Brayden Hilton was not the challenge I was hoping for, but he certainly lived up to my every expectation. The runner, the complainer, the cheat. Any excuse to try and take a shortcut, cut a corner, score a cheap win.
I told him you can’t buy hard work, and I put up the proof in no uncertain terms.
Of course…we all knew he was never on my level.
Most who step into the ring aren’t on my level, because let’s all take a moment to remember what that level is. A former World champion. Top of the tree, the best of the best, and in the grand scheme of things, none of it happened all that long ago.
This isn’t living in the past, riding on former glories…I don’t need to tell you what I am, or what I was. All you have to do is look at my work in the ring. Judge for yourselves, tell me if you think I’ve lost a step.
I don’t think there’s many in the back you’d rather put your money on over me.
I am the safe bet.
Part 0.5 - Losing Pages
SSgt David Ainsworth (Former US Marine Corp)
October 2021
It feels like a tear in my heart
Like a part of me missing
And I just can't feel it
I've tried and I've tried
And I've tried…
Her favourite song, she’d set it as my ringtone when she realised how bad I'd gotten about answering my phone. Most of the time I just let it ring through to voicemail, not even looking to see who might be calling, if it might be an emergency…or if it might just be her, wanting to hear about my day. Being near unreachable was the kind of reputation I wanted for myself, I’d been working hard to chisel that out. It wasn’t essential, but it helped.
Hers was one call I would never ignore. She made sure of it.
“Hey baby how-”
“Mr. Ashworth - It’s about your wife…”
That was not the bubbly, ever-enthusiastic voice of my happily ever after, that much was obvious. This man was strictly business, a little hitch in his voice at the mere prospect of delivering the bad news that he’d already set himself up for. Some paper pushing desk jockey, clearly not equipped for field work, safe in the knowledge that nobody would ever be making a call like this to his significant others. Not unless his office block was bombed anyway.
Not unlike my wife, when we first met…only she blossomed into the role over time.
Tears on my face I can't take it
If lonely is a taste then it's all that I'm tasting
Do you hear my cry?
I cry, oh…
“Her cover was blown, we’ve lost contact…”
His words rang around on repeat in my head even hours after the fact, more of an annoying rattle as I clung to the NASA shirt she loved so much, the letters faded, the logo carrying a few extra 'stars' where chunks of the blue had flaked and chipped away from years of abuse at the laundromat, revealing the bobbling white cotton underneath. She was gonna wear through the fabric soon, I could tell.
Holding it to my face, drawing in the sweet scent of her and that perfume she always liked to spritz herself with. Same one, every time. She knows what she likes and she sticks to it.
They can't have lost her. I can't have lost her.
Just wrap me in your arms, in your arms
I don't wanna be nowhere else
Take me from the dark, from the dark
I ain't gonna make it myself…
"You need…to get…her back."
“Sir, we’re doing everything we can to get her b-”
“Like HELL you are! Fucking CIA…"
This was one of the perils of the job. We knew that much. Every deployment for me, every field assignment for her. We were used to parting ways, knowing that it might be the last time we saw each other. It was an impossible thing to completely make peace with, but as time went on, we’d gotten better and better at it. The goodbyes got easier, the reunions became far less dramatic affairs. They just became a normal part of us, business as usual.
As for the cursing, though? Well - This was on them. Those incompetent fucks.
She was too careful, too thorough, too meticulous to slip up, to just blow her own cover. Someone screwed up, and we all knew they wouldn’t go in all guns blazing to save one of their own if it compromised their mission. It was laughable, calling agents undercover an ‘asset’ since they were so damn expendable. It would be her blood on the hands of the Agency if she didn’t come back to me, and if I ever found out who was responsible? I’d snap their neck with my own bare hands.
It was the least she deserved.
Put your arms around me
Put your arms around me
Let your love surround me
I am lost
I am lost
There was one thing in our home that she managed to keep tidy and organised. One single thing, her bookcase, holding her prides and joy, and you could always guarantee, if you needed to find her? She’d be curled up somewhere, hair in a bun, wrapped up in some imaginary adventure getting lost in the words and the pages.
Probably sitting around the mess of clothes and towels that she never seemed to find the motivation to clear away.
In my frustration I pulled it down, ripped the damn thing off its wall bracket, took half the drywall along with it as the contents spilled all over the floor, each one had been separated by genre, then in alphabetical order by the surname of the author. Limited editions, first printings, autographed copies, tattered old things she’d kept with her since she was a kid, all of them came raining down, one by one by one, falling into a haphazard pile on the floor before I brought the bookcase down on top of it all in a cloud of dust.
So much dust.
Every single argument…about how much money she spent on her books…how she never bothered to clean anything, or put her things away where they belonged…all those times we ate takeaway after she tried to cook and just messed it all up…
How meaningless they all felt now.
“I’ll find you myself if I have to…if it’s the last thing I do Dylan…I’ll find out what happened to you…”
My hand wipes the tears from my cheeks as I sit amongst the chaos I had created, my back resting against the couch. Our couch. A place where no matter how crazy things in our lives, or in our careers could get? All was calm, quiet. We could throw on a movie, grab a few snacks, and just be husband and wife for a while.
A place when things could feel normal, even if it was for a few hours at most.
“I swear to fucking God I will…”
Feel like it's just me, like it's just me
What it gon' take?
What it gon' be?
I don't even know, I don't even know
But I'm lonely, lonely…
Part 1.0 - The Cradlesnatcher?
Mark “The Dragon” Cross
April 2022
Out of all of the islands on the Greece Lightning Tour so far, Crete is not only the largest in size, but also seemingly the most tourist-friendly of all. The country as a whole worships travel and tourism, one of the linchpins of their very economy, and with COVID-19 measures reducing, holidaymakers were flocking in droves, welcomed with open arms by the locals. While our intrepid pair would never degrade anyone’s urge to get away, after all they were beginning their own quest to conquer the world, but sometimes there was a need to escape from the maddening crowd. Tender moments together were often not meant to be shared with others after all. After much research, with the sun setting in the distance, one such place that fitted the bill was Frangokastello beach.
The town is home of an old Venetian castle built in the 14th century, and the beach itself provides two views…allowing you to sit and look out to sea, or if you turn your chairs around, take in that imposing castle sits right behind you, as if looking down upon you, ready for archers to launch flaming arrows in your direction if you tried to steal the last doughnut with sprinkles from your significant other.
One former World Champion attempted such a thing on this very beach, and nearly lost a hand…not ideal ahead of his next Climax Control appearance.
While the location is certainly known to tourists, its remote nature has meant that the town has remained largely undeveloped, at least compared to some of the more popular areas of the island, and unless you'd hired a car, was the type of place that the average tourist might just not get to.
That was their advantage.
It was there that Mark and Dylan found a spot that was quiet, and as the sun went down and the air grew a little chilly, it was where they were finally alone, bundled up in hoodies, wrapped up in a blanket they’d acquired from a local shop, and spent some time laying out on the sand, fingers running through hair as the girl slept soundly on her lover's chest, listening to the slow, steady thump of a contented, full heart…
What do you say to someone who can’t remember a thing about their past?
Someone who spent two years or more trying to chase down who they were, to put those missing pieces back together, to solve the puzzle of what was their whole entire existence up to that point?
Do you hold your hands up, say it's too much and walk away? Do you offer to help in the quest, a problem shared is a problem halved, even if that problem is finding a needle in a haystack? Or do you tell them to forget about the past and worry about creating the best future for yourself that you can?
Look forward, never back.
In this business we often live and die on our pasts, what we’ve done, who we’ve beaten, what we’ve achieved. It’s what gets us in the door. It’s what earns us opportunities…it can get us on a card in a new location, and those past accolades can get us right up to the point of a free title shot in some cases…if we don’t want to put in the work and earn it the hard way, but me, that's never the be-all-and-end-all. I’ve always been more forward-thinking.
I never miss a step in my preparation, because I know the next battle is right around the corner.
“Maybe you need to start thinking about your future? Living your life, seeing the world, making new memories in the place of those you’ve lost.”
That was how my 2022 started, the words I spoke to her…and now months later? Here we were, laying on the beach, keeping her warm and safe, living for the future, the next adventure, with not a care in the world, all while breathing new life into me.
While she was re-learning, I was re-vitalising, and somewhere driving across Florida, we’d fallen head over heels for each other. It was organic, it was perfect, and I felt more like ‘me’ than I’d felt in years.
I wanted to live in this bubble together forever and I whole-heartedly believe that we can…but…
I couldn’t help but wonder…what had her life been like before she washed up, that one fateful night. Those memories that she’d never been able to recover, what did they contain? What were her interests, was she still a space nut? What were her hobbies, did she devour vampire fantasy novels like they were going out of style, or was that a new obsession? Did she have the same taste in music, would “Can You Hold Me” still be our song? Where did she live, and with who? Who, if anybody, did she love?
Was anyone missing her?
Looking for her?
Was it selfish of me not to keep trying to help her unpick her former self? Especially if it means reuniting her with someone who thought she was long gone…who’d mourned for her loss…
…or should I take that smile that’s plastered on her face every single day and tell myself that no matter what her life was before, it’ll never be as incredible as what I vow to give her?
I think that’s all I can do. Be the best. Show her the best. Give her the world, make sure she is never unhappy again.
She would get it, too. She was bringing me back to my best. It’s horrible when you lose purpose. Now I know that sounds bizarre coming from someone like me…how can you lose purpose? You’re at the top of your game, doing something you love, travelling the world, what could you possibly have to lose purpose over what the fuck-
Look I get it, I completely, whole-heartedly agree with you.
It’s why the thought of retirement is so goddamn scary for competitors like us. We live and breathe something, for so many years…and there’s no choice but to…you don’t get longevity in professional sport by slacking off, by cruising, by not giving it your all. You’ll get found out, or you’ll get hurt so badly you can’t get back in even if you want to. It’s a decade of eating, sleeping and dreaming something, ingraining habits, embedding neural pathways, discipline on discipline, routines on top of routines…all for it to be taken away one day when you utter the words 'I'm done'. It all just ends. Dead stop. Over.
When you hang up those boots, you have no commitments, literally no reason to get up in the morning, and the only thing you can think to fill it with is wrestl-
Oh…fuck. I can’t.
Now I haven’t lost my purpose, period. I just started to feel like I was losing one of my purposes, one of the things that people either love or hate about this thing we do.
The will to travel, to explore.
One of the single best things about this job is that it can take you to all the far-flung places of the world. New city, new timezone, new adventure…and at the end of being a tourist you get to do something you love in front of some of the most passionate fans in pro sport. It was the thing I LOVED the most.
Past tense.
Until I found myself visiting the same places over and over again. I got sick of cookie-cutter hotels so I started booking AirBnBs. Then you start to realise that while the homely feel is unique, eventually even the ornaments start to become same or similar. Another Cracker Barrel side table. Great. If I’d been to a city before…I’d book somewhere in the next city over, see what that has to offer and commute over for the show. I’d stayed in virtually every hotel, motel, AirBnB, penthouse…and even crashed at co-workers’ condos the quite literal hundreds of times I flew into Las Vegas for Sin City matches, shows when I wasn’t booked, public appearances, creative meetings, media commitments, photoshoots…you fucking name it and you know what? Sometimes that gets a little stale.
In fact, you know the one singular thing about this business that doesn’t ever get stale?
Winning fucking wrestling matches. My hand held aloft as the fans chanted my name. I could do that shit a hundred million times over and the hairs on my arm would still stand on end the way they always do.
Everything else can, and does, get repetitive after a while, and you know why Florida doesn’t? Because I chose to live there. It’s quite literally my home. Who doesn’t want to work from home for a while?
See - I was all set to stay there…and then Dylan arrived…and pressed my reset button.
The truth is I’ve always been pretty solitary. I love my own company, the peace and the quiet, the complete control over the road trip playlist. Call it selfishness, call it narcissism, call it just being happy and content in my own skin…I think at times they all apply…but I’ve always taken my journey as a professional sportsman as riding solo, call me Jason Derulo. Partners have come and gone, both Amanda, my wife…and Amber…who was once slated to be my wife, would both join me as much as they could and vice versa, I’d join them in their ventures as much as possible too, but there was a thick black line between both of them. While we would rush to be with each other at every opportunity, doing so was not the be-all-and-end-all, it was never in spite of our own individual work.
Dylan was different. She was the first significant other in my life who would form an integral part of the whole journey. She was the reason I wasn’t laying down heavy tree-trunk sized roots in Florida, because she has the whole world she needs to explore, like I did.
She was the reason we were here.
She likes to refer to herself as being two years old a lot. It wasn’t mental age, or physical age as such but more…memory age, and with that came a lot of learning how the world worked all over again too. Simple things I took for granted. The phrase made sense of course, but I had to try not to think too hard about it. Makes me sound like a damn cradle snatcher.
I had to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage.
All I knew? It felt real. Loving her warmed my heart like never before. Protecting her felt like priority number one, above all else. The way she always wanted to be touching me, when we walked, when we sat, when we flew, when we slept…surely that was real to her…not some Stockholm Syndrome kind of situation I’d created without realising…right?
I had to admit that knowing who she was before, as much as we both agree it wasn’t important, might put some of these feelings of doubt to bed.
I remember Dylan telling me about her journal. Her old journal, that was. A collection of thoughts, feelings, scraps of old memories, not that there were many of those even two years down the line, pictures both taken and drawn. Filling that book became an obsession, an idea from the third therapist she’d spoken to, the only one who seemed to ‘get it’ in the end…but it had become a fruitless exercise, a frustration, an attempt to look backwards when there was no clue to what horrors lay behind.
The kind that got you left for dead, found washed up on a shoreline, a stab wound in your side.
As I run that thought around and around in my head, the guilt soon fades away. My grip around her slender figure tightens, and I realise that while far from typical, this was the right thing.
She needed me, and I needed her.
Now her missing pages will be filled with joy…happiness…love, adoration, respect, safety, protection, the chance to experience anything she could possibly want, visit anywhere she could think of, possess whatever material things that may have been out of reach for her before…within reason.
The fact I can take a few names in a ring along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.
Hold my time away from THIS ring against me all you want, it’s irrelevant. The truth of it is, where I put my work in doesn’t actually matter, the only thing that matters is I’ve still been putting it in. The only requirement is that I produce HERE when the bell rings. The same thing I’ve always done, even when I didn’t ‘belong’ there. My time away hasn’t made me soft, or weak…it’s only bought back my hunger. I never hate being in a ring. I was starting to hate being in Vegas. Now my presence in the halls of Sin City Wrestling all over again is part of an ongoing journey…
…and the longer I keep this going, the more pages we can fill up.
Don’t count on my next disappearing act as some kind of a blessing, because I’ll pop up as and when I’m needed.
Usually…because someone needs bringing into line badly enough…
The World Heavyweight title. An accolade that used to mean something. The best of the best, against the second-best of the best, forged in the heat of battle, their right to that opportunity undisputed. Earning that opportunity? It used to come from months of work, facing every challenge head-on, scaling every precipice.
This business is nefarious at times. There’s a lot of darkness alongside the light, and a lot of things can be begged, borrowed, or stolen. Far too much, in my mind…but I’m realistic. That’s how this business is, that’s how it’s always been. After all, there’s not much around here you can’t buy.
The World title is supposed to be the one thing that can’t. The one true paragon.
This joke of a situation is one big fuck-you to it all.
The champion doesn’t want to act like one, fine, only…the reward is low, the risk is high in this case. If you take the easy path, and you lose? You turn yourself into a laughing stock.
In showing Matthew where that bar is? It increases the chances of this blowing up in the champ’s face and you know what? I’ll be the first one in line to point out what a dumb fuck he’s made himself out to be.
The damage to the division? Well that will take a lot longer to patch up.
The truth is, at the end of the road, when we all hang it up? We are little more than the things we achieve, and the memories we make. We are words on a page. We are a former this, we are an ex that.
When I say I am building a legacy, I mean it. I want my time here to count for something. Otherwise…it feels like a waste. I have my own memories, sure…but my time is finite. In this business, on this earth.
What is a legacy when the only place it holds any value is in my own head?
I don’t like my achievements being belittled because of Mac’s lack of respect for the thing he once earned on merit. The thing you’re supposed to stand for. A joke title held by a joke champion where anyone can jump the queue, as long as they rattle your cage enough.
I was fine with staying away, honestly. Only trouble is I might need to put some credibility back on those past achievements when all this is said and done.
Part 1.5 - Forgetting
Dylan Cross
December 2021
The first few journal entries contain the word fuck a lot. I tear them in half, then in half again. The wind carries the squares of paper out of my hands before I even have a chance to outstretch my arm. I watched those weeks of my life get swept away over the water and disappear into the trees.
I flicked through the next few pages of the journal. A lot of them are tear-stained. I don't believe in wiping tears away, I believe in letting them fall. What's the point of crying otherwise? Looking through these pages, I realised how much I wrote, despite my initial feelings. I wrote almost every day, most of the time here at the cliff. It isn't just words that fill these pages; there are pictures I drew, photos I'd taken, useless things I'd found and kept. Beautiful, painful and tragic. And now, all of it has to go.
My efforts made me breathless, so I stopped for a moment. The birds chattered noisily in the trees around me. I find the noise peaceful. The birds, like the waterfall, never stop.
I turn my attention back to the journal and continue tearing out the pages until I reach a photo. That's how I know that I've come to the beginning. It's in a news clipping from the day I was found. My fingers gripped a handful of pages and pulled them taut. I wish I could slip into the pages of my journal and rewrite everything that happened that night. But there was nothing I could do.
My hold on the journal tightens. It's better to erase that part of my life, pretend that it never happened. I tear the pages into the smallest pieces possible. The wind carries them away like ashes. As I watched them lift higher and higher, I remember the first thing I saw on that night.
The water’s edge lapped at my fingertips. Unable to move, unable to breathe.
It would be around 9 o'clock now. People will start arriving soon with their towels and picnics. I need to finish this. There are only a few pages left clinging to the spine of the exercise book. There are a few recent entries, followed by a couple of crisp white, lined pages.
This year can be different. It has to be different, because if it's not, then what sort of future will I have? I shake my head. I don't want to think about it right now. All I want to think about is forgetting the past, starting over.
In one chunk, I rip out those final pages, rip them up and, like that, they're gone, dancing through the air. I feel I should say something to mark this moment, but everything I think of sounds stupid in my head. The word that comes out of my mouth surprises me.
“Jump.”
I stand up and move forward until my toes touch the edge. I look at the still water below.
“Don't think, just jump,” I say.
But I can't make my feet move any more than I can make myself remember.
I will take the leap, see where it goes
Cause if I never try I’ll never know
This could be the greatest story told
But if I never try I’ll never know
Part 2 - Prove Your Worth
Mark “The Dragon” Cross
April 2022
I don’t think The Raven’s incapable, I just don’t think he’s proved he belongs here.
I’ve been through it once myself. As Sin City Underground’s top champion, I carried a grand total of…you guessed it…zero draft stock here. SCU guys shouldn’t be around here, they’re not fit to lace up our boots, the kind of elitist bullshit from guys a little too comfortable, and doing too little looking over their own shoulder for who’s coming up next.
Gatekeepers - Every single one of them. Victims, who fell on my sword on my one-man quest to get to the top. I did, and I had to vanquish a lot of “BIG” names to get it done.
Matthew’s shot is given, not earned. He knows it. He even acknowledges it as the poisoned chalice that it is. An unwanted distraction in his personal vendetta with our esteemed champion.
In one breath, I am just another one of those gatekeepers. In another, I am the human embodiment of another way. A better way. Earning every chance you get.
Two titles elsewhere? They count for nothing here.
After this week…we’ll find out if the choice was the right one…or should it have been me instead?
Casa Delfino…a pure throwback to Venetian Chania, right in the heart of the Old Town. As I walked along the colourful passages and cobblestoned alleys of Topanas, the whole place was like walking through a time tunnel. In late 2021, I can imagine a place like this would have been ‘just another tourist trap’ that I would have despised but now it was popping with vivid, vibrant colours only matched by my choice of Hawaiian shirt. Yes - I was always willing to play up to the Brit abroad act.
Time for a little walk-and-talk. We have plenty of material to cover.
You know what you rarely expect to see in wrestling? When the champion himself has to come out and DEFEND their challenger ahead of a title shot. Two situations where that makes sense, they’re a genuinely nice guy who respects the talent of every opponent they face…or talking of faces? They’re trying to save their own.
It makes the talk of maturity all that more hilarious, when it comes in a little foot-stomping tirade in the middle of a ring…I don’t care what you think Dad, you shouldn’t question me, you're dragging me down, I’m gonna do what I want! Waaaaah waaaaah waaaaah you’re being mean to me!
Welcome to the top of the tree, Champ. We’re not all going to fall into line and respect your decision just because it’s you. You have to prove your worth just like the rest of us.
Just take a look at those three names you’ve had in your mouth this past week.
Fenris…Ben…me…three men who have been where you’ve been. Three men who earned their chances. Three men who took them with both hands. Three men who know what the World championship means.
Or at least…used to mean up until recently.
This business is full of many many names trapped below a glass ceiling, looking up to the position you’re in and you know what? They may throw shade, in some “NOTICE ME SENPAI” act of desperation so they might garner your attention and get the chance to come and play with the older kids.
The three of us stepped through that barrier a long time ago. We’re already swimming in that same pond you are.
The problem, Mac…is BS like this fucks over all that work we did. Fucks over yours too, honestly, if you de-value that belt enough by ‘doing what you want’ then the fans, the roster, the whole industry will care even less about what you once were, what you once did.
Every day of that reign, whether it lasts another month or another year? Could wind up being worth absolutely nothing, a whole bunch of putting your body through hell for something that honestly? Nobody has a fuck to give about.
You may hope that throwing Matthew under the bus is diverting the attention away from you but no - We’ve all seen what you’re doing. There’s a very clear vote of no-confidence in your champion status and it will be taken from you.
I may even have to do it myself.
You can make whatever point you want about my ‘part-time’ status as that’s about all you seem to have on me but you know what? Whole thing’s irrelevant. Take away that I’m still training every day. Remove the fact that I am still VERY much actively wrestling…even if it’s not here…and let’s dig down into what REALLY bothers you about this issue, as I see all the way through it.
You don’t like the fact that I don’t have to be shoving myself in the face of every SCW fan, competitor or member of the management team…week in, week out…in that quest to make anyone care about you.
I can go off and work somewhere else for 6…7…8 months and you know what?
People still care.
People still chant my name.
People still want to secure me on a longer-term contract.
People still fear seeing my name opposite them on a show card.
People still consider me MORE than worthy to be in the picture for that shiny accessory of yours.
People still remember that I’ve pinned you more times than you’ve pinned me.
Now…either I’m the biggest con artist in the history of professional wrestling? Or I’ve delivered the kind of impact our poor World Heavyweight champion could only dream of, in a fraction of the time. I mean…make your own judgement, but out of the three of us…it was my name in your mouth longest of all.
Guess I’ve gotten you rattled, huh?
Now…does that make me your next pick? Who knows…maybe we should talk about the current one for a while.
Matthew…to be fair you make a lot of the right noises. I think you’ve handled this whole thing pretty well - The raven who makes bird calls occasionally, who would have thought it? Just like the dragon who breathes fire when you step into his domain.
Of course, I’m not all that surprised. After all it’s an interesting thing, arrogance. Your arrogance, specifically, since it comes with your very own seal of…approval…acceptance? Who knows. Arrogance interests me in that it doesn’t have to be intrinsically linked to results, good or bad ones. I think in time I’ve even been able to fly under the radar BECAUSE of results…oh Cross isn’t arrogant, he’s just self-confident, look at who he’s beaten, how he blurred the skill gap between SCW and SCU, look at him doing what nobody else has in Blast from Past.
You don’t need results to be arrogant, and in fact it maybe washes even less if you get them. That brings me to your domination. A dominance that we have yet to see here.
People ‘skip queues’ in this business all the time. Truth is this is a combat sport and you know what? If someone has proven time-and-time again that they belong at a certain level, they maybe should take those opportunities when they arise. After all, put in a guy who can’t hang, rightful contender or not, and they get hurt? Well that’s a booking problem for weeks, months until they can come back…
…but that’s a business decision, and here’s the problem.
You are a champion elsewhere, and therefore you know that you’re in the business of proving that’s why you are, and nothing more. The rest can be left to the guys in suits. You can see the reaction, and what you do elsewhere? Well that carries very little weight here.
For me, this is the chance to book win number 25 on the main brand. Add it to a near 5 month reign as Underground champion, two SCU tag title reigns, and of course the hard work it took to earn those opportunities in the first place. I have that record that you’re lacking, the legitimacy to your claim for this chance that lies before you and there’s a reason why. I have to Apollo-gise for all the Greek puns but you just need to look behind those a little.
The truth is I don’t take myself too seriously a lot of the time. I don’t take life all that seriously because what’s the point, we all pay taxes and we die eventually right? A couple of life’s certainties…but there’s one exception, I take wrestling really fucking seriously.
I accept - You have a point. Record is not everything, skill most certainly is and while it may not necessarily have come out this way, I don’t call your skill into question. I meticulously prepare for every opponent and I know exactly, to the letter of what you’re capable of. I’ve seen what you can do…have done…and that’s great. This contest should be a lot closer than at least the numbers HERE suggest.
On one hand…I feel like in a lot of ways we might end up aligning. It’s the black and white that runs through all the grey…cuts through that trademark wordiness of yours…when you do, on occasion get right to the heart of the matter. It all sounds mechanical, mind you, as you tear back the curtain…oh you cut the same promo…oh he’s a jobber…all these colloquialisms that we usually save for behind the camera. It’s like you see through the BS of this business so clearly that sometimes you don’t care if you play your part in destroying the illusion. It’s not too dissimilar to how selling tickets and peddling merch is one of the necessary evils of this business in my eyes, but gotta do what we gotta do, right?
So I wonder…what happened at Blaze of Glory?
See you are something of a walking oxymoron. Through all this ‘clarity’ of yours…you stood back and watched as Jack choked the life from Ken…and you let it happen, regardless of the effect it would have on the result, or on your own title aspirations. It makes me question where…exactly, is your head at? Where does your real motivation lie, and why does it not necessarily align with improving that record of yours? The very reason you don’t get the respect here that I figure, secretly or not so, you feel like you deserve.
I remember you called your journey to Sin City as being part of a labour of love and that’s a really interesting concept. I’m not sure you planned on having quite the opposite effect as while a win against Mac is great for you, World title strap to add to the tally? It’s rather bad for business…a point that we’ve maybe gone over and over since the guy picked up a microphone…and I have to ask why.
The opportunity, right there in front of you, all you have to do is step in.
And yet…you stand aside, like it’s all part of your grand plan.
Let me tell you…and I can guarantee you this…over hundreds of matches and a decade or longer career…I have NEVER looked at a situation where someone else gets their hand raised in victory over me and thought ‘Yeah you know what I’m cool with this. This is fine.’
Wins and losses in all promotions…pure wrestling ability…you and I could well be a good match…
…but in terms of winning, at all costs? Doing everything that has to be done, to add another strike in the positive column, whatever the consequences? Well you have proved, already, in a Sin City Wrestling ring that you do NOT have that same desire. It has to suit you, it has to write itself into your narrative, whatever that happens to be.
I’m no different, granted…except my narrative is victory, every single time I lace up my boots.
If I’m not doing that? I may as well phone this whole damn sport in.
Let me try and sum this all up for you…this whole big no-win situation that’s been created for you here…because I think in my mind’s eye, I can predict where this is headed…and the beautiful thing is you can just sit back, feet up, and play your part. It’s the people who sit behind desks, wear suits and occasionally ties…and conduct their most important business meetings in Hooters who have to pick apart all this bullshit…
I don’t doubt you have the ability to go all the way, to become World champion.
In terms of skill, it’s a stroke of genius.
In respect of record, it’s a PR disaster.
This week you face someone who has gone one better. Who has the edge in a couple more areas than you do, the skill AND the record and you know what? From where I stand, the better mindset as well. The only thing I hate more than losing is not winning…and I hate sharing the limelight, always been a little vain like that. Guaranteed if I see an opponent choking the life out of another opponent? I’m walking over and choking the life out of BOTH of them for stealing my thunder, and then I’m getting the win, over whoever taps out or passes out first.
You, and Mac? You can deny it all you want - I am your acid test.
I am every single piece, part-and-parcel a champion of Sin City Wrestling.
Everything except that little “C” in brackets next to my name.
Prove it to me. Prove it to us. Here is your real opportunity.
Before long, a win over me? Is going to be worth more than a score over Mac any day. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it already is…
By the time I was done talking-and-walking I’d made my way all the way through to the Turkish quarter…Splantzia…where all those last hints of tourism fade away to the most authentic, most immersive of Crete experiences. It was here where I stood out…a man with an accent, a loud shirt, and a camera following his every move. It was here where I felt unplugged, disconnected. It was here I would find a cafe, drink a coffee alone, and clear my mind.
By the time I made it back to the hotel, my Dylan would be awake, no doubt, and I would bask in the feeling of completeness, all because of of having her back by my side.
We had some exploring to do, and time was ticking.
I think I’m starting to accept what my role is around here - Keeping people honest.
I always prove the doubters wrong.
I always put people in their place.
I always achieve what I set out to achieve.
And I don’t have to be in the building every single week to do it.
Everything happens in their own time. Everything happens for a reason. Every appearance has a purpose.
This time? It’s about showing you what the GOLD standard looks like, and how a competitor with the true spirit of a champion goes about their work.
I’m not always here for a long time…but when I am? It’s always a good one.
