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Climax Control Archives / Breaking Ground.
« Last post by The Dragon on May 10, 2024, 05:10:49 PM »PART 0 - PROLOGUE
12th September 2004
Aaaaaand it's been a hard day at the office for the Oakland Raiders as they face third down, right around midfield. 13-time Pro Bowler Jerry Rice has looked a shadow of his former self against this Pittsburgh secondary so far. Kerry Collins, under center with Cross in the backfield, one of their few attacking options, he’s averaging just over 4 yards a carry on the ground.
We had to get Sky TV…I guess you guys would call it cable in the States, just so we could watch Mark's games. They said it was a miracle, a Brit making the NFL, and for him to be starting? Almost unheard of…
Collins…hands off to Cross…and he BREAKS a tackle! Mark Cross off to the races…the 40…the 30…the 20, the 10…TOUCHDOWN RAIDERS!
…Mark used to make me sick when it came to sports, he had this natural ability to just pick things up, incredible hand-eye coordination. He never really had the competitive edge though, the drive to work on his fitness, or to put in extra practice, so he never really turned that into anything big, or special. I thought tennis was going to be his thing, that was what really stuck, but he hated singles matches. In that environment, there was nobody to blame but himself, so he’d get in his own head, lose confidence, beat himself before his opponent could.
The players run up to surround their number 24 as he brings Oakland within a field goal of tying the game, and one more quarter left to play. They’ve really had to fight for every inch out there.
It was when he went to Amsterdam to play NFL Europa…things changed. He was a different person entirely, it was work to him, he was getting paid at that point, so he treated it as such. He approached his work life just like I approached mine. It was as if he was being treated like a professional, so he acted as a professional. I don’t know if he felt the same about wrestling after that, or if it was just a permanent change in his mindset, but from that point nothing could stop him.
The Raiders didn’t get that field goal, they lost 24-21, but that British guy that started out a novelty became a workhorse, the kind of man a whole team could rely on, if they needed to, and that’s why I was so surprised the phone didn’t ring after his contract was up.
Knowing Mark though, he’d land on his feet. He always did.
I’ve always been proud of my son, I always will be, but some moments showed just how far he’d grown.
PART 1 - BREAKING GROUND
14th February 2022
Well…this was even worse than I thought it would be…
A white Aston Martin DB9 pulls through a gap in the steel temporary fence, the kind you only found in construction sites, into the empty parking lot, save for the SUV already parked there. A man we don’t recognise, dressed about as formally as you’d dare in the heat of the Miami sun, is already out of his vehicle, awaiting the new arrival.
As the driver of the Aston steps out, we see it’s a former SCW World Champion, and long-time Florida resident-
Mark Cross?
That’s me.
Will Riley, with Miami Dade County.
Hey Will - Sorry I’m late, traffic-
I mean, time is just a suggestion here, right?
That would have driven me crazy about living here…
That’s Miami things alright. So this is it, huh?
The pair spin around to survey the scene in front of them. A rather imposing-looking arena looms, although even at first glance it’s clear it’s in some state of disrepair. As for the rest of the plot, it appears derelict, like a construction project that had only just gotten off the ground, with the metal fencing we’d seen previously wrapping all around. Whatever masonry was left had been ‘tagged’ in graffiti by some street gang, probably Cuban, knowing the area, and the whole thing was certainly nothing to write home about.
A blank canvas…
So just to recap what I told you over the phone…this was slated to be the new home of the Miami Hooters arena football team, since they were going to need one after the Miami Arena was acquired, but Florida Broward County came in with a much better offer. That, plus Hooters were withdrawing as the title sponsor, so moving the team out to Sunrise made it a much more attractive prospect financially…
And the team wasn’t a big commercial success, if the rumours were true…so Miami-Dade had no reason to finish it.
Exactly, the arena was finished…kind of, we’ll talk about that later, but as for the infrastructure, nothing really happened.
Such a waste…
So I know all the back-and-forth with Planning and Zoning meant you weren’t going to get the team off the ground for next season, but with the city making enough event parking available nearby, it frees up the space on the site, and this parking lot is now where your practice facility is going to stand.
It was worth it, no point in compromising…
I’d rather get it right though, you know? Medical Center and Gym just behind?
Yup! It’ll take you right up to the boundary fence, but it fits. Then over there, the corporate offices. Everything you could ever want right here.
There were a lot of projects over the years that we thought about, and talked ourselves out of, one way or another. The time I nearly bought two go-karts for us to rebuild and race, even though neither of us cared all that much about racing, the thought of buying a classic bike, even with classic British weather meaning we’d never really get the chance to use it, just to name a few. There were never enough hours in the day, and there was no guarantee we’d get the use out of the time and the money we put in.
One Christmas though, Mark bought me this Flying V guitar kit I’d wanted for a while. I couldn’t play guitar, and to be honest even after 15 years of practice, it isn’t his strong suit either, but we were both drummers who wished we were guitarists, hence the fascination. He liked traditional guitars in boring colours, but I was all about bright and pointy. I went for what we used to call blackcurrant and licorice back in the day, purple sparkle, with black hardware. Looking at our guitar choices, you’d wonder which one of us was the father and which one was the son…
So…why a football team?
I mean it might not stay as just a football team, but to be honest, that’s where my background is, and I was already connected with the guys at the GFL, so it was a readily available route in. Plus, it’s something I know more about than other sports, besides wrestling of course, and you don’t need your own arena to put on a wrestling show, y’know?
There’s no money in football…
There’s no money in a lot of things. This is a passion project, something I can pour my energy into when, conceivably, my own sporting career draws to a close in the next couple of years, and hopefully it won’t make me go broke. Also, if we have this here, we can start to give back a little bit, in time, support the community a little.
Mark’s become a lot more thoughtful, the older he’s gotten. I just think he didn’t have a lot of perspective when he was younger, before he had a house to run and bills to pay. Plus, as an only child, he was pretty used to getting whatever he wanted, within reason. We indulged all his hobbies, the instruments he didn’t learn, the sports he’d pick up and then drop again a few months later, and since it just kept coming? He didn’t really have any grasp of what had to be done, sacrificed, given up to make that happen for him.
Galveston Island Wrestling started another brand out in New Orleans, where Mark was drafted. They were still very much reeling from Hurricane Katrina, and since he had nowhere to train? He bought a ruined building from an owner who couldn’t afford to fix it back up again, paid way over the odds for it, and restored it into a wrestling gym. Then he invited all the local kids in the community to come and ‘train’ there. It wasn’t that serious a lot of the time, an excuse to give out a few hours of free childcare to struggling parents…but it was at that point I knew he’d really started to understand what selflessness means.
That’s pretty admirable.
My parents taught me well, what can I say? They’d always put anyone else above themselves, even to their own detriment.
Are they here in Miami, your parents?
N-No...
Oh…well anyway…Now, let me show you the jewel in the crown of sorts…and the reason we made you sign that waiver…
As the two men begin to approach, the ‘jewel in the crown’ begins to reveal the ugly truth of it all. As we move around, it’s clear what the front side of the structure had been hiding, as Mark and Will have to gingerly step their way through what was left of a perimeter wall, now almost completely collapsed, giving complete access to the inside of the stadium itself.
Bloody Nora, Mark…it’s falling down…
Open plan design, very modern.
So it doesn’t exactly…
It’s perfect.
Yeah, it’s perfect.
But with a little...wait, it is!?
It’ll take a little bit of elbow grease, but we’ll get this place fixed up.
It’ll be a fun little project.
Well…uhh…okay, that was unexpected! Who were you talking to, by the way?
It’s…hey Will, mind if I have a few moments alone?
Uhh…sure! Meet you by the cars?
Meet you by the cars.
This would have driven Mark’s Mom and his now ex-wife Amanda crazy, honestly. We’d have walked around this place, mouths wide open, eyes lit up like a couple of kids at Christmas just thinking of all the potential this place could have had. Would it have taken far more work than we ever would have imagined? Yes. Would we have spent more than double the budget finishing it? Yes. Would we have been unable to sleep thinking of what we were going to work on next? Absolutely. Maybe it was a man thing, but we could see potential in something like this, while the women in our lives were the practical ones.
I would have loved to have worked on it with him…
As he stood, staring out onto the mounds of rubble that would have been the playing surface, Mark could feel himself nodding, almost involuntarily, as thoughts of the future flashed through his mind. As the camera begins to pull away, Mark remains just to the right, as if someone were standing there beside him, except there is nobody there to be seen.
It's not the same without you, Dad.
I miss you, matey. There’ll be a cuppa tea waiting when you finally get up here. Do this place proud for me.
I’ll do more than that. I’ll name a whole section after you…Can’t stay out of the limelight forever…
In Loving Memory
Keith Charles Cross
1960 - 2018
I couldn’t have done it without you…
PART 2 - FATHER AND SON DAY
9th May 2024
We find ourselves somewhere familiar, although…altogether different. As the camera pans around from the upper deck, we are standing inside an arena, and as the goalposts, the gridiron and the endzones come into focus, we realise that it’s set up for football. If you’ve ever set foot in an NFL, or even some college stadiums, it’s clear that this place isn’t the biggest, but it looks modern, new, and impressive nonetheless. The word “DRAGONS” is emblazoned in bold black font against a dark purple backdrop, covering the artificial turf at both ends. The boards that surround the field follow the same colour palette, as two Chinese-style dragons wrap around, as if ready to snake around the fans that would be seated above them.
Once tired, red and white plastic seating had been completely ripped out and replaced, each one now purple, with plush fake-leather black padding for all, even those in the cheap seats. The once-collapsed south corner wall, originally a point of access for vandals, urban explorers and rough sleepers alike, was now structurally integral again, and from its roof hung a scoreboard and jumbotron, which was mirrored at the opposite end.
The soft hum of air conditioning whirred overhead, protecting all inside the enclosure from the 90 degree plus heat, and the 90% plus humidity that was commonplace for Florida at this time of year.
As the camera spins around, we find ourselves face to face with Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who has taken a seat in one of the many empty rows, assessing the scene.
Welcome to The Lair, everyone. It’s taken over two years, but we only finished the damn thing! Right now we’re seated on the Keith Cross Memorial Terrace, the best seats in the house here in Miami, Florida. The season kicks off in September, the girls will be here from…ooh…this Friday to start training camps, and it won’t be long before you’ll be able to watch the Miami Dragons in their inaugural season in the Gladiatrix Football League. The irony isn’t lost on me that what was once intended to be the home of the Miami Hooters is going to show what’s essentially lingerie football…but let me tell you the brand of football these girls play make my time in the NFL look soft. The rulebook? Can probably fit on a single page PDF, and I can promise you, if you want to see girls fuck each other up in the name of sport and entertainment? This place will make Blast from the Past look like child’s play.
I’m looking at you Kate…Diamond…Lohan…Steele…whatever your name is now! No seriously, I feel sorry for poor Kate. Oh bloody fucking hell, not this guy to eliminate me from Blast from the Past again, the British are supposed to stick together! Last time I let her get all the way to the final before I pulled that rug from under her feet and this year, it’s going to happen even earlier. Yeah…I may have insinuated she was a bad parent back then…just maybe…and I may have called a few of her family members mini-Mikah’s…cause, you know, Jet City…but even I can admit she knows a lot about winning here. You never know what you're gonna get…not just because she changes names like I change underwear, but on her day? Bombshell champion material.
On others? Well…we’ll take our second round win and move on, thank you very much.
See…Diamond suffers something that a lot of big names in the last decade of Sin City Wrestling history have in common, and that’s something we’ll definitely be touching on before we’re done here…but I will say Kate, hopefully no hard feelings whatever happens…I signed her sister Sapphire for the Dragons, she’s playing Wide Receiver for us, hopefully she’s gonna ball out for us, isn’t gonna drop passes out of hate for me and what I did at Vimy Ridge, that sort of thing.
Now, as much as I’d love to wax lyrical about my new venture, now isn’t the time, because Blast from the Past is where my focus is dialled in right now. I mean first of all, was anyone surprised that another PuppyPalace graduate had more bark than bite? No? Me neither. Aiden Reynolds was exactly what he promised to be, a disappointment. A pretender, who proved exactly why he’s wishing so hard for his Hall of Fame induction, because it’s nothing more than a pipedream, something so far from reality, that he’s like a freshman in high school pinning a Bugatti to his dream board. Yeah…maybe…but a whole lot of pieces need to fall into place before that happens. He’s trying to run before he can crawl.
It did have some interesting side effects though…and when washed former World champions need to use the “Forgot Password” function on their Twitter account just to make a comment (the last time they said something it wasn’t called X yet, I don’t think)…or when your opponent cares more about clarifying their living situation than they do about the match? It’s a sign of just how effective your mind games have been. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fenris has re-doubled his efforts in the gym since last week too…but let’s all remember I’m just out here playing the game, right? Trying to ruffle feathers, shake a few cages, that kind of thing. If you want nothing but pure fact? I’d recommend National Geographic, or the History channel, not Mark Cross talking about his next opponent. When it comes to probing for a reaction? There will be creative licence used. I won’t apologise for that, because like it or not, it’s part of the game.
If you’re weak-minded enough that it triggers you? Well…that’s kind of on you. OTHER PEOPLE THINK UR STUPID TOO LOL. Good one Alex.
Now, whether you call me boring, or stupid, or annoying, I can also tell you, I’ve undoubtedly been called a Swifty, and maybe you can blame my friend Taylor for The Tortured Poets Department and all the new material, but I’ve been thinking a lot about song lyrics lately.
Now I'm down bad crying at the gym…everything comes out teenage petulance…fuck it if I can't beat him…
I remember the Michael Harris situation. I remember the spell of dominance that ]was brewing, watching the same old names bounce in, and bounce out again disappointed. I also remember the phone calls I didn’t take, the voicemails I deleted before I’d even gotten to the end. The increasing vigour as certain powers that be tried to get me to come back. It was J2H that did the deed in the end, an expensive, but effective mercenary for hire. See dominance only flies for so long, in most any sport. Max Verstappen and Red Bull, anyone? The sporting element of wrestling means we can be victims of it too, the cream rises to the top, the best man holds the title, and that continues until they can be bested in hand-to-hand combat. It’s that, the real nature of the fight, that keeps me hungry, keeps the fire burning. I can’t stand the business aspect, but it exists. It’s why we, as a sport, can continue to exist.
Same fish, same pond, and you know what? Those fish? Often they don’t get bigger, stronger, or more talented. It’s usually the other way around, they take knocks to their confidence with each failure, their bodies start to wear down, their resolve starts to wane as they look at the beautiful houses, beautiful lives, beautiful partners wrestling earned them and they start to think maybe, just maybe they don’t need that World championship anymore. All the while, the shows sell less tickets, don't gain the streaming audience, and don't shift that sweet sweet merch. Unfortunately, that was Sin City’s problem, not mine.
I mentioned earlier that Diamond shares a trait with a lot of the bigger names to come through the company in recent years…and it’s something they have in common with my opponent, too. They lose that motivation.
There’s that saying…you can do anything you set your mind to, and I truly believe that. How many people do you know in life, who say they *should* lose some weight, or they *should* quit smoking, and what happens to these people? They’re the ‘fad’ dieters, cutting out one vital nutrient at a time on rotation, following whatever that the latest dude on TikTok told them is bad…they’re that friend that says quitting smoking is easy…because they do it a hundred times a year. They look for shortcuts, and if they can’t find one? They weren’t committed enough, so they’ll accept the failure. The guys and girls that have been there and done it here once before? They’ve already achieved it, ticked the box. You look at Fenris, he runs off to Iceland…Mikah hides out in Hawaii…Ben Jordan hangs out in the pub, I dunno, but it's all just downtime, rest and relaxation, that shift from I WILL train or I NEED to train switches to I PROBABLY SHOULD train playing out in real time.
I’m not made up the same as them. I don’t have any off-days, because I don’t have a single off-day in my preparation. The longest I ever took off in one sitting? 12 weeks. Do you think, after 12 weeks off, I came back at top level? Of course I didn’t, I was rusty, I had to re-discover muscle memory. Taking bumps against the mat hurt more than they used to, knocked the wind out of me more than before. Bouncing off the ropes left me battered and bruised for days after, while my body built up the callouses it lost while I was out. Did I still pick up wins, sure I did, I had to dig deep…but in those three months with my torn ACL, I couldn't eat, drink and sleep wrestling the way I had for a decade or more. I could feel the difference.
What you see is what you get with me. I’m not some boom-bust guy in a purple patch, who looks unbeatable for maybe a year, maybe less, trying to dine out on that past success. Using the fear factor of what their name used to mean, what they once achieved, to psych out their opponents. The problem with that? Some are hungry. Some are talented. Some are hungry and talented, and some, in my case? A World Championship level performer, still running in their prime.
There is no probably should in my mind…but there is in yours Jayden. Tell me you're living in your father's shadow without telling me you’re living in your father’s shadow, as you talk about how you *should* become a wrestler, because you’re Michael Harris’ boy. You *should* come to Sin City Wrestling for revenge, because of someone else’s history, someone else’s career. Do you see the problem here?
When you first announced to us all that you didn’t want this, that you didn’t care, I found it laughable, I wondered why you even bothered honestly, why you’d blow the chance to work with…as annoying as she is…with Kate, Diamond, whatever, who’s gotten to a Final, who’s worked at the top level here, and then it all starts to make sense. You’re here because you *should* be here, you’re SCREAMING IT in our faces, that you’re here not because you want to be, but because you feel some obligation, and with that attitude, you won’t quit smoking, you won’t lose that beer gut, you won’t progress any further in this tournament.
In fact, you need a whole attitude adjustment, since you act like you’re nothing more than a jumped up little arsehole who’s had it far too easy…people who love you, for some reason, even while you shout them down for doing something nice for you, while they beg for footnotes in the story of your life…you treat your fans with contempt, while, let’s face it, you need to keep coming out to see you, because there’s no way you’d be caught dead working in front of ten people just because you love the game, right?
Right. You need to feed off the energy from the arena, because you can’t hype yourself up on your own steam.
You don’t have it in you, pal. You don’t want this tournament, you don’t want the World title shot, you don’t want this life, and you’re young and dumb enough that you come out and admit it before you even start. That’s fine by me, your wish is my command, because I’ll be more than happy to put you out of your misery, personally. I get it, having the weight of the surname that you share, the legacy that another Harris managed to build here, that must be hard for you. It could be a positive thing too of course…that’s some role model to have if…you know…you ACTUALLY wanted the chance to compete at the top level, but I feel like you have to be careful what elements you do take, and which ones you forge your own path on.
Did you ever know that you’re my hero…you’re everything I would like to be…I can fly higher than an eagle…because you are the wind beneath my wings…
When we walked into the crematorium behind my Dad’s coffin, we had Bette Midler playing, because my Dad taught me everything I needed to know about life. Some of those lessons, I maybe didn’t learn until after he was gone, but every one was beyond valuable. To be humble, to be selfless, to work hard…all went into shaping me into the person, the wrestler, the champion I am up to now.
My Dad taught me everything I needed to know. Yours? Maybe the only things he can show you…are the things that can’t be taught.
Now my Dad, he wasn’t a wrestler, there’s difference number one. Remember last week, Duffy Wrestling League, how it was a surprise that I was a first generation guy? The business wasn’t in my blood. He wasn’t an athlete, either, not really. He liked to run, liked to get a good neck workout on the tennis court, watching me knock winners past him, anything to keep himself in some kind of shape, and he was one of those men who seemed to have an endless supply of energy, the kind who could do a whole day of work, get caught in traffic on the way home, and still want to go and kick a ball around with me at the end of it all.
He seemed invincible.
He wasn’t rich, but we never went without.
He wasn’t famous, but the people who knew him best seemed to feel the huge loss of his presence. He was revered by those who knew him, who loved him.
He didn’t have a college degree. He didn’t come from money. He didn’t have anything made for him. He worked every day of his life, for the same company, for forty-two years. Everything he had, he earned, through hard work.
What did the great Michael Harris teach you, Jayden? I’m sure not that nasty attitude of yours, but what was it…to dominate? That’s all well and good, except one thing you might be lacking there is the skill-set. You’re still raw, inexperienced, impulsive, emotional. You’re what took him a decade or more of honing his craft. Try to soar to the same heights, in the same way, and you could turn into an Icarus that flew too close to the sun. What else might you have borrowed from him, a plan to rule the roost, to suck the life out of a whole division, make them need to call in outside help to stop you? That sounds great and all, except that takes a whole lot of commitment, and you don’t have the drive for that. You don’t even give a flying fuck if you win the tournament, a LightningLane to your favourite ride at Disney, and there’s the problem. You don’t want to put in the ground work.
You lack your Dad’s best qualities, buddy. If you feel like you’re the guy to do his dirty work, then you’re very sorely mistaken.
You see I’ve faced plenty of ‘prodigal son’ types in my time, this isn’t unfamiliar territory for me at all. Again, you might have seen it last year, the son of a legend, beating his chest like he was the leader of the locker room, the second coming of a wrestling messiah, all while letting down the people who believed in his bullshit, left and right. Those with chips on their shoulders almost as large as the big dark shadow of their ancestors that loom over them wherever they go, and you know what? That plays into my hands.
You might believe things should be handed to you on a silver platter, Jayden, because of your last name, the blood that courses through your veins.
You might believe your abilities match the hero they watched, either on TV, or at ringside, from a very young age. You might believe you’re almost watching yourself in the mirror out there.
Let me tell you right now, that you’re not.
You’re going to be standing opposite the answer to Sin City Wrestling’s problem. The guy they wanted to bring in to stop that Michael Harris train right there in its tracks. You see that project at the time…it didn’t interest me all that much. I take the title, and then what? I defend against the same tired, beaten down guys your Dad did, easy defences, building a reign that really, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t mean a whole lot, until they pay J2H to try and take it off me instead? No thank you.
Now while I may be excited about my new project, my new stadium, I’ll be locking this place up for a couple of days, it’s back over to Europe, my homeland, and to Vimy Ridge. Man’s death is but a little thing, small mark upon the land he leaves. His shells scarce raise the level sod, his grave the surface hardly heaves. Stern nature carries on her work, nor feel she man’s afflictions pinch, perhaps these thousands only die, to raise Vimy Ridge an inch.
Your death, Jayden? It won’t even move the needle. I promise you that.
END.
12th September 2004
Aaaaaand it's been a hard day at the office for the Oakland Raiders as they face third down, right around midfield. 13-time Pro Bowler Jerry Rice has looked a shadow of his former self against this Pittsburgh secondary so far. Kerry Collins, under center with Cross in the backfield, one of their few attacking options, he’s averaging just over 4 yards a carry on the ground.
We had to get Sky TV…I guess you guys would call it cable in the States, just so we could watch Mark's games. They said it was a miracle, a Brit making the NFL, and for him to be starting? Almost unheard of…
Collins…hands off to Cross…and he BREAKS a tackle! Mark Cross off to the races…the 40…the 30…the 20, the 10…TOUCHDOWN RAIDERS!
…Mark used to make me sick when it came to sports, he had this natural ability to just pick things up, incredible hand-eye coordination. He never really had the competitive edge though, the drive to work on his fitness, or to put in extra practice, so he never really turned that into anything big, or special. I thought tennis was going to be his thing, that was what really stuck, but he hated singles matches. In that environment, there was nobody to blame but himself, so he’d get in his own head, lose confidence, beat himself before his opponent could.
The players run up to surround their number 24 as he brings Oakland within a field goal of tying the game, and one more quarter left to play. They’ve really had to fight for every inch out there.
It was when he went to Amsterdam to play NFL Europa…things changed. He was a different person entirely, it was work to him, he was getting paid at that point, so he treated it as such. He approached his work life just like I approached mine. It was as if he was being treated like a professional, so he acted as a professional. I don’t know if he felt the same about wrestling after that, or if it was just a permanent change in his mindset, but from that point nothing could stop him.
The Raiders didn’t get that field goal, they lost 24-21, but that British guy that started out a novelty became a workhorse, the kind of man a whole team could rely on, if they needed to, and that’s why I was so surprised the phone didn’t ring after his contract was up.
Knowing Mark though, he’d land on his feet. He always did.
I’ve always been proud of my son, I always will be, but some moments showed just how far he’d grown.
PART 1 - BREAKING GROUND
14th February 2022
Well…this was even worse than I thought it would be…
A white Aston Martin DB9 pulls through a gap in the steel temporary fence, the kind you only found in construction sites, into the empty parking lot, save for the SUV already parked there. A man we don’t recognise, dressed about as formally as you’d dare in the heat of the Miami sun, is already out of his vehicle, awaiting the new arrival.
As the driver of the Aston steps out, we see it’s a former SCW World Champion, and long-time Florida resident-
Mark Cross?
That’s me.
Will Riley, with Miami Dade County.
Hey Will - Sorry I’m late, traffic-
I mean, time is just a suggestion here, right?
That would have driven me crazy about living here…
That’s Miami things alright. So this is it, huh?
The pair spin around to survey the scene in front of them. A rather imposing-looking arena looms, although even at first glance it’s clear it’s in some state of disrepair. As for the rest of the plot, it appears derelict, like a construction project that had only just gotten off the ground, with the metal fencing we’d seen previously wrapping all around. Whatever masonry was left had been ‘tagged’ in graffiti by some street gang, probably Cuban, knowing the area, and the whole thing was certainly nothing to write home about.
A blank canvas…
So just to recap what I told you over the phone…this was slated to be the new home of the Miami Hooters arena football team, since they were going to need one after the Miami Arena was acquired, but Florida Broward County came in with a much better offer. That, plus Hooters were withdrawing as the title sponsor, so moving the team out to Sunrise made it a much more attractive prospect financially…
And the team wasn’t a big commercial success, if the rumours were true…so Miami-Dade had no reason to finish it.
Exactly, the arena was finished…kind of, we’ll talk about that later, but as for the infrastructure, nothing really happened.
Such a waste…
So I know all the back-and-forth with Planning and Zoning meant you weren’t going to get the team off the ground for next season, but with the city making enough event parking available nearby, it frees up the space on the site, and this parking lot is now where your practice facility is going to stand.
It was worth it, no point in compromising…
I’d rather get it right though, you know? Medical Center and Gym just behind?
Yup! It’ll take you right up to the boundary fence, but it fits. Then over there, the corporate offices. Everything you could ever want right here.
There were a lot of projects over the years that we thought about, and talked ourselves out of, one way or another. The time I nearly bought two go-karts for us to rebuild and race, even though neither of us cared all that much about racing, the thought of buying a classic bike, even with classic British weather meaning we’d never really get the chance to use it, just to name a few. There were never enough hours in the day, and there was no guarantee we’d get the use out of the time and the money we put in.
One Christmas though, Mark bought me this Flying V guitar kit I’d wanted for a while. I couldn’t play guitar, and to be honest even after 15 years of practice, it isn’t his strong suit either, but we were both drummers who wished we were guitarists, hence the fascination. He liked traditional guitars in boring colours, but I was all about bright and pointy. I went for what we used to call blackcurrant and licorice back in the day, purple sparkle, with black hardware. Looking at our guitar choices, you’d wonder which one of us was the father and which one was the son…
So…why a football team?
I mean it might not stay as just a football team, but to be honest, that’s where my background is, and I was already connected with the guys at the GFL, so it was a readily available route in. Plus, it’s something I know more about than other sports, besides wrestling of course, and you don’t need your own arena to put on a wrestling show, y’know?
There’s no money in football…
There’s no money in a lot of things. This is a passion project, something I can pour my energy into when, conceivably, my own sporting career draws to a close in the next couple of years, and hopefully it won’t make me go broke. Also, if we have this here, we can start to give back a little bit, in time, support the community a little.
Mark’s become a lot more thoughtful, the older he’s gotten. I just think he didn’t have a lot of perspective when he was younger, before he had a house to run and bills to pay. Plus, as an only child, he was pretty used to getting whatever he wanted, within reason. We indulged all his hobbies, the instruments he didn’t learn, the sports he’d pick up and then drop again a few months later, and since it just kept coming? He didn’t really have any grasp of what had to be done, sacrificed, given up to make that happen for him.
Galveston Island Wrestling started another brand out in New Orleans, where Mark was drafted. They were still very much reeling from Hurricane Katrina, and since he had nowhere to train? He bought a ruined building from an owner who couldn’t afford to fix it back up again, paid way over the odds for it, and restored it into a wrestling gym. Then he invited all the local kids in the community to come and ‘train’ there. It wasn’t that serious a lot of the time, an excuse to give out a few hours of free childcare to struggling parents…but it was at that point I knew he’d really started to understand what selflessness means.
That’s pretty admirable.
My parents taught me well, what can I say? They’d always put anyone else above themselves, even to their own detriment.
Are they here in Miami, your parents?
N-No...
Oh…well anyway…Now, let me show you the jewel in the crown of sorts…and the reason we made you sign that waiver…
As the two men begin to approach, the ‘jewel in the crown’ begins to reveal the ugly truth of it all. As we move around, it’s clear what the front side of the structure had been hiding, as Mark and Will have to gingerly step their way through what was left of a perimeter wall, now almost completely collapsed, giving complete access to the inside of the stadium itself.
Bloody Nora, Mark…it’s falling down…
Open plan design, very modern.
So it doesn’t exactly…
It’s perfect.
Yeah, it’s perfect.
But with a little...wait, it is!?
It’ll take a little bit of elbow grease, but we’ll get this place fixed up.
It’ll be a fun little project.
Well…uhh…okay, that was unexpected! Who were you talking to, by the way?
It’s…hey Will, mind if I have a few moments alone?
Uhh…sure! Meet you by the cars?
Meet you by the cars.
This would have driven Mark’s Mom and his now ex-wife Amanda crazy, honestly. We’d have walked around this place, mouths wide open, eyes lit up like a couple of kids at Christmas just thinking of all the potential this place could have had. Would it have taken far more work than we ever would have imagined? Yes. Would we have spent more than double the budget finishing it? Yes. Would we have been unable to sleep thinking of what we were going to work on next? Absolutely. Maybe it was a man thing, but we could see potential in something like this, while the women in our lives were the practical ones.
I would have loved to have worked on it with him…
As he stood, staring out onto the mounds of rubble that would have been the playing surface, Mark could feel himself nodding, almost involuntarily, as thoughts of the future flashed through his mind. As the camera begins to pull away, Mark remains just to the right, as if someone were standing there beside him, except there is nobody there to be seen.
It's not the same without you, Dad.
I miss you, matey. There’ll be a cuppa tea waiting when you finally get up here. Do this place proud for me.
I’ll do more than that. I’ll name a whole section after you…Can’t stay out of the limelight forever…
In Loving Memory
Keith Charles Cross
1960 - 2018
I couldn’t have done it without you…
PART 2 - FATHER AND SON DAY
9th May 2024
We find ourselves somewhere familiar, although…altogether different. As the camera pans around from the upper deck, we are standing inside an arena, and as the goalposts, the gridiron and the endzones come into focus, we realise that it’s set up for football. If you’ve ever set foot in an NFL, or even some college stadiums, it’s clear that this place isn’t the biggest, but it looks modern, new, and impressive nonetheless. The word “DRAGONS” is emblazoned in bold black font against a dark purple backdrop, covering the artificial turf at both ends. The boards that surround the field follow the same colour palette, as two Chinese-style dragons wrap around, as if ready to snake around the fans that would be seated above them.
Once tired, red and white plastic seating had been completely ripped out and replaced, each one now purple, with plush fake-leather black padding for all, even those in the cheap seats. The once-collapsed south corner wall, originally a point of access for vandals, urban explorers and rough sleepers alike, was now structurally integral again, and from its roof hung a scoreboard and jumbotron, which was mirrored at the opposite end.
The soft hum of air conditioning whirred overhead, protecting all inside the enclosure from the 90 degree plus heat, and the 90% plus humidity that was commonplace for Florida at this time of year.
As the camera spins around, we find ourselves face to face with Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who has taken a seat in one of the many empty rows, assessing the scene.
Welcome to The Lair, everyone. It’s taken over two years, but we only finished the damn thing! Right now we’re seated on the Keith Cross Memorial Terrace, the best seats in the house here in Miami, Florida. The season kicks off in September, the girls will be here from…ooh…this Friday to start training camps, and it won’t be long before you’ll be able to watch the Miami Dragons in their inaugural season in the Gladiatrix Football League. The irony isn’t lost on me that what was once intended to be the home of the Miami Hooters is going to show what’s essentially lingerie football…but let me tell you the brand of football these girls play make my time in the NFL look soft. The rulebook? Can probably fit on a single page PDF, and I can promise you, if you want to see girls fuck each other up in the name of sport and entertainment? This place will make Blast from the Past look like child’s play.
I’m looking at you Kate…Diamond…Lohan…Steele…whatever your name is now! No seriously, I feel sorry for poor Kate. Oh bloody fucking hell, not this guy to eliminate me from Blast from the Past again, the British are supposed to stick together! Last time I let her get all the way to the final before I pulled that rug from under her feet and this year, it’s going to happen even earlier. Yeah…I may have insinuated she was a bad parent back then…just maybe…and I may have called a few of her family members mini-Mikah’s…cause, you know, Jet City…but even I can admit she knows a lot about winning here. You never know what you're gonna get…not just because she changes names like I change underwear, but on her day? Bombshell champion material.
On others? Well…we’ll take our second round win and move on, thank you very much.
See…Diamond suffers something that a lot of big names in the last decade of Sin City Wrestling history have in common, and that’s something we’ll definitely be touching on before we’re done here…but I will say Kate, hopefully no hard feelings whatever happens…I signed her sister Sapphire for the Dragons, she’s playing Wide Receiver for us, hopefully she’s gonna ball out for us, isn’t gonna drop passes out of hate for me and what I did at Vimy Ridge, that sort of thing.
Now, as much as I’d love to wax lyrical about my new venture, now isn’t the time, because Blast from the Past is where my focus is dialled in right now. I mean first of all, was anyone surprised that another PuppyPalace graduate had more bark than bite? No? Me neither. Aiden Reynolds was exactly what he promised to be, a disappointment. A pretender, who proved exactly why he’s wishing so hard for his Hall of Fame induction, because it’s nothing more than a pipedream, something so far from reality, that he’s like a freshman in high school pinning a Bugatti to his dream board. Yeah…maybe…but a whole lot of pieces need to fall into place before that happens. He’s trying to run before he can crawl.
It did have some interesting side effects though…and when washed former World champions need to use the “Forgot Password” function on their Twitter account just to make a comment (the last time they said something it wasn’t called X yet, I don’t think)…or when your opponent cares more about clarifying their living situation than they do about the match? It’s a sign of just how effective your mind games have been. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fenris has re-doubled his efforts in the gym since last week too…but let’s all remember I’m just out here playing the game, right? Trying to ruffle feathers, shake a few cages, that kind of thing. If you want nothing but pure fact? I’d recommend National Geographic, or the History channel, not Mark Cross talking about his next opponent. When it comes to probing for a reaction? There will be creative licence used. I won’t apologise for that, because like it or not, it’s part of the game.
If you’re weak-minded enough that it triggers you? Well…that’s kind of on you. OTHER PEOPLE THINK UR STUPID TOO LOL. Good one Alex.
Now, whether you call me boring, or stupid, or annoying, I can also tell you, I’ve undoubtedly been called a Swifty, and maybe you can blame my friend Taylor for The Tortured Poets Department and all the new material, but I’ve been thinking a lot about song lyrics lately.
Now I'm down bad crying at the gym…everything comes out teenage petulance…fuck it if I can't beat him…
I remember the Michael Harris situation. I remember the spell of dominance that ]was brewing, watching the same old names bounce in, and bounce out again disappointed. I also remember the phone calls I didn’t take, the voicemails I deleted before I’d even gotten to the end. The increasing vigour as certain powers that be tried to get me to come back. It was J2H that did the deed in the end, an expensive, but effective mercenary for hire. See dominance only flies for so long, in most any sport. Max Verstappen and Red Bull, anyone? The sporting element of wrestling means we can be victims of it too, the cream rises to the top, the best man holds the title, and that continues until they can be bested in hand-to-hand combat. It’s that, the real nature of the fight, that keeps me hungry, keeps the fire burning. I can’t stand the business aspect, but it exists. It’s why we, as a sport, can continue to exist.
Same fish, same pond, and you know what? Those fish? Often they don’t get bigger, stronger, or more talented. It’s usually the other way around, they take knocks to their confidence with each failure, their bodies start to wear down, their resolve starts to wane as they look at the beautiful houses, beautiful lives, beautiful partners wrestling earned them and they start to think maybe, just maybe they don’t need that World championship anymore. All the while, the shows sell less tickets, don't gain the streaming audience, and don't shift that sweet sweet merch. Unfortunately, that was Sin City’s problem, not mine.
I mentioned earlier that Diamond shares a trait with a lot of the bigger names to come through the company in recent years…and it’s something they have in common with my opponent, too. They lose that motivation.
There’s that saying…you can do anything you set your mind to, and I truly believe that. How many people do you know in life, who say they *should* lose some weight, or they *should* quit smoking, and what happens to these people? They’re the ‘fad’ dieters, cutting out one vital nutrient at a time on rotation, following whatever that the latest dude on TikTok told them is bad…they’re that friend that says quitting smoking is easy…because they do it a hundred times a year. They look for shortcuts, and if they can’t find one? They weren’t committed enough, so they’ll accept the failure. The guys and girls that have been there and done it here once before? They’ve already achieved it, ticked the box. You look at Fenris, he runs off to Iceland…Mikah hides out in Hawaii…Ben Jordan hangs out in the pub, I dunno, but it's all just downtime, rest and relaxation, that shift from I WILL train or I NEED to train switches to I PROBABLY SHOULD train playing out in real time.
I’m not made up the same as them. I don’t have any off-days, because I don’t have a single off-day in my preparation. The longest I ever took off in one sitting? 12 weeks. Do you think, after 12 weeks off, I came back at top level? Of course I didn’t, I was rusty, I had to re-discover muscle memory. Taking bumps against the mat hurt more than they used to, knocked the wind out of me more than before. Bouncing off the ropes left me battered and bruised for days after, while my body built up the callouses it lost while I was out. Did I still pick up wins, sure I did, I had to dig deep…but in those three months with my torn ACL, I couldn't eat, drink and sleep wrestling the way I had for a decade or more. I could feel the difference.
What you see is what you get with me. I’m not some boom-bust guy in a purple patch, who looks unbeatable for maybe a year, maybe less, trying to dine out on that past success. Using the fear factor of what their name used to mean, what they once achieved, to psych out their opponents. The problem with that? Some are hungry. Some are talented. Some are hungry and talented, and some, in my case? A World Championship level performer, still running in their prime.
There is no probably should in my mind…but there is in yours Jayden. Tell me you're living in your father's shadow without telling me you’re living in your father’s shadow, as you talk about how you *should* become a wrestler, because you’re Michael Harris’ boy. You *should* come to Sin City Wrestling for revenge, because of someone else’s history, someone else’s career. Do you see the problem here?
When you first announced to us all that you didn’t want this, that you didn’t care, I found it laughable, I wondered why you even bothered honestly, why you’d blow the chance to work with…as annoying as she is…with Kate, Diamond, whatever, who’s gotten to a Final, who’s worked at the top level here, and then it all starts to make sense. You’re here because you *should* be here, you’re SCREAMING IT in our faces, that you’re here not because you want to be, but because you feel some obligation, and with that attitude, you won’t quit smoking, you won’t lose that beer gut, you won’t progress any further in this tournament.
In fact, you need a whole attitude adjustment, since you act like you’re nothing more than a jumped up little arsehole who’s had it far too easy…people who love you, for some reason, even while you shout them down for doing something nice for you, while they beg for footnotes in the story of your life…you treat your fans with contempt, while, let’s face it, you need to keep coming out to see you, because there’s no way you’d be caught dead working in front of ten people just because you love the game, right?
Right. You need to feed off the energy from the arena, because you can’t hype yourself up on your own steam.
You don’t have it in you, pal. You don’t want this tournament, you don’t want the World title shot, you don’t want this life, and you’re young and dumb enough that you come out and admit it before you even start. That’s fine by me, your wish is my command, because I’ll be more than happy to put you out of your misery, personally. I get it, having the weight of the surname that you share, the legacy that another Harris managed to build here, that must be hard for you. It could be a positive thing too of course…that’s some role model to have if…you know…you ACTUALLY wanted the chance to compete at the top level, but I feel like you have to be careful what elements you do take, and which ones you forge your own path on.
Did you ever know that you’re my hero…you’re everything I would like to be…I can fly higher than an eagle…because you are the wind beneath my wings…
When we walked into the crematorium behind my Dad’s coffin, we had Bette Midler playing, because my Dad taught me everything I needed to know about life. Some of those lessons, I maybe didn’t learn until after he was gone, but every one was beyond valuable. To be humble, to be selfless, to work hard…all went into shaping me into the person, the wrestler, the champion I am up to now.
My Dad taught me everything I needed to know. Yours? Maybe the only things he can show you…are the things that can’t be taught.
Now my Dad, he wasn’t a wrestler, there’s difference number one. Remember last week, Duffy Wrestling League, how it was a surprise that I was a first generation guy? The business wasn’t in my blood. He wasn’t an athlete, either, not really. He liked to run, liked to get a good neck workout on the tennis court, watching me knock winners past him, anything to keep himself in some kind of shape, and he was one of those men who seemed to have an endless supply of energy, the kind who could do a whole day of work, get caught in traffic on the way home, and still want to go and kick a ball around with me at the end of it all.
He seemed invincible.
He wasn’t rich, but we never went without.
He wasn’t famous, but the people who knew him best seemed to feel the huge loss of his presence. He was revered by those who knew him, who loved him.
He didn’t have a college degree. He didn’t come from money. He didn’t have anything made for him. He worked every day of his life, for the same company, for forty-two years. Everything he had, he earned, through hard work.
What did the great Michael Harris teach you, Jayden? I’m sure not that nasty attitude of yours, but what was it…to dominate? That’s all well and good, except one thing you might be lacking there is the skill-set. You’re still raw, inexperienced, impulsive, emotional. You’re what took him a decade or more of honing his craft. Try to soar to the same heights, in the same way, and you could turn into an Icarus that flew too close to the sun. What else might you have borrowed from him, a plan to rule the roost, to suck the life out of a whole division, make them need to call in outside help to stop you? That sounds great and all, except that takes a whole lot of commitment, and you don’t have the drive for that. You don’t even give a flying fuck if you win the tournament, a LightningLane to your favourite ride at Disney, and there’s the problem. You don’t want to put in the ground work.
You lack your Dad’s best qualities, buddy. If you feel like you’re the guy to do his dirty work, then you’re very sorely mistaken.
You see I’ve faced plenty of ‘prodigal son’ types in my time, this isn’t unfamiliar territory for me at all. Again, you might have seen it last year, the son of a legend, beating his chest like he was the leader of the locker room, the second coming of a wrestling messiah, all while letting down the people who believed in his bullshit, left and right. Those with chips on their shoulders almost as large as the big dark shadow of their ancestors that loom over them wherever they go, and you know what? That plays into my hands.
You might believe things should be handed to you on a silver platter, Jayden, because of your last name, the blood that courses through your veins.
You might believe your abilities match the hero they watched, either on TV, or at ringside, from a very young age. You might believe you’re almost watching yourself in the mirror out there.
Let me tell you right now, that you’re not.
You’re going to be standing opposite the answer to Sin City Wrestling’s problem. The guy they wanted to bring in to stop that Michael Harris train right there in its tracks. You see that project at the time…it didn’t interest me all that much. I take the title, and then what? I defend against the same tired, beaten down guys your Dad did, easy defences, building a reign that really, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t mean a whole lot, until they pay J2H to try and take it off me instead? No thank you.
Now while I may be excited about my new project, my new stadium, I’ll be locking this place up for a couple of days, it’s back over to Europe, my homeland, and to Vimy Ridge. Man’s death is but a little thing, small mark upon the land he leaves. His shells scarce raise the level sod, his grave the surface hardly heaves. Stern nature carries on her work, nor feel she man’s afflictions pinch, perhaps these thousands only die, to raise Vimy Ridge an inch.
Your death, Jayden? It won’t even move the needle. I promise you that.
END.
