at the PWJ Dojo. The first part, which required technical ability I didn’t currently have, see the example from the night before, would have to come later, but the second option gave us hope. If I kicked someone, they’d sure feel it, and I at least had the strength to handle some basic heavy lifting.
By the end of day two, I had a Shining Wizard in my locker, using a downed opponent’s raised leg as a springboard to knee them in the face, and a Go 2 Sleep, essentially a fireman’s carry, kneeing your opponent in the face as you drop them forward. Two simple maneuvers well within my capabilities, two Strong Style staples learned, progress being made.
After training, I went to the nearest sporting goods store and grabbed myself some knee pads, having learned my lesson with bruises and serious pain. Later that night I nearly got the win with a Go 2 Sleep in a tag match. Their partner saved them from a near fall however, and the match continued. The fans generally left me alone, until I pushed off too hard on a Shining Wizard attempt, and catapulted myself straight over my opponent’s head. It was still a work in progress, like I said.
Every day I tried to add something new, and what I’d already learned I practiced again and again, throws and strikes and submissions until there was nobody left in the building to take the punishment. Then I’d shift to throwing around equipment, if I could find anything fit for purpose. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Get that muscle memory really grooved until I could execute them with my eyes closed, whether I was exhausted at the end of a session, or hyped up on adrenaline on match night. I wasn’t working harder than before, I was already a professional athlete when I made the shift to wrestling, I just copy-pasted the work ethic. I was just training better, with people who knew I was willing to learn, who didn’t take one look at my limited skills and decided I should just take a beating and hope for the best.
They put trust in me, and my development went off the charts. Concepts began to fall into place, some I’d already been working on, but hadn’t truly mastered. Technical grappling, new ways of striking...I even felt so comfortable by the end that we added some top rope maneuvers in the mix, it was like the Matrix, training programmes being loaded into my brain within a day’s training. The time it truly clicked was on that final night.
After an impressive streak of wins, I earned a shot at a title, on my final appearance with Pro Wrestling JAPAN, on the last night of the tour. I’d beaten most everyone else, so why not? I’d earned it. King Maza lived up to his name, he wore a crown, and he was carried out to the ring on a throne by his “loyal subjects”. Hey - That’s gimmicky, right? Why’d he not get booed like I did? Well...King Maza had been one of the country’s top stars for around a decade, and once the match started, he was all business. He’d let his wrestling do A LOT of talking in the ring up until then, and he still was. I felt it, that’s for sure.
We went hard at each other for nigh-on 30 minutes in that Main Event. My performance was a culmination of everything I’d learned over the last three months, I left it all on the table. My pretty basic Impaler DDT finisher, named “Final Destination”, was replaced for the first time by “Ketteiteki Desaki” (roughly translating to Final Destination in Japanese) and Maza kicked out of its first appearance at two and seven-eighths. The crowd lapped up every second as we went to war, leaving nothing in the tank until finally, I couldn’t will my legs to kick out of that last Northern Lights Suplex, and the match was over.
As I slumped in one of the corners, gulping oxygen into my lungs, and drinking in the appreciation of the crowd, my opponent bowed deeply to me in respect, took his crown, his title, and left. The better man won on the night, but I matched him blow-for-blow, at least for a while.
As it all came to a close, I wandered out of the arena alone, my head held high, before my flight back to the US later that evening. I found my way to the Gion district, to Hanamikoji Street, seeking out my favourite ramen shop for one last bowl of crispy duck tonkotsu. As I swirled Suntory whiskey in my glass, I reflected on just how much this experience changed me, for the better. I was a completely different wrestler. In fact, for the first time in two years, it felt like I could actually call myself one, for real.
I never contemplated staying in Japan. Incredible place to visit, so much history, such an interesting culture, and so diverse...but it was never the kind of place I could call home. Not permanently. I was itching to get back to Miami, to see my wife, to eat at a Waffle House and sit in a real bath, not one made of wood, and sit at a real table, not kneel by one on the floor. I was done with doors made of literal paper. I’d go back many times, to wrestle, to see old friends, to hear those chants of “KO-RO-SU” and “DO-RA-GON”, which still makes the hairs on my arm stand up on end as I think about it. After all, if you want to feel appreciated as a wrestler, not a character, you go to Japan. Those crowds appreciate the art of wrestling. The art, thanks to their help, I create.
In America, am I underestimated? Sometimes. Am I underappreciated? Compared to Japan - Yes. A lot of the time, honestly, and that’s fine. I’m as uninterested as being a poster boy here as I am being a God amongst men there. I demand success for myself, sure. I crave wins. I want to beat everyone you put in front of me. It may seem strange to recount a time when I was awful in the ring with a Semi-Final on the cards, but we all were at some point. Some develop slower than others, and when it comes to collecting rings as a rookie, we can’t all be Ruby Steele. You know what? Maybe she is the real deal after all.
Part 2 - THREE LIONS ON A SHIRT!!!!
The scene opens to Mark “The Dragon” Cross. He is seated, cross-legged, in the centre of a wrestling ring. Draped behind him across the ring ropes are two flags, one of England, one of Japan...two striking contrasts of red and white. He nods his head respectfully to the camera as he begins.
Hey semi-finals, how’s it going? Good to see you again, and so soon as well. Who would have thought, I had Lachlan pegged as the problem child in that partnership. Fair play to the guy, he had his head in the game for that one, and while more time in the ring likely wouldn’t change the result, he certainly has the right to think ‘what if’ about the whole thing. I’m going to pay Mikah the same amount of attention she paid me, and simply say, from one wrestler too wrapped up in their own agenda to another, we jump to...
Cassian Reed - Nice to have another English guy in the tournament! I see you straight on social media, trying to talk up a good game to me, respect the hustle. I wonder if stoking the fires is really the best idea you’ve ever had, but I guess every day’s a school day. You won’t have long to find out if that was a smart move or not. I mean...IT’S FUCKING COMING HOME, right? Even if it’s not the guy YOU want it to be. I have to ask, what’s the game plan here, Cass? You wanna be the top champion? You wanna be THE Billy-big-bollocks kinda guy around here, is that what it is, or are you just looking for an excuse to hang around in Vegas a while longer, ‘cause all the chicks came here to party? Are you ready to carry that responsibility on your shoulders, single-handedly, day in, day out. You know, all eyes on you, watching your every move, how late you’re out on the strip, and who you go home with at the end of the night. After all, what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas when you’re in the spotlight. I don’t think you quite realise the workload, the expectation, the judgement, or just what it feels like to walk around this building with a target painted on your back. Mr. Main Event - Life and soul of the party? Suddenly your friends are plotting your downfall because honestly? That’s what winners do. It’s nothing personal, just the business we’re in. That sort of thing causes drinking buddies to fall out.
It’s funny what a couple of wins has done for your ego, but don’t look at that Roulette championship on your shoulder and think that makes you strong enough to go all the way. I don’t want to disrespect anyone who’s held an accolade around here, but former Roulette champions are the guys I’ve beaten for fun around here, and more than once too. Teddy Warren? Caleb Storms? You, come Sunday night? Who knows, probably. You told Vinnie you weren’t going to be his stepping stone...yet here you are prancing about with the “Stepping Stone Championship” like you own the gaff. That’s exactly what it is, a set of training wheels so we can see what you’re made of, to give you a little taste of responsibility before you’re ready to graduate up to a real title. You know, one where a wheel doesn’t get spun to decide what laughing stock you’re gonna be a part of next. Congratulations on being the number one comic relief guy on the roster. Ha-freaking-ha.
That’s a big difference between me and you. You can talk about brand difference all you like, but the line between the brands got blurred a LONG time ago. You can thank me for that, in part, by the way. I’ve been there and done it as SCU Underground champion. I had no shortage of guys wanting to take that title away from me of course, they didn’t make it a secret, and I expected nothing less either. Current champions, former champions, main roster guys, all looking upwards, to me. I didn’t come to coast, I came to fight through a tough as nails tournament to prove my worth, and I don’t plan on stopping there. I had people ask me, when I agreed to work with the main roster too, number one man in the number two brand, isn’t that enough for you? Don’t you have enough on your plate? I came here not just to be a champion. I came here to win and win and win, so no, I don’t have enough on my plate. Sure, I’ve got that belt to defend with my life, and I did, but there’s other ladders I can be climbing at the same time Guys and girls spend forty plus hours scrubbing bathrooms, washing floors, cooking meals in restaurants they can’t afford to eat at themselves, just to keep a roof over their family’s heads. You expect me to say I can’t wrestle twice in one night on a Supershow. Fuck off. This isn’t work, not really. This is doing something that I, at least, love to do. For you, maybe it’s more a means to an end, who knows.
Now I hate to use the wrong kind of football reference for two British guys, but does anyone know who Dan Marino is, the greatest quarterback to never win a Superbowl? I feel...a little like Dan Marino around here quite honestly, one of the most capable ring technicians yet to capture the World Heavyweight title. Hey, it’s not a bad legacy, a lot of young QBs would love to have the career that “Dan the Man'' had, but I’ve never been one to settle for second best. One of the greatest TO hold the SCW World Heavyweight championship sounds a whole lot better, and that’s the endgame here. Playing the long game, coming all the way through a Blast from the Past again? Talk about starting a challenge right.
You’ve seen the benefits of that belt already, of course, a queue of women who’d love nothing more than to spend the evening with the champ. Congratulations, your stock just went up. Put gold around your waist, and the gold diggers come flocking...more variety, more choice, sure, but they’re only in it for one thing, it ain’t an emotional connection, and those four minutes or less will be as cold and empty as the last. Maybe when you’re done fucking your way through bachelorette parties your priorities will shift to being the best COMPETITOR you can be, and we can talk about World titles, but for now you’ve hit your ceiling.
We’ll cover motivation a little more when we come to your partner, but this is suddenly a whole different ball game for you. You can’t pick me apart in the same way as your last opponents, a guy that sets up social media profiles for his cactus, or a religious cultist. As the tournament draws to a close, things start to get real for you. I’m a lot of things, but I’m a wrestler first and foremost. Nothing else takes precedence. I’m tougher, mentally. I have my eyes on the prize, I’m not planning my victory celebrations before I’ve even got the job done, I have a flight booked, home, to be back in the gym Monday morning. I’m more experienced, more well-rounded, held more prestigious titles around these parts, for longer, and I’ve done this Blast from the Past once before. You can try and one-up me, fucking this mate, fucking that fella, but virtually everywhere you turn, that I can think of? It’ll be advantage me, and you’ll be lucky to find anyone to agree with your bullshit. I’ve made a career out of proving people wrong about me. Hey, spin the wheel, make it a boxing match for your arcade ticket title, I could be in trouble...but I’m not in your domain on Sunday night. You’re stepping into mine.
This is straight up, one-for-one wrestling. You versus me. No rounds, no bell to save you, just the outstretched hand of hot Roxi. If you’re smart, you’ll know you’re already beaten, put her into bat nice and early. If you’re not, then I look forward to watching you throw everything at me, only to find out it isn’t enough. One way or another, the result ends up the same. Don’t worry, you’re not letting the London Underground down...they all know there’s no shame in losing to me...but just a word of warning before you let your partner do the heavy lifting out there, as I’m not too sure her heart’s in this anymore.
Roxi...confuses me, more than a little bit actually. We don’t move in the same circles, aside from crossing paths backstage here and there, we’ve barely interacted. It’s interesting when you really start to dig into someone’s story, watch how they conduct themselves, the words they use, the when, the how, and it’s only when you start the process do you really understand who they really are. I don’t know what kind of enlightenment journey Roxi’s been on lately, maybe she got a good deal on some self-help DVDs from some shopping channel, who knows, but when did she get so...entitled?
I’m going to give you one for free Roxi, as you and Keira both seem like really, genuinely nice people. Great couple, great family I’m sure, and you know, I guess a lot of people around the place have good things to say about me too. I make an effort to talk to everyone backstage, take an interest in them, their lives, make sure everything’s good...and yet...before the Finals last year, I might have suggested Kate and Teddy were bad parents...just a little bit...to get under their skin. It’s safe to say that the four of us uhh...didn’t go for that drink after the Final, made the whole thing kind of awkward actually. See for me, there are people that think they know me, they’ll have one opinion. There are people that have faced me in the ring, probably the total opposite opinion. It’s only those few that know the REAL me, who get to see the grey in between the black and white, and that’s not something you pick up on from watching a few matches and interviews.
I guess my message to you is, don’t think you’ve got everything all figured out. You can sit back, feet up, psychoanalyse people to your heart’s content, let your record speak for itself, it all makes for great copy, yet all I’m hearing is “Hey, wrestling isn’t priority number one for me anymore” and you know what that is? A GREAT out if you lose a couple of matches here and there. I’m gonna let someone else take the spotlight. It’s my wife’s time to shine, or it’s Andrea’s time to carry the pressure. I’ve done my bit. Well in that case, maybe you’re not as motivated to get that extra accolade to add to the collection after all.
You’re close with what you’re saying...you’re real close, but no cigar. Take me for example, I live in my dream house, in my dream neighbourhood, in my dream city. I drive in my dream car to my own wrestling gym where I have everything I could possibly need at my fingertips, to train, to improve, to study. When I’m done with my own work, I can pass on my knowledge and experience to the gym’s students. More than once I’ve put my own career on hold to work with them full-time, otherwise I leave it in the hands of the men and women who helped put me where I am today, who run the place day-to-day. I know it sounds like a flex, and it absolutely is, but it doesn’t change my mindset one iota. You’re totally right, one false move, one bad injury and wrestling, completely done for us. Any one of us, no matter what we’ve already achieved, or could have accomplished in the future. Away from that twenty minutes or less in a wrestling ring per week, I have everything I could ever want in life. You think, something snaps in my knee in training, I’m gonna look back on everything else and say it’s okay, I’m gonna be fine, I won’t miss it?
Fuck that. I’m going to be inconsolable for WEEKS, I promise you that. I’m gonna sit in my hot tub in my mansion in Coconut Grove and feel like my beating heart got ripped from my chest. I’m gonna run my hand along the red leather seats of my Aston Martin and instead of feeling grateful, I’m going to feel like crying. When I set foot in Dragon’s Lair...you know what? I probably couldn’t bring myself to even walk in that building, and if I do it’ll be to shout at some poor unsuspecting rookie who doesn’t deserve it to make ME feel better. I can be one of the most kind-hearted, thoughtful people going, and at times I can be a selfish, insufferable prick. There’s the white, and there’s the black. When it comes to wrestling, I won’t hesitate to burn a couple of bridges, as long as I get where I need to go. I hope it’s the same with you Roxi, but the way you talk sometimes? I feel like you’d just take it all in stride. Would have been nice to win Blast from the Past, but there’s always next year right? Stilllll got my family!
Now look, I’m not saying if you have a gun, one bullet, and you can only save Kiera or your wrestling career, you should save wrestling, I’m just saying you should feel something. Hell, make ME feel something at least, because as a fan? Why should anyone give a fuck about you?. At least give me some impression that you care. Our time in this business is finite, you’re bang on, which is exactly why we should give it our all, while we have it. For every one of us on this roster, getting to live the wrestling dream, to the level we do, there are a hundred or more others struggling, because they don’t have the look, or they don’t have the finances to support themselves for long enough, or hell, they have the complete package, but they can’t get someone in a suit in an office to take their call, let alone give them a shot. Maybe they just don’t have the connections. I wrestle partly for those guys too, because I have that opportunity. It’s disrespectful if I don’t take it with both hands, as if not I’m just occupying a spot that, to be honest, they’d deserve way more than me. Win, lose or draw, I don’t take a single second of that match for granted.
Roxi you say that you want this, sure, but I don’t really believe that. Why should I, you sound tired. Is it possible to win too many things, are you just bored? I ACTUALLY want this. I’ve tasted it once already, and to be honest the idea that I can smack the smirk off Evie’s smug face when she tries claiming I only won it because of her last year...that’s gonna be pretty sweet. I outweigh your partner in experience, in versatility, in adaptability, and in the ability to win this fucking tournament, and Ruby? I think she probably wants this more than the three of us combined. That’s what youthful exuberance does to a person, and when it comes to enthusiasm? Well you seem to be a little lacking on that front right now.
You don’t know human beings as well as you think you do, and you definitely don’t know me. We all have our things that drive us, and really it doesn’t matter what those things are, as long as the energy’s diverted the right way. Alicia may be driven by titles, Cassian may be driven by the quest for pussy, Ruby may be fighting for her sweetheart’s honour, and me? Maybe it’s about screwing up someone’s grand plan, knowing Cassian has to settle for his low budget title and you have to come back another year to actually try. Whatever, if we use that to become better wrestlers? Who cares. Being a supportive wife, a great mother, a cheerleader on the sidelines? Talent or not, twenty titles or not, that isn’t a Blast from the Past winning mentality. You’re the odd one out.
You know, out of anyone, I didn’t expect it to be Mikah and Roxi Johnson to make victory number two easy for me. Guess the Hall of Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be after all, huh?
On that bombshell, the scene fades to black.
