[The Dragon]

Part 1 - R&R
24th May 2021

The scene opens to a hot tub. New SCW World Heavyweight champion Mark “The Dragon” Cross is alone in the tub, his arms resting on the sides as he leans back, a pair of tortoiseshell Ray Ban Wayfarers shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. Music plays away quietly in the background, interrupted by the sound of rolling suitcase wheels on patio concrete, combined with a flash of bright purple hair.

Faith: Jeeeeeeez dude you look GREEN...you good?

Mark’s cheeks puffed out as the contents of his stomach threatened to leave him almost on cue. He was able to catch it, swallowing it back down, at least for now.

The Dragon: Absolutely fine.

Faith: Sure about that? Anyway there was some Australian girl asleep in one of the spare rooms, apparently SOMEBODY left the door wide open after they came back from their after party at the Golden Ring.

The Dragon: Does she have blue hair?

Faith: You mean Krystal? My opponent last night? Definitely not her. She’s cute actually but umm...not into girls...got a boyfriend too so that’s a double nope for me. She’s just showering then she’s gonna, ya know, leave.

The Dragon: Last thing I need right now is some random buzzing around, that’s great. So where you headed?

Faith: Cleveland.

The Dragon: Ohio huh?

Faith: Yuuuup. You disappointed I’m not going to Orlando?

The Dragon: Nah, I was just figuring that was where you’d end up to be honest, but I don’t know why.

Faith: I mean...that gig in Cleveland is one of the few places happy for me to train at the Lair still, as much as I can anyway...plus they’ve set me up with a sponsor over there so I can still go to my meetings when I can’t get back to Miami…

The Dragon: Offering the most money…

Faith: Well yeah, that too...I mean after I’ve seen the setup I might turn around and come back, who knows? On paper it just feels like the best offer all round.

The Dragon: Weren’t chomping at the bit to work with Hadley again?

Faith: I mean...I love her to death and all but in the ring she’s a little...umm…

The Dragon: Clumsy?

Faith: Yeaaaaaah...and then I have to deal with the image of you two screwing and that STILL won’t go out of my head and it’s been like a year...

The Dragon: Yeah sorry about that…

Faith: It’s like my big brother and my sister-in-law or something. It was just...eww...now I’m starting to feel sick!

The Dragon: So looks like you’re back, huh? Without the mask and everything.

Faith: Guess so huh?

The Dragon: Proud of you, kid.

Faith: And I’m proud of you Mr. World Champion. Didn’t know you still had it in ya! Hey Mark umm...one thing though...you knew I was going off the rails, right?

The Dragon: Yup.

Faith: But you didn’t step in. Why?

The Dragon: Tough question to answer with a hangover from hell…

Mark went to take off his sunglasses, got them halfway, and decided against it, pushing them back onto the bridge of his nose.

The Dragon: See Faith...the thing is...from the age of 15 you had this whole team of people around you. Me, a team of coaches, nutritionist, accountant, contract lawyer, between us at the gym we were all basically managing everything about your career for you. I know you’re not the diva type or anything, we just wanted to keep that all away from you, let you focus on winning wrestling matches and holding your titles...Even if it was just you travelling to a show, you usually had me tagging along at a minimum, right? Some issue with a hotel or a flight or whatever it’d just get dealt with, half the time you wouldn’t even know about it. Japan was your first time completely on your own, and within weeks the wheels were starting to come off. We worked so hard to give you all the tools to help you succeed as a wrestler, but we didn’t give you any of the skills you needed to stand on your own two feet, to handle all that pressure you were under, and that was a big oversight. We forgot to teach you how to handle life.

Faith: You couldn’t have like...booked me into rehab or something?

The Dragon: I could. Would it have helped?

Faith: I...uhm…

The Dragon: What was it anyway Faith, anger? Frustration? Didn’t feel like you had any freedom?

Faith: I thought you were hung over?

The Dragon: I think I’m close to death honestly...but we’re doing this now, pull up a chair if you want.

Faith looks around the patio for a second, finding a chair. She drags it on purpose, the sound of scraping and bouncing was loud enough to irritate a person without a banging headache. For Mark, it was excruciating, but he deserved it. His pain was entirely self-inflicted.

The Dragon: Lift the fucking thing...ugh never mind…

Faith: I felt like I was holding on to the things that made me...well...ya know...a normal teenager.

The Dragon: And you held on so tight that you couldn’t see what was right or wrong, what was good or bad for you, just that you wanted that life for yourself too?

Faith: Yuh-huh.

The Dragon: So what do you think I could have done?

Faith: Huh? You were my coach, you’re one of the people I look up to the most…

The Dragon: If I put you in the car, and drove you to rehab, and told you it was for your own good, would you have stayed? Or would you have told me I was wrong, that I didn’t understand?

Faith: Probably...option 2...I dunno I was so confused back then...

The Dragon: So on top of everything you were going through already, you’d have resented me as well, felt like I didn’t have your best interests at heart, probably avoided rehab or AA meetings for longer just to spite me...or I let you work it out for yourself, go there under your own steam, see it through, and just run the risk that you resent me now, because I let you suffer when I could have tried-

Faith: I don’t resent you.

The Dragon: But you have questions though right?

?: G’day guys!

Mark nearly jumps out of his skin as the heavy Australian accent, insatiable energy and loud volume springs up from behind him.

The Dragon: Fucking hell, inside voice…

?: So I’m gonna go, thanks for letting me stay here, Faith...good luck in Cleveland yeah?

Faith: Thanks Lou, Snapchat meeeeee!

The Aussie enthusiastically hugs Faith as she passes, giving both her and Mark a wave as she slips out of the property with the same guile that got her a bed for the night in the first place.

The Dragon: You exchanged Snapchats?

Faith: Hey, we talked for a while…

The Dragon: You told her where you were checking out before me?

Faith: I...yeah...can you stop getting off topic please? I just felt like you left me to drown out there…

The Dragon: I was always checking in. I came to see you, you know?

Faith: What? When?

The Dragon: You know when Devinee decided it was getting out of hand, and she told you that she called me? That time you wouldn’t speak to her for over a week after? I got a flight out a couple of days later, and watched your next show. I asked Devinee if you were still winning, she told me you were, but I wanted to see it for myself, to make sure. You faced that veteran, two decades in the sport or whatever, she barely laid a finger on you all match. Started screaming at you in Japanese, calling your Mom a whore.

Faith: Is that what she was saying!?!

The Dragon: Yeah, roughly translated. You looked better than ever out there, and that was when I knew you weren’t too far-gone.

Faith: I don’t think I get it but...thank you. I didn’t think you ever came out once during that tour, I guess I figure since you were wrestling full-time again you were just busy it didn’t help with me feeling abandoned.

The Dragon: Yeah, sorry for not coming to find you backstage, figured I’d make the whole thing worse at the time, like you being angry at me was better than you feeling guilty and down about yourself. Who knows, maybe I screwed up there. Don’t think either one of us had the right answer back then though. Any more questions, or do you want some time to digest?

Faith: Yeah I’ll...erm...I’ll call you when I get to Cleveland?

The Dragon: Sure, I’ll be here. Keep ringing if I don’t pick up, probably fell asleep in here again.

Faith: Hey...I don’t know if you want it but I’ve got a full bottle of tequila in my bag...goes great with some lemon and salt…

The Dragon: Nope...nope nope nope…

Faith: You know what my favourite kind of tequila is?

The Dragon: I really don’t care…

Faith: The one with the little worm in it.

The Dragon: Oh God…

Faith: Nice and crunchy…

With that, there was a sudden wave of activity from the direction of the hot tub as water rushed out, along with a newly crowned World Heavyweight champion, who was heading full-pelt for the nearest bathroom

Faith: Hahaha! Enjoy your trip to chunder town CHAMP!

The scene fades out, with Faith/Royal Purple cackling away to herself as she wheels herself and her case away towards the door.


Part 2 - Court is in Session

We are taken to one of the rooms of the Saxon Hotel. With more fans to meet and greet and more appointments to keep, the new World Champion was starting to get used to spending much more of his time on the strip, at least for a while. At least, he figured, until they got bored of him. At least until the narrative became ‘Mark Cross wins again, who cares?’ until 400 days begins to close in. That’s when things would really start getting spicy.

Who’d have thought we would end up here, huh? Me, sitting on top of the tree, looking down on all of you losers. See... I knew. I always knew. I knew a year ago, after winning Blast from the Past. I was convinced, when I came so close, maybe half a second longer, I’d have gotten my three-count. I knew another percent or two, and I would be exactly where I needed to be to take this title, become the champion. Become YOUR champion, whether you like it or not.

Now sitting here for an extended period, which is where I’m setting my sights now? That takes a special kind of human being. Any great competitor can win a wrestling match, right? It takes someone that can absorb the jealousy and use that as fuel, throw in some spinach and blend it up to make some green with envy juice and start their day with it. It takes a guy who can ignore the detractors, who will try to tear you down at every opportunity, in hushed whispers, or snipey indirects on social media, and stay resolute in their own self-belief. It takes someone who will put their own success above all else, regardless of the cost, along with all the skills to beat anyone, at any time, in the ring. It takes someone talented, capable, confident, and more than a little narcissistic, honestly. I’m more than happy to be that guy. After all, if the boot fits, right?

Now you’ll be pleased to know, part of that includes making all of my now-required media appearances...uh...bar one…

The scene cuts to the bathroom of an up-market AirBnB rental in Las Vegas, Nevada. Knelt on the floor over the toilet, talking to the Almighty on the big white telephone, was Mark "The Dragon" Cross, looking in rough shape as a camera crew unexpectedly bursts in. For the time being, he doesn't even notice them, too caught up in his poor state of repair.

The Dragon: Oh Goddddddddd…

Gemma: And it’s Gemma Frost here with you for SCU as we’re catching up with your NEW World Heavyweight Champion

The Dragon: How did you…

Gemma: Royal Purple let me in on her way out. You DID remember agreeing to an interview with me last night, right?

Mark shakes his head.

Gemma: You did have a whole bottle of Moet in your hand, drinking it through a couple of bendy straws taped together. I maybe should have figured you weren’t going to be up for this.

Mark nods pitifully.

Gemma: I’ll come back tomorrow. Get well soon champ!

Gemma claps him hard between the shoulder blades a couple of times, cackling as she slips out of the bathroom, camera crew in tow. The sound of what little contents were left in Mark’s stomach leaving his body can be heard trailing away in the distance.[/color]

...so I might have already missed one, but that wasn’t by choice, but due to someone who at age 37 still doesn’t know his own limits when it comes to alcohol. Truth is I know how this works. I’ve always known how this works, this wrestling business - I mean. I’m in this whole situation a lot more out of necessity than I am by choice, and I know some of the more dense of the naysayers will ask why I even signed up for Blast from the Past in the first place, but hear me out. I started with Sin City Underground. That was my choice. Now you take one look at my work in the ring, forget about the achievements, all the stuff I’ve done before, just look at the work, and you try and tell me I didn’t deserve a main roster spot ahead of, let’s face it, over half of the current crop, right from minute one. Even coming off a light schedule, It isn’t an issue of ability. If it was pure ability and nothing else, no politics? I’d probably hold title gold somewhere...and no disrespect to the place I’ve called home the last couple of years...somewhere a little more prestigious. Somewhere with much larger crowds, much bigger arenas, bigger pulling power and here’s the crucial part - Much more commercial might behind them too. That’s where it all falls apart for me.

I’m a wrestler first. I will always be a wrestler first. I’m not media trained, I’m wrestler trained. I’m not theatre trained, I’m ring trained. I appreciate the business, but I’m in the business of winning a stackload of matches first and foremost...and in that lies my choice, and also in that lies my problem. Sin City Underground represented a grittier product, a smaller niche, less of a focus on the bottom line and, believe it or not, more of an eye towards what happens in the ring, even if it’s a little too dark to appeal to the mainstream wrestling fan’s palate. It aligned perfectly with what I wanted to do, how I wanted to work. It may not always be “pure” wrestling, but I had to work bloody hard for a lot of those wins, it felt like a proper contest to me, and I trained in Japanese Strong Style, 50% of that is nothing pretty, it’s just kicking people hard in the face, I’m not going to get preachy. I was happy there, honestly. Minimal BS, minimal pressure to peddle merchandise, the Fire Dragons thing sold itself, I probably wouldn’t have stepped up if I didn’t have to, but the trouble was, there was little other choice.

The trouble...quite simply...was I was running out of opponents. Staying in one spot, treading water? Dull. Boring. Gotta keep challenging myself, going one better. I started taking on main roster guys, it was the natural progression, I’d earned that right on merit, even without formally having a contract at that point, and surprise surprise. I could hang. I was pulling double duty, defending my Underground title on one day, getting a win on Climax Control the next. Hey, I even scored two wins in one night doing the same, at a Supershow. I was becoming this unstoppable force on both fronts. Plenty would dig at me, not worthy, should stick on his budget brand, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be taking spots on the show for one of our own...but I don’t think many on either side of the fence wanted to actually get in the ring with me, either, much easier to shout things from the sidelines and hope someone else did the job...which...inevitably, they rarely did.

Four-time Sin City champion. Two-time Blast from the Past winner. I am World champion on merit, but I’m also a product of necessity. Things run their course, go through natural progressions, and as one man, no matter how ‘powerful’ I might be in this wrestling space, I’m powerless to fight against it. I can’t be SCW World Champion and never conduct another interview. I have to show my face in other places, not just the ring. I stopped being money motivated before I even came into wrestling, it’s a non-factor...but say I do break 400 days as champion. No more opponents to beat. No more records to achieve, other than break my own, and you know what? Where’s the fun in that? It's already a super difficult thing to pull off. At that point I’ll have to seriously think of leaving the title on the ground, claiming myself permanently undefeated on a technicality, and move on for brighter lights, thicker paychecks, bigger crowds, and fresh meat. As long as winning still matters, the progression is only natural. I don’t have to like it, I just have to be like water, my friends, and follow the ebbs and flows. I’ll smile for the camera. I’ll sign every piece of paper a fan waves in front of me. I love every second I spend back home in Miami, but I will learn to love every extra second I spend here in Vegas while I live up to my new responsibilities. I will relish this opportunity that very few are capable of earning themselves, and even less are even remotely close to being in contention for. After all, a lot of people just aren’t worthy.

Now it’s inevitable that victims are going to get thrown into the path of the champion. After all, real winners crave victories, hunger for it. I wrestled twice a week, twice a night, just to put more Ws on the board around these parts. Having the title, holding the belt, looking at yourself in the mirror with it strapped around your waist, it’s not enough. It’s an addiction, a desire to keep proving yourself again and again and again against the best and you know what that takes? A whole lot of victims. That’s the collateral damage. It takes a special kind of victim to go putting yourself in there by choice however...and here we come to King Vinnie...and his special stipulation...

Personal hand-picked knights huh? What’s your plan, put a whole group of guys who couldn’t beat me straight-up together, hoping the experience of their combined failures is going to be enough to help you solve the puzzle? Who are you thinking - Barnhart? Storms? Austin James Mercer? Two-time champion and two-time loser Jack Washington? Teddy Warren? Cassian Reed? King Vinnie and his band of merry men? More like his court of jesters and minstrels. You think I need anyone to keep me in, you think I’m planning to run from you? Put up a damn cage for all I care. Lock the door, throw away the key. I’ve seen plenty of empty threats around here. A guy with a Twitter account for his cactus? Is that still up? Maybe you belong on the outside with the other jokers you’re going to haul out there and should have given the shot to someone else, because your knights? They’ll be nothing more than a bystander as you fail, like so many have done before.

I get it, what more gilt-edged opportunity are you going to get for a World title shot other than this? Wait for Blast for the Past 2022? Fight your way through the roster, beating everyone in your path, take the good old long road like I might do? Leave $10,000 dollars in a case on the desk of the head booker...or come out on top against a washed-up and beaten down AJM, a party-boy Cassian who was probably hung-over, or wanted to be, and a former two-time Internet champion going through a real slump in form? One he didn’t turn around at Climax Control last week? That last one sounds like a walk in the park for me. That situation is so favourable, I’d put the belt on the line for it. Normally I wouldn’t want it decided by anything but two men, in a ring. Mano e mano, I guess you’ll understand that better, right. I see the logic behind shooting your shot, I really do...but why not put yourself in a situation similar to Into the Void again, a situation you can win.

I understand why you want this, Vinnie...as well as being a distraction to get those voices or whatever out of your head for a kick-off. You were World Champion for nearly 4 months. You were up there when I first touched down in Vegas. Also you were Internet Champion for nearly 4 weeks...kind of...if we’re being generous about it...and you feel like you have championship pedigree. You feel like you belong with a belt in your hand and yet...there’s winning, and then there's reigning. You were King for the day, you’ve made your decrees, you can sit around wearing that crown all you want. Hell, wear it down to the ring next week if you feel like you want to get your mileage out of it, but that was for one night. The King for a Day is dead - Long live the King. The one with the title at the end.

There is one champion. There is one leader. There is one crown. There is one result. When you step through those ring ropes you’re in the court of the Almighty World Heavyweight Champion, and it’s your turn to be tried for your crimes. For being nothing more than a placeholder, a changing of the guard to keep things fresh on the World title picture, the first notch in a bed post that represents a championship reign that actually MEANS something. A crown that isn’t made of paper, built to last, not be washed away in the rain like water gushing from a tap and draining away. See...You’re not the only one who can talk in elementary school level similes, for he speaks as well as a child who has read around twelve books in their lifetime...or something I dunno...it’s too wordy even for me.

This isn’t your time, Vin. This wasn’t anyone in that King for a Day match’s time, you were the best of a dysfunctional bunch and now you’re going to come up short. All of your riddles and rhymes, your imagery that goes off on tangents here, and over there, and now a bit back this way...I’ve been told I ramble on but at least it goes somewhere. Not a single one of you is in the right frame of mind to be in the ring with me. I’m not struggling on, even when I should probably rest up, cut my schedule, get back fighting fit. I’m not struggling on, even though I’d rather be drinking. I’m not putting out an emotional tribute to my friend only to lose to Brother David Shepherd...even that one was low even by my standards...and I’m not headbutting something hard and pointy in my sleep because I saw a sexy lady in my dreams. When I see a sexy lady in my dreams, I show her the World title belt, or my guitar collection, and for the next four minutes or less it’s the best dream of the week. You’re actually having visions of some imaginary person and you want to get in there with me in my prime? I’m actively trying to throw obstacles in my own way with bad decisions in my personal life and I’m STILL World Heavyweight Champion. I guess I’m just a little better at dealing with adversity, huh?

The thing that gets me most is the delusion, it’s like a campaign speech or something for the election and let me tell you...sorry guys...I won’t be lowering your taxes. I won’t be protecting your jobs, I won’t be renaming any days to Crossy Day, even if I do break into the 400 club. You win one match and you get to book three or four other matches on one other fucking day. Our boy’s out here spanking all his appearance fee on dumb costumes...and OK I could definitely see myself rocking the King costume, I’ll give him that...but in the grand scheme of things, it means nothing. It’s one free pass to skip the queue a little and much like Alicia, it’ll amount to zero. You’re deciding hey, maybe I wanna like win a title and stuff again cause that’d be cool. Mate I’m already IN THE FUCKING MINDSET. I was there two weeks ago to win the thing. You think I’m bored? You think I’m over it already?

This reminds me of a TV show I used to watch as a kid, following this local soccer team. They had this one guy, called himself Bruno Gradi, put on an awful stereotypical Italian accent. Turns out on this one episode, he gets bullied I think, someone gets in his face and tells him that he isn’t Italian, it’s all an act, and he should just drop it. All that flair and flourish you’d expect from a classy Italian winger...it all left him too, when he became regular old Bruce Grade, regular English accent restored, back where it should be. Of course, it wouldn’t have been much of a TV show if he wasn’t giving it the big “Mamma Mia!” by the end of the episode but...this isn’t scripted. This is real life. You can fraud your way into a title match but you’re not frauding your way into a title. Not on my watch.

The whole truth of this is...We’re not playing a game here. This is serious business. There’s no room for delusions of...whatever the fuck, I’m Mexican who are descended from the Spanish so maybe I’ve got some Royal blood in there somewhere. I’m English, c’mon, ask anyone who springs to mind when it comes to Royalty and 80% are probably going to jump to the Queen of England first. Including Spaniards. If anything it’s another point for me, if we were scoring points, but we’re not, we’re fighting out in a ring. It’s the kind of place where people get hurt, all the time, at shows, in training, in backyards, you name it. Careers end every day, and we’ve got one clown dressed up like he’s going to a ball walking out for the main event, for a title match, and he’s got some bellend in a jester outfit coming out with him to be one of his knights, I’m guessing, to try and keep ME from running away. Thanks for making my first defence a laughing stock guys, I will absolutely make sure it’s me stealing the show. I think it’s inevitable.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, not just about wrestling, and over the last few weeks...I’ve found myself having to think a lot more about dating again. You know, that kind-of-awkward dance while you try and figure out what a new person in your life means to you...while trying to pick up the signals and see if they feel the same about you...all while putting each other through little tests to try and figure out how compatible you are. Games like “never have I ever” to try and find out what they’ve experienced, or “twenty questions” as you try and figure out what makes them tick. My favourite one that I’ve ever been asked in twenty questions? What do you think is your best feature, that other people would say is your worst? Mine is absolutely my stubbornness.

The thing about qualities is...well...the clue is in the name. It's qualitative, an opinion...beauty is in the eye of the beholder...and just as it can bring out the worst in me in the eyes of person X, it may be pushing me to achieve great things, impossible things, and it may or may not mean that some people get hurt along the way...but it seems like collateral damage at the time, right? Besides, everything happens for a reason.

The last couple of years it’s been a lot of trying to tear me down, and every victory feels just a little sweeter as I continue to prove them wrong. I don't need any more motivation now. The goal is set, nobody has ever reached the 400 club. Won't it be ironic, the budget brand scrub, not fit to lace up the boots of a Main Roster star...becomes the best to ever do it...and the sweetest thing of all? Every. Single. Person. Who said I couldn’t? They can all know that in some small way, it was all their fault, they’ve got nobody to blame but themselves.

Biggest mistake of all? Tell me I can’t. Just wait and see what happens.


Part 3 - Tying Up Loose Ends

Ben E King’s “Stand By Me” begins to play in the background as we are taken to a hotel room. Mark “The Dragon” Cross is tapping away on a laptop when the door to the room explodes open. Two men with handguns burst in, both of them levelled simultaneously on Mark as he held his hands up.

No matter who your are, no matter where you go in life
You gon' need somebody, to stand by you

The scene cuts. While we don’t hear the words, the two men look to be shouting at Mark, one thrusting a piece of hotel stationary and a pen in front of him, the other pressing the barrel of the gun against the back of his skull. With no resistance or argument, Mark writes out the information they want.

No matter how much money you got, or the friends you got,
You gon' need somebody, to stand by you

The image cuts again. We’re taken to the outside of a cedar wood lodge. At the back is a lake, and a beautiful backdrop of mountains. There doesn’t seem to be any other properties remotely nearby. From out of the door, a slender brunette woman is dragged, kicking and screaming, by two men, one holding her under each arm.

Darlin' darlin' stand by me, ooh stand by me Oh stand
Stand stand by me C'mon stand by me stand by me

Another change. Mark “The Dragon” Cross is standing in a kitchen with a blonde woman in his property in Miami. She has her head in her hands as he talks, trying to explain. Out of the blue, the blonde swings at him, the first blow landing square on his shoulder, the second one not finding its mark though, as he catches her arm mid-air.

If the sky that we look upon
Well should tumble and fall
And the mountains should crumble to the sea

Again it jumps, to the bedroom of the same Miami mansion. The blonde woman is hurriedly pulling her clothes out of a closet, throwing them into a pink travel case. She doesn’t say a word. Mark leans on the wall nearby, head bowed, watching her leave.

I won't cry, I won't cry, no I won't she'd a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

One last switch. The bedroom is empty, aside from Mark, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space before him, hands clasped in front of him as the music fades away in the background.

In a whirlwind 48 hours I find myself in my home...in Miami...staring at an empty closet. Nothing unusual to many, but it turns out, the perfect depiction of just how far my selfishness could truly run. Becoming World champion was never in doubt, with the right motivation...because it turned out it didn’t matter who I hurt, threw under the bus, or stepped on to get to where I wanted to be, I would absolutely do it. I just needed enough motivation to make it happen.

Was Amber ever going to be the one? I doubted it. What we had was sweet for a while. More than a while actually, over six months. She left New York for me and everything, we both thought it was serious...but she wasn’t much more than Amanda version 2 in the end. We were both so focussed on our own careers that we never *really* made time for each other. At least when I was visiting her in NYC, we only had a very finite amount of time, and we were inseparable for every single second of it. As much as I valued and was very much used to my own space, I kind of felt like that was what I wanted now.

Also...what the fuck was I going to do with an empty dance studio now? That was definitely not one of my best investments.

As for Micaela? I uhh...didn’t think they’d actually call my bluff and bring guns. I sang like a canary in a coal mine. Finally became World Heavyweight champion, catch a bullet between my eyes in the first month? That’s certainly ironic. I thought I could help, but it turned out within a couple of weeks, my involvement was plain for all to see. I don’t know how, cell phone records or something? I just figured that anyone who follows me to Japan, to Vegas, waves guns in my face...much like I wasn’t going to change the wrestling industry, that was one damsel in distress I was never going to save. She was in too deep, and trying to fish her out of there was only going to put me, or people I knew for sure I cared about in harm’s way.

Like I said, self-preservation at it’s finest.

Now many, I’m sure, don’t believe I have what it takes to be a champion, to hold a long reign, to break 400 days. Many don’t believe I should be there in the first place, I don’t have the heart, my mind isn’t in it. The trouble is I’ve had it all along, but it’s far darker, far more sinister, than anyone could ever have imagined. People that *think* they know me just don’t believe it’s possible, and that’s their first mistake. The truth is I keep it locked away, for the most part. It stays in a locked box, kept under watchful eye by me, the person who spent every day of his twenties wrestling with it to get it under control. See it hasn’t gone away, it can’t be cured. It can only be managed, and you know what, at times? It can be super useful too. Usually to me only, and usually to the detriment of anyone in the vicinity, anyone who could find themselves in the firing line..

Maybe three, four years ago...I put my own career on hold for a fifteen year old girl, who’d wandered into my gym. She turned out to be Faith...Royal Purple to you guys...and she turned into the second coming of a fucking wrestling Jesus or something, which absolutely vindicated my decision in the end...but many asked me why. I wasn’t far off where I was now, winning a lot of wrestling matches, challenging for World titles, getting so close to the top of another pyramid. I was in the prime of my career, or so we all thought...and I chose to give it all up for this girl, because I believed in her. I thought she’d do more in five years than I’d done in my entire career and, had she not broken her leg, that could well have been true. She’s got another 17 years before she even gets to my age now, that’s crazy to think about. I still believe it’s true, honestly, the timeline’s just shifted a little. To those watching on, it was one of the most selfless acts a mentor could take.

Nope - All me again.

I feel like I’ve talked about this before...but professional wrestling...as a competitor anyway, it’s not the be-all-and-end-all for me. It isn’t now, it wasn’t four years ago. I’m out here trying to leave it all on the table for as long as I can, or as long as I want to, not to try and prolong the inevitable. There are A LOT of wrestlers out there. All ages, shapes, sizes, levels, all trying to make “it” whatever that is, different for every person still, and in walks a girl who learns things in minutes that took me weeks, months to master at the start of my career. I mean sure I got there, I became a champion in my own right...but I had to work at it 100 times harder than she ever would. Things don’t stick with us? She could represent another gym, increase their reputation, boost their expansion. She could defeat the other guys and girls around my gym. Hell, she could even take my titles if we’re not careful! We had to keep her around.

So...do I trust her with my coaching team, the guys responsible for getting me to where I am today, or do I take a step back from my own goals and take charge myself? I also have a habit of holding grudges. It’s kinder for everyone if I have nobody to blame other than myself if we lost her. See? I can put other people first if I want to! 

Faith couldn’t work with anyone else other than us. That much was given. A great wrestler? Or a great wrestler who produces great wrestlers? A coach who pushes people to reach their potential, even if it means surpassing my own achievements. It was an easy way to continue the legacy, to extend our reach. It’d become less about me, and more about the gym, about Dragon’s Lair...but in my own mind it kind of felt the same.

Building a legacy meant more to me than maybe I ever realised. I mean...I think I’d always been working towards it anyway, but now it seems more important than ever. Getting my name written in black and white, won this tournament, achieved this milestone, leapfrogged this title reign. The more my name appeared, the more likely it’d be that long after I was gone, from the business, maybe from the planet, that someone would type my name into a search engine. Read about my history. Watch my matches. Base their style on mine. The more I put my name out there now, the more my kids would have to be proud of their Dad for. Probably when they’re older, when they understand, when I’m too old to play catch or kick a ball around with them anymore. I felt it important that I’d done things. That I’d achieved. That I was a role model they could look up to.

All this self-reflection...I didn’t know if it was a positive thing, or if it was more dangerous. Was I turning into an over-thinker? Would I start tripping myself up, tying myself in knots, start to listen to the naysayers instead of it ricocheting off, or stoking the flames...or worse...would I start to buy into my own hype? Get cocky, take my foot off the gas?

I was walking a dangerous line, I could tell...but I didn’t really know what to do with that information either. I wanted to get in front of it, but again I didn’t know how. I probably needed to go back to the chalet, see what damage was done, decide what to do with the place, but I didn’t know if I could face the guilt of being back there at the same time. What would I do with the RV, if they hadn’t checked the garage. Would she ever come back for it? So many questions that I didn’t have the answers for, all while every eye in the company was now on me, watching for me to slip up.

This...wasn’t going to be easy...but it was within my reach. I figure that no matter how long the reign lasted, it wasn’t going to get any tougher for me than it was now. I wouldn’t have any more than this to juggle.

Head down...stick to the task at hand...defend...on to the next one...

Part 4 - The Ghost of Relationships Past

A ringing phone in a pitch-black bedroom. A groan, as the noise woke someone from their slumber.

The Dragon: Ugh...hello?

Devinee: What’s Amber doin’ in New York fer?

Normally I enjoyed hearing Devinee’s thick Irish accent and trademark bluntness, but it was nearly 2am, and as always, my alarm was set for 6am for training. She was out wrestling in Japan where it was what...2, 3pm? Prime time for her to be scrolling social media, catching up on all the gossip, and finding an excuse to jab at me all in one shot.

The Dragon: She left me.

Devinee: Whaddaya mean she left ye?

The Dragon: I told her...why I had a gun to my head…I told her everything...

Devinee: Ohhh.

The Dragon: Yeah - Oh.

Devinee: You didn’t have t’tell her that y’know...coulda said it was a robbery.

The Dragon: I kinda felt like I did.

Devinee: Didye fight fer her at least?

The Dragon: I stood...and watched...and said nothing...and knew she was right.

Devinee: So ye made the same mistake again?

The Dragon: Wh-

Devinee: Like ye did with me?

The Dragon: Nee that was so lo-

Devinee: I’m not tryna tear ye down for it again Mark, I know it were 20 years ago, we were kids, you werenta know...but yer big enough and ugly enough t’know better now aren’t ye?

The Dragon: Things were getting a little patchy with a girl who uprooted her life, to move to Miami for me, because she was working so hard to make the business I effectively financed a success, so she could pay me back...and in a fit of passion I screw someone else, hide her out in my ski chalet, and get shook down for information with a gun to my head because I didn’t give the slightest of fucks about what what she might be caught up in...and you think I have ANY right to ask someone to stay with me after all that?

Devinee: Yer right, ye don’t...but what do yous want? We both know how selfish ye can be don’t we? Do ye want yer girl back?

The Dragon: I don’t know honestly...maybe she was never the one?

Devinee: Or maybe yer too scared that she is. Maybe that makes it easier. Sure sounded like the one. Ye used to talk about her like she was the one. Listen, think about this...yer at the airport, she came back and she’s standing right there, how do ye feel?

The Dragon: Can I sleep on it? It’s really too late for serious chats…

Devinee: To be sure Mark, sweet dreams, remember what I said.

The Dragon: Yeahyeahyeah…

The room goes back to being silent.

I’m standing in Miami International Airport. It’s so familiar, I come in and out of it multiple times per week, and have done for the last decade. The airport is full of 70s charm, when the city went through a real housing boom, people gravitating from other parts of America and beyond to enjoy the 90 degree heat and 90 percent humidity, the endless traffic jams, and the kind of laid back lifestyle where a meeting time is merely a suggestion, rather than a nailed on thing. It looked a little dated now, run-down, tattered, after all when the gold rush slows down, so does the investment, and generally the profits stay in the pockets of those who bought when the going was good, so I didn’t see things improving anytime soon.

This...was different though. Everything was moving in slow-motion, the people milling around...me...all moving like we were walking through treacle...and just at the edges of my vision, it was almost like there was a white mist swirling, just out of shot. It was a dream sequence, sure, but almost like something out of the movies.

FUCK YOU DEVINEE!!

I cursed my Irish friend for her suggestion. I shouted it out loud, but the sound seemed to fade away into nothing as soon as it left my lips, and not a single person moving past me even gave me a second glance. Usually, I’d get shoulder-bumped, usually by someone who didn’t expect me to be a professional athlete, and turn to watch them struggle to stay on their feet. Not this time, everyone moved deftly around each other, heading off to who-knows-where. This was like some ghost of Christmas past bullshit, a warning to change my selfish ways or live a sad, lonely existence in my dream Miami mansion. It didn’t sound too bad. This was all I needed at the start of what I was planning to be a historic, record-breaking title run, that’d stretch beyond a calendar year done right. I absolutely needed my head in the game, full eyes-on-the-prize-mode, not chasing my heart around while it tied me in loops.

Then...I saw her.

The golden hue that surrounded Amber...it was a dream-state over exaggeration obviously, I knew that...but it was scarily accurate too. She had a lot in common with my ex-wife it turned out, including this, they both had this aura around them, a kind of glow that always had a way of lifting my spirits, whenever they entered the room. We didn’t have to be doing the same thing. We didn’t even have to be talking, I just felt...better...being in their presence. Having them by my side gave me a hint of extra strength. The more they were around, the more infectious it got, and the more I started to miss it when they were gone. Pretty topical once again. I hadn’t quite felt the same when she left.

Still in slow-motion, we closed the distance between each other. She walked into my arms and I held her, I buried my face in her flowy blonde hair, and my nostrils got kicked by the distinctive smell of coconuts, from that shampoo she always used. I’d virtually always hated coconuts, the smell, the taste, even the texture of the products. I’d been known to spit out chocolates when I found a surprise coconut centre, such was my disdain for them...all except here, when it served as a reminder that she was nearby. Even more so now...even for a short period...even in a dream...it felt like I had my Amber Rose back.

We didn’t say a word. We didn’t have to. Amber could get passive-aggressive and snippy, at times, but that was the worst it really got as far as she was concerned. I was the real problem. I could get cold, dismissive, sometimes just plain old aggressive at times. I could completely shut myself off from a person if I wanted to. I knew they’d realise straight away, I found most were much more emotionally sensitive than me, it’d probably be worse than even I imagined. I knew it’d probably hurt them, and badly too, but I did it anyway. I’d go well out of my way just to hurt someone, if I felt they deserved it, and as was so often the case, they didn’t. This whole moment was once again so scarily realistic. Communication wasn’t always our strong suit, but it was at times like these, it didn’t have to be. Like I’d always said when it comes to wrestling, actions speak louder than words.

One of those times when she didn’t want to kick my head off, and one where I absolutely didn’t want to let her go.

My 6am alarm woke me like clockwork, the rising Miami sun dappling the carpet, to find myself holding on tight to one of my pillows, that I’d clearly picked up and started cuddling in my sleep as a result of that dream. With a groan and a glimmer of hope, I pushed myself up to my feet, moved to that closet I was staring into the night before, and opened the door.

It was still empty, aside from that one old shirt of mine that she’d ‘borrowed’. I’d still messed it up. I’d still stood and watched her leave. Leave...because of me.

The Dragon: Congratulations Mark...you’re still an arsehole.

And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island
Wondering where did my baby go?
The fast times, the bright lights, the merry go
Sorry for not making you my centerfold
Over and over
Lost again with no surprises
Disappointments, close your eyes
And it gets colder and colder
When the sun goes down