Part 1 - Act A Fool
Mark had been in attendance for the first Climax Control back from Blaze of Glory, keeping up the trend of attending Sin City Wrestling shows, even though he wasn’t actively involved. He was an almost constant presence around the locker room, not so much out of necessity up until now, when number one contender to the World Heavyweight crown meant a lot of eyes were suddenly on him, but out of his own feeling of duty. If a company had you under contract, it seemed important to him that he was around, present, keeping himself up-to-date with goings on first-hand, and being there to impart his experience on some of the younger members of the roster as and when they needed it.
He mixed up his accommodation from week-to-week, occasionally he’d stay with another member of the roster, or a friend who lived nearby, or he’d arrange himself an AirBnB, finding it a much more interesting experience than another cookie-cutter hotel, which he’d seen quite literally hundreds of over the course of his career in the business, but today he’d opted for the Saxon hotel. Brooke’s family had been instrumental in their support during the pandemic, allowing the doors to stay open and for business to continue while maintaining a secure bubble around the wrestling staff, and the least he could do was pay full price for a room occasionally.
Plus, their gym was well equipped, and their breakfast was top-drawer.
The Dragon: Whole gym to myself, love it.
The ‘wake up at 6am to train’ habit that he’d gotten into right at the start of his wrestling career had still stuck to this day. There was no real need for it, if it wasn’t a travel day or a show day, he had quite literally the whole day to train...but it was a routine that anchored him, kept his feet on the ground. Besides, it also meant he was free by lunchtime, with the rest of the day to himself, and except for the most die-hard of gym rats, he usually didn’t have to fight anyone for the equipment he needed.
Mark made his way to the squat rack first, loading the bar up with weight. With his white-and-gold Beats Studio headphones already placed over his ears, it was just as well that he was in the gym alone. The sound leaked out of the things so badly that half a train carriage could sing along to your music with you, if they wanted...but they looked incredible when you wore them, which was motivation enough. Plus, they were bassy af (a technical sound engineer term) which was exactly what you needed when it came to getting pumped for a workout.
Checking they were paired to his phone, he flipped across to Spotify, ready to make his all-important music selection. Mark was starting to make a few choices as far as life and career went recently, and to be honest had it not been for Blast from the Past, his time in Sin City Wrestling could well have been over, at least for the time being. He was enjoying being home in Miami more and more, and the house that had for a time felt empty and devoid of life since his divorce a couple of years back, was now firmly back to what it had been all along. His dream house, a four-bedroomed party mansion in Coconut Grove.
As such, the ink was still wet on his contract with 5 Boroughs Wrestling, which felt like a better fit. His new partner, who’d moved to Miami with him a few months back, still had friends and her old apartment in NYC, and usually travelled back there a couple of times a month with Mark in toe. It seemed to make sense for him to tie their two wrestling shows a month in with those trips, kill two birds with one stone, and despite him tearing the initial contract up in front of their faces when his second shot at Blast from the Past 2021 rolled around, they’d been gracious enough to welcome him back.
Mark was two matches, and two victories deep in his new promotion, normal service resuming. The company’s top champion was the infamous Samantha Tolson, who’d probably not accepted the legitimacy of an opponent since maybe 2014. After thirteen defences of the title and counting, it was clear that it was an approach that worked well for her. Mark got on well with Sam, and when the Golden Ring Casino was quiet, her place was always a good spot for a party, a BBQ and free beer, especially if there was football on. Of course he was hiding in plain sight, planning to dismantle every opponent in his way until there was nobody else left other than the champion. He’d arrive with all of the momentum, with a title shot he’d earned the long way, the hard way, the right way. No doubt in anyone’s mind. He was working his own little Blast from the Past scenario in pastures new, and where he went, success often followed.
Yet...we’re not here to talk about other promotions, other battles, other title challenges...but it was topical when it came to Mark’s music choice. 5BW had a long-running music series, where fighters would put together their own Spotify playlists for the fans. He was working through the latest batch for his workout anthems, and this time around it was the turn of Brittani Helms. First track up as he pressed shuffle play, Ludacris - Act a Fool.
The Dragon: Oh NICE! I’m 2 fast for ya’ll man! Royal Purple should use this as her new entrance music…
As he began the exercise, Mark surprised himself by how much of the track he still remembered, rapping along as he concentrated on perfect form for his warm-up set.
The pot holes in the street just bentcha rims
Tell me whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
Man, that ain't sticky, that's just sticks and steams
Boy whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
Catch a man with another bitch up in ya bed
Ladies whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
If the bottles all gone and your eyes are red
Boy whatcha gonna do? Act a fool
2 fast, 2 furious
2 fa-OHH…
After racking the bar, not breaking stride in his performance, he span around to find a small group of early risers, along with his first Blast from the Past partner Krystal Wolfe, standing by as they watched him and his little cameo. He ripped the headphones off his head as he waited for the ground to swallow him up. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t deliver.
The Dragon: Ahem...morning everyone…
He coughed awkwardly as he span back around, face feeling hot to the touch as he racked up more weights, hoping to feel the eyes burning into the back of his head dissipate. The sound of movement and clunking gym equipment brought sweet relief, as he figured he could get in at least one more set before he had to turn away from the wall...
Part 2 - Tooling Up
While still far, far behind Krystal when it came to subscribers, followers and views, his occasional rants about opponents and occasional streaming of Football Manager was slowly but surely increasing his presence on Twitch. He’d enjoyed gaming from the moment he had a Sega Saturn as a kid, and with more time at home, it meant more opportunity to sit and just sink his teeth into a game during his downtime. Plus, it was a perfect opportunity to engage directly with his fanbase, away from the ring, or the cameras. It was something he was enjoying a lot.
Following his announcement, he was seated and ready, pressing “LIVE” on OBS as he sat back in his chair, ready to get started.
Austin James Mercer...so good they named him twice, huh? Well at least I’ve been handed a real challenge, a good test to tool up and get ready for attempt number two at the big one. You know they say there’s not too many who have gone to war with Fenris and come out the other side. Austin, check. Me, check. Ben Jordan, my opponent the last time I won this opportunity, check. By live to fight another day, I pretty much mean all limbs intact, as one thing is for sure, win lose or draw, it’s going to be a painful experience.
...and that puts Austin in a pretty exclusive group. Someone who can hold his own against that level of brutality, and a man who has reached the very top of the tree here in Sin City Wrestling. Respect is not automatically given in a combat sport such as ours, and Austin absolutely deserves mine. Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t standing in my way, and that doesn’t make him safe by any stretch. After all, the perfect analysis looks at four factors. Strengths. Weaknesses. Opportunities. Tactics. There was an old phrase that stuck in my mind when I started wrapping my brain around this match-up, and in wrestling, and in life to be honest, possession is nine tenths of the law.
My number one contendership for the World Heavyweight championship, in reality, worth about as much as Austin’s reign as champion was. Taking that old adage, oversimplified or not, it’s only worth about 10 percent. In practice, it deserves around 10 percent of my focus, the rest should be on the here, the now...but in reality, are they connected somehow, in this instance? The great thing is, we don’t have to just scratch the surface. The bad news, you’re stuck listening to me pick it apart for you, so uhh...apologies in advance I guess. Hope you got yourself a coffee.
Now I know I’ve levelled criticism at some of my fellow professionals before, usually pretty generalistically to be honest, and I accept the point one of my opponents made during Blast from the Past this year, I’m not the only one working hard around here. That’s completely true...and I also have to accept, as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a lot of guys and girls in full-time wrestling who DON’T aspire to be in the position I’m in right now, challenging for the belt that makes me THE GUY around this building. The guy that won the big one, the guy who finds himself in the most sets of crosshairs, and if you’ve heard me talk about this before, well you know...that...leaves me conflicted.
It leaves me conflicted, because I think back to all those people who don’t have the look, or the skills, or the contact to get them a bit of a foot in the door, who’d quite literally do anything to live their dream of becoming a pro in this business. Part of me says if you’re not going to swing for the fences, why are you even here in the first place? But, I have to be fair as well. I know how that goes. Take your pick, wrestling is all they’ve ever known. Wrestling gives them a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Wrestling fuels their drink and drug habit. Wrestling stops them from turning to drink and drugs in the first place. Wrestling is the only career they’ve ever been able to make work, because they’ve failed at everything else. Wrestling is how they support their family. Wrestling is how they’re going to pay for their family’s financial future for years to come. Maybe, in extreme cases? Wrestling is what kept them alive during some of their darkest days and as I think about it, I absolutely cannot stand here and say you don’t belong here, you’ve gotta get out, they’re all perfectly valid reasons to keep going, in some way, shape or form. They need it just as much, sometimes more, and are they able to keep their spots? Well - Possession is nine tenths of the law right?
You might ask how I know, and see the thing is...you walk around the locker room...and not only does this apply here, it applies practically anywhere, and the guys and the girls in the back talk, ya know? It’s a lot like boxing, we trash each other in the build-up, we put each other through hell in the ring, hopefully, if it’s a fair fight, then it’s all handshakes and respect when it’s all over. We may not see eye-to-eye on the regular, and to be honest in every friendship group, there are some links that are tighter than others...but this life we live is hard. It’s incredible and it’s quite literally living the dream every single day, that isn’t taken for granted...but sometimes it helps to air things out around people that understand what we’re all going through...and it soon becomes clear who’s shooting for the moon and who’s just punching their card for a little while...
And this, in what is definitely a long way round even by my standards, loops around to my opponent, to Austin James Mercer, and to Wolfslair...because when you don’t have your eyes on the top prize, there has to come a certain level of damage limitation. Otherwise you lose face, any kind of threat you once posed begins to fade away, and it becomes blatantly fucking obvious that you’re going through the motions if you’re not dropping some good soundbites out there. The people that pick up on this the most? The guys who negotiate your next contract. Example number one Austin lost to Fenris...and with it he comes straight out to admit there’s no shame in losing to someone in the top 1% of the roster...okay fine...but let’s think about that for a second, about how quickly that unravels…
As if you put Fenris in the top 1%, where does that leave Jack Washington, the man wearing the crown? That’s assuming you believe the World Heavyweight title is worth its salt of course, and that remains to be seen. Is he in there too, I mean he is supposed to be standing on the pinnacle? How about me, the number one contender, winning my way through a tough tournament to put myself just one more rung away from the very top, at the summit. Where does that put me, top 1% too? Top 5%, top 10%? Is a defeat against the White Wolf easier to swallow than a loss to me, the man who could be king in just a few short weeks? I’m interested to know how that works in your head.
You know what the great thing is, when you try and put numbers on something that can’t be quantified? You can bend and manipulate them to fit YOUR narrative, the story you’re looking to tell. In reality, Jack, man in possession, me, next in line, Fenris, putting former champions to the sword in the squared circle, what’s probably more accurate is to say we’re in the top 25% of the guys in the locker room, just to be realistic about it. Anyone can be beaten on their day, sure, but we’d probably fall into a similar bracket. Austin World Champion Mercer would absolutely have been right up in there with us. No doubt about it, but what’s different between you and him? Well maybe that’s the root of this whole point I’m trying to make here.
What makes up a man who goes on to win the highest accolade in a wrestling promotion, and hold onto that title belt with a death grip for over seven months? Ability, sure, no doubt. Work ethic, check. I know for a FACT you’re not going to give me an easy ride on either count out there, it’s why this is perfect practice for me. Resilience, everyone’s looking at you, waiting for you to slip up, ripping their pound of flesh out of you when they get the chance, it takes real toughness, and a laser focus to look past that and stick to the job at hand. Passion, an unrelenting desire to continue to be the best, to remain undefeated, to build a legacy for you, your family, your stablemates, and last of all that ability to reach down deep, summon something extra, to dig you out of trouble when you think it could all be over, and extra few percent buried deep within your soul because nobody is going to take your title today, and nothing less than a win will do.
For the Austin of today? He’ll accept a few losses, as long as he respects the opponent enough. That’s okay, in his mind. Well that’s absolutely not fucking okay in mine. I think that’s why I am where I am, waving goodbye to him as I glide past to bigger and better things.
You know what a loss means to me, guys? It means I wasn’t good enough. It means there’s more work to be done. It means I need to step my game up. There is no sitting back to lick my wounds and think about how tough my opponent was, and how good of a showing I put up because it wasn’t enough. Of course it was a good showing, we’re wrestlers, we’re SUPPOSED to give a good showing, it’s quite literally the thing we get paid to do. I had it thrown at me before, I act like I’m the only one around here that trains hard and yeah, I get it, the vast majority of us do. Also, the vast majority give it everything we can out there on every single night, win lose or draw. That’s a given, that’s basic stuff...but how many demand more from themselves when they come up short? Not enough. That’s what defines my top 25%, or Austin’s top 1% I guess. The number doesn’t matter, the practice is the same.
Now it may seem like a negative mindset, like I’m beating up on myself when I say this about those performances, but there’s nowhere to hide. It wasn’t my hand being held high in victory, and that tells you everything you need to know. There’s the negative, and I look at that when I analyse. It’s not all doom-and-gloom, it’s part of the whole picture, the negative and the positive, the rough with the smooth. I’ve been at this over ten years, and there’s been very few lights-out “perfect” performances. I can count them on one hand. There is always room for improvement, even in victory, and while the result is by far the most important thing, so is learning, so is growing. In growth, in development, we create more opportunities for more wins, and the cycle begins again.
To look at your faults? To face them head on and try and tackle them? That’s not negative at all. It’s tough, sure. It’s hard to swallow, even after you think you’ve prepared as well as you possibly could, covered every base...but it happens. I accept an opponent bettered me on the night but I won’t accept defeat. All I accept is my own failure, and it’s on to the next one.
After all, when it comes to knocking down two-pointers, matches where there’s no title on the line, my record is pretty unmatched around here, straight up, one-on-one. In fact, it’s a record I figure a lot of the guys in the back would swap with me in a heartbeat. It’s something that, in isolation, I could go away and be pretty proud of all-in-all...but yet I can’t take the lid off the basket when it comes to shooting those threes, closing in on that title gold. I’ve had a year of that thought chipping away at me, I’ve had a year of building everything back up stronger. I’ve had another Blast from the Past victory to gather up momentum and I’ve got a legitimate challenge ahead of me to help me get up a head of steam before the big test. I just need to go one better this time, one step further. There’s nobody standing in my way but Austin, but Jack, and most of all - Me.
I know I’ve given Wolfslair a hard time too, my comments have thrown up some raised eyebrows in that camp as on the face of it, much like my overall singles record, it doesn’t make bad reading. There are a lot of names in that group that know how to win championships. They’ve proved it time and again too, fair play to them...but really, what good is any of that? Johanna let a GRIME star with a drinking problem walk in and capture the title in her dream scenario, a submission match. Lachlan not only couldn’t halt my progress in Blast from the Past, but he got the beers in afterwards and you Austin, maybe the greatest hope of another World title for you guys, readily accepting that the best guys are working above your level. Let’s not forget that, if you take Alex Jones’ word for it, you’re standing on the edge of a loss to a former Sin City Underground guy who, technically, isn’t even under a long-term contract right now. Forget that this outsider was Underground champion for half a year, forget who he’s beaten, the two tournaments he fought through to earn his stripes here and just remember - He’s supposed to be an outsider too. He’s taken up the mantle, flown the flag, celebrated his underdog status. You should have taken great pride in taking me down a peg or two...yet I feel like you’re going to let me breeze right by too.
Please save us Austin, you’re our best hope! Come on - Give me a break. If I listen to you guys talk, it’s like Wolfslair should be the dominant force and you know what, on paper, you guys SHOULD be dominant. You should have a stranglehold on every title, every division, strength in numbers, until you’re having to knock seven bells out of EACH OTHER just to keep these belts contested. This should be you in my spot, but you aren’t. It should be YOU beating ME, but you can’t. You’re second best in every situation because you ACCEPT second best. You accept losing to Fenris. You’ll accept losing to me, because he’s the number one contender, he was better than most of the main roster guys when he was leading SCU from the front, he’s the only wrestler in Sin City history to win Blast from the Past back-to-back. I’d have loved to come flying out of this match with much fanfare...but as capable as you are Austin...it almost feels like you’re making up the numbers.
I hope we get to do this again, some other time in the future. I hope you get back some of that fire that put you as the main figure on the Supershow flyers. I hope you’re posters on people’s walls because of what you’re doing in the ring, not because of how great your abs look on glossy paper. I hope we fight at a time when defeat to me is an outcome that would just stick in your throat when you tried to swallow it...I hope you won’t give me too much respect. Oh, and I hope it’s for my World Heavyweight title too, main event, in one of the biggest shows on the calendar. Now that? That could be explosive, but now? I think I’ve just caught you in the middle of a bit of a crisis of confidence. Austin - I’ll see you out there mate. This is the first chapter, but I feel like it isn’t the end of the story. Cheers guys.
As Mark leans forward to unclick the live button on the stream, the screen moves back to his Twitch channel’s “Offline” graphic, and the scene fades to black.
Part 3 - Mistake Number One…
"Ugh...seriously..."
For the fifth straight time, the phone ringing away in my bag went to voicemail. If I had my Aston Martin back home in Miami, or if I was in a rental, it'd have Bluetooth, and the call would have connected straight away. Whether you saw it as a good thing or not, life in the 21st century meant you were usually always connected, but not tonight. Tonight I was driving my freshly restored (by me) and freshly painted (by someone else, my skills only went so far) 1974 Ford Mustang, and I was driving with no real plan or destination in mind, just for the love of driving. It was why the phone was stuffed away in a bag in the back, out of sight, out of mind.
No matter how much I turned up Bruce Springsteen on the tape deck however, and however much I roared the V8 Boss 302 engine into life, I couldn't get that annoying noise out of my head, and for whatever reason, someone really REALLY wanted to get hold of me at, what was it, nearly 5am? I hadn’t gotten around to fixing the clock in the car yet.
I pulled the car off the road, the glistening of metallic purple paint in the street lights fading away as I drove into the unlit run-off area, skidding to a halt in the dirt. More than a few people had tried to talk me out of the non-OEM colour choice, but there was no stopping me, and as the end product came out of the booth, I think we all decided it was the right choice in the end. I reached over and started immediately hunting through my bag for the source of the noise, distracting me to the point that I didn’t even notice the van parked up alongside.
"Kayla, this better be important..."
I climbed out of the car to stretch my legs. As a wrestler, I'd always managed my own bookings, and the phone never stopped ringing with opportunities, that was the beauty of over a decade in the business. With my acting career, only just getting off the ground? Less so. I needed someone with the experience, the contacts. I needed an agent. That person was Kayla. And the call was definitely important in her mind.
She sat bolt upright in her converted motorhome, the money from the divorce going more than some way to kit it out into her own sort of rolling hotel, complete with double bed, bathroom, a small kitchen, and even a working mini-fridge, the whole nine yards. It almost felt like home even in the cold and the dark, but the screech of tyres in the wee hours of the morning was a reminder that even keeping constantly on the move, she was far from safe.
This couldn’t be another nightmare could it, so soon? She thought to herself as she rooted around in the dark, her hands reaching out for anything, keys, a flashlight, that Louisville Slugger bat she kept around to give her at least some form of protection. Surely he hadn’t managed to track her down already? The heavy bruising on her legs and around her ribs, some of them probably cracked or broken, made moving around without wanting to yelp in pain difficult, but if her assailant thought they had the element of surprise, she wanted to keep them under that illusion for as long as humanly possible.
She threw a robe over herself, hands eventually finding two of the three things she wanted, the flashlight and bat. That was plenty, she’d have to come out of the van to reach the cab anyway, so the keys weren’t much use. Genuine fear for her life sent her adrenaline sky high as she flung open the rear doors, bat primed and ready to strike as she shone her flashlight directly into the eyes of a man...a man she didn’t recognise...fuck, had he sent someone else to finish the job!?!
“Who the fuck are you? Has Caleb sent you!?!”
Something about performing in front of large crowds for over a decade, and being more than used to having cameras shoved in my face at a moment’s notice, meant very little phased me these days. It was like I had ice running through my veins or something. Besides, bat or not, a professional athlete should be able to overpower someone over half a foot shorter, and probably half my weight. I didn’t feel an immediate threat.
“Hey Kayla...I’m gonna call you back, someone’s about to cave my head in with a bat…”
I’d moved to Miami maybe 14, 15 years ago, but I was still very much in possession of my British accent, and my equally British dry sense of humour, with a heavy dose of sarcasm as I held a hand up to my face, shielding my eyes somewhat from the glare of the flashlight as I tried to get a view of who the woman was...as well as see the impending attack coming if there was one.
So much for a nice, quiet, soul-searching drive on my own at 5am. The night was going to get a whole lot weirder…
To be continued...
