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Supercard Archives / Re: MYA RIVERS (c) & MAC BANE v RUBY STEELE & MARK CROSS - BFTP FINALS - INTERNET
« on: March 25, 2021, 08:20:08 AM »
Part 1 - This is how it starts
As with all origin stories, it helps to have at least a little bit of background. They always seem to work better as prequels anyway. Now a card-carrying user of Japanese Strong Style, Mark "The Dragon" Cross drifted away from the American Wrestling Alliance and set off for pastures new, signing a rare (for his career, anyway) exclusive contract with Galveston Island Wrestling out of Texas. After enjoying early success as Cruiserweight champion, an internal power struggle split the company into two separate brands, and two different states. Following a draft of sorts, Cross found himself moved to New Orleans, Louisiana to work with the offshoot company, and it was there, having already been uprooted for what was supposed to be a less unpredictable work situation, that he began to consider where his future in wrestling may lie outside the ring.
From day one in the wrestling business, Mark had worked with Leon "Octane" McKane as his principal trainer, a grizzled veteran of the independent circuit who still worked events occasionally even now, in his mid-sixties. Mark worked with others of course, a boxing coach, martial artists, spending time in the dojos in Japan, but it was McKane who coordinated the whole effort, pulling the strings, and bringing it all back together.
Octane: What the hell is this place man?
It was a fair question, he’d been dragged out to this place early in the morning, and what was in front of him, was a wreck.
The Dragon: Potential. That's what it is.
Octane: Nah man it's a mess that's what it is! Old boxing gym or s'thing?
The Dragon: Yeah I think so. Needs a lot of work.
Octane: No shit.
Before the hurricane, the building had been a local boxing gym, with a pretty impressive roster of fighters, all things considered. While the damage to the building had been minor, the lives of the family who owned and operated the gym had been turned upside down. The gym had to close its doors, almost immediately, and with most everybody locally facing the same challenge of rebuilding their whole lives, no suitable buyer ever looked like coming along.
The sound of a punchbag rocking filled the air, mixing in with the plumes of dust being knocked out of it by Octane, who had a sub-par pro boxing career before the switch to wrestling. He’d gotten the thing swinging nicely.
The Dragon: Hey, you’ve still got it! Uh...Octane…
Octane: What?
The Dragon: Jump.
The sound of cracking plaster from high above raised the alarm bell, sending McKane scurrying away. The heavy bag landed with a dull thud, closely followed by large hunks of plaster that had been ripped from the high ceiling. That looked like it would have hurt.
Of course, no project was impossible, and while the last thing anyone from New Orleans wanted to spend time and money they didn’t have on another dilapidated building, maybe an outsider could take up the mantle.
Octane: Alright man, why in the fuck did you bring me out to a busted ass gym at 7 in the morning, it’s supposed to be a day off.
The Dragon: Well first of all, it’s my busted ass gym.
Mark and Octane didn’t have a “home base” as such when it came to a gym. The gym would be wherever the local wrestling school, or boxing club, or weight room, or swimming pool happened to be. Sometimes they’d be in a town miles away from any such place, and they’d have to drive an hour plus to get their work in. It was how it often worked on the road of course, it was a touring business, you got used to using whatever facilities you could lay your hands on. On occasion, the place would have it’s own wrestling school, or development territory, but that was usually a pretty big-time gig.
Octane: Oh FUCK no.
The Dragon: Octane…
Octane: The fuck you buyin’ a place like this for? I ain’t getting up on no ladder to hang that damn punchbag back up! This is some bullshit!
The Dragon: McKane…
Octane: Don’t you McKane me man! I got my wife up my ass cause you went and got us sent all the way out to fuckin’ NEW ORLEANS and now you’re presentin’ me with this shit?
Christ, he could be a miserable bastard. Flew off the handle at the smallest of things too.
The Dragon: Doesn’t your wife want to move to New Orleans WITH you?
Octane: Yeah, what of it?
The Dragon: You know what we’re doing here? We’re starting a wrestling school. In New Orleans. Where you and your wife can live. Permanently. Where you don’t have to live out of your suitcase, and you get a solid, consistent paycheck every month, from here. We find local people who have had a rough time of it, pay them a fair wage to get in and make this place shipshape again. Kids wanna wrestle, parents can’t afford it? They can come here and work out for free. A portion of the profits we can donate to local charities every month. We can make a fucking DIFFERENCE here, you get it? More than anywhere else in the US probably. And you can stop following me halfway around the world and back all the time.
Octane: What about your training?
The Dragon: I’ve been doing this for years, I think I can figure it out on my own when I’m not here.
Octane: Fuck man...that does sound sweet...but how the fuck are we gonna afford all these free lessons and giving money to charity and shit? Galveston ain’t payin’ you that well, you sure you can front this?
The Dragon: Well...we’ve just gotta make it work then don’t we? Besides, I’ve just got in on this new thing called Bitcoin, no promises, but could be a pretty solid investment.
Octane: Bit...coin?
The Dragon: Yeah, digital funds and transactions via blockchain.
Octane: Block...chain...what the fuck?
The Dragon: ...Never mind.
So that settled it, the dream was alive, we owned a wrestling gym. Did it take longer to set up than we wanted? Yes. Did it cost way more than we budgeted for? Yes. Were the free lessons just an excuse for parents to get rid of their kids for a few hours? Mostly...yes. Oh, and was Bitcoin a solid investment to make in 2012? Yes. Yes it was.
The Dragon’s Lair wasn’t just a wrestling gym. It was a lifeline for the owner of the building, who couldn’t afford to keep it afloat It became the home of a 15-year old Royal Purple, who went from the daughter of a wrestling promoter to a third-generation professional wrestler, and multi-time champion. It was where Hadley Wyatt was able to escape an abusive boss in a dead-end job, and begin to live her dream, proving her parents wrong for damn near disowning her for chasing it. It was where Kenji Kobayashi, who’d been cast aside by several dojos back home in Japan found new opportunities, and a second chance. It was a place for local kids to come and hang out, work out, make friends, even if they weren’t even all that interested in wrestling. It was a stable regular income for Leon McKane, whose long suffering wife finally had her husband back for good. I didn’t find out until many years later, but it saved their marriage.
Now with a second location opened in Miami, Florida, so that I could live and train in the same city, the Lair has gone on from strength to strength. While I couldn’t get back to New Orleans anywhere near as much as I wanted, I knew with Octane as the head trainer, the students would get a great wrestling education, and had a guy who’d move mountains to help them succeed in their own lives, not just their careers. The virtues that my Dad had instilled in me, and McKane had in spades, would still run deep in that building, even if I could only get back there every couple of weeks at best.
The principles of The Dragon’s Lair remain the same. Creating world-beating wrestlers is of course the goal of every wrestling gym, and that’s very much at the forefront of what we do, but so is making a difference, and so is creating a family. When you become part of the Lair, you become part of that family, and we stick together. Whether it be legal, financial, medical, nutritional, or wrestling related, we will do everything we can to help, whether it be ourselves, or putting you in touch with someone that can, someone we trust, someone that was in our corner when we needed them once.
This isn’t about a sales pitch, this is pretty topical, because family means a lot. Family is what runs through every single one of the competitors in this year’s Blast from the Past final, one way or another. A family doesn’t have to be biological, it can be created, and while it can be toxic, damaging, destructive, it can also save you, shape you, make you.
The Dragon’s Lair sets out to make champions, in wrestling, in the local community, in life. There’s much work still to be done, and the next step? It comes at Blaze of Glory.
Part 2 - Final Showdown
Las Vegas, Nevada
24th March 2021
The scene opens to the AirBnB being rented by Mark “The Dragon” Cross ahead of Blaze of Glory. Having spent large portions of his career staying in typical, cookie-cutter hotels of varying standards and quality, he sometimes preferred an AirBnB for a more unique experience. On this occasion, it was the swimming pool and hot tub, the keys to his post-workout recovery back home in Miami. At least until the Supershow. After that, it made the perfect venue for a victory party, but he knew better than to count his chickens. Or invite anyone.
He sits out on the deck, a large water bottle in hand as he addresses the camera.
Well I guess we were all having some family-related issues this week then, huh? Anyone would think we were out here comparing notes or something. We’re not. At least, I don’t think we are. I’m not included in the group chat if we are. It’s rare for me to come out this early for a show, but I figured, with such a pivotal night coming up, it made sense to get here a few days early, to acclimatise. Even travelling short-haul can be a pretty draining experience. Plus, I’ll be avoiding the parties for the next few days, of course, plenty of socialising to be had after one of the biggest nights of the year in the Sin City calendar, in my mind, there’s still a lot of work to be done.
Such as...double checking my research, as first off, we start with a little lesson in fact-checking. I was Sin City Underground champion for nigh on six months. I was SCU Hardcore Tag champion with Valentina, and I was (what is now known as) SCU Pride Tag Champion, also as one of the Fire Dragons No Internet title. No Roulette title. That’s not me. If your name is Mac Bane, or you intend on a career in journalism, here’s your weekly reminder not to trust some dodgy Wikipedia entry for your information. That...or make sure you’re reading the right person’s page, as that was just so way off, he could just as easily be talking about someone else.
It’s a lesson learned the hard way by Jack Washington too in Blast from the Past 2020, not checking his facts. I see you name-dropped our esteemed champion, writing me off completely when it comes to him and yet, here’s another fact for you, that I’m guessing you also missed. I met Jack in the ring, in this very tournament, and since I’m the defending champion, I think you can guess how that went. I don’t have a chance against him though, right? I guess we can discount the win, since it was in some bullshit mixed tag gimmick format. Like this tournament. That you willingly entered. As for the parts about my NFL career, well that one is a little more contentious, so we’ll loop back around to it, and instead let me talk to you about something that surprised me, the more I thought about it.
I see Mac attempting to correct the mistakes of those that came before him in Blast from the Past this year, something I’ve pulled virtually everyone up on, which I guess is pretty smart in theory, albeit a little clumsy in practice, if you don’t get the execution right. See right now there’s a hole being dug. It’s a hole I began working on last week, fully prepared to put my opponent in it at Blaze of Glory, when the time was right. Imagine my surprise, as I first turned up to the site, to find Mac volunteering to help. In fact, he’d made a start on it weeks ago, and he’d even bought his own shovel.
You know what? You were nearly so right about me too, it was close. The career I’ve shaped for myself? It doesn’t make me feel untouchable, far from it, but what it does is leaves me in a state of quiet confidence, and I’ll explain that more in a moment. I’m simply dismissive because a title, a record, some achievement from some distant land, it’s not going to come in and land a finisher. It’s not going to make the cover for you and count 1-2-3. It can’t change the outcome on any particular night, only I can, or you, or Myra, or Ruby. That doesn’t mean it can’t influence us in other ways though, and that’s the very point I’m trying to make.
Like it or not - We are the byproducts of our experience, and our environment. As much as we try and shape our own lives, guide them in whatever direction we want them to take, our lives shape us as humans too, as we move through them. Our experiences are vitally important, they tell us where we came from in the past, they shape our actions in the present, and they define what path our futures are likely to take. Me, I came out of the gates downplaying, for sure, after all we’ve had multiple Hall of Fame inductees proving, first-hand, that the fancy title from some popularity contest can’t save you in a competition like this. After all, the only place it really matters in the ring, right? I mean as far as past achievements go, we’re two of the most unqualified people in the whole tournament, Ruby and I, aren’t we? Yet here we stand, in the Final. One more team to beat. I wanted to wipe the slate clean, make it all about that one night, push it all to the side, until after someone’s hand gets raised in victory. That was my aim, only to find...Mac’s been downplaying HIMSELF the whole time too. That’s the most dangerous game of all.
The trouble, Mac, when you work so hard to belittle your own achievements, and I know, this is much more deep rooted than just Blast from the Past, you’ve been at this since you walked in the door...is if you say something enough times, you may just speak it into existence. It’s like you’re flipping through your catalogue of the universe, and you’re asking to not be good enough to take the crown. It’s like you’re playing golf, and you tell yourself ‘please don’t hit it in the water’ and the only place it goes is in the drink, because the only thing your brain makes sense of is water. You push away the titles you’ve captured in the past? The universe says “your wish is my command.” See - I know what I am, what I’m capable of, what I’ve done. I close my eyes as I sleep at night, and I see a Blast from the Past final, with my hand raised up in victory. I’m seeing the reality of a situation that occurred just twelve months prior, sure, and I already know I’m good enough to do it again. I’m not shouting it from the rooftops, but do you really think I’m sitting here, trying to fool everyone into thinking that’s worthless? No, of course not. I’m just smarter about what I leave to imagination.
This is the Internet generation after all, it’s super easy to go online and read about what I’ve done, or probably even watch it unfold before your very eyes on video, if you like. Pretty powerful stuff, but it’s nothing compared to living in that moment. You can see my achievements in black and white, but that’s not the same. It’s not the stinging of sweat in your eyes as you get pushed to your limit. It’s not that burning fire in your muscle fibers as you really do lift that guy who’s twice your own body weight, thank you adrenaline, and that guttural roar that rips up from within when you know you’re in the driving seat, and your opponent can’t keep up with you. I’ve lived it, I’ve felt it, it drives me to be better, to go out and do it again and again. It’s like a drug that you can’t really explain unless you’ve been there and done it. I have, and you have, yet out of the two of us, one of us seems to want more, and one of us wants to forget it even happened at all.
Three quarters of the participants in this match-up have been champions before. Three out of four of us remember that feeling of being on top of the world, of knowing that in that particular moment in time, there was nobody else in that locker room could beat us straight up. Most of us remember the feeling of pride, of anticipation, of the weight of expectation, that balancing act. The pride gives us confidence. The anticipation helps us steal our nerves. The expectation tempers us like finely forged steel. It elevates us, whether that be for a week, a month, a year. The transformation is so noticeable, that it can be like a whole different person walking in the room, compared to just a couple of days ago. Being a champion, it hits different. The beer tastes hoppier. The protein shake tastes sweeter, the workouts feel like they hurt less, and you know what, some of that effect stays with you, even long after the title belt is gone. Sometimes, all you have to do is lace up your boots.
I don’t hide from my past. I don’t push it away in the back of a closet with your photo of your Dad, hoping to just forget about what I became, or what I did, or what my Father did, or whether someone approved, or whether they got upset, but I’m not going to ram it down your throat either. Balance. You spoke about my NFL career by the way. I wasn’t LaDainian Tomlinson. I wasn’t Edg’ James, sure. But I was a British guy, playing a skill position, who spent 4 years in a starting job, finishing in the top 20 in rushing yards for every single year. You wanna say that’s lacklustre? Maybe your taste in running backs is particularly discerning, but think about it, if you know football at all let this sink in. A British guy, in a skill position. You know where British guys go in the NFL? We become kickers, because they think we play soccer, and rugby, and we’re good at booting a ball a mile in the air.
I didn’t belong in their world. I was the odd-one-out, the outcast. I spent every single day of every single season out there trying to just survive, because I knew there were countless kids coming through college every year in the draft, and yeah, they could probably run the 40 yard dash faster than me. Would they have been as tough? No. Would they have been working as hard? No, and I tell you one thing I don’t think there’s many backs in the league who could catch the ball out of the backfield like I did. You wanna say my performance fell flat? Fine...but the fact I was even there at all? That’s the real fucking victory. There was no fight to stay relevant, but there sure was a fight to stay in a job. It taught me toughness, physically, mentally, psychologically...the bedrock that my whole wrestling career was shaped on. Those lacklustre four seasons, in your eyes? It’s probably the biggest reason I’m here in the first place, ready to send you packing.
You can try and hide from who, or what you are, where you’ve come from, whatever. I don’t mind. Just know that I, absolutely, won’t be doing that. I take the rough with the smooth, I accept every part, and every experience, because that’s what made me a winner here once before, and it’ll be what makes me a winner again.
Mark cracks open his bottle of water, taking a couple of long swigs as he prepares to continue on.
I think we all have to accept she’s never coming back, people. The change is permanent, the transformation complete. I began to wonder if trying to draw out...that...again was maybe a step too far. I mean there’s getting under someone’s skin ahead of a big match, and then there’s pure emotional manipulation. The kind where someone, somewhere could have gotten hurt. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. I think, in life, no matter how much you may want to make something happen, we all have lines we don’t cross. I came very close to overstepping one of mine.
Trying to push Myra’s buttons the same way the man whose picture she ripped into a million tiny pieces last week? That’s fucking cold, even for me, and it made me realise a couple of things. First off, it seems our Dads featured heavily this past week, for different reasons. It felt like a piece of my heart chipped away when I watched that scene, not because what Myra did was wrong, but because I treasure every picture I have of my Dad. I’ve got a few voicemails he left me, backed up in about 17 different places, so I know I can always hear his voice if I need to. I have examples of his handwriting, it wasn’t the neatest, but it was his. I even still have that old grey jumper, covered in paint and grease, that always used to tell me that Dad was going out to fix something, the way he always, somehow, managed to do. I keep them all close to my heart because they were fond memories, most every one of them, and no...this isn’t me playing my Dad was better than your Dads for cheap points...
Because Myra, actually - I have a lot of respect for what you did. I don’t think I quite realised what you went through for all those years, the profound effect on you, and while I can’t even come close to try and understand, I tip my hat to you for diving back in, for understanding it, for facing it, and I’m pleased you’re living your dream. I’m pleased you’re a success, following in your Mom’s stead...and last of all I hope if my pearly gates theory is true, St. Peter comes to you and says something like “Your Mom’s really proud of you, she’s waiting”. I actually...I understand why you’re trying to make amends now, as impossible a task that may be, and maybe that Hall of Fame recognition was kind of...a nod to the progress you were already starting to make. I won’t give you shit for that any more, but it still isn’t going to win you a tournament, and since this is me, I do have a job to do, blah blah blah, nobody is ever completely safe. Let’s do this...
...because it just...seems like odd timing, that’s all. To upset the balance, I mean. Myra Lynwood of old was an unstoppable force, inside and outside the ring, no matter who or what got in the way. To a destructive extent. Myra Rivers of recent times, Internet Champion, Blast from the Past finalist. Definitely not as ferocious, or as one-track minded, but definitely plenty capable. The Myra of the future, standing entirely on her own two feet, potentially walking that perfect line between a beast in the ring and a paragon of virtue out of it. Exciting times for sure, ready to step into the light, maybe in the next six months, the next year, because...You see now you’re starting yourself on this path of real strength, you know? Just...shouldn’t you have waited until after the tournament? For as long as you’ve been a professional wrestler you’ve had something anchoring you, pulling you, an anger, a hate, a fear, a constant reminder of what that man did to you, mixed in with your desire to follow in the footsteps of the one good person in your life. It brought out some of the worst in you as a person, and some of the best in you in the ring. In some areas of your life, you learned to wield it like a weapon, harness the power, and that applies to you now in a way, even after you set about trying to mend burned bridges, to put things right along the way. The version of you that got to the Final...there was still enough anger in there to suck a performance out of you, and yet...now you decide to tear it all up. Literally.
Suddenly, ahead of the biggest match of the tournament, against two of the toughest opponents you’ve faced throughout, not on paper, but on merit, and suddenly you’re free-wheeling. Everything that seemed familiar to you out in the centre of that ring, when the bell strikes, suddenly it’s all different. Those things you called on, summoned up to keep you fighting on. You don’t have anything to fall back on, because you tore it into a million tiny pieces. As I said at the beginning, everything we go through as humans, through our lives, it shapes us, slowly and gradually over time. It’s a process of evolving, and with evolution, you’ll probably build yourself on a stronger base than you ever have in your life up to this point...but evolving is slow. It happens gradually, not because you took a hammer and chisel and started knocking chunks out of yourself hoping the real ‘you’ is in there somewhere. There’s a time and a place for that.
The truth is, we don’t know if everything is going to be OK out there with you. You’re in uncharted territory, re-learning who you are, who you’re going to be, free from any ties of your father and you know what? I think you’re going to be stronger than you’ve ever been, in ALL ways. If we ran this match-up in a year’s time, I’d maybe be scared for Ruby. More scared for than I am now anyway, as Blaze of Glory? It’s just too soon. You might have to lean on Mac a little more to help you bring this one home, go all-in on that blind faith you seem to show in him, and on that front, I have to ask one thing:
Why...I mean, really? The partner who, from what I can tell, has researched someone else’s title history, instead of mine, in the worst showing of preparation I’ve possibly ever seen in such a big match. The partner who’s off chasing Amber halfway across the country after her little disappearing act. Your partner is chasing someone that you guys took out by the way, because she took off. It’s unbelievable. It’s like the two of you have literally gone and pressed the self destruct buttons right at the last hurdle, I can’t believe it. If you speak to Mac, maybe suggests he hits a gym, or watches some of MY matches instead of whoever the hell he thinks I am, I will literally find the links on YouTube and send them over to him, because I can see this tournament falling SO flat, and for purely selfish reasons, I don’t want that.
In 2020, Mark won because Evie carried him through. In 2021, Mark won because Mac and Myra were too busy dealing with their own shit to turn up and perform in the Final, which I reckon would normally have been cancelled out by winning it with a rookie...except, for some reason, Ruby manages to keep on picking up wins! At this rate, I’m going to have to come out in 2022 and hit the three-peat just to get the monkey off my back yet again. Shame, I wanted to give someone else a shot, too.
I guess I can wrap this all up by saying...it’s good to be back. I tend to fall into two camps when it comes to opponents, I either get too much respect, or almost completely ignored. Either, or...the result is the same. Me, one arm up in the air, walking off the football field as Simple Minds plays in the background. The wrestling ring is my home, and winning matches is how I make rent every month. This is just one more night of doing what I do best. Shoot your shot, Myra and Mac. Shoot your shot.
The scene fades to black.
As with all origin stories, it helps to have at least a little bit of background. They always seem to work better as prequels anyway. Now a card-carrying user of Japanese Strong Style, Mark "The Dragon" Cross drifted away from the American Wrestling Alliance and set off for pastures new, signing a rare (for his career, anyway) exclusive contract with Galveston Island Wrestling out of Texas. After enjoying early success as Cruiserweight champion, an internal power struggle split the company into two separate brands, and two different states. Following a draft of sorts, Cross found himself moved to New Orleans, Louisiana to work with the offshoot company, and it was there, having already been uprooted for what was supposed to be a less unpredictable work situation, that he began to consider where his future in wrestling may lie outside the ring.
From day one in the wrestling business, Mark had worked with Leon "Octane" McKane as his principal trainer, a grizzled veteran of the independent circuit who still worked events occasionally even now, in his mid-sixties. Mark worked with others of course, a boxing coach, martial artists, spending time in the dojos in Japan, but it was McKane who coordinated the whole effort, pulling the strings, and bringing it all back together.
Octane: What the hell is this place man?
It was a fair question, he’d been dragged out to this place early in the morning, and what was in front of him, was a wreck.
The Dragon: Potential. That's what it is.
Octane: Nah man it's a mess that's what it is! Old boxing gym or s'thing?
The Dragon: Yeah I think so. Needs a lot of work.
Octane: No shit.
Before the hurricane, the building had been a local boxing gym, with a pretty impressive roster of fighters, all things considered. While the damage to the building had been minor, the lives of the family who owned and operated the gym had been turned upside down. The gym had to close its doors, almost immediately, and with most everybody locally facing the same challenge of rebuilding their whole lives, no suitable buyer ever looked like coming along.
The sound of a punchbag rocking filled the air, mixing in with the plumes of dust being knocked out of it by Octane, who had a sub-par pro boxing career before the switch to wrestling. He’d gotten the thing swinging nicely.
The Dragon: Hey, you’ve still got it! Uh...Octane…
Octane: What?
The Dragon: Jump.
The sound of cracking plaster from high above raised the alarm bell, sending McKane scurrying away. The heavy bag landed with a dull thud, closely followed by large hunks of plaster that had been ripped from the high ceiling. That looked like it would have hurt.
Of course, no project was impossible, and while the last thing anyone from New Orleans wanted to spend time and money they didn’t have on another dilapidated building, maybe an outsider could take up the mantle.
Octane: Alright man, why in the fuck did you bring me out to a busted ass gym at 7 in the morning, it’s supposed to be a day off.
The Dragon: Well first of all, it’s my busted ass gym.
Mark and Octane didn’t have a “home base” as such when it came to a gym. The gym would be wherever the local wrestling school, or boxing club, or weight room, or swimming pool happened to be. Sometimes they’d be in a town miles away from any such place, and they’d have to drive an hour plus to get their work in. It was how it often worked on the road of course, it was a touring business, you got used to using whatever facilities you could lay your hands on. On occasion, the place would have it’s own wrestling school, or development territory, but that was usually a pretty big-time gig.
Octane: Oh FUCK no.
The Dragon: Octane…
Octane: The fuck you buyin’ a place like this for? I ain’t getting up on no ladder to hang that damn punchbag back up! This is some bullshit!
The Dragon: McKane…
Octane: Don’t you McKane me man! I got my wife up my ass cause you went and got us sent all the way out to fuckin’ NEW ORLEANS and now you’re presentin’ me with this shit?
Christ, he could be a miserable bastard. Flew off the handle at the smallest of things too.
The Dragon: Doesn’t your wife want to move to New Orleans WITH you?
Octane: Yeah, what of it?
The Dragon: You know what we’re doing here? We’re starting a wrestling school. In New Orleans. Where you and your wife can live. Permanently. Where you don’t have to live out of your suitcase, and you get a solid, consistent paycheck every month, from here. We find local people who have had a rough time of it, pay them a fair wage to get in and make this place shipshape again. Kids wanna wrestle, parents can’t afford it? They can come here and work out for free. A portion of the profits we can donate to local charities every month. We can make a fucking DIFFERENCE here, you get it? More than anywhere else in the US probably. And you can stop following me halfway around the world and back all the time.
Octane: What about your training?
The Dragon: I’ve been doing this for years, I think I can figure it out on my own when I’m not here.
Octane: Fuck man...that does sound sweet...but how the fuck are we gonna afford all these free lessons and giving money to charity and shit? Galveston ain’t payin’ you that well, you sure you can front this?
The Dragon: Well...we’ve just gotta make it work then don’t we? Besides, I’ve just got in on this new thing called Bitcoin, no promises, but could be a pretty solid investment.
Octane: Bit...coin?
The Dragon: Yeah, digital funds and transactions via blockchain.
Octane: Block...chain...what the fuck?
The Dragon: ...Never mind.
So that settled it, the dream was alive, we owned a wrestling gym. Did it take longer to set up than we wanted? Yes. Did it cost way more than we budgeted for? Yes. Were the free lessons just an excuse for parents to get rid of their kids for a few hours? Mostly...yes. Oh, and was Bitcoin a solid investment to make in 2012? Yes. Yes it was.
The Dragon’s Lair wasn’t just a wrestling gym. It was a lifeline for the owner of the building, who couldn’t afford to keep it afloat It became the home of a 15-year old Royal Purple, who went from the daughter of a wrestling promoter to a third-generation professional wrestler, and multi-time champion. It was where Hadley Wyatt was able to escape an abusive boss in a dead-end job, and begin to live her dream, proving her parents wrong for damn near disowning her for chasing it. It was where Kenji Kobayashi, who’d been cast aside by several dojos back home in Japan found new opportunities, and a second chance. It was a place for local kids to come and hang out, work out, make friends, even if they weren’t even all that interested in wrestling. It was a stable regular income for Leon McKane, whose long suffering wife finally had her husband back for good. I didn’t find out until many years later, but it saved their marriage.
Now with a second location opened in Miami, Florida, so that I could live and train in the same city, the Lair has gone on from strength to strength. While I couldn’t get back to New Orleans anywhere near as much as I wanted, I knew with Octane as the head trainer, the students would get a great wrestling education, and had a guy who’d move mountains to help them succeed in their own lives, not just their careers. The virtues that my Dad had instilled in me, and McKane had in spades, would still run deep in that building, even if I could only get back there every couple of weeks at best.
The principles of The Dragon’s Lair remain the same. Creating world-beating wrestlers is of course the goal of every wrestling gym, and that’s very much at the forefront of what we do, but so is making a difference, and so is creating a family. When you become part of the Lair, you become part of that family, and we stick together. Whether it be legal, financial, medical, nutritional, or wrestling related, we will do everything we can to help, whether it be ourselves, or putting you in touch with someone that can, someone we trust, someone that was in our corner when we needed them once.
This isn’t about a sales pitch, this is pretty topical, because family means a lot. Family is what runs through every single one of the competitors in this year’s Blast from the Past final, one way or another. A family doesn’t have to be biological, it can be created, and while it can be toxic, damaging, destructive, it can also save you, shape you, make you.
The Dragon’s Lair sets out to make champions, in wrestling, in the local community, in life. There’s much work still to be done, and the next step? It comes at Blaze of Glory.
Part 2 - Final Showdown
Las Vegas, Nevada
24th March 2021
The scene opens to the AirBnB being rented by Mark “The Dragon” Cross ahead of Blaze of Glory. Having spent large portions of his career staying in typical, cookie-cutter hotels of varying standards and quality, he sometimes preferred an AirBnB for a more unique experience. On this occasion, it was the swimming pool and hot tub, the keys to his post-workout recovery back home in Miami. At least until the Supershow. After that, it made the perfect venue for a victory party, but he knew better than to count his chickens. Or invite anyone.
He sits out on the deck, a large water bottle in hand as he addresses the camera.
Well I guess we were all having some family-related issues this week then, huh? Anyone would think we were out here comparing notes or something. We’re not. At least, I don’t think we are. I’m not included in the group chat if we are. It’s rare for me to come out this early for a show, but I figured, with such a pivotal night coming up, it made sense to get here a few days early, to acclimatise. Even travelling short-haul can be a pretty draining experience. Plus, I’ll be avoiding the parties for the next few days, of course, plenty of socialising to be had after one of the biggest nights of the year in the Sin City calendar, in my mind, there’s still a lot of work to be done.
Such as...double checking my research, as first off, we start with a little lesson in fact-checking. I was Sin City Underground champion for nigh on six months. I was SCU Hardcore Tag champion with Valentina, and I was (what is now known as) SCU Pride Tag Champion, also as one of the Fire Dragons No Internet title. No Roulette title. That’s not me. If your name is Mac Bane, or you intend on a career in journalism, here’s your weekly reminder not to trust some dodgy Wikipedia entry for your information. That...or make sure you’re reading the right person’s page, as that was just so way off, he could just as easily be talking about someone else.
It’s a lesson learned the hard way by Jack Washington too in Blast from the Past 2020, not checking his facts. I see you name-dropped our esteemed champion, writing me off completely when it comes to him and yet, here’s another fact for you, that I’m guessing you also missed. I met Jack in the ring, in this very tournament, and since I’m the defending champion, I think you can guess how that went. I don’t have a chance against him though, right? I guess we can discount the win, since it was in some bullshit mixed tag gimmick format. Like this tournament. That you willingly entered. As for the parts about my NFL career, well that one is a little more contentious, so we’ll loop back around to it, and instead let me talk to you about something that surprised me, the more I thought about it.
I see Mac attempting to correct the mistakes of those that came before him in Blast from the Past this year, something I’ve pulled virtually everyone up on, which I guess is pretty smart in theory, albeit a little clumsy in practice, if you don’t get the execution right. See right now there’s a hole being dug. It’s a hole I began working on last week, fully prepared to put my opponent in it at Blaze of Glory, when the time was right. Imagine my surprise, as I first turned up to the site, to find Mac volunteering to help. In fact, he’d made a start on it weeks ago, and he’d even bought his own shovel.
You know what? You were nearly so right about me too, it was close. The career I’ve shaped for myself? It doesn’t make me feel untouchable, far from it, but what it does is leaves me in a state of quiet confidence, and I’ll explain that more in a moment. I’m simply dismissive because a title, a record, some achievement from some distant land, it’s not going to come in and land a finisher. It’s not going to make the cover for you and count 1-2-3. It can’t change the outcome on any particular night, only I can, or you, or Myra, or Ruby. That doesn’t mean it can’t influence us in other ways though, and that’s the very point I’m trying to make.
Like it or not - We are the byproducts of our experience, and our environment. As much as we try and shape our own lives, guide them in whatever direction we want them to take, our lives shape us as humans too, as we move through them. Our experiences are vitally important, they tell us where we came from in the past, they shape our actions in the present, and they define what path our futures are likely to take. Me, I came out of the gates downplaying, for sure, after all we’ve had multiple Hall of Fame inductees proving, first-hand, that the fancy title from some popularity contest can’t save you in a competition like this. After all, the only place it really matters in the ring, right? I mean as far as past achievements go, we’re two of the most unqualified people in the whole tournament, Ruby and I, aren’t we? Yet here we stand, in the Final. One more team to beat. I wanted to wipe the slate clean, make it all about that one night, push it all to the side, until after someone’s hand gets raised in victory. That was my aim, only to find...Mac’s been downplaying HIMSELF the whole time too. That’s the most dangerous game of all.
The trouble, Mac, when you work so hard to belittle your own achievements, and I know, this is much more deep rooted than just Blast from the Past, you’ve been at this since you walked in the door...is if you say something enough times, you may just speak it into existence. It’s like you’re flipping through your catalogue of the universe, and you’re asking to not be good enough to take the crown. It’s like you’re playing golf, and you tell yourself ‘please don’t hit it in the water’ and the only place it goes is in the drink, because the only thing your brain makes sense of is water. You push away the titles you’ve captured in the past? The universe says “your wish is my command.” See - I know what I am, what I’m capable of, what I’ve done. I close my eyes as I sleep at night, and I see a Blast from the Past final, with my hand raised up in victory. I’m seeing the reality of a situation that occurred just twelve months prior, sure, and I already know I’m good enough to do it again. I’m not shouting it from the rooftops, but do you really think I’m sitting here, trying to fool everyone into thinking that’s worthless? No, of course not. I’m just smarter about what I leave to imagination.
This is the Internet generation after all, it’s super easy to go online and read about what I’ve done, or probably even watch it unfold before your very eyes on video, if you like. Pretty powerful stuff, but it’s nothing compared to living in that moment. You can see my achievements in black and white, but that’s not the same. It’s not the stinging of sweat in your eyes as you get pushed to your limit. It’s not that burning fire in your muscle fibers as you really do lift that guy who’s twice your own body weight, thank you adrenaline, and that guttural roar that rips up from within when you know you’re in the driving seat, and your opponent can’t keep up with you. I’ve lived it, I’ve felt it, it drives me to be better, to go out and do it again and again. It’s like a drug that you can’t really explain unless you’ve been there and done it. I have, and you have, yet out of the two of us, one of us seems to want more, and one of us wants to forget it even happened at all.
Three quarters of the participants in this match-up have been champions before. Three out of four of us remember that feeling of being on top of the world, of knowing that in that particular moment in time, there was nobody else in that locker room could beat us straight up. Most of us remember the feeling of pride, of anticipation, of the weight of expectation, that balancing act. The pride gives us confidence. The anticipation helps us steal our nerves. The expectation tempers us like finely forged steel. It elevates us, whether that be for a week, a month, a year. The transformation is so noticeable, that it can be like a whole different person walking in the room, compared to just a couple of days ago. Being a champion, it hits different. The beer tastes hoppier. The protein shake tastes sweeter, the workouts feel like they hurt less, and you know what, some of that effect stays with you, even long after the title belt is gone. Sometimes, all you have to do is lace up your boots.
I don’t hide from my past. I don’t push it away in the back of a closet with your photo of your Dad, hoping to just forget about what I became, or what I did, or what my Father did, or whether someone approved, or whether they got upset, but I’m not going to ram it down your throat either. Balance. You spoke about my NFL career by the way. I wasn’t LaDainian Tomlinson. I wasn’t Edg’ James, sure. But I was a British guy, playing a skill position, who spent 4 years in a starting job, finishing in the top 20 in rushing yards for every single year. You wanna say that’s lacklustre? Maybe your taste in running backs is particularly discerning, but think about it, if you know football at all let this sink in. A British guy, in a skill position. You know where British guys go in the NFL? We become kickers, because they think we play soccer, and rugby, and we’re good at booting a ball a mile in the air.
I didn’t belong in their world. I was the odd-one-out, the outcast. I spent every single day of every single season out there trying to just survive, because I knew there were countless kids coming through college every year in the draft, and yeah, they could probably run the 40 yard dash faster than me. Would they have been as tough? No. Would they have been working as hard? No, and I tell you one thing I don’t think there’s many backs in the league who could catch the ball out of the backfield like I did. You wanna say my performance fell flat? Fine...but the fact I was even there at all? That’s the real fucking victory. There was no fight to stay relevant, but there sure was a fight to stay in a job. It taught me toughness, physically, mentally, psychologically...the bedrock that my whole wrestling career was shaped on. Those lacklustre four seasons, in your eyes? It’s probably the biggest reason I’m here in the first place, ready to send you packing.
You can try and hide from who, or what you are, where you’ve come from, whatever. I don’t mind. Just know that I, absolutely, won’t be doing that. I take the rough with the smooth, I accept every part, and every experience, because that’s what made me a winner here once before, and it’ll be what makes me a winner again.
Mark cracks open his bottle of water, taking a couple of long swigs as he prepares to continue on.
I think we all have to accept she’s never coming back, people. The change is permanent, the transformation complete. I began to wonder if trying to draw out...that...again was maybe a step too far. I mean there’s getting under someone’s skin ahead of a big match, and then there’s pure emotional manipulation. The kind where someone, somewhere could have gotten hurt. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. I think, in life, no matter how much you may want to make something happen, we all have lines we don’t cross. I came very close to overstepping one of mine.
Trying to push Myra’s buttons the same way the man whose picture she ripped into a million tiny pieces last week? That’s fucking cold, even for me, and it made me realise a couple of things. First off, it seems our Dads featured heavily this past week, for different reasons. It felt like a piece of my heart chipped away when I watched that scene, not because what Myra did was wrong, but because I treasure every picture I have of my Dad. I’ve got a few voicemails he left me, backed up in about 17 different places, so I know I can always hear his voice if I need to. I have examples of his handwriting, it wasn’t the neatest, but it was his. I even still have that old grey jumper, covered in paint and grease, that always used to tell me that Dad was going out to fix something, the way he always, somehow, managed to do. I keep them all close to my heart because they were fond memories, most every one of them, and no...this isn’t me playing my Dad was better than your Dads for cheap points...
Because Myra, actually - I have a lot of respect for what you did. I don’t think I quite realised what you went through for all those years, the profound effect on you, and while I can’t even come close to try and understand, I tip my hat to you for diving back in, for understanding it, for facing it, and I’m pleased you’re living your dream. I’m pleased you’re a success, following in your Mom’s stead...and last of all I hope if my pearly gates theory is true, St. Peter comes to you and says something like “Your Mom’s really proud of you, she’s waiting”. I actually...I understand why you’re trying to make amends now, as impossible a task that may be, and maybe that Hall of Fame recognition was kind of...a nod to the progress you were already starting to make. I won’t give you shit for that any more, but it still isn’t going to win you a tournament, and since this is me, I do have a job to do, blah blah blah, nobody is ever completely safe. Let’s do this...
...because it just...seems like odd timing, that’s all. To upset the balance, I mean. Myra Lynwood of old was an unstoppable force, inside and outside the ring, no matter who or what got in the way. To a destructive extent. Myra Rivers of recent times, Internet Champion, Blast from the Past finalist. Definitely not as ferocious, or as one-track minded, but definitely plenty capable. The Myra of the future, standing entirely on her own two feet, potentially walking that perfect line between a beast in the ring and a paragon of virtue out of it. Exciting times for sure, ready to step into the light, maybe in the next six months, the next year, because...You see now you’re starting yourself on this path of real strength, you know? Just...shouldn’t you have waited until after the tournament? For as long as you’ve been a professional wrestler you’ve had something anchoring you, pulling you, an anger, a hate, a fear, a constant reminder of what that man did to you, mixed in with your desire to follow in the footsteps of the one good person in your life. It brought out some of the worst in you as a person, and some of the best in you in the ring. In some areas of your life, you learned to wield it like a weapon, harness the power, and that applies to you now in a way, even after you set about trying to mend burned bridges, to put things right along the way. The version of you that got to the Final...there was still enough anger in there to suck a performance out of you, and yet...now you decide to tear it all up. Literally.
Suddenly, ahead of the biggest match of the tournament, against two of the toughest opponents you’ve faced throughout, not on paper, but on merit, and suddenly you’re free-wheeling. Everything that seemed familiar to you out in the centre of that ring, when the bell strikes, suddenly it’s all different. Those things you called on, summoned up to keep you fighting on. You don’t have anything to fall back on, because you tore it into a million tiny pieces. As I said at the beginning, everything we go through as humans, through our lives, it shapes us, slowly and gradually over time. It’s a process of evolving, and with evolution, you’ll probably build yourself on a stronger base than you ever have in your life up to this point...but evolving is slow. It happens gradually, not because you took a hammer and chisel and started knocking chunks out of yourself hoping the real ‘you’ is in there somewhere. There’s a time and a place for that.
The truth is, we don’t know if everything is going to be OK out there with you. You’re in uncharted territory, re-learning who you are, who you’re going to be, free from any ties of your father and you know what? I think you’re going to be stronger than you’ve ever been, in ALL ways. If we ran this match-up in a year’s time, I’d maybe be scared for Ruby. More scared for than I am now anyway, as Blaze of Glory? It’s just too soon. You might have to lean on Mac a little more to help you bring this one home, go all-in on that blind faith you seem to show in him, and on that front, I have to ask one thing:
Why...I mean, really? The partner who, from what I can tell, has researched someone else’s title history, instead of mine, in the worst showing of preparation I’ve possibly ever seen in such a big match. The partner who’s off chasing Amber halfway across the country after her little disappearing act. Your partner is chasing someone that you guys took out by the way, because she took off. It’s unbelievable. It’s like the two of you have literally gone and pressed the self destruct buttons right at the last hurdle, I can’t believe it. If you speak to Mac, maybe suggests he hits a gym, or watches some of MY matches instead of whoever the hell he thinks I am, I will literally find the links on YouTube and send them over to him, because I can see this tournament falling SO flat, and for purely selfish reasons, I don’t want that.
In 2020, Mark won because Evie carried him through. In 2021, Mark won because Mac and Myra were too busy dealing with their own shit to turn up and perform in the Final, which I reckon would normally have been cancelled out by winning it with a rookie...except, for some reason, Ruby manages to keep on picking up wins! At this rate, I’m going to have to come out in 2022 and hit the three-peat just to get the monkey off my back yet again. Shame, I wanted to give someone else a shot, too.
I guess I can wrap this all up by saying...it’s good to be back. I tend to fall into two camps when it comes to opponents, I either get too much respect, or almost completely ignored. Either, or...the result is the same. Me, one arm up in the air, walking off the football field as Simple Minds plays in the background. The wrestling ring is my home, and winning matches is how I make rent every month. This is just one more night of doing what I do best. Shoot your shot, Myra and Mac. Shoot your shot.
The scene fades to black.
: Hey, is that coffee?
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