The Rapture was nothing more than an illusion, a tall tale that should remain in the Bible where it belongs. Masque de Lune is, unfortunately, little more than a work of fiction. There are places where valiant crusades can play out, run their course. A wrestling ring is not one of them.
Part 1 - Superbowl Sunday
“Fourth and 1…Morris calling the defence…Donald right there…they’ll go from the ‘gun…Perine in the backfield…Burrow, trying to KEEP IT GOING gets spun around GETS IT AWAY and incomplete...looks like Perine might have had a shot to make the grab but the Rams now running down to celebrate with the defensive play…”
Al Michaels - Super Bowl LVI
As my Los Angeles Rams capture their first Superbowl win since the Greatest Show on Turf in 2001…I’m resigned to watching the game backstage on my iPad. It was Climax Control night, and night of my first Blast from the Past match to boot. I made do with what I had. Grabbing two cans of White Claw in celebration, I smash them together hard until the low-calorie alcoholic beverage fizzes out of the now decimated cans, pouring them both into my mouth in one swoop.
A little unnecessary in a locker room I was alone in…apart from the man in the suit who’d come bursting in, just to rain on my parade.
SUIT: Copyright infringement, we'll see you in court.
The manila folder smacks against the bench next to me as I throw my hands up in the air, splashing the remaining dregs of White Claw everywhere.
CROSS: What?! It's not beer OR milk c'mon!
SUIT: It’s still in a can and alcoholic - That won’t fly with Steve’s people…
CROSS: AND I didn't say got milk?
SUIT: Now you did. Why do you drink that stuff anyway?
CROSS: It’s low calorie…booze doesn’t melt off my hips like it did 10 years ago, must be my metabolism slowing down or something…I’m in the middle of a Blast from the Past run, gotta keep myself trim to win at all times!
SUIT: Right. Hey listen…I’m not much of a wrestling fan, but you were in the league, right? Got any cool football stories?
CROSS: Dude you just served me a-
SUIT: Make it good and I might be able to get them to drop the legal action.
CROSS: Okay, fine. Extortion. I see how this is. How about the time I thought my career in the league was back on? It was…
…19th August 2019
Miami, FL
The ringing of a cell phone pierces through the large kitchen/dining area of my party mansion in Coconut Grove, Miami. I answer it. I think it was after two rings. It might have been three. I didn’t recognise the number.
SUIT: Are you really going to be that det-
CROSS: No interrupting, I’ve got a phone call. Go for The Dragon?
GIES: Mr. Cross? This is Kurt Gies, head of Social Media for the St. Louis Rams.
Holy shit…is it finally happening? Ten years later?
CROSS: Hello Mr Gies, how can I help you?
GIES: We understand you’re a fan of the team and we’d like to offer you the chance to take a tour of the facilities and maybe catch a few snaps with our practice squad. We want to get more celebrities-
He’d lost me at ‘few snaps with’ as the pretty blonde making a coffee across the kitchen heard the pounding footsteps, turned, suddenly looking terrified as I ran at her at full pelt, scooping her up in my arms and spinning her around and around like a top.
CROSS: AMBS I MADE IT! A TRYOUT WITH THE RAMS! A TRYOUT WITH THE RAMS!
GIES: Mr. Cross? Hello? No…no it’s not a tryout…
I was across the room squeezing the stuffing out of Amber, my wife-to-be at the time. I was too busy, and too far away to hear the words of warning.
AMBER: Mark…I…I’m so happy for you but I can’t breathe…
Of course, I put her down. After a few more seconds of spinning and squeezing.
GIES: If you can hear me? It’s NOT a tryout. NOT. I’ll email you the details.
The words THIS IS NOT A TRYOUT were in block capitals, bold and underlined. Plus highlighted in red on my email. If Kurt Gies could have double-underlined, I’m sure he would.
Of course, I wasn’t put off. This wasn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet after all…which meant those words were definitely a challenge, not a suggestion.
“At least I beat you for the World title…” and in one Tweet we see Mac’s position for what it really is. I rarely go back 7,8,9 years when I’m researching an opponent as you know what? Times change. We get wiser, sure. We old dogs learn a few new tricks, but we also lose a step or two. There’s a reason why I’m ear-marking 40 as the beginning of the end for me and yet, Mac is a little beyond that.
He can make whatever statements he wants, but he’s not evergreen.
I think you have to look at consistency in times like this. We’ve faced each other three times before. Each one has ended in a G2S.
He just found it in him to kick out of the last one…because it’s a World title? Is that what we’re saying? Well I guess I’m fucked then huh, they put his TITLE on the line.
I guess we’re going to find out if Mac only rolls back the years with the strap on the line, or if that ‘new-old-stock’ level of performance. was a one-and-done kind of deal. Even if history repeats, he doesn’t have a winning record against me. It’s still not done, and it doesn’t matter what the setting is, or what is or isn’t on the line.
To me…every win is still important.
The human body is incredible. You could chisel it into exactly what you needed for the situation, and then mould it into something else over time, as the environment changed. With the move away from football, I didn’t need thigh muscles bigger than the average human waist, for example. Plus, it meant I could fit in jeans right off the rack again. Levi 502s? Yes please.
The transition into wrestling meant more of a holistic approach. I may not be as well-attuned to the rigours of football but I’m a better athlete now than I was then. More well-rounded. I didn’t dismiss everything I’d learned here about conditioning, far from it, but I picked the parts most relevant to what I do now.
Jogging out to join the huddle, head-to-toe in all of my old NFL equipment, including one of my old game-worn Raiders jerseys…I was amazed most of it still fit…or at least, could be made to fit. A little tightening of a belt here, a little pushing there…oh, and a little helpful information to help this make sense to you guys all-around:
A Glossary of Terms (for the judge who still calls soccer it’s correct term - Football)
Coach - The guy I want to impress
QB - Quarterback. Calls the plays. Throws the ball. The guy who takes the blame.
Gridiron - Football field.
Huddle - Where we stand and talk tactics for a bit.
Play-calls - …Don’t worry about it…
Linebacker - Big dudes who play defence and hit you damn hard.
Mike - Middle linebacker. The biggest, hardest hitting of all the linebackers.
Cart - Stretcher on wheels.[/i]
COACH: Hey - I thought this guy was a Rams fan?
GIES: He is - Why?
COACH: He’s wearing a Raiders helmet? And jersey?
GIES: Oh - He insisted on wearing his old stuff, and didn't want to borrow ours.
COACH: From the Raiders? He was in the League?
GIES: Four years. Starter. Really solid numbers.
COACH: I thought this was some powder puff celebrity. I told the guys to go easy. He knows it’s not a tryout right?
GIES: I made it super clear in the email…
COACH: Well shit.
Football was one of my first loves, as the Rams were my first real team. The first one that stuck anyway…I remember seven year old me running around in my Tottenham Hotspur kit, but thankfully I grew some sense as I got a little older. It didn’t matter that I picked them because yellow and blue were my favourite colours, I picked a team. I stuck with them, through thick and thin, all the way into adulthood, and while most kids my age dreamed of scoring a goal for England, I imagined being Superbowl MVP for my beloved Rams, a young Mark, not even a teenager, lifting the Lombardi trophy, the #12 emblazoned on my chest.
Much like the path my life eventually took, pro football came before any interest in pro wrestling. It taught me how to train like an athlete. It taught me how to handle pressure, to be tough. My Dad taught me my work ethic, sure…but the NFL shaped and chiselled that into being more productive, making every second count. Working smarter AND harder.
Without football? I wouldn’t be a two-time Blast from the Past winner. I probably wouldn’t have made wrestling stick, period.
I owed a lot to this game, and you know what? Even if the Rams never called me again? I got to lay it all out on the gridiron one last time. I was taking full advantage.
CROSS: Hey…how about 0 HALF 62 UTAH F CAFE FLARE?
It was merely a suggestion. My stomach was in knots, I wanted a touch of the ball early to settle the nerves, my voice picked up by the mic built into the Quarterback’s helmet, his way of communicating with Coach on the sideline.
COACH: How the fuck does he know the playbook? Okay run it.
I got in hours early, swiped it from someone’s gym bag, and set about learning it. That was how. #Committed.
QB: On one. Readyyyy?
HUDDLE: BREAK!
Here it was…my first snap with the practice squad. My first time on an NFL training field in over a decade. The first time lining up WITH my beloved Rams instead of against them. Good snap. Left arm over right. Back to my first love, my first obsession, my first time under bright lights. BANG, he slams the ball right on the numbers, my arms wrap around it securing the pigskin. The ring was my sanctuary now, but the gridiron felt like home, good push from the O-line, opening up a seam.
Opening up a chasm. I was through, I was in an open field. The linebacker in front of me? I was giving up maybe 4-5 inches in height, a good 50 pounds in weight, I should try and use speed to my advantage, get around him…but something was different…in the league they’d be stalking me, closing me down, using that momentum to wrap me up and lift me clean out of the turf, stop me from keeping those legs pumping…but he was almost stationary, waiting for me to come to him. Advantage me.
My legs were like a piston engine, pounding the turf, it was an NFL facility, well funded, perfectly flat, but I was picking up speed like I was running downhill, shoulder dropping-
CRACK - The sound of pad-on pad was like a thunder clap when you got it just right and it was perfect, so sweet, the big guy tumbling to the turf as my legs stumbled, my feet wobbled, my gloved hand maybe half an inch from touching grass but not now, not today, I would not be down by contact. I kept moving forward…
The 30…the 20…the 10…touchdown Rams. Touchdown Cross.
COACH: Well Kurt, you just lost your PR opportunity.
GIES: Why?
COACH: They’re gonna be gunning for him now. It’s gonna be like P.O.D. up in here…
GIES: P.O.D?
Pass protect…no blitz coming…man-to-man downfield…leak out to the right…take the screen pass-
BOOM! Here comes the Boom!
The second the ball touches my hands it’s fair game as I get hit by a runaway STEAM TRAIN from the guy who’d come for me. Hold on, just. That was gonna leave a bruise.
Ready or not, here comes the boys from the South
Routine slant route…get past the line…cut into the centre of the field…hands out in front and-
BOOM! Here comes the Boom!
The guy I’d pancaked earlier gets his revenge, coming in low at my knees, feeling every millimetre and every kilo of that size difference as up-up-up and away, spinning faster than I’d span Amber when I found out about this opportunity, the ball squirting out of my hands and flying off to fuck-knows-where. Pass incomplete.
How you like me now?
Take the hand-off…quick cut through the seam…break through the line of scrimmage, in the open field…all three linebackers back in cover and SCREAMING for me now…if I can beat the outside guys to the ‘Mike’ and barrel right through him I’m home clear…
Is that all you got?
…or this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker…sprinting like my life depended on it…dropping my shoulder ready to cha-
-and I’m falling…lifted high in the air, legs flailing wildly as those two linebackers I so desperately needed to beat catch me at the same time. The middle guy…my target…the very same I’d flattened in play number one was still coming…jumping onto the pile…700 pounds of muscle sending me down to the deck…
I'll take your best shot.
Number one rule of receiving in the NFL - It’s going to hurt like a bitch anyway. Hold on to the ball. Wind knocked out of me, shooting pain along my spine, burning pain in the area of…my whole ribcage…the ball still clutched against the #12 on my chest. Nice try guys, I’m not coughing it up.
The biggest of the three had some choice words for me as they took their turns to roll away.
MIKE: Welcome back to the NFL BITCH.
CROSS: Well that was uncalled for...ugh…
Well that one fucking hurt, had to admit. It didn’t matter, I was back on my feet, jogging back to the huddle, to safety, don’t let them know you were in trouble until you were in there with your teammates…then you could double over in agony, at least for a few moments, until you had to get back on the line.
A few claps of sympathy on my back as I bring it in…please no…no touching…
QB: You okay champ?
CROSS: Totally fine…
QB: Okay guys bring it in...WHAM 22-
Doubling over, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs and finding nothing but searing pain…broken ribs…more than one…had to be…and while adrenaline had kept me going to the huddle, it wasn’t going to keep me standing as the realisation set in…then the pain…and down I go…
QB: Uhh…Can we get a cart out here?
CROSS: It’s fine guys…I'm...just gonna lay right here...for a minute...
My day with the Rams organisation? It ended more than a little prematurely, leaving the facility on wheels, with nothing more than a few passing words as the field began to disappear into the distance.
CROSS: COACH! Coachcoachcoach - You’ve got my number right?
COACH: I’ll get it from Kurt. Good hustle out there champ.
CROSS: Thanks Coach!
Of course, Coach never called. Neither did Kurt Gies. Neither did anyone else from the Rams organisation…at least when they figured out they weren’t going to catch a lawsuit off my ass, and like it hadn’t for a decade or more, my phone went back to never ringing for football related matters. Ever.
At least…not unless it was the CFL…and nobody wants to play ball in Canada. Even I’m not that desperate.
As we come back to present day, I’m sitting alone again, in an empty locker room, the smell of overly sweetened alcoholic cocktail in the air.
CROSS: Dude? Hello? Oh…well at least he took his folder, guess it means I’m not going to court this time…”
Another lawsuit avoided with a great story.
Or a really boring one.
All in a day’s work for The Dragon. Two time BFTP winner. World Champion. Snake-in-suit charmer.
Mikky Mouse isn’t as ditzy as she looks, unfortunately for us. Or sounds…for that matter…and when I want to be REALLY grating and annoying? I will still mimic her voice as best I can. You know when the Mikah impressions come out, I’m desperate to get under someone’s skin.
No - She’s smart enough to know that this is as tough as it gets, that the A-game is needed, but I don't think we're necessarily going to see it from Mikah. Why?
She's the least motivated. I want to three-peat Blast from the Past. Mac wants to defend his crown. Kat wants to get one over on one of the biggest names in SCW history. Mikah-langelo wants to shut up the annoying one and get back to Hawaii, or start doing things with Kris again.
Who's the odd one out here? And does that make her the weakest link?
An under-inspired Mikah is still scary as hell...but she's definitely not unbeatable with her min elsewhere.
Part 2 - I Shot A Man In Reno…Just to watch him die…
(If you haven’t checked out Kat’s awesome work yet - Now’s a great time!)
Well - That was predictable. Feed Bill Barnhart to the Dragon and his bones will be used as a toothpick in twenty minutes or less. Our esteemed champion, everybody, out in the first round, handed his third straight defeat at my hand. It seems third straights are starting to become a theme for 2022, let’s hope it continues.
I could have told you it was going to happen. Hell - HE told you it was going to happen, he recited the fucking Primer almost word for word, the figures told us how that was going to go. It was only fitting that I got left to dispatch him and unfortunately for him? Third time was definitely not the charm. Oh well - On to the next one.
I guess the question now is, how can the Final match up, when a Quarter Final of this quality is in the offing? At least we know the bosses aren't wangling the bracket behind the scenes as I know what match-up I'd want at the Supershow…more than any other contest in the tournament.
This one.
Win out here, send the toughest test home. It makes the next two rounds seem like a cakewalk. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. Hey, is that the US National anthem I can hear?
The US National Anthem begins to play softly in the background.
VOTE MAC BANE FOR PRESIDENT, because he sure knows how to give a political answer, we know that much. Some call it political, I call it dodging the question? A couple of weeks ago I asked you if you’ve got another performance like that in you, like our World title fight. I mean…how many years DID you roll back to reach that kind of performance level, I’m thinking 7…maybe 8? That was no mean feat, damn. Getting up from the thing that’d put you down in our two previous encounters was an impressive show of resilience to say the least.
I’m thinking you dodged the question because you don’t even know the answer.
I bet you’re hoping your body’s got one more of those in you, but you don’t know.
I bet you’re thinking about that half-second that was the difference between a win for me or my eventual loss, trying to work out if you can beat it out, but I doubt you can really guarantee.
I’ve seen how this plays out before. You try to side-step and swerve. Flip the script and try to turn it into your favour but there’s your truth, there’s my truth, and somewhere in the middle lies the facts. Let’s talk about facts for a moment.
The two losses were in tag matches…but it’s Sin City Wrestling…no intergender contact…Nobody else laid a finger on you but me. If anything, it gave you time on the sidelines to catch your breath from the relentless assault. I’m sure if Mikah pins Kat…you’ll still claim it as 2-2…except for me? It’s all about me holding your shoulders on the canvas. I don’t live on double-standards. I live on things that make me able to look at myself in the mirror the next morning.
A Blast from the Past final, or the chance to Main Event Summer XXXtreme? Not as big of an occasion as a World title shot? Going to claim you’re keeping that extra gear for moments such as this, and this only? I see an issue with the ‘top of the pile’ choosing what is and isn’t worthy of their full attention.
I know you may accuse me of buying into my own hype, but if you believe that title is the only thing around here that’s relevant? Well I’m not the only one drinking their own Kool-Aid here.
The thing is Mac...you've lost your fear factor, not that you ever really had it in the first place with me but I understand why your name might carry some weight with others. Look at all he's achieved! Look at who he's beaten! Look at all his Hall of Fame inductions! Look at his size, wow, he's a monster…
…a monster who lost to me, at the first two times of asking…who will try and claim his heart wasn’t really in it, or it wasn’t legitimate, or wasn’t worthy.
What disrespect.
I know what you’re going to try and say of course, I can predict how this is going to go. You’re going to make some comment about me leaving. Flip the script on me. Let’s address it now.
A title isn’t everything. It doesn’t define you. It can, of course. Your wife has done an incredible job of making it her own…but it takes twelve defences to get to that level.
Right now? It’s just your most expensive-looking accessory.
I had better things to do than achieve for the sake of padding a stat column, because the truth of it is, a title is only ever as worthy as the competition that comes in to fight for it. Opportunities that are earned. An opportunity I plan to earn the best way I know how. I’m back for a worthy cause, and that, in this case, is triumph in Blast from the Past. For Kat, and for me. The title would be a nice bonus, but I know by winning it, the work is only just beginning..
See - I don’t care about circling the drain with the same old faces. What do you want to happen, trade blows with me, with Jack, with Alex? Throw in the odd pity shot for one of the ‘lesser’ champions for good measure, all while we play hot potato with the World title because NONE of us have proven we can make this last, Mac. None of those names I mentioned. Not you. Not me.
That isn’t fun for me. Look at us, all of us, from this time last year. Not one of us can claim to be worthy of that title. We haven’t done it justice. We haven’t made it our own. You holding it? Doesn’t automatically make you great. I don’t chase titles for the sake of it. I build legacies.
The truth is anyone can win the World title. Anyone can catch a broken-down champion, overworked, overtrained, struggling with the weight of media commitments on match commitments and EVERYONE trying their damndest to kick lumps out of you for the sole reason you’re World champion, you’re the big man.
Guys who think it’s a stepping-stone to prove their worth, even when they don’t put in the work day-to-day.
I'm rested. I'm refreshed. I walked out of that World title match under my own power and I sat on a beach for a while, sure. Did losing the title make me mad? Of course it did. Was I tempted to get back right in the ring and demand that imaginary rematch clause be triggered? Too right I did, but for what? Honestly for what, to probably take it right back off you? What does that prove? I already have the edge over you. The best you can do this week is restore the equilibrium. Something shiny doesn’t add an extra plus one to your win column.
I could have kept going, or I could have recovered, come back stronger. I chose option two. I wonder, Mac, are you still feeling the effects of that match, did you ever get the chance to properly heal? Only...taking big tackles? That's my life's work. It's why I kept getting back up, it's what they taught me in the league. It’s ingrained in my psyche. My body takes a big hit? It gets back up…ready to torch the defence next time, karma, for hitting me so hard.
Three-time Blast from the Past champion, something never done before. Two consecutive wins, something I’ve already achieved, that nobody’s done before. The first World champion to retain for 400 consecutive days, that one’s still in the works. The fact is I chase things that’ll be talked about for years to come. I’m achieving things that will live on, be talked about for years and years, long after we’re both old and grey.
A few 50-60 day title reigns? Yeah…if you left right now, you’d be a distant memory within a year Mac, I’m sorry to say. On the other hand, everyone knows what I’m about. The result is predicted, before the tournament even begins.
I know you want to be where I am right now, honestly, standing on the edge of greatness all over again. We can’t switch places…but we can definitely switch titles, if you want?
Now to your partner, to Mikah…I do have a few words for you, and yes, I'm using your real name. I'm going to be serious for a minute.
You don't want this.
I know you don't.
You've said in the past you have nothing left to prove, and you're completely right. You are, without doubt, one of the greatest to ever do it in Sin City.
You do, however, have a lot to lose.
Let's face it. The winner in Reno is favourite to take the whole thing.
That means you. One-on-one, for the World Bombshell title. The thing you used to want more than anything. The place you used to belong.
Kat's hungry…she's got all that fight and fire that made you incredible…and I want to write my name in the annals of history. You…don't actually want what comes next.
Honestly? …in just a few short weeks you could be the number one contender to face Amber Ryan for her World Bombshell title.
I know this is all just one big play to make Mark Ward finally declare you his favourite. I mean…worthy cause…much tougher thing to achieve than your partner’s latest World title triumph…Alex Jones, fuck me…why didn’t I ever get it that easy? But anyway…that, if you pulled it off, would certainly be an achievement…
The truth is…I don’t care about the World title right now. I’d rather earn the damn thing the hard way, through the tournament they’ll be practically naming after me if I carry on at this pace.
Do yourself a favour, and avoid the embarrassment. Do your partner a favour, and let him hold on to his precious belt for a few weeks longer. Do Kat a favour, let her get one over on a Sin City legend. You probably see a lot of your old self in her after all.
Take the loss. I might let you get revenge on me in the near future. You can have Kris in your corner and everything, optimal conditions for our little legend. Shut me up while you’re in your comfort zone…no need to step out of it for the sake of a silly little tournament…
Our opponents this week - “Mr. King of the Schoolyard” and “Little Miss Only in it for the LOLs.”
And people say I’M going soft? Fuck me…can I face someone who actually wants to be in this tournament, just once?
Aside from a little pre-game talk over breakfast, Kat and I have gone back to training individually this week. I've literally seen everything Mac can throw at me in our last three contests...and Mikah’s 80-something career matches leave plenty of material.
The partnership works. We just have to get prepared for potentially our toughest outing of the whole tournament, and doing that in our own facilities made the most sense.
Kitty-Kat can hold her own, I know that much.
In the eyes of some of the more narrow-sighted in this business…’Kat beat Alex Jones defending her WWH World title and Alex beat Mac for his World title so Kat is better than Mac LOL’ and by that dumb-fuck logic? Well - If she can handle Mac, she can handle Mikah.
Of course - I can do better than that. Kat reminds me in a way of Japanese steel, the raw material for some of the sharpest, most deadly swords in military history. The harder you work it, the tougher it becomes. Kat bends, but she does not break. She can get put through hell, her body showing all the signs of wear and yet…she comes out forged stronger than all of us. A mind like a sabre.
The challenges don’t stop coming, it’s what makes Blast from the Past so special. It’s why winning it is so tough. It’s why winning it twice is near impossible. Three times? Well…I’ll tell you in a few weeks. Would I swap, honestly? Kat and Mikah? Not. A. Chance.
Why have the winning-ist…when I can have the one who wants it the most?
