Part 0.5 - Irrationality

“I can be calm and rational after everything you put me through, why can’t you do the same for me?”

Because we’re not the fucking same.

We don’t handle things the same.

We never have and we probably never will.

Most people who spend any length of time with me comment on how chilled out I am, how I’m so laid-back I may as well be horizontal, like I don’t have a care in the world and you know what? I’ve said it enough times, how much I love every aspect of my life. I’ve got no reason not to feel that way.

Two types of people will disagree with that statement.

My opponents.

And people that piss me off.

I’ve lived one hell of a life, up to this point. I’ve got more stories than I know what to do with and I’m just under a year away from my 40th birthday. I’ve seen and experienced so many things that it takes a lot to REALLY get a big reaction out of me these days, but it doesn’t stop me from waking up each morning trying to work out what memories I can make before the next bedtime.

Making memories is my life blood. It keeps me young.

Competition keeps me sharp, gives me purpose. That killer instinct burns as bright in me now as it always has, from day one. Does it mean I go for the jugular, whatever it takes to throw my opponent off-kilter? Absolutely. I’m not in this for a bit of fun, after all.

Even then, it’s controlled. It’s a calculated, targeted attack. It’s not personal…as such…although 99.95% it’s going to come out

No…it’s when someone pushes that red button that shit really starts to get real. The combat instinct of a man who fears nobody in a sport as brutal as professional wrestling let loose in a real-life situation?

I can be dangerous.

I am impulsive. I am reckless. I shoot first, ask questions later…and even after I calm down I usually still won’t admit I was wrong.

I maybe could have handled them better. That I agree on.

But I was never wrong.

What you’re about to hear is a reflection of a situation that happened to me recently. You remember, last week, how I showed you something in preparation for it maybe coming to a head? Well this isn’t that point…but it is a continuation.

I’ve been saying for years that I don’t see myself wrestling much past forty.

That gives me roughly 350-something days. Give or take.

Now that’s scary, from a couple of angles.

Like I said, and like I’m about to show you, I still have a raging fire in my belly. All it takes is for a few wrong buttons to be pushed and I start to become the person you really…REALLY don’t want to be in the same zip code as and if it was you that pushed the buttons? Well not even being in a different fucking timezone is going to save you from the flaming hell that this dragon is about to rain down on you…

Now like I say, this is scary, dangerous.

After all, a combat sport gives me an outlet to unleash a little frustration. Daily, in fact. Whether it be weight, training partner, punch bag or opponent, there are things for me to hit, or throw, or slam, or any combination of all three.

That rage that bubbles and burns within me has an outlet. It can be quelled.

What happens, if I quit?

Well…I guess I’m going to have to try not to blow my top in normal civilisation…

Or?

I spend the next 350-something days getting that rage out of my system. Once and for all.

Any volunteers?


Part 1 - The Other Woman.

Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are
Satisfied and empty inside
that's alright, let's give this another try

It's crazy how strange it can be when you meet a person for the first time, and it feels like you’re looking in the mirror.

It's scary when you don't like the person looking back at you.

That’s how I felt immediately after that ‘lunch date’ with Julia.

Her presence in this was unexpected. I’d found where he worked. It was the one shred of information Joanie’s friend had, the name of her husband, and from there, it’d developed. Evolved into some half-cocked plan where I’d show up and figure it out as I went. I’d gone down there, made a scene, threatened to start permanently rearranging some furniture unless they took me to Chester Hamilton. That seemed to amuse the blonde, who’d heard it all unfold and intervened, getting me out of there so we could talk properly.

Within minutes it was clear we were both trying to size each other up. Work out how useful we could be to one another. She was the other woman. The one cast aside upon Joanie’s return to her husband. The fact she was rejected seemed to not even register, no emotional connection. That’s what tipped me off, it was clear she would do anything she had to, as long as it meant she got what she wanted.

It didn't matter who got hurt, or how it happened, or if the prize actually wanted her in the first place…as long as she got to hold the trophy.

It was that kind of one-track-mindedness that I applied to my own career. It was the same instinct that had me crashing a taxi driver’s cab for livestreaming me without permission. It was the same mindset that had me questioning the parenting ability of a good friend, and next opponent, for the sole purpose of throwing them off their game. Which worked, by the way.

Julia was, undeniably, one hell of an ugly person on the inside.

Maybe she saw the same in me.

Maybe I was seeing shades of myself in her.

But this was different.

I've been sitting outside of the address Julia gave me for what felt like hours. In reality, it might only have been a minute or two. After all, I only had a finite window to get…something to happen, set some wheels in motion. She would go back to the office and distract Chester. I was free to talk to Joanie, until I got the signal that he was on his way. We’d communicate often, but meet little, to prevent arousing suspicion.

This was for her own good.

The seeds for this had been sown long before Joanie high-tailed it out of New York without a word. From our first meeting, our blind date…she’d hinted at why she’d run away in the first place, the slightest of hints, moments of silence that spoke a thousand words all by themselves. It took time, a lot of time into our friendship…she was hurting and she was scarred…I could tell that but I didn’t know why. Not really.

It was months before I found out how much of a monster Chester Hamilton could be.

She’d thank me for this.

She was being manipulated, she had to be, there’s no way she would go back into his arms willingly. He had something on her, something he could laud over her, some threat, some ransom, it was the only explanation. I’d talk to Joanie, she’d tell me what it is, and I could go about putting that right, make sure nobody got hurt, nobody got blackmailed…

No scratch that first thing I said, Julia and I with nothing alike.

I’m saving someone. I’m HELPING someone.

It’s all about appearances, it had to be. Julia said they looked happy…looked…but a lot of people can look anything they want if it’s for their benefit, if it’s for their own survival…they can’t actually be happy…I remember in that moment I was sitting there thinking I don’t care, even if it was true, she might be happy now…but what about in a week, a month? What about when he turns on her like he always does and then she’s in too deep and there’s no way out…

I’m no human psychology expert…but I know hearing one of your friends is happy should be a good thing…but I know better…she knew it too…when she told me…she sat across that table, studying my face…watching as it didn’t change…if anything it hardened…as she thought that would make me even more determined to tear it up, destroy everything they had…but no it just meant I had to work faster…in case Joanie started to believe the lies she was telling herself. What if she started to believe she did actually love him.

This is the right thing to do.

I have a good instinct about this sort of thing. I can read people. I’m never wrong.

I’m not wrong about this. Definitely not.

I looked Julia square in the eyes across the table. I told her, with the same conviction I would wear when talking about my next match, my next opponent, my next title. I told her Joanie would be leaving with me. I’d get her out of there. I’d make her see sense, and I would save her. It wasn’t the kind of victory I was used to, but in the end…helping people I cared about? Maybe that was enough of a prize.

I’ve been described as selfish. Controlling. Narcissistic…but then again, I’ve been known to have a hero complex too. Surely one counteracts the other? Maybe the hero complex only kicks in when the person or thing that needs saving I value even more than I value myself? Maybe I put myself first…right up to the point when somebody else needs to go top of the list for a while. Someone in my circle. Someone deserving.

Maybe I’m not as bad as people think I am.

Maybe I’m not as bad as I think I am.

Maybe there will come a time when some life event will push me permanently into second place.

Maybe my main focus will shift from my own success, to something like…making good memories for my kids?

I think when…if, that happens? That’ll be the end of my wrestling career as I know it. I won’t have the drive. The determination. The single-minded need to get what I want. With no exceptions.

Until then? I was going to take full advantage.

I was going to get what I wanted.

I was going in.


Part 2 - Year of the Dragon

New year, same Dragon.

There you go Miles, the one question you posed answered.

Nothing about me has changed and honestly? That works out pretty badly for you.

I am not a stepping stone.

I never have been, and the day I start to become that? Is the day I hang it all up.

I’m a fucking launchpad, at the top of the mountain, and you have to climb just to use it.

The fact is scoring a victory against me will further your career, and not just in the way you’re thinking. That’s what’s different. See anyone can beat a washed up shell of their former selves, riding on the coat-tails of their past glories and you know what? Sure, you can dine out on their name a little bit, take their success of a decade ago and it might count as a bit of a Scooby snack for you. That’s a stepping stone.

You may take out an opponent with an impressive scalp to their name, for example. Someone who you might want to score a victory against too. After all, if they can beat them, and you can beat that person, you should be able to take both of them. Then you realise the opponent was one of your stablemates, who always seem to get a case of the butter-fingers when a championship belt falls into their hands, and you can ride the wave a little bit until someone like me devalues it in one single argument. That’s a stepping stone.

You can enter a multi-man brawl and in the heat of the moment and limbs flying, you might be able to score yourself a victory, when everyone is too distracted with everyone else, it becomes little more than a crap shoot. That’s a stepping stone.

You might capture the Roulette title. That’s a stepping stone.

The spotlight I’ve enjoyed? Let me tell you about the spotlight I’ve enjoyed.

And let me say right here right now. Me, and any other name you can think of, who’s been in the spotlight? We’re all human. We can all be beaten. That’s important to remember, that centres around my whole point, in fact. Find it surprising that I’d admit that in the run-up to a contest? Yes…but the records speak for themselves and you know what? Contrary to popular belief, I’m not always all lost in my own hype all the time.

Now I know you hang out with the likes of Austin James Mercer…Alex Jones…and I know they’ve stood with a World title strap around their waists, just like I have. You’ve worked in with them, I’m sure plenty of times…and maybe that’s why you have this little bout of confidence that you might be able to get one over on me…you can hang with that calibre…but those guys and I aren’t the same, and you’re about to find that out the hard way.

Every single defeat…I’ve been pushed to my limit.

Every single defeat…that opponent has had to bring their A-game.

Every single opponent…has had to raise their bar.

Some guys? They need the bright lights and the big city. They feel like they have this right to be in some kind of title picture and you know what, some sparring match in a gym just isn’t enough to get the juices flowing. They train like they’re some prize fighter, not like every fight is their last.

You or I could tear our knee to shreds in a training match. It could have to be rebuilt with ligaments and tendons grafted from other parts of our bodies, that could be our very last fight and you know what?

I don’t want my memory to be ‘I could have gone harder’ or even worse…

If I had gone harder, I might have been safe.

Let that sink in for me, just for a second.

I could get hit by a car outside Dunkin’ and that last time I wrestled? That would have been my last.

I could get nommed by a gator on a golf course out in Florida. That sparring I did that morning would have been my last contribution. My last battle. My Waterloo.

I leave nothing behind. Ever. In sport or in life. Because if I do? I’m wasting my fucking time.

The problem I see…is that I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. It’s just another match to you. It’s a little opportunity to prove yourself and if you get knocked around and slapped right back to the level you belong at? Well that’s how it was meant to be.

There’s no belief there.

There’s no pushing yourself to bring out the best you ever have. You’re just…hinting that it might be there somewhere, hiding in the shadows.

Greatness doesn’t hide in the shadows. Greatness is a narcissist, it’s just like me. The only reason it’d hold itself back is if there was some kind of benefit to it and trust me…losing to Bill Barnhart multiple times doesn’t serve much of a purpose. Lulling us into a false sense of security? You know that doesn’t work, right? You know New Year, same Dragon means I’m preparing for you as if you’re going to have the match of your fucking life against me, right? Greatness might just not be in your future. It definitely isn’t in your present. If it’s there, it oozes out of you, rushes through you like a wave of white-hot energy. It straightens your posture, makes you feel a few inches taller. It gives you a purpose, and you know what? You get in the ring, instinct takes over, your body has muscle memory, it knows what to do…and you stop thinking. You’re aware of what’s happening…you’re winning…but it’s like you’re not in control.

You don’t have to be.

You’re in the zone. You made it, my friend.

You’re gunning for something a hell of a lot more?

Wrong.

You’re either there or you’re not.

You’re ready or you’re not.

You’re at the level, or you’re not.

See?

In a world where there is a winner and a loser, the grey area may as well not exist.

I want to be at your level but I’m not there yet - You lose.

I’ve got the ability. I just need a little more experience - You lose.

I need to work on my conditioning but-

You lose.

I think there’s a chance I might be able to…

Double negative. What’s the result? You tell me.

Champions in the wrestling world? In terms of guys and girls that have held title gold in their time…well we’re not exactly a rare breed. You don’t have to look very far before you’re asking ‘LOL that dude won a title?’. Yes. They’re actually surprisingly easy to collect. There’s a lot of wrestling companies, at a lot of different levels, and each one has a number of different belts you can win.

You can find your level somewhere.

But not all champions are created equal.

You may beat me Miles.

You may wrestle the best you’ve ever wrestled and maybe, just maybe…it’ll help you break through that skill ceiling and be able to stand toe-to-toe with me. If you do, there’s still no guarantee you’re picking up the victory, but at least we’ve got one hell of a contest on our hands. It’ll be fun to be in, it’ll be entertaining to watch for the fand and win, lose or draw? At the end of it you’ll *know* that you belong at this level. You won’t just think you have a chance. You’ll be sure that you can win.

If you get to that point? I’ll let you use my launchpad.

Anything other than that? Well fuck, mate…it’s you who’s in my way…and I won’t hesitate to move you out of it.

Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle
For you are the wind beneath my wings.

Bette Midler’s best-known hit became all that more poignant to me when we were planning for Dad’s funeral. it was the only request from my Mum, who ultimately left the rest of the decisions up to me. Hearing it now never ceases to bring tears to my eyes, and it’s the ultimate fallback plan on those times when sometimes…just sometimes…I feel like I need a good cry…

…and yeah, before you start saying anything about wrestlers not doing that…we all do it.

I know why she picked it for Dad. He had a habit of making everything okay, no matter the situation. More often than not, he would find a way to step up, find the solution, steady the ship. If you just take the chorus, on the face of it, that was my Dad in a nutshell…but for me it goes deeper than that.

Very few people get to the top of the tree alone. It may seem that way…and when it comes to direct involvement that probably is the case, but you don't know what happens behind closed doors, and you don't know who has been involved in their past. Sadly I don’t think I truly understood it until he was gone. It was only in listening to that song again, that I realised I would be nothing without him. I wouldn't be standing here as a former world champion and I wouldn't have the crown on my head as King…even if it's only for a day.

It must have been cold there in my shadow
To never have sunlight on your face
You were content to let me shine, that's your way
You always walked a step behind

 I remember hearing someone say that our job as parents is to become good memories for our kids. I’m not a parent myself, or at least…not that I know of…but I get the concept…suddenly our own dreams and ambitions become secondary. I've always been competitive from a young age, and I've always enjoyed sports. There was this common running theme that went through it. Whenever I need to get somewhere for training or for a match, guess who my taxi driver was. If I needed company to go to a game, it was my Dad alongside me. Maybe it was more he was taking me along for company, it didn’t really matter, but it started forging something.

Parts that I took…and parts that I took for granted.

I’ve never lived in a shadow. I’ve always forged my own path…and it wasn’t until I lost one of my biggest supporters that the lyrics really began to hit home how much that was the case.

Everything connects with one another. My work ethic. My competitive spirit. My love for playing sport, for watching sport, my love of football, which brought me into the League. My love for wrestling, which I ended up circling back around to in the end. I had someone in my corner who made me who I was, before I even hired a coach.

Sometimes, we don’t get to choose our mentors, they just find their way into our lives organically. They don’t label themselves, they just…exist. Those tend to be the most powerful…

...but then there’s the ones we can choose.

When your wrestling career spans the length of mine, a lot of things get lost in the shuffle, a blur of planes, trains and automobiles all combining into one big mess. I’ve been to cities, even wrestled in arenas and completely forgotten I’d been in them before. I know experienced guys like us get looked to for tales of glory, we should have hundreds, right?

Well…what usually happens is we all hold some close to our heart, a select few that stick while some of the others blur into the shuffle. One that will always go down fondly was my first appearance in Blast from the Past.

I hadn’t thought about her all that much…her being Evie…and before you start on this whole obsessing over other people’s wives thing - Just stop. It’s not like that. It was never like that. There were times during that run where it looked like we really didn’t like each other and yeah trust me, that shit was very real, not hammed up for the camera at all.

In life we all make certain human connections. Ours…as it happened…was solely in the ring. It’d be one of those ideal situations where, put the two of us together and it’d be a gold-mine and as much as the dislike may have been there out of it…she implanted herself into my memory in some way.

I guess that’s why I find myself getting involved in a situation that really…I should leave well alone, even if I know the damage it can cause. It’s why Levana Cade was now on my radar…and why by now, she had a plane ticket to Miami, Florida in her hand.

Evie and I were never going to completely see eye-to-eye, on a lot of things. When it came to the wrestling business she wasn’t all that pleasant. Made her great to have in your corner. The fear factor of my ability to pull a win out of nothing and Evie’s ability to just be intimidating as fuck at a moment’s notice. Nobody could go through GO Gym without showing the relevant respect to Evie…the original, the prototype, the very reason THEY even had the OPPORTUNITY to become HALF the competitor she was.

Intimidating and to most? A little unhealthy.

It might have appeared to go unnoticed
But I've got it all here in my heart
I want you to know, I know the truth, of course I know it
I would be nothing without you

I learned a whole lot of valuable lessons from someone whose influence on my life I didn't realise until after they were gone. Someone who completely and selflessly put me above them and above all else. Someone who's only agenda was my success in my happiness. I get the concept of tough love, and sometimes we all need a bit of kick at certain times, and other times we just need that reassuring arm over your shoulder.
One thing I never heard my Dad do was stroke his own ego. He was too busy pushing someone else’s agenda.

I haven’t been a parent, but I know what it means to be a mentor. And I know what it looks like to see someone make a mess of all my hard work.

 There was a time with my star students where her parents decided to get involved. She got attacked in the ring at a show, and they held me responsible. They said I never should have put her in that situation, but the fact she is proved the very point I was trying to make. Those women attacked because they were threatened. They knew this 16 year old kid could hang at their level, and they were scared.

Of course they had their way, and they brought their own coaching into the fold, going against their daughter’s wishes. Now Faith’s parents had both been in wrestling longer than I had, they owned a promotion, they thought they knew best. I knew who he was of course, a clear case of roid rage, too stiff, very few people wanted to go in with him as a worker, and as a coach he was the same. I didn't approve of his methods. Of course, he set about abusing Faith as if that was going to toughen her up. Look around. You only have to look as far as Sin City Wrestling and the story of Myra, the emotional damage inflicted on Andrea and Chelsea - That shit is DAMAGING, permanently. I feel like one may be both of them in that example yeah both of them in that example wouldn't be the same again.

Faith on the other hand? Well she was more of a fighter. It was at some point at a show…she was defending her title belt and this guy started screaming in her face backstage, right before she went out to the ring. Telling her she wasn't good enough, that she didn't deserve it. She was the fucking champion, she earned it in the ring, where it all counts. She proved that she deserved to be in that position as much as anyone else…but it was another chance for some tough love.

Faith snapped, she hit him with her title belt and then she grabbed a folding chair. Beat the living hell out of this guy that was over a foot taller than her, and probably twice her weight. She left the poor guy crying for his Mom to save him before a bunch of backstage crew pulled her off.

In that case…HE was never the same again.

 I don't think you can understand how important a coach or a mentor is.

They can make you.

They can break you.

They can destroy you.

Don’t get me wrong - I’d never want to meet Evie in a ring. I’d like to meet her in a dark alley even less. She is scary…dominant…worthy of every single one of her accolades…and she holds everyone to her own impossibly high standards.

She could ruin someone else, just like Myra and ironically…even though she started out the victim…Faith.

Maybe I could stop her from crushing a hot prospect before it was too late.

Part 2 - A New Proposition

The Dragon’s Lair…Miami, FL. My training centre, the place I practically live in whenever I’m at home. I figure after Greece it was time I got myself back here as nothing helps you prepare better than a solid routine. After all - There’s been a changing of the guard, and a lot of pieces still need to move.

This last cycle has certainly been an interesting one.  and to see Matthew capture the World Heavyweight title…feels almost like there was some vindication that already took place, you can’t take the easy path as Champion, you get found out, and as many expected, Raven’s title pedigree elsewhere showed out, when it mattered the most.

Unfortunately though, there is still a little unfinished business to attend to. That is exactly why the decision will not include a referee, just pure splintering wood and fire. The theme for this week’s main event is revenge of the very professional kind. A chance to right a wrong, as simple as that. You can talk about motives and yeah there is something behind this but I don't think it's what you expect it's going to be.

You may ask why the World title isn’t on the line. Two reasons, I said I wouldn’t…and in reality, it doesn’t matter. I want Levana to take this one.

Now…Part one…the fact is, I lost any right to take a stab at the title the moment our Head Referee missed a rope break. It was fraudulent. Don’t get me wrong, that was shaping up to be one hell of a match and if it’d gone all the way to a proper, legal conclusion the result could well have been the same, but I can’t stamp a title shot on a ‘maybe’. I realise I won the right to quite literally do whatever the fuck I want but that doesn’t automatically mean to gift myself a shot on a silver platter.

I’ll earn that title, and I’ll come up looking bloody. That’s the only way I’ve ever worked around here, and I’m not going back on that now. Matthew has the chance to right that wrong, and to avenge his Blast from the Past loss too.

There’s always that second reason.

There is always a better way.

Sin City Wrestling has its fair share of historic names on the roster. Some you could say are more successful than others. After all, if you're around long enough you will find yourself falling in you will find yourself falling into certain opportunities at the right time. Kind of like I’ve been doing, except I don’t need to break 100 losses to put myself there. In fact, I think I will probably get there in the least amount of time. Not here for a long time, just here for a good time.

 A win against Jessie Salco is basically like an opinion, everyone seems to have one. Of course, on balance, you can look at the things that she has achieved in that time as well and have to give full credit, it just takes a whole lot longer to sink in with her. I guess that's not the best position to be in when you beat someone and it's a given…and when they do pull it off, there’s enough meat on the bone that you can kind of wear it, if you dig hard enough. After all, finding those big wins that she has on her record, though successes, are kind of like finding the diamond in the rough. The same can be said for rookies in this business.

It takes a while to find a good one.

 I know you've asked already on Twitter Jessie, so let me give you the background on why this match has happened, and why you're involved. You see, I looked through Levana's losses. While we can deal with all of them in time, it just so happens that with availability for booking, you are the first head on the chopping block.

 You're gonna be the proof of what a little changing direction can do. I’m sure most of us love the fact that it might get one over on Evie too, without having to see her face-to-face.

So I've mentioned finding the diamonds in the rough. If you're looking at Bombshells the first place you’d normally look is GO Gym. Evie…Dani…Krystal…You name it.

Matthew Knox - New World champion.

Maybe it’s time for a changing of the guard elsewhere, too.

 Jessie, your check will be in the mail, as you’ve just been signed up to become the latest ambassador for the Dragon’s Lair gym out of Miami, Florida.

It’s crazy to see a Blast from the Past semi-finalist get treated with such a ‘meh’ reception.

When Levana stuffs you through a flaming table, Jessie, maybe she’ll see that a change of scenery is all she needs to become the star attraction she has all the potential to be.

Our first port of call is to reverse every one of those losses.

The next is to make her World Bombshell champion.

Miss Salco…The King thanks you for your service.

Color Key

Mark “The Dragon” Cross - Yellow
Dylan Cross - Pink
Mark’s Therapist - Orange

Rhodes, Greece
24th April 2022

The Dragon: Dawn what the fuck was that shit?

A seething Mark Cross paces around backstage, a slow-motion replay of his 'victory' being shown on the screen just above his head…just waiting for the flash of black and white striping of a referee shirt to appear through the curtain behind him.

The Dragon: He had the FUCKING ROPE Dawn…

Dylan's hand moves to rest on Mark's arm as his voice raises.

Dylan: Mark what are you-

The Dragon: DON'T YOU FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM ME! HEY!

Mark moves to give chase, only to be stopped in his tracks by the much smaller figure of his partner Dylan blocking his path.

Dylan: Hey yourself.

The Dragon: Dylan c'mon get out of the way…

(Someone's getting brave…)

Dylan: She's got enough to worry about. This isn't you.

(This is exactly who I am)

Seemingly letting the matter drop, Mark's attention shifts from a retreating head referee to Dylan, their eyes meeting for a lingering few seconds before he’s wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace.

The Dragon: I…I'm sorry you had to see that baby…

(I'm sorry I couldn't hide this from you)

Dylan: It'll be okay…

(It won't be okay)

Dylan: It'll work itself out…

(It never works itself out…not unless I DO SOMETHING. I always have to MAKE it work out.)

The Dragon: You know I'd never hurt you, right?

(Fuck, I hope I'd never hurt you. Please tell me I wouldn't…not my Dylan…)

Dylan: Yeah, I know. Why do you think I stood in your way?

(Because you don't know me as well as you think you do.)

The Dragon: I think…I need to make a call…

(I need help. I need to protect her)

The Dragon: C'mon, let me grab my bag and we can get outta here.

(From me. I need to protect her…from me…)

Fame (fame)
Fame (fame) what you like is in the limo
Fame (fame) what you get is no tomorrow
Fame (fame) what you need you have to borrow
Fame (fame)
Fame nein it's mine is just his line
To bind our time it drives you to crime (crime)



Tell me about being famous.

What do you want to know?

I don’t know…give me one thing you like about it.

One thing I like about being famous? I guess more than anything it's being able to draw that positive reaction from a total stranger. There's no greater feeling in the world than getting recognition for all the hard work…packed arena, fans chanting your name…right down to a glowing review on social media…or a fan wanting your autograph…

Yet you always say it’s about art first and foremost. Isn't that a little conceited?

Well, look at you, using my own words against me. Ever fancied a career in wrestling? It is all about the art. It’s the starting point. A writer will create for themselves, it’s their outlet. Painters don't look at the canvas and think about what someone else is going to want to buy…they will paint where their muse takes them. Sure, artists work on commissions, and we work on appearance fees, eventually…but we have to showcase our art before we can get to that point, and we have to perfect it in the trenches. Your own art is very much subjective, a personal thing. It has to be, and how much art finds itself hidden, never shared with a single person? Plenty of kids dream of being wrestlers, work at being wrestlers, but they never get even a single opportunity…so why do so many try? It’s for the love of the game…otherwise it's not really art, it's mechanical…just going through the motions to make a quick buck. They get found out. There’s plenty of guys like that in wrestling, they had it once but one look in their eyes. That’s not fame, that’s riding on old glories. That doesn’t get you to the level I’m at right now.

You say you'd do what you do even in an empty arena, but now I'm not sure that's enough for you?

Look - It's scratching two different itches, that's the thing. Of course from a competitive standpoint we want all of that work, the hours we put in, to culminate in victories in a wrestling ring, and those tales of glory as one man triumphs over another in combat. It has its appeals, it placates my competitive nature, the need to be better than everyone else, and in that situation it doesn’t matter who does, or doesn’t see. I know. My opponents know. When the bell rings, everything else disappears anyway, the blinkers come on, my only concern, the challengers, the goal, the win. The aftermath though, hey what can I say, it’s nice to bask in the glory for a while y’know? Artists create art because they need to. Having that outlet calms the waters, keeps them focussed…and gives them the drive to succeed. It’s a very insular experience, one we need.  Getting into the spotlight, earning the chance to be role model, an example for others to follow? That brings its own set of satisfaction and feeling of fulfilment.

That isn't your concern.

Of course it is.

Yet you're sitting here, talking to a therapist…because you bite off more than you can chew…or worry about things outside of your concern…

Yeah but you see that's what you're wrong, it is in my control. All these kids that grow up watching wrestling, or football, or movies or TV series or you name it, it's gonna leave a mark on them. At certain ages they are very impressionable and that happens at vital stages of their development. There will be kids sitting there who want to be wrestlers when they get older and you know what? A lot of the time they grow up, reality hits, they end up going to college and fighting for GPAs so they can work those 9-5 jobs, get a mortgage, pay their bills… and there are some that do get to follow their dream, and they do go into wrestling. No matter what walk of life people need to be shown the path of what it takes, the attitude to be the best you can be. EVERYONE needs that, because I guarantee even in adulthood, people are more easily influenced than you think.

Why is that your job? You’re carrying the weight of all of that with you?

It's all of our jobs. People have my poster on the wall. They might love Demon of Durango so much they buy the box set just so they have something to look at, to touch. Something to have and to hold. Whether we like it or not, whether we accept it or not, we are role models. It’s one of the necessary evils and you know what, as much as a lot of my peers try to say otherwise? That’s how it is. I’m at least going to make sure that what I’m remembered for is positive.

Is this about these kids, really? Or is it just about you, your legacy?

Why does it matter? What I am is important to me, it has to be. I know it’s always open to interpretation and people will see me through their own eyes, make their own judgements, but knowing I’m doing things the best way I can keeps me going. If I’m bettering myself and others choose to follow my example? Well that sounds a whole lot like a win-win situation to me. I take pride in my appearance, pride in my work, my achievements, and most of all proud that I’ve grown from that selfish little prick I was in my early twenties.

Ah, so you’ve tried to change yourself. Do you feel like you overcompensate, sometimes?

A lot of the time. Ever since I decided this was my purpose I've found it hard to say no to people. That isn't an issue, mostly…as wrestlers, we’re in quite a niche market especially at regional level but still, people watch this on TV or online or in person, and they wanna get a piece of that action, and it's understandable. They pay money to see us perform, they buy our merchandise, we have a certain duty to give back to these people, and you know what, getting noticed in public? It’s the kind of positive ego stroke that I crave, so I can’t knock it.

Is that something every wrestler craves?

Not necessarily…there are places in the world where wrestling is very traditionalistic, almost sacred…but I think here in the US, or in Europe in particular, the kind of wrestling we consume is very entertainment focussed. I call it another one of the necessary evils but yeah that big reaction from the crowd never hesitates to get the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, even hundreds of matches later.

But this open door policy to you guys, it has limits?

Limits for who?. I mean unless we start bringing our own security with us, no there aren’t really limits. Out in public? People could approach…and with social media being how it is now we’re connected 24/7, so it’s harder than ever to stay private. Yeah sometimes you just wanna be left alone and that is kind of unavoidable. As I say, I enjoy giving back, and I bask in the attention a lot of the time…but if I come off the back of a 10,11,12 hour travel day, sometimes longer, I’m tired...I’ve gotten better at sleeping on planes but it doesn’t come easy to me, so I’m beyond exhausted normally…but I’m also so wired, so there’s no way I could sleep as soon as I get into my room. I need to take the edge off, and maybe this is a personal thing, but drinking those little bottles out of the mini bar alone feels a little desperate, so I might head out to a local bar or something. Trouble with that…you’ve just flown in to the city where the show is gonna be, maybe a day or two beforehand, the show might be on a weekend, it’s a Friday or Saturday night…it’s gonna be busy…and here you are in the centre of where it’s gonna get crazy…overtired…jet-lagged…and probably THE SINGLE MOST LIKELY to get approached by a fan. That’s how I met my now ex-fiancee.

Amber, right?

Amber…I was sitting in a hotel bar in NYC, just got in, when a couple of fans accosted me, interrupted her one-woman pity party. She acted like she was my agent or manager, I think, scared them off. After that I was rushing back to New York every chance I got.

Do you miss her?

Why are we here?

I don’t see how-

Why…are we…here?

You called me.

Why?

Because you were scared you were going to hurt Dylan.

So why are we here?

Dylan. We’re here because of Dylan.

So…what would be your guess? No I don’t fucking miss Amber.

You never told me what went wrong with you two.

Do we have to-

I think it could be important to what we’re discussing now.

Right, make it related to fame, got it. Amber and I worshipped the ground the other walked on, but believe it or not, that wasn’t enough for us. There were some other issues behind the scenes, sure every relationship does, but instead of wasting time on all that, let me get to the point. We both had career aspirations. I was already established as a wrestler, and making my first steps into acting…Amber wanted to be a dance teacher, run her own school…which me being me, meant buying her the building, making that dream come true for her…and in doing so, made sure that we both had our own individual things to focus on. Things that would come first, things the relationship worked around. Let’s just say I don’t get on very well playing second fiddle to anything or anyone, even if I paid for the first fiddle.

You’re saying that your partner needs to drop everything and put you first, over their career, or their passion?

Yes.

Just like that.

I’d do it for them.

So why is Dylan different?

Because I’m helping her create a future in place of her past…and she’s breathing new life back into me, helping me see things through brand new eyes. First of all…there is us…our relationship…our adventures…and if wrestling can fit in amongst it somehow then it’s welcome to come along for the ride.

Do you fear just fading into irrelevance?

Yeah I don't see that happening.

I do. So what, you build your legacy, you get your Hall of Fame induction, what’s that worth in 20 years when nobody gets to see it?

Wow you're really going for the fucking throat today, aren't you?

C’mon - We both know you need to stay relevant. What’s the plan?

OK fine I'll play your game. I figure when the boots get hung up I'll go into commentary, get behind the announce table, and bring some Britishness to the airwaves. Plus I've still got the gym…I've still got Dragon’s Lair…I've still got students that are going from strength to strength in their own budding careers and there'll be more that come through the system as well, all learning from my experiences…there are so many things that I can keep myself busy with just in wrestling alone. I can understand what you're getting at…yeah I do have this desire to always be relevant. I might as well just admit it. Maybe I have a few narcissistic tendencies, maybe as well as an obsession with having control, even over the littlest details. I need a purpose, whatever I do, or I struggle to give it my all. I guess my question here is that such a bad thing does that really cause anyone to get hurt?

Well that makes everything all about you…

Oh get fucked does it make everything about me. Go and look back to countless number of selfless acts and tell me that again. Someone I cared about wanted to be a dance teacher so I bought them a fucking studio. I bought your son a new bike because I watched you accidentally drive over his old one in your car. I sign every autograph that gets put in my face. I let kids who want to wrestle train for free if they can’t afford it. We opened a location in New Orleans to put something into the economy after Katrina…what are you saying I’m not trying to help people and be a good human being, I’m just trying to be a celebrity for a while longer?

I’m saying it might be in the back of your mind…

No. People will stop caring, and from then it’s back to being a regular guy living a regular life. I accept that. By that point? The hard work is done. When I retire I accept that it’s entirely possible that not a single second of any of my old matches will EVER be watched again. Line drawn. After all, fame is a finite thing, right? Now you see fame may be…but impressions aren’t. A small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state…AKA the butterfly effect. How many fans might have watched a match, listened to a promo, had their photo taken with me, how many random strangers who might have received some random act of kindness from me, how many rookies I given advice to, or sparred with…all might have been touched by me in some way, made a more positive change on this world compared to if they hadn’t met me. How far might that influence have spread? Fame has helped do great things, it’s my duty to ride that wave as long as I can.

You really believe that?

I have to. Otherwise everything was a waste, and I should have just been selfish…and bought more watches…

I never walked near the edge
Used to fear falling
I never swam far from shore
Never tried the secret door

But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Although it could drown me

Tables, Ladders and Scares

Professional wrestling is certainly not the best place to have a fear of heights, and in a few weeks of such intense self-reflection? I still don’t really know where this one came from. Familiarity helps. I remember a time in my twenties where my mates went and booked tickets in row Z at the Santiago Bernabeu, and it was around the 20 minute mark when I managed to get my jelly legs to take me all the way up to my seat.

By full-time and a couple of bottles of Mahou later, I was jumping around like I was safely at ground level, and if I had to get myself back up there a second time? I figure I’d get there in time for kick-off.

I didn’t die once, so I’m confident I won’t die again.

That was why I was standing on top of an A-frame ladder, talking to a camera on a selfie stick.

Familiarity. Adrenaline would do the rest.

“Well who in the fuck put that guy in?” ...screams four challengers, over the top of the din. “Not again!” cries two of those four, who have already fallen once before, knowing their chances are already no more. To crown a King is why we fight, we’ll lay it all out on Sunday night. One victor, up the ladder they’ll ascent…while those below face an untimely end?

I think it’s probably best if I stick to wrestling and since we’re on a time-crunch, let’s get right to the point.

For a company that doesn’t allow for intergender matches? I've been wrestling a lot of birds lately. Another Raven, the second in a row and yet for Alexander, maybe more like a murder of crows. 1-5 in 2022, huh? Against this crop? Proclaiming to be the One True King? I bet you use capital letters for each word of that too, like you’re writing it’s very importance into existence or something. Let me make this quick for you. You’re looking in the wrong place. If everything you touch is turning to failure? You don’t run through the grief checklist as congratulations…you’ve moved all the way through to stage five, you’ve accepted your complete and total inability to win a wrestling match…and then proceed to go on like you cracked the code, calling out your next opponent like it’s a regular ordinary day.

You haven’t done anything different, you haven’t changed a thing. What was that definition of insanity…going through the same motions expecting the results to change? I mean Fenris…Matthew Knox…Senor Vinnie…all tough opponents, but Bill Barnhart? Come the fuck on. I wanted to get to you first since…as we move through this list…you’ll see it’s just one more match where you’re totally outgunned.

So next up…to the one man who’s probably going to be feeling the slightest hint of comfort about my inclusion. Ben Jordan. Times have certainly changed, but back then as Underground Champion, I still had doubts in my ability and after bringing myself back up to a full-time schedule…whether I still even belonged on that stage… and as it turns out, I was half a second away from taking the whole thing. Maybe if I hadn’t picked up that knee injury, I could have dug a little deeper and bought it home. I could have been World champion at that point, over a year earlier. I knew then I was far from over the hill. After all, that match was a test…a kind of setting the bar for where I need to be, much like my test for Matthew Knox on this very tour. It showed me the point I needed to be at to top the tree in Sin City Wrestling, and as it turned out that extra little bit that I needed? Well it wasn't all that much at all.

Ben's facing a different beast this time around now, all the self-doubt that might have been there at that time, well that's long gone, that sickly nervous feeling replaced by stoic self-assurance. Since that night, all that's happened since has been more hard work, more victories, a second Blast from the Past win and that all important World title. Of course everyone learns. and if we're doing it right, hopefully everyone improves too. He stands apart from the rest in that he has that one hard-fought victory against me…I am a far cry from the competitor Ben faced two years prior. He’ll have to hope he’s followed the same trend.

Next…the conquests…

Agostino Romano…the fan favourite…came in and put on a show for a little while against me, had the crowd all excited, flipping and flopping about the ring…but the result was inevitable in the end. There was about as much substance to your words before the match as there was to your performance, and the result panned out exactly how we thought it would. Not all titles are created equal and you’re going to be swimming in a pool with fish who have already proven they’re different gravy. You’re looking up at a precipice only you can dream of, all while AJM…and Ben…and myself, have already reached the top and planted our flags. There’s no doubt, Agostino, you will whip up the crowd, that’s what you do after all…and you know what, you might even stay out of the way long enough to be safe for a while as the bigger bulls lock horns…but your approach is high risk, low percentage…Italian flair can only get so far…and it’ll soon gets found out against this calibre of opposition.   

And Austin James Mercer…we've been here and done this before too. Last time? I was met with excuses…nothing but excuses…Hey Mark before we even start, here’s all the reasons I’m going to lose to you. I’ve done too much training, I didn’t manage my workload, I’m broken down etc. etc. etc. All things under your control.Oh and then if it’s not that? All the bravado about this is where I should be, this is where I belong, this is what I deserve, look at how long my title reigns have been, I'm incredible…

This is the EXACT reason guys are up in arms. A title, after all, is only as strong as the pool of competition, the quality of the contests. Your Mixed Tag title that you so covet, where was Alex, Ben, or Fenris during that, coming after you? Or were they simply not interested in waiting for you to belittle it when you lose, because YOU failed to prepare, not because you’re half the competitor you think you are?

The level of delusion is unreal, as the only one here who thinks they’re dangerous is well…you. I look forward to proving you wrong out there. Besides, I have one to go. One who makes your views on life pretty realistic because last…believe it or not…the most deluded of them all…

From one deluded fool to another. If it’s not Masque and her Rapture that’s coming about as fast as winter in Game of Thrones - It’s this fucking guy. “Godly” Ken Davidson. The hammer of ‘truth’ coming down on me as he treats us to “I got in the ring with Amber Ryan and I REMEMBERED that I used to be one of the most feared in the business.” Are you fucking KIDDING me right now? The reason you don’t remember it pal, is because you don’t have the minerals anymore, those days are long in the past, and they’re a long time coming back.

Let me tell you a little something about Amber Ryan and we can see where you’re all going wrong. You’re right on one point…she’s dangerous as hell…It’d be a great contest but I wouldn’t face her by choice, that shit is gonna hurt but why does she strike fear into the hearts? Amber isn’t the fastest. She’s not the strongest. She’s not the most technical. The problem for us is she just WANTS it more. She gets up that one more time. She works harder, for longer. She takes more punishment. She’s the human personification of warrior spirit, and you know what?

You don’t just REMEMBER you have that. It doesn’t just pop up like ‘heyyyyyy buddy you remember me, from college? Wanna go smoke a joint like old times bro?’ You don’t just pluck that shit outta thin air. You have to live and breathe that and you know what, maybe you once did. Maybe that’s why the success happened. The dominance happened. The top championships happened. Past tense. Your Internet title doesn’t impress me. Victories over AJM don’t impress me, the two of you can trade blows of what you both used to be in the good old days and you know what? We might even get some flashes of brilliance from you…

…in fact, I hope we do, why don’t you make it interesting, before a real World title contender comes out and shows you WHAT THEY ALREADY ARE.

A cut above.

One thing I can assure you, when it’s me at the top of that ladder…the new King won’t be granting himself a title match.

Huh, the crowd exclaimed?

That’s right, you heard it here first. After all, what kind of a hypocrite would I be, a few weeks later, to just go and park myself in that very same spot that Matthew Knox finds himself in, not by choice.?

I think it's natural for us to all chase personal achievements and I'm really no different. I've got my own aspirations, for getting myself into the Hall of Fame specifically, and with that I think more titles need to happen, a few more long reigns, more notches on my bed-post of achievements. I guess it seems like a prime opportunity, and yeah I accept that I should take opportunities as and when they come up…I feel like this isn't the right time. It's very easy to park myself in a World title match of course, I’m one win away, and whoever happens to be holding the title at the time, whether it be Matthew or Mac…well I've taken both of them out….albeit slightly assisted. I know that I am more than capable of doing the same thing again with the strap on the line, and if it’s Matthew, something that can be decided without referee intervention. Just because I can? Doesn't mean that I should, and this is just a sign of the damage that has been done. The reputation of the division is in tatters, and maybe it’s up to us main contenders to build that credibility back from the ground up. Now unfortunately the belt fell into the wrong hands, and this is not just about the selection after Blast from the Past, this has been brewing for a while.

You know I think it's inevitable I'm gonna wind up in that position again at some point, gunning for that World title, but if that happens, it has to be done my way. You know what my way is? The hard way, every single time. One match does not make a number one contender, it’s why Blast from the Past is a tournament…although maybe I should rephrase. One match can work to seal a contendership…but not for the World title, not if you're doing it properly. Not if it is battled for in the spirit that it is meant. So therefore…I will take this opportunity to become King For A Day…and I will put on a show all of the fans will want to see, and I want to be a part of. You know what I always thought my next career move would be behind the mic, but maybe booking is in my future instead? Who knows.

Of course with our title aspirations, we all have our lists of dream matches. Some in our heads, some written down, some shared on social media. People we would want to team with or fight against. After all this is where the fun really begins, ticking a few of those off the bucket list. My time here is no different. The truth is a lot of the time we're so caught up in what we hold that we don't take the time to put these matches in, the ones we want to have for our own fulfilment, not the ones we need to achieve our goals… and being in control, even if it's just for a week? Gives me the chance to do exactly that.

Now of course that begs the question…who would I choose? That's the million dollar question, and one that even sitting here right now I'm not sure I know the answer to, but I think I have an idea. A little story of two competitors with the chance for revenge…or maybe for the other two stamp their authority once and for all. A partnership, well-established elsewhere, against something new, fresh, exciting and potentially dominant too. I think, for now, that’s all I’ll say, I’ll never count chickens before…they…lay?

Fucking hell…that’s terrible even for me…ugh…

Anyway…I've got a couple of weeks to think about it after all, one step at a time. Winning the match has to come first, and while I know individually I have them all under control, there’s a lot of variables, a lot of moving parts….unlike this ladder, which to be fair has been pretty stable, look at this!

The camera begins to bounce and shake as Mark clearly left his gimbal attachment at home today, the Go Pro auto-stability function no match for his vigorous bouncing, the ladder clunking underneath him as boots pound onto the metal and it was that moment he knew…and as the arm holding the camera began to windmill instead, we also knew…he fucked up…

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

As the camera flies off to who-knows-where…we are greeted with the sounds of Brit hitting canvas, followed by ladder hitting Brit…and canvas…

I’m okay! Nobody panic, I’m okay!
 
This love is good
This love is bad
This love is alive back from the dead, oh, oh, oh
These hands had to let it go free, and
This love came back to me, oh, oh, oh
This love left a permanent mark
This love is glowing in the dark, oh, oh, oh
These hands had to let it go free, and
This love came back to me, oh, oh, oh



“Love is not a choice, and it cannot be controlled.”

Discuss.

Now nobody panic, this will not be a long monologue about how love is nothing more than a social construct and I don’t plan on ruining the whole magic either…at least I hope it won’t…as there is supposed to be a point to this.

There’s going to be a point to ALL of this self reflection over the coming weeks.

I just don’t know what it is yet.

I don’t think I even began to appreciate what love was until my early twenties, which makes me feel sorry for anyone who got caught up with me in one of those silly teen romances…and as I approach middle age, I still have things to learn about the L word. Even now it still surprises me at times when I least expect it. After all, love is a cruel mistress that has a habit of creeping up and dragging you back into its clutches, leaving you paralysed as your mind tries to figure out WHY? WHY HER?

It's crazy how many of us fall for the wrong person. It’s even crazier how maybe we fall for exactly the right person…but it’s at the wrong time in one or both of our lives. It's wild how something can on paper be so perfect, But in reality it doesn't work out…either you try and it crashes and burns, or more often than not…it never gets the chance to play out in the first place.

See I've had plenty of lucky escapes, near misses, times I've looked at someone and thought “Hey, are you my one that got away?” Even at times when I'm so completely and entirely happy…my mind plays tricks on me, poses scenarios where I know in my head it’d never work…or we tried that once before and it failed miserably…but no matter what the brain says, the heart always seems to want what it wants, eventually. That’s once it’s run you around in circles a few hundred times, of course.

It’s funny…I’ve spent the last fourteen, fifteen years in a combat sport, may the best man win and all that, and I can honestly say that love is one of life’s greatest levellers. I mean think about it, think back to a real purple patch in your life, when things could NOT have been going better, everything was under your fingertips…everything that could be controlled was under spell and then-

BOOM - You meet a girl.

And you can’t make her love you back, no matter what you do.

Fuck.

Now there is a little-known fact about me, and as I was planning this little self-reflective journey I had to question where I was going to reveal it, if I was going to reveal it at all. I know how many people I’ve told…I can count them on one hand…and I wonder how many people who only met me in my thirties would be able to count, after all of the graft it took to plaster over the cracks…

I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.

Have you ever gone through twenty-something years of your life, believing you were…you? Like that was your own personality, and you were in complete and total control of it? Probably most of you reading this, right?

“It is a condition you were born with. It is untreatable, but we will do everything we can to help you manage it.”

My views of love were always a little…disjointed before that.  I think everyone is in the same boat to a point, especially when things don't go quite how you want them to. My condition makes me crave control, and it's probably why I've been pulled up as buying into my own hype, completely unable to see past myself in any kind of competitive situation and I have to agree, I relish that kind of control, more than most. I think one of my biggest weaknesses also becomes one of my biggest strengths…because in order to be so sure of yourself competitive sport, you have to have the skills to back it up. With wrestling I have spent so long just working and working and working and working to be the very best that I can be, eeking out every last percent…so that I can back up some of these statements that I'm making.

Whether in wrestling or in life, you have to put the effort in to be the person YOU want to be.

And even then…it might not be enough. The problem with relationships is that it doesn't always work the same way. You can't just put hours upon hours of training into how to make someone love you more. No amount of books can really get you to that point.  Sure, there are books on dating and relationships and psychology,  on how the human mind reacts to certain situations but when you study a subject for that long, are you really having a heart-to-heart, oris it going through the motions trying to tick boxes from some book that some professor wrote…who's probably been married happily for the thirty years and doesn’t remember what falling hard and fast in love feels like…yeah they've been there and done it but can you really quantify that down into some kind of book form? Really?

Love is about vulnerability…letting someone in, truly…

So the answer to that has to be no…and trust me as much as I wish it could be that easy, explained in a quantifiable way so that people like me could understand it better…but you can’t keep someone at arm’s length in case they stumble into a chapter you haven’t gotten around to reading yet. It isn’t black-and white.

For example…Two hearts, perfect for each other, can bypass each other like ships in the night. It happens all the time. Sometimes it might be temporary, their paths may cross again in the future. In others, they may never circle each other.

I could have been in the room with my “ONE TRUE LOVE” and yet, neither one of us would have even realised. How does that make sense? How is that fair?

For me I had to learn what love is. I had to almost learn what emotions were, how to describe them, put labels on them, and be able to describe my feelings in a way that came naturally to the neurotypical, things most humans understand from an early age. They say with my condition it’s better if you catch it early, yet I wasn't learning these skills until I was in my twenties, still working on them into my thirties, and even now pushing 40 I still don’t convey my feelings as well as I’d like to. I bottle them up, try and understand them, and have to fight to stop them blowing up. After all, how can someone on the outside looking in understand when I can’t explain it myself.

I ended up with a choice. I could either continue the way that I was, allow whatever this condition was to rule my life and define my relationships…or I could make a choice and say no I'm absolutely not doing that. Choosing no meant some very difficult conversations. It meant getting myself into situations where I knew that I was going to be uncomfortable, where I knew I was forcing a square peg into a round hole. At times that was stressful…and exhausting… and what would be normal, routine conversation for two people with brains wired up correctly, would be like pulling teeth with me involved. It was uncomfortable, but it was non-negotiable.

Only I would be in control of my life, not some syndrome.

At the end of the day I didn't accept my fate. There was no way that I could. That wasn't an outcome that I could take, no matter the cost. I wanted to be as quote-unquote “normal” as I possibly could be…in all ways, including in my relationships. If that meant I had to work every day to manage this condition, that was exactly what I was going to do. It has cost me thousands of dollars worth of counselling, just to get to the point when even people close to me couldn’t tell there was something a little unusual about me.

I knew what I wanted to be. Not just to me, but to someone else. I wanted to feel loved, and wanted, and needed, and in return I wanted to be their everything they could ever need.

Love cannot be chosen. It is a pure, heart-driven emotion that cannot be controlled…cannot be quantified…and cannot be understood. I had choices, sure - I had to choose to open myself up for it, put myself in the position to accept it when it came, and to feel the hurt when it wasn’t reciprocated.

As a result…I have loved, and been loved…the warm, fuzzy feeling as you float on a cushion of air. I have loved, and had it thrown back in my face, the words a metaphorical dagger in my heart, the sickness in the pit of my stomach very much real.

I have felt love, the good parts and the bad. I FEEL love right now, every time I look at my Dylan…but fuck me it was a whole lot of work.

The kind of unflappable work ethic that I put into finding love, in my early twenties? I think that was the start of the unflappable work ethic that I use in wrestling now. The truth was when I started out…in understanding this sport, or in understanding my own emotions…it was a struggle.

That struggle…It set me up for how I was going to approach every hurdle I’d come across and as it turned out, began to help me excel in other areas of my life.

I wasn’t always a great wrestler. I wasn’t always great at love…but you know what? I learned how to win in the end.

Blast from the Past did not go to plan, obviously. Forged like Japanese steel, the more you heat it the tougher it gets, I mean that’s a great sound bite and all, but good ship Kat Jones was already beaten the hell up before the bell even rang. The perils of freelancing in this business, and the perils of getting on the wrong side of someone else’s action too, you could end up in a world of pain real fast.

I mean I get it, not performing at your best after you got flattened and folded a couple of nights before, against one of the best Bombshells to ever throw hands in a Sin City ring. That’s a tough ask for anyone to have to go through.

Plus, it seems she and her brother spent a lot more time together than they did apart. Normally not a problem, if they weren’t on opposite sides of the fence. The irrational parts of my brain can’t help but wonder if it was something of a collaborative effort, even subconsciously. Why risk hurting myself even more for the sake of keeping my brother out of the next round?

I get it, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve been screwed, in a way.

It’s the biggest problem with Blast from the Past…I may have been knocked out twice, but I haven’t been defeated personally. Having the ability to turn the tide of a match in a couple of moves is all well and good, but if you can’t step in and do something about it, at least, without getting DQed anyway?

Tough rub. I like to be in control of my own destiny. Especially in a situation so important to me.

The legacy was not cemented, but it certainly managed to stay intact. There’s always next year.

Part 1 - First European Adventure

I had always hoped the first time I took Dylan to my home continent, it would be purely for us, and not as a bolt-on to a work trip for me. It felt like it was something that should have been a big deal, a standalone thing…the Space Center, Disney, you can do that stuff in a full day but this is fucking…well…Europe y’know? Nevertheless, since some of the Greek islands on the tour were going to be new even to me, and the prospect of a lot of downtime to explore in between the shows, it seemed like a no-brainer to say yes.

Besides, there was no way I was leaving her behind.

We were about to find out the perils of manning a watercraft after overindulging on breakfast mimosas for the morning, and while I had managed to put on my well-put-together act just long enough for the man to trust us enough to hand me the keys, I figure we would be better off proceeding with caution as we set off in search of the Canal D`Amour - The Channel of Love.

“Baaaaaaaabe how do you drive this thing?”

The yell of Dylan’s voice over the din of the motors as I stand on the dock untying the rope still holding us in place, stopping our vessel from floating away into the ocean before we were able to drive it there ourselves.

I owned a boat once.

Did I buy that boat because my ex-fiancee Amber joked that she wanted to be a marine biologist, and I wanted to get her something so she could follow her passion? Yes. Did I not realise it was a joke until after I’d made the purchase? Yes. Did the vendor tell me to get fucked when I tried to return a whole six figure yacht within 24 hours? Oh hell yes they did. I’m a stubborn fucker at the best of times, and for months I went about this whole act that Amber and I? Yes - We were complete, total, fully committed, 100% boat people, because what the hell else was I going to do in that situation other than make the best of it.

She made me sell the boat.

But, one thing that was for sure? Out of Dylan and I? I was the only one with any kind of boating experience, and therefore the one responsible for our ongoing safety, and our return in one piece.

“You’re so fucking cute it’s not fair!”

My face lighting up as I look up to her, still trying to get my head around the fact that this girl, leaning against the controls, complete with her novelty boat captain’s hat she’d bought from the resort gift shop, was all mine, standing there looking back at-

“Whoa it’s kinda moving…” mutters Dylan as she leans against the throttle lever…

“Whoaaaaaa…” cries me, one foot on the dock, one foot on the loading ramp leading onto the boat, my legs stretching apart like a human banana split as she wrestles with the controls, at least stopping the movement of the boat as my arms windmill trying to keep myself upright.

“Uhh…okay…so do I…”

“Okay…pull back on that lever you just leaned on…that’s it…now left a bit…no, the other left…now forward slowwwwwwly…fucking slow…”

…and as the boat left from under me, dumping me ceremonially into the water, we all knew that Dylan didn’t push the throttle forward quite fucking slowly enough.

The truth was, I couldn’t be mad. We couldn’t help but laugh as I stood there, dripping wet, rubbing at my hair with a towel, and telling myself I would have air-dried so much quicker back home in Miami.

Ah, Europe…how I haven’t missed your coldness. Comparatively speaking, anyway.

Adventures around the Channel of Love to be reserved for when the opponent(s) are more present and correct. Maybe.

Part 2 - Reflections

Kerkyra Stadium.

It was in a place not unlike this where it all first began for me. An outdoor arena, in a soccer stadium, defeating Teddy Warren for the first of what would become many times. It was an early sign of what was going to come from me over the next couple of years, but I don’t think anyone quite imagined just how far it could go, and I was very much included in that.

I may not have held every title, I may not have done X or Y the longest, but I have achieved things here that nobody else has to date…others where you can count the other achievers on one hand…and I have plenty still to achieve before I finally hang up my boots.

It’s interesting what inspires people to keep doing this.

Some quest for longevity, the most number of days, the most number of defences…and yet they use their positions to leverage it, throw out those ‘open challenges’ knowing someone who isn’t on their level will jump at the chance to skip a few rungs and earn themselves a shot at the big time. Throw the challenge, book the match, coast through a whole cycle before a challenger of worth even gets a sniff.

Some believe possession is nine-tenths of the law, they just have to hold everything…get their grubby little mitts on anything shiny, springing from division to division trying to capture…something…only to expend so much energy on the effort that it slips out of their grasp faster than they earn it…or once it’s in their hands, they lose interest. On to the next one.

Blast from the Past proved something to me, something I always knew, something I’ve drummed into my talented students, and any of my friends who came to me for advice.

If you can stand on your own two feet? Don’t wrestle in tag matches.

The fact of it is…you shouldn’t lose a match unless you, all-ends-up, are beaten…yet this sport throws up so many times where you’re not the worst man, you’re just not the winner.

I think about the number of people I’ve crossed paths with, and I try to work out how many people I’d actually trust whole-heartedly to be in my corner…Evie…who even though we never saw eye-to-eye never lost a step in the ring…Amber…who seems to see a side of me that not even those closest to me never can…Devinee…my oldest friend in this business and the reason I even gave wrestling a shot…and Faith…on the merit of being my star student, and more than capable of kicking my ass at age nineteen…maybe four or five names from a cast of hundreds, who I trust to match me effort for effort, knock for knock, blow for blow.

It’s time I stand on my own two feet again.

The truth is it doesn’t matter what I do, what matches I do and don’t take, where I do or don’t wrestle, what titles I may or may not go for, or what accolades I may add to my list of achievements. I will always be the first to win two straight Blast from the Pasts…I will always be the man who our esteemed champion categorically fails to pin down, literally…75% of the time and counting…I will always be the guy who started at the bottom rung of the development brand to stand atop of the mountain, all within a few short years.

I will always carry a fear factor with me that most can only dream about.

Even the ‘best’ in the building want to sidestep me. Just because they’re not said in the public sphere, and while I’m not in earshot, that doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re happening.

It’s a beautiful thing…me…here, no particular targets.

It just means nobody’s safe. I can feel the roster quaking in their boots.

You know what’s not beautiful? A stadium with a fucking running track. The stands end up so far away from the action you can barely tell what’s going on half the time. Make sure you pack binoculars, you won’t want to miss my big finish.

Part 3 - Silver Spoon

They say that in tournament format, there’s not much shame to be had in being knocked out by the eventual winners. I can’t subscribe to that.

Why, because often, in a tournament? There’s usually a couple of teams, or individuals, or nations considered the favourites. A few heavy hitters whose place as eventual winners would be no real surprise.

It’s not just Blast From The Past…throw me into any competition like that, and there’s a damn fine chance I’ll be turning over a few apple-carts. Very few people want to back me, because seeing a hard-worker beat everything that isn't in its path isn’t what the people want to see.

This new generation? They want everything handed to them on a plate.

Sadly? In our business?

Substance > Hype.

I’d developed a pretty expensive habit, something to help my travels become a little less tedious…in that I’d go and hunt down second-hand guitars from local pawn shops, something to carry with me and play when I was away on longer runs, and something I’d pay forward and donate to a local charity or something before I left. The problem became that I became attached, each one took on their own personality in a way, some of them had gotten names, and at that point, I had to keep hold of them. I had four properties in all, Miami, my hometown Canterbury, Reykjavik, and a ski chalet in the mountains back in the US, and each one had turned into storage for keepsake guitars from my travels, as well as their intended purpose.

This time I’d let Dylan pick the instrument for the Greece tour, which meant this was absolutely going to be coming home with us. The little parlour guitar that rested against the balcony overlooking Pelekas village had seen better days, the top covered with deep gouges, the strings shades of green and black that I’d very swiftly changed, for risk of catching 14 different varieties of tetanus or something and having to skip the rest of the tour, and the action was almost prohibitively high no matter what I did to try and fix it…but the punchy little thing rang out like a cannon if you dug into it, and there was plenty of life in the old dog yet. 

Sitting down in the chair on the balcony, I pick up the instrument, finger-picking softly away as I casually address the camera.

You can look between Brayden and I and well…It’s very easy to look at me and say I’m no different, if you simply scratch the surface. Looking down at my five-figure watch, as I climb into my six-figure supercar, and drive back to my seven-figure mansion out in Coconut Grove, and you know what? We could look like a right couple of kindred spirits but you know what that couldn’t be further from the truth.

What they don’t tell you, is for the last 5 hours I’d been busting my ass in the gym, working out right alongside my students, living proof that I wouldn’t expect them to do a damn single thing I wouldn’t do myself.

In my two choices of career…football, and wrestling…you come across the likes of you, Brayden. Either born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouth or, and fair play to this, their performances in the league, on the field, in the ring you name it, they earn the big pay-day and they want to flaunt that shit. It happens. I don’t begrudge them. You see the guys who flash the cash, latest pieces from the hottest designers, fresh Js on their feet every time they step in the locker room and hey, I get it, I’ll give them those compliments they’re so desperately crying out for. Anyone knows me will tell you - I can be materialistic as fuck. It’s not even can be, I am materialistic as fuck, that’s my default…but here’s the difference…

Look at how I got here. This very position I find myself in now.

Let’s not beat around the fucking bush here - Coming up fifteen years in this industry? I’ve paid my dues, earned my stripes, whatever cliche phrase you want to use. There’s a certain amount of uhh…how do I put it…not having to work for things that I could be getting away with, and probably should in all honesty. After all, we only get a finite number of matches in this business after all and maybe those opportunities to skip a few rungs should be taken where they come along. I could have walked into the building, slapped my resume down on the table and requested a World title shot in pretty short order, as a way of sweetening the deal to even sign that contract here in the first place.

After all, I proved I was capable, didn’t I? I won it, held it in my hands. A lot of people ask…expect…demand…to be in these positions and I could have absolutely done that…but where’s the fun in that? What’s the headline?

“Good wrestler wrestles good and wins title belt LOL”

I love a good story, and if you couldn’t tell by making the Canal D’amor one of the first places I visit here in Corfu, with the love of my life by my side, I’m a bit of a romantic at heart. See I don’t live in a world of ‘oh that’ll do’ or ‘oh that’s good enough’ because really and truly, you know. You always know when you’re cruising through doing the bare minimum.

You can’t throw money and get what I’ve built, and you can’t fake real, tangible success.

For once, I’m going to let my hair down a little more and enjoy my time on Corfu, take in the sights, eat well, drink well, live well. I can guarantee I will have worked harder than you, for longer. I will have prepared better, for longer. I will have gotten my mental game on point, for better.

Everything will just be better.

Now…if you’ll excuse me? My lovely lady friend and I have reservations at the Alexandros, so I’m going to cut this one uncharacteristically short. Don’t worry all you Dragon fans out there…it’ll be enough…I’ve got this.

I still thirst for romance, I still thirst for romance,
And the sand between my toes
Darling I, I seen demons dancing, I seen demons dancing,
Across factories floors

I don’t think I need to explain why I’m here one more time, not really. The chance to three-peat on the table, the opportunity to go one better than former partner Evie Jordan, clawing back at least a little bit of national pride for my fellow Englishmen too, after a whitewash in the Ashes…and cementing my place in Sin City Wrestling folklore in the process. It’s not enough for me to leave a trace. What’s the point? “Oh Mark Cross, yeah he was alright, good wrestler, pretty annoying” is absolutely not enough for me. I’m at the precipice of something that’s never been done before. It’s no mean feat of course, but that's why nobody’s ever done it before. It’s supposed to be fucking hard. I’ve stood at the top of the mountain for two of Sin City’s brands, I’ve held my prize aloft. Scaling steep and slippery slopes is thirsty work for sure, but I’ve done it time and time again, and I’ve packed plenty of Gatorade

I’m building a legacy. The next four matches are the next four blocks in the wall. Is anyone brave enough to bet against me? Really?

Part 1 - The Missing Piece
Miami, FL

I’d had a taste of it before, but never like this.

It’s hard to put into words the profound impact a single individual can have on your life. On a planet containing some 7.7 billion people…in a lifetime where I’d encountered quite literally thousands of them in one way shape or form, each one having varying levels of impact on it, for varying lengths of time…from the barista that made me a double espresso that saved the day when sleep deprivation was hitting hard, never entering my mind again as I moved to the next city…to my coach and my mentor, who I still speak to every day, and whose sage advice has formed me into the man I am in this business…yet each one pales in comparison because now, sitting top of the tree…

Well…then there was her.

I always thought it was a little creepy to just sit and watch someone sleep, honestly. I feel like I’d be able to sense those eyes burning into me, ya know, even while I was busy counting sheep. I wouldn’t want to subject anyone to that level of paranoia, at least up until now, when it felt too important.  I never really understood it up until now, because with how my mind works…

“She’s so cute…I can’t believe she’s mine…she looks so peaceful when she sleeps…man, I should be doing something productive right now though…I need to watch the next episode of Snowpiercer…hey I could really go for a snack…what city am I meant to be in tomorrow? I've gotta go do something else, this is really kinda boring…”

Oh by the way - My mind’s a jumbled mess - Don’t read too much into it, but the thought of just watching someone while they did not-a-whole-lotta…or having them in my arms for hours on end while they did not-a-whole-lotta…almost felt like a waste of time somehow. I didn’t get the value of just…time together, however it came. Quality time I get, while we’re both awake, sure…that felt like a very worthwhile investment, but what changed things for me?

Her name was Dylan.

It started so…innocuous for lack of a better word, as these things happen to do…and just as dramatically as when I knocked her coffee out of our hand, our lives became interwoven in ways neither of us ever could have predicted. I offered to buy her a replacement, she wasn’t super angry at me for it, and as we went to find somewhere to sit and drink our new beverages, we got to talking. About teeny vampire novels, I think it was, as we idly whittled away some time chatting. The cold winter air got too much, and we retreated to the safety of a bar.

From something so modest came something so rare, and so real, and so life changing. Have you ever met someone who just gets ‘you’ so perfectly? Your quirks and theirs are the same, you have the same taste in books, in music, in movies…none of this pre-planned, just through conversation, discovering more about each other…and realising that your soul and theirs connect, as if chiselled from the same piece of marble. By no means perfect, each one unique, each vein working off in their own separate directions and if you looked at them as two entirely independent pieces, you might not see the likeness.

It’s only when you put them together that the parts become the whole, and everything makes a little more sense.

The fact of it is, we don’t have to be one and the same. We have our differences and you know what we have our conflicts too. I am far from perfect, I have my own shortcomings, and I’m not about to go and try and make you believe otherwise. It takes a lot for another human being to say “I still adore you even if you make me mad” and that kind of affection is only reserved for the very select few. We are flawed, but we adore those imperfections. We make mistakes, but we put them right. We have our dreams, we watch them come true for each other. We have our chequered pasts, so we jump two-footed into our futures.

It was in that bar, where Dylan told me her truth, opened up about her past, what little of it she remembers anyway. It was her…not so much a defence mechanism…more of a shit-test for lack of a better phrase. It was the story that made most run for the hills before they got remotely close enough to hurt her somewhere down the road.

“I’m an amnesiac. I was found two years ago, washed ashore with a stab wound in my side. I don’t remember anything beyond that. Since then I’ve been trying to piece together my past, but I’ve never gotten very far”

She looked at me, expecting me to make my excuses, to get up and leave, walk out of her life as quickly as I entered it.

 “Well in that case…maybe it’s time to start focusing on your future.”

With that, Dylan became my travel buddy, and started to accompany me to shows. En route, we’d stop off at as many landmarks and tourist attractions as we could. On our first night at my home in Miami, ready for an appearance in Tampa…we started talking about what intimacies we missed from a relationship, the kind of conversation you only got onto after a few too many glasses of wine, I figured. As she said fingers through her hair, and someone to cuddle up to at night…that’s exactly where we ended up. She didn’t say ‘a good fucking’ and that made me appreciate her even more. Tangled up in each other, her draped in one of my old t-shirts, my face buried in her endless flowing locks of chestnut brown hair, and we became more than just platonic.

Dylan is nothing like me, like Masque, like Bill. Sometimes she calls herself two years old and that perspective is SO refreshing to me. Imagine surrounding yourself with someone who doesn’t have twenty plus years of life’s bullshit weighing them down. Imagine seeing the sights, scents and sounds of a city I’ve been in more times than I’d care to count, through such a fresh, untainted pair of eyes. Some fifteen years ago, I chose Florida to be my home. I chose Florida again because I hadn’t chosen to be home in a long time. For once, a wizened old nomad like me grew sick of the road.

One short month, and exploration became more exciting than it had EVER been, and I’ve always loved an adventure.

I’d been in love before, but not like this. Love unrelenting. Love unabated. Love without judgement. Love without compromise. I have the cheat code to life, because when things get tough, all I have to do is hear her voice and all is right as rain. So I guess you might ask, if I have something so perfect waiting for me outside of the ring, why am I still wrestling? Where’s the draw to keep plugging away with something that’s hard work, something that’s a risk to my health, something that could decrease my quality of life for whatever years I have left, if things go wrong?

Freedom.

For the first time, I’m finally unleashed. I wasn’t always like this. Loud shirts and even louder personality, something that developed over time, as my skin got thicker, my confidence got higher, and those typical adult problems that blight most human beings faded away to nothingness. The teenage version of me was timid, shy, low on self-confidence, could barely even look people in the eye when I spoke to them. I spent my life faking-it-until-I-could-make it. With every match, with every win, but…

…with Dylan in my corner? I feel untouchable, invincible, indomitable. I don’t fear injury because nothing can get close enough to the cloud I float on. My adoration for her has me floating sky high. I walk taller, I feel taller, I’ve gained a literal inch in height since she came into my life, riddle me that, since nerds. How is that even possible? I feel younger, fitter, faster, stronger, lighter on my feet, more agile. I drink less coffee but I have more energy, and I get a full 8 hours sleep, as long as I have that girl wrapped in my arms every night. Which I do.

Dylan…the missing piece to my puzzle…the reason I can finally let loose. The reason I am more deadly. More dangerous. More better.

You saw what I did before. Twice. The last thing you need is me plus one.


It’s often frowned upon when you belittle someone else’s achievements in this business, and it’s poor form to trash a man or woman you’ve never faced in the ring. At least…that’s what I’ve told…although plenty will fly in the face of that all the same. I’ve seen it. I’ve been on the end of it, and I’ve never been one to stick to what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. As long as the wrestling business settles it’s scores in a ring? What I do outside of it is of very little consequence to anyone else.

Actions speak louder than words, after all.

Bill Barnhart has fallen to my sword at every time of asking. His Roulette championship proves nothing more than he’s the best-of-the-rest, wishing he could hang out in the VIP club. Everyone finds their level in the end. Sometimes that means accepting your place as the biggest fish in the smallest pond.

Blast from the Past is the great leveller. The bosses are too smart to send the likes of me after Bill’s budget title. Some matchups are nothing more than shooting fish in a barrel.
 
Part 2 - Standing at The Gates of Hell

I didn’t mind a change of scenery. After all…life on the road? Doing something you love day in, day out…I’m not going to say it’s ‘hard’ by any stretch…but it sure comes with a few challenges, and finding ways to stay in shape is definitely one of them. I’ve trained in worse settings,  the sorry excuse for a hotel gym, the stairwell of the tallest of high-rise buildings I can find. Oh, and I’ve even resorted to chin-ups off the edge of a cruise-ship balcony for my first Summer XXXtreme appearance…sometimes you have to make do.

Plus, with the chance to link up with my partner, and to work out in her facility? It felt important to get some face-time in. I can’t say I’ve always had the best of relationships with my partners. Evie was very hot-and-cold. Only now, two years later, have we found a balance of equal respect that we both seem to enjoy. Ruby? Came across as a petulant child after our victory, I had little time for her after that. Extra advantage? Well…HellsGate was not only as well-equipped as I had back in Miami, aside from the Florida heat of course, it had a few extra tricks up its sleeve.

The benefits of cross-training were ingrained in me from very early on in my career. After all, some of my football routines still carried some stock in my new line of work, I still use a few of the footwork drills today. The MMA setup in particular piqued my interest, and anyone who came through this place, with the right guidance and the right motivation, had everything they could possibly need to come out well-rounded.

What are we doing, guests take the lead?

Kitty Kat Jones seemed to tolerate me, somehow. She took the matching shirts deal in good spirits, she welcomed me to her gym, to her home, and Chris was pleasant enough, even if I was a little too ‘extra’ for his liking, or so I could tell. We’d gotten some good work in, and with the nod, it was time for me to take centre stage.

I tend to kick these things off by addressing the elephant in the room. Better to rip the band-aid off nice and early, right? I may have made some bold claims. I may have become the first in Sin City history to win two consecutive Blast from the Pasts, and I was hungry for more. I wasn’t satisfied with just going on to win my first World Heavyweight title…I wanted to swing for the fences, I wanted it all, the first to join the #400club and throw my name in the hat for GOAT status…

…to fall at the first time of asking. Pretty embarrassing, huh?

Or at least, that’s the narrative that’s been spun. I've watched from afar, seen the comments and honestly I’ve let it slide because I have to accept…it wasn’t part of the plan. I had wounds to lick. I had a drawing board to return to, and for the first time in a decade or more as a Florida resident, I was really starting to miss the place, truly. Aside from dispatching multi-time champion Agostino Romano in short order…as if to provide further proof that if it doesn’t have ‘World’ in the name it’s not an achievement that particularly concerns me, I enjoyed a very different kind of time in the sun.

So why bring it up now?

Well - Every once in a while, in a combat sport like ours? Matches transition into all-out-wars, battles where both competitors put everything they possibly can into that contest. Some of us have been dropped on our heads too many times. Some of us are just downright fucking crazy honestly, but believe it or not a lot of wrestlers who run long in this business have a certain air of self-preservation about us and sometimes? It’s a smart decision to stay down and live to fight another day.

Sometimes, it’s too important.

I had to take The Bar three times before I went down…and we know for a fact I handed out more than a few receipts of my own. Close fall after big manoeuvre after close fall until it took a hell of a beating and 200% more than any normal human needed before I finally stopped getting up, and not by choice.

Matches like that come maybe what…four, five times in a career as long as mine, or Mac’s? Matches like that change guys. Often it’s short-lived but sometimes they just don’t come back the same, it’s like the beginning of the end for them, the fight melts away. Punch drunk, anyone? I wasn’t surprised to see an out-of-sorts Mac Bane ship the title to Alex Jones…because when someone brings your best performance in what, 6 or 7 years out of you, it’s hard to replicate anything close to that again right out of the gate.

I don’t begrudge Mac a victory for going to that hard with me. The World championship is supposed to be the zenith. Two opponents at the top of their game, bringing their absolute best, leaving it all out there. That is what this business is all about…

…although that isn’t what always happens. Float around long enough and you’ll get your real time in the sun. The incoming champion expends so much energy capturing their title, that it slips out of their grasp at the first time of asking, Mac. Worthy contenders abandon their rematch clause that NEVER FUCKING EXISTS IN THE CONTRACT PEOPLE, Mark, and go back to warmer climbs. Someone has to challenge, someone has to defend. Belt doesn’t go on the line? It loses all credibility. The bosses look around for capable volunteers…and find none…they just go for the willing, throwing them in as fodder for the paper champion who can’t believe their luck.

One more easy week.

 Long title reigns include a whole lot of filler. The beans and pulses that pack out a meal. The bubble wrap protecting your latest impulse buy. They play their role, keep you fed, keep your shit safe, but a mere cliff note when it comes to a title reign, an also-ran who’s meagre challenge is very rarely talked about, unless it’s a show of how not to do it…

The kind of times when a Bill Barnhart gets opportunities to step up, probably in some champion vs champion bullshit that sounds great on a poster. I remember the first time I faced Bill. I think it was one of my first matches pulling double duty for Sin City Wrestling and for Underground. A ‘stern test’ for the man from the ‘budget brand’ against a ‘highly experienced practitioner’ or whatever similar words got thrown out in the write-up. I don’t think anyone was really surprised about the result… just another victim to throw on the pile…and at the second time of asking? We see the same all over again.

Never have I met someone so completely unchanged. You’re not different, Bill. You’re just the same as you always were. You’re the same parrot, regurgitating facts with no point, no conclusion. It’s like you’re reading a Mercedes Vargas Primer segment from a teleprompter like some Ron Burgundy motherfucker, but you don’t further the discussion, just throw it out there and hope someone else draws their own conclusions. It matches your wrestling, there’s no cutting edge. Nothing to make me give the slightest flying fuck about you. I don’t need to scam you, I can legitimately beat you, straight up. Some dogs are too old to learn new tricks. Some are just…too…limited.

The great thing about wrestling…or not so great, if you’re on the wrong side of it, is that our glass ceiling works a little differently here. Wrestling isn’t a more traditional example. Our ceilings are largely skill-based, and it has to be, because of where and how we throw down. A certain level of experience earns you respect. Time in the industry gives you authority. A title run or two gives you credibility and you think you are something, think you mean something, look up at the same old names riding the revolving door for their World title shots and you know what? You might even believe that’s where you belong too. You wait for Blast from the Past to roll around to finally get the opportunity to put yourself in the shop window because for some reason, even after all of your efforts the top brass continue to overlook you for the big time.

Let me give you a lesson.

They keep you under the ceiling for your own protection. Give your prized pedigree house cat a ball of yarn to play with so they don’t get tempted to venture out of their own yard, only to get royally FUCKED UP by the first grizzled street cat it runs into. You, Bill Barnhart are the prized pedigree cat. You’re coddled and babied like one. You’re fed your opponents cut up into little pieces so you don’t choke…all smooshed up with a fork for good measure. You may look like you’ve seen it and done it all but you’ve got all the fight of someone who’s never worked a day in their damn life, you know that right? You’re like an endangered species, because mangement can’t handle the lawsuit for animal cruelty.

You’re not World Champion material pal, so you’re not Blast from the Past material either. Andrea couldn’t carry you. Masque can’t carry you and heaven fucking FORBID the blood bath that would ensue if she did. You wanna take The Bar three times Bill? Is that really what you want for yourself because if it happens to you? It’ll be proving a point, that you never should have been in there in the first place. A warning to never come back.

You are NOT on the right level to match up with me. You know it. I know it. The history books know it. Your partner knows it, and so does mine. In the best teams, both parties take their turns in doing the heavy lifting, and I’m perfectly happy for Kat to leave this one down to me and you. I’m sure she won’t complain about Masque over-stretching, hanging in there longer than she should to keep me off your ass? Either/or, you two play right into my hands.

This result will not be decided by you pinning my shoulders, 1-2-3. That I promise you, and the only person who could come to your rescue? Well…they can’t touch me, can they?

Your partner is in a bit of a tough spot, so let’s talk about her. I’ve been thinking a lot more about star signs lately, for reasons I won’t go into right now. I realise at times, just how fitting mine is for me. A Capricorn will hang onto your every word, just to see if your words match up to your actions. I’ve spent a whole decade or more in this business waiting for opponents to pony up, put some weight behind what spills out of their mouth. Guaranteed if you’re matched against me, I will watch what you say, and analyse what you do harder than any opponent you will ever come across. It’s written in the stars. Most every win on my record has come off the back of someone talking a good game, and producing none of it.

Then - We have Masque, an entirely different animal, and certainly no Godzilla I’ve ever seen.

The Rapture? Religion huh, a Bible story and a piece of tracing paper? Good one. All I’m hearing right now is the next militant GARBAGE disguised as an uprising. It’s that one friend who, in the middle of a conversation about the Russia/Ukraine situation is screaming I’M A VEGAN at the top of their lungs, like we’re supposed to give any kind of fuck. Viva la revolution, huh? How about viva shutting the fuck up with that for a minute and let’s get ourselves back to the real world.

Sin City Wrestling after all, is no stranger to ‘changing of the guard’ affairs. It’s why GRIME is still here, and still not taking over. The fact of it is, it takes more than a scary bitch in a mask and a few loyal-ish subjects to change the status quo. GRIME is full of it’s own idealists. It’s fuelled with investment. It has all the platform it needs to make it’s play and crush Sin City Wrestling and Underground with the might of one single blow…in theory…if what they tell us is true…but several years later, what have they achieved? Interfered in a few of my title defences, and made a little noise.

Valiant crusades like yours? When it all boils down to it, the worst that happens is we all resort back to the playground mentality. We go off and play in our own sandboxes with our own little clique of brothers and sisters from other misters.

“Go on Masque, off you fuck. You and Amber go and play over there and rip arms off of your own dolls all you want. We’re going to play trains over here where it’s a little less…freaky.”

You actually make Bill’s tirades at sucky security companies and Target gift card scammers look some way coherent. At least what he talks about is real life. You’re validating your partner by leading us on merry dance after merry dance, you realise that? I lose track of what point you’re trying to make well before you get to the punchline, if you even get there at all to be honest. I’m so lost trying to paint all these mental pictures you’re describing me I may as well just squirt it all over my fucking canvas and call it art.

Let me get to MY point, because luckily, this is still a substance-over-style business. It plays out under bright lights, it doesn’t hide in the shadows, and your whole facade, dear Masque? That’s exactly what you are, one big smoke and mirrors act that unfortunately…Kat and I? We’re not going to fall for it. Take a look around where we are…take a good look. Weights, cardio, a ring, blood sweat and tears…long hours, hard yards. The work we put in here is real. The work we put in here delivers clear, proven, quantifiable results.

How do you measure the success of The Rapture, Masque? All the sinners left to fend for themselves? Well…if you’re the kind I’d have to hang out with at that VIP party, behind that velvet rope in the sky? I’m gonna stay right down here with the infidels, thank you.

I measure the success of The Kat and the Dragon in wins and losses. Introducing your 2021 BLAST FROM THE PAST CHAMPIONS. Four victories. Four counts of 1-2-3. Four wrestling matches.

That’s all it boils down to.

I don’t understand what you’re TRYING to do, other than re-enacting a Nick Cage flick. I really don’t. I don’t think you could explain it to me by fueling me up on coffee and showing me a 20 minute Powerpoint presentation to be honest. My goals are simpler.

Win Blast from the Past…and you know what the past tells us all? I don’t have to try, because this is WHAT. I. DO.

I have a lot to prove once again. Every time around there’s a little more expectation, a few more eyes on me, a bigger target on my back. Three entries, three consecutive wins…a chance to achieve something that’s never been done before. The fact of it is, consistency is key. Anyone can score a one-and-done victory. This is two partners, eight opponents, delivering week in, week out over a two month period. You can’t fluke a tournament like this, and you can’t drag and carry a weakness all the way.

My training, my preparation, my mentality…they’re all top level. Nothing has changed from victory one, and victory two. It’s nothing more than rinse, repeat, win it all over again.

In Blast from the Past…nothing is assured…but this is genuinely mine to lose.

RINSE. REPEAT. WIN AGAIN.

Hey partner - You’re up! By the way…that team shirt looks GREAT on you! High five for the soon-to-be-three-time-winner, huh?

(We’ll talk about her leaving me hanging later. If you haven’t caught up with my partner’s incredible promo yet - Now is the perfect time, as this is where she cuts in!)

Certain people have a way of making my skin crawl. You just get that…feeling…you know? While I go home after a long day I climb into my PJs, put my feet up, and binge the latest thing on Netflix. Some other crazy cats are legitimately hanging upside down by their feet in some abandoned warehouse or whatever, calling it a home comfort.

Masque's association with Amber Ryan makes sense in a lot of ways...and if mine and Amber's demons didn't recognise each other the way they did well...I feel like her presence might have my arm hairs prickling all the same.

I wouldn't want to meet either of them in a dark alley…

...but this is no dark alley. This is a wrestling ring, with rules, and guidelines, and I have trained to play that game with surgical precision.

I work in plain English. There is no ambiguity, no doubt about what my message is.

Metaphors have their place of course. Imagery can be powerful. It can warm your heart, it can move you to tears, it can paint pictures oh-so-vividly in all of our minds, as long as it’s used sparingly. This is the most ‘aesthetically pleasing’ I’ve been in years and it’s not necessary. If previous results are anything to go by, the direct approach is plenty effective enough.

We’re wrestlers…and we have a wrestling fan base to appeal to. We kick and punch and throw each other around for a living. People pay money to watch us knock lumps out of each other. This is about as low-brow as it comes. Simpler messages are better, keep it on a level we can all understand.

Masque is too ambiguous for her own good. So tied up in wordiness that the impact of her message is lost. The potency of her poison is diluted. I can’t pay her the creedence she thinks she deserves…because I can’t pick apart what’s real or fake.

Unhinged, dangerous, but definitely not unbeatable.

If The Rapture comes, I’ll be drinking bourbon with the sinners. Signed…one of the left behind.

It's over now
(Are you running away?)
I come apart
(As I lie in your way)
It's in my blood
(Let the sky fall down)
I won't let go
(My oblivion)

Part 1 - A Rude Awakening

Unknown Male 1: I think she’s had enough…

Unknown Female: Please...no…

Unknown Male 2: I’ll tell you when she’s had enough.

Unknown Female: No...no…

The sound of a power tool whirring up can be heard in the background, growing louder as it moves closer to the microphone, the whole scene in pitch darkness.

Unknown Female: CALEB NO!

Mark sits bolt upright in his balcony cabin on the Sun Princess. It was just a dream, he realises, as he runs his hands across his face, rubbing his eyes. They were damp...no...wet, from sweat, or so he thought, until he opened them fully. It wasn't sweat at all, they were stained blood-red, it was thick, dripping off his fingers, he’d just smeared it all over his face before he even realised. It coated his bedsheets as he clawed at the covers, getting himself free, all until he caught his foot in them in his desperation to reach the bathroom, dumping himself to the floor, leaving him scrambling less than gracefully along the ground of the suite, leaving bloody handprints on the carpet tiles as he makes a beeline for the washbasin in the bathroom

He coats the tap crimson as he struggles to turn it on, his breath shallow, almost panicky, the metal slipping under his slick hands, eventually turning enough for him to forcefully shove his hands under the water, scrubbing them together trying to get rid of it once and for all

The Dragon: It’s not coming off...please...please…

He could see it washing away in a swirl of water, but still his hands held the unmistakable red hue…it was like the blood was regenerating itself...like a scene from Macbeth...he starts to scream and cry out in frustration, accidentally smashing his face against the mirror, knocking himself backwards.

Mark sits bolt upright in his balcony cabin on the Sun Princess. That was a dream too, thank fuck. He turns his hands over in front of his face, thankfully clear of all blood, watching them visibly shake in front of him as he tries to take deep breaths, reminding himself it was all a dream, they were all just dreams, he wasn’t going to be totally over this right away...

Unknown Female: Mark...please…

The Dragon: AH FUCK!!

His head snaps to the voice, a slender brunette, almost Scandanavian looking, but with a soft Southern drawl, covered head-to-toe in blood, standing at the doorway to the bathroom, the same one he thought he’d been in moments before, before he’d knocked himself out cold.

Unknown Female: Why did you let them take me?

The Dragon: Nopenopenope…

Unknown Female: Mark...I love you too, don’t leave me…

The Dragon: Aaaaaah!

Mark bolts for the door at a dead run, flinging the cabin door hard shut behind him. The walkway outside of his suite was remarkably full, in both directions, almost comically so since, as champion, he was in one of the more exclusive parts of the boat...and they were virtually all people he knew, from SCW wrestlers, backstage crew, and staff. Not daring to look behind him, he begins trying to push his way through the crowd, finding them very hard to work past, as they almost deliberately try to block his path. In the end he staggers back, bumping chest to chest with one of the biggest guys on the crew.

Ring Tech: You OK Dragon?

The Dragon: Nuh-uh...excuse me…

Ring Tech: You look like you’ve seen a ghost?

The Dragon: Do I?

Unknown Female: Please Mark! Please!

She was gaining on him.

The Dragon: Ah Christ she’s right behind me!

Ring Tech: Who? It’s just you and me man?

The Dragon: This can’t...it must be another...fuck it.

Mark turns to his left, climbs the shiny railing in one step, and leaps, hoping to fall all the way into the vast expanse of ocean below, where either he wakes up, or floats away from this nightmare. He’d joked about landing a top deck moonsault into the water to get the win, now was his chance to see how stupid of an idea that actually was.

The Dragon: Yeet.

Ring Tech: Dragon no!

Mark falls in slow-motion, arms windmilling, staring up at the faces looking down on him...including the blood-soaked brunette, who seemed to be calling his name, her mouth moving, here features showing pure distress, although he heard no sound at all...until he hits a railing at speed, multiple decks below, his spine flattening and folding over it with the sickening sound of cracking, the unmistakable splintering of bone, which plays loud in our ears as we watch, each crack matching the slow motion of the visual, before his body, now limp and lifeless, slips all the way into the sea with a splash...

Mark sits bolt upright in his balcony cabin on the Sun Princess. The bedsheets around him are soaked in sweat.

The Dragon: I’m getting SICK of this shit already…

He checked his hands, found they were clean, ripped the covers clean off as he got out of bed, opened the door to his balcony, poked his head out, checked both sides. He opened his small wardrobe, checked inside for surprises, found none. He went to the bathroom, did the same, went to the sink, splashed himself in the face with cold water a couple of times. It all felt real. He smacked himself in the face.

The Dragon: Ow.

And again, for good measure.

The Dragon: Ow.

Phew. Going to the lodge in the mountains was supposed to help, supposed to stop all this. If anything, it’d made it worse. Now she wasn’t all he thought about...now she was all he was seeing, in a way.

PA Address: Good morning, this is your Captain speaking. We are looking forward to another day of clear skies and good weather this morning aboard the Sun Princess. As always we have a full programme of events to keep you entertained throughout the day, so make sure to get in touch with one of the crew if you want to get signed up. Oh, and for all you wrestling fans, if you want to learn how to eat like a champion, there are just a few spaces left in the cookery class with Sin City Wrestling’s very own World Champion Mark “The Dragon” Cross, starting in the galley in just over an hour’s time.

The Dragon: Well that I could have done without today…

Part 2 - Cooking Up A Storm

The scene opens to the Galley of the Sun Princess. Standing in front of a wooden bench, an induction hob on one end, ingredients set out in front of him at the other, is Mark “The Dragon” Cross, a small crowd waiting patiently out in front, ready to watch the class. Standing alongside him is one of the kitchen crew’s sous chefs ready to assist...or make sure he doesn’t burn the place down and kill them all...

The Dragon: OK so - You want to learn how to cook and eat like a champion huh? Now lesson number one, is understanding calories, and macronutrients. As a professional athlete, I’m in the gym for hours every day, when I’m not travelling to shows, so the amount of calories...which is basically a unit of energy...and the number of macros, so building blocks like protein, fuel for muscles like carbohydrate, healthy fats for heart health...I need to put in way more of all of them than a lot of you guys do on a daily basis. I’m burning more calories, I’m using more of the nutrition for recovery. Getting an understanding of what you need to put in, helps you get the best performance out. Put too much in, your body usually doesn’t waste it or just dump it, but stores it, as body fat. Ever heard that old saying, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips? Yeah that’s what happens if you put more in than your body’s using on a daily basis. If you don’t move it, you ain’t losing it.

Mark reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

The Dragon: Now if you want my recommendation, I’m a firm believer in MyFitnessPal. You can record your meals with the comprehensive library of foods already available at the touch of a button, and the easy-to-use-interface makes it a doddle to plan your meals for the day to get all the nutrients YOU need, tailored to you and your goals. With the premium plan, you get an ad-free experience, access to meal plans and recipes, and get guidance and coaching tailored to you with personalized goals, so you’re always going to be working on a way to give you the best results. As a special thanks to every one of you for attending today, you can get a 30% discount on your first 6 months of subscription with discount code “CROSSY30”

The crowd stares back at him silently. One of them clears their throat.

The Dragon: Why is nobody writing that down? C’mon people, this is a prime discount! Help a guy out here!

Reluctantly, a few take out their phones to either download the app, or pretend to make a note, just so they can move on to the next phase.

The Dragon: That’s better! Now second, equipment. It’s worth investing in your equipment. You know those knives you can get from Home Depot for 100 bucks, like a full set and a block to keep them in? I can do more with one really good, sharp chef’s knife than I could with that whole set...except maybe the bread knife...but you can get a cheap one of those. Now if you want a sword, a set of golf clubs, or something to chop up your scallions in double quick time there’s only one choice to make...Japanese steel all the way. Now THIS!

Mark brandishes a knife from out of his jeans, waving it in the general area of the audience, his free hand resting on the bench in front of him.

Sous Chef: Maybe don’t...wave that around…

The Dragon: Don’t worry it’ll be f-

A sudden jolt of the ship sends the sous chef flying, makes the the crowd bounce into each other as they collectively struggle for grip, and throws Mark forward towards the bench, the knife impaling itself in the wood, landing neatly in between the half-a-centimetre gap in the middle of his outspread first and second fingers. Gingerly easing his hand away, he twists the knife out of the bench, leaving it laying flat for safety.

Sous Chef: I told you not t-

The Dragon: Yup. Yup. Got it. Sorry everyone, bet you’re glad this activity was free now, huh? Let’s just skip to the recipe huh? Now THIS that I’m about to show you is called the Spanish Armada burger. This came about from a little quest I set about to create the ultimate burger and while a lot came close, this has to be my favorite, it’s one I always go back to as a bit of a “cheat” meal on the night before a travel day, for example. Burgers are great, they’re quick to cook up, especially if you make your patties in advance, they’re adaptable, depending on how hungry you are...skipped lunch, throw another patty on there...you can often get away with cooking it all up in one skillet, less clean-up afterwards, and if you need to get somewhere in a pinch, it’s handheld and portable...provided you don’t go overboard on the filling…he says, on a ship’s galley, on a cruise…

An unenthusiastic groan from the crowd ensues.

The Dragon: I didn’t even try for that...sorry guys...but if you want to catch my comedy show later this week, there are A LOT of tickets available. Now ingredients - The big contentious area with this recipe is the bread, a lot of people I’ve shown this to will mix it up and take a different approach, but go with your own preference. It’s not very Spanish, but I tend to opt for the old sesame seed hamburger bun. A lot of people prefer brioche, but it’s already a pretty rich burger, and some say a Hawaaian roll can get close to a more traditional Spanish bread...but they’re a little sweet for my taste. The American classic, for me, keeps out of the way of the rest of the ingredients. We’ll talk about the patties in a minute, but the other things we need are all of Spanish origin - Serrano ham, chorizo, and manchego cheese. Simple.

He lifts each ingredient in turn.

The Dragon: Now...the patty...the star attraction, and again you can mix it up here depending on what you like, or how hungry you are. The original version of the Spanish Armada was a single half pound patty, but you can go with a quarter pounder, maybe double-stack it if you want, or if you’re into your smash burgers, maybe a quad for all that extra crunch. This was the biggest experiment of all, and as long as you keep the ratio, the rest is up to you. One third ground beef, I like 80/20, which gives you the juiciness, two thirds ground pork, which gives you WAY more flavour than going full beef, as much as I’d want it to be all cow ‘cause tradition. Now, I’ve formed the patties by hand…a little bigger than the buns we’re using, as we’ll get some shrinkage...

He turns around, bringing over a steak plate over from behind with two burgers resting on it.

The Dragon: Seasoning is simple: salt, pepper, cumin...I throw it on just before we’re ready to cook. With burgers it’s good to take the meat out maybe an hour before to let them come up to room temperature, it’s less of a shock when they hit the hot skillet, helps you get a good char on the outside and a good even cook throughout. Now season it well, on both sides…

He turns on the mini induction hob next to him, sprinkling a good amount of seasoning onto the burgers as he waits for the pan to warm.

The Dragon: I love cooking with cast iron, it takes longer to heat up sure, but you get a really good even temperature that’s easy to retain heat withl, and a good quality pan will last you a lifetime. Now what we are going to do is a little stacking of flavour, so I’m going to chop up this chorizo into maybe half inch chunks and get those frying away first…

The knife he nearly severed his index finger with a few moments ago makes surprisingly light work of the chorizo as he chops enough for two portions, adding it to the pan.

The Dragon: So cooking chorizo releases this really distinctive bright orange oil, which is really flavourful and if we can inject some of that into our burger too, all the better. Bacon cooks way faster than a patty will in a hot pan too, but if I’m using bacon, I’d rather get it in first so we can cook the burger in some of that incredible fat. You can always pull something, or move it into indirect heat as you go. Now eating large quantities of food seems like a dream, but when it’s every day of your life for years? It can get tedious, and all these little tricks and flavour bombs are a lifesaver. Now when you hear the chorizo start to sizzle, we know the pan’s hot enough and we can drop some burgers!

Dropping the two half-pound slabs of meat in the pan, the hissing sound intensifies, meaning he has to speak up over the noise.

The Dragon: So we want to cook these for roughly four-to-five minutes per side. That should give us a juicy burger that’s not too dry, and not too pink in the middle. Remember if you reduce the amount of meat, reduce the cooking time. I try to flip once, you’ll learn with practice and time how long it takes to build up a good crust on the outside. Those charred parts on the outside of a burger? The official term is the Maillard reaction, but I call it the tasty as fuck reaction, and the more of that we can build up the better.

After a few minutes, he flips the two burgers one-by-one, dragging the metal flipper across the top, making a scratching sound.

The Dragon: So that’s developed a really nice crust to it, which is what we want. Now the chorizo, I don’t want that to overcook or burn, so an easy way is just to pile that on top of the burger now, to keep it out of the indirect heat. Now as we get to the last couple of minutes I’m going to ask my assistant to toast a couple of buns…

The sous chef heads off to another part of the kitchen as Mark tries, and struggles for some time, to balance chunks of chorizo on top of the patties without them falling off. Next he sprinkles grated cheese on top of each. Lastly, in with a few slices of serrano ham

The Dragon: So the ham is super thin, so literally a minute or two to get crispy...and the cheese won’t melt all too well on top, it’s not in direct heat either, so what we’ll do is ‘dome it’ with a bowl or with the pan lid, if you’ve got enough room, with some steam, as the last thing. We don’t want to add water to the skillet for another minute or two, as that’ll kill the tasty as fuck reaction we’re trying to develop on both sides...cheers buddy…

Mark lays the two toasted buns he’s handed out on a serving plate. Retrieving a round metal bowl and a bottle of water, he pours liquid in the pan, generating a waft of steam that he covers with the bowl immediately. After about a minute he removes it, revealing perfectly melted cheese, holding the chorizo in place like a kind of glue. He transfers each to the plate, lays ham on top, crowns each with a top bun, and holds it up triumphantly, to mild applause from the crowd.

The Dragon: Now I don’t use sauce with this, cause I always drop it down my shirt, but ketchup or hot sauce? Both are great choices. Now guys thank you very much for coming out to see me! If you’d all like to start heading through to the dining room, the wonderful staff here have whipped up Spanish Armada burgers and fries for everyone, I’ll mix us up some Lynchburg Lemonades, there’s plenty of free merch to help yourself to...please take as many Fire Dragons 2.0 shirts as you want, I ordered way too many last year...and I’ll be around answering questions and signing autographs for you all!

A collective cheer goes up as the boring part seems to be over, replaced with free food, free booze, free merch, and a chance to hang out with a minor celebrity, which seems to be number one priority. As the crowd begins to disperse, Mark takes a hefty bite of one of the burgers, pieces of chorizo dropping out onto his shirt, leaving very noticeable bright orange splotches at the point of impact.

The Dragon: Ah you mother...fucker!

Part 3 - A Laugh A Minute

So I was walking along in Miami, before coming out here, and this guy spilled his Scrabble set all over the sidewalk...I said what’s the word on the street?

The scene opens to a small entertainment venue aboard the Sun Princess. It isn’t one of the larger spaces aboard, it has the look and feel of an old jazz club or something, complete with the smoke in the air to go with it. Mark “The Dragon” Cross, rocking a suit jacket and white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck is on the mic and judging by the laughter...and much to our surprise, seems to be going over quite well.

It’s crazy with all these advances in technology these days, new things are becoming obsolete all the time. I mean exit signs? They’re on the way out.

Another laugh. The Dragon’s eyes meet the camera as the crew appear in the venue.

How about a couple for the wrestling fans? I don’t know what’s better at going downhill, a tobogganist, or Teddy’s latest name change...and how about this one...Mac Bane walks into a bar...and the bar says OWW who let a mountain in here?!?

And just like that...he lost his audience.

I was gonna laugh out loud at that one huh? Why? Well I guess that joke went over about as well with the crowd. as Mac’s little comment did with me, at least...in terms of making a joke of it. Now I hate to cut the show short to talk about my match on this very boat this coming Sunday, but anyone who came to a comedy show hosted by yours truly must have thought something was up, right? I just needed an excuse to get a captive-ish audience for a few minutes.

Heckler: YOUR JOKES SUCK.

We’re not...doing jokes anymore dude...look never mind...we’re going to come back to a few of these points a little later but any good wrestling match SHOULD be like climbing a mountain, or running a marathon. In time, and in effort. You can’t run out of your corner, hit your finisher, and get the win in seconds...very often. It’s like a good woman, you need to warm it, or her, up first. Generally when you do finish that quickly, the guy that’s paying you to show up that night? He ends up berating you for not at least making some kind of song and dance out of it in the name of entertainment. To be honest, so is your good woman. Easiest, fastest fifty bucks I ever made, and a sure fire way to make sure I never got another call back. Lesson learned the hard way, and yeah that has basically happened to me before. Match over, less than a minute. Look - Maybe I was different gravy compared to that company, to those guys on the roster, maybe I didn’t belong there...I probably outmatched them all, but in this business, eventually, everyone finds their spot. Easy targets have no place in a Sin City ring, challenging for my World Heavyweight title. On occasion, The Troll may answer an open challenge, but that right is usually earned. After all, a lot of people couldn’t climb a mountain. A lot of people couldn’t finish a marathon. A lot of people can only go four minutes or less with a lady. That's why they are great achievements. So few are brave enough to even attempt it. Even less succeed. It’s why I have to leave everything in the ring, every time that belt is on the line, or expect not to come back with it.

And yes, it’s why Mac is my mountain to climb. I’m not laughing because actually? It’s a great analogy. He’s worthy enough to be there, no doubt in my mind. I have to beat him on Sunday, but over these last few weeks I’ve also had to make sure I don’t beat myself, so we’ll come back to my opponent real soon.

A lot of things have bothered me lately, but they shouldn’t. I’ve acted a certain way lately, when I shouldn’t. It’s maybe ironic, that the demons I had to face were in a cabin, up in the mountains, since they’re turning into our main topic of conversation tonight.The fact is for me? I’ve already overcome one obstacle, maybe even the biggest one of all, and I haven’t even stepped in the ring. I’m basically all business all the time. I’m a wrestler first, my life fits around my wrestling, that’s the way it’s virtually always been. You see it’s impossible to complain, to be considered a reluctant champion, when that’s how your brain is wired. Why? Your commitments as champion are part of wrestling. Wrestling is what I do, wrestling is number one, everything else will fit around it. I’d absolutely love to go skiing, every chance I get. My schedule doesn’t allow me to go skiing? I don’t ski that season, it isn’t a problem. Am I jealous when I see pictures of my friends skiing? Of course I am, and then I leave social media, pick up my next set of weights and I carry on. It’s very rare for something else to enter my headspace. It’s very unusual when I NEED to be somewhere else when, 95% of my career, I NEED to be doing something to help with the next match. That is my purpose. That is what gets me out of bed in the morning.

...but I did need to be somewhere. I did need to face some things and you know what? I needed to cry some things out. You will have seen my interview with Gemma, I’m sure. You will have seen what kind of fucking mess I got myself in and you know what? My mental state isn’t exactly perfect yet either, if I could have postponed this match I would, but I can’t. Too many things in motion. Too many people to support and you know what most of all? I’d take a kick to my damn pride too. If I can’t take pride in my professional work well then that becomes a problem. That’s the point I need to think about phoning it in. The fact is I make a lot of mistakes. I make mistakes every day. Some are small, some I can apologise for, make a coffee for, some I can buy flowers for...some, whether it be me, or someone else...there can be no coming back from. It’s hard at times but I don’t let these mistakes define me. They don’t haunt me for very long, if at all, as what is a mistake really? An unintentional error that doesn’t indicate bad faith, at least legally. Mistakes like I made, on that mountain road. Mistakes like I made at that cabin. Mistakes that I feel like I made when I gave her up. I didn’t mean to slip up. I didn’t mean for her to get caught. I didn’t want my feelings to betray me and yet they did. All of it happened, at a time when I need to be focussing on nothing but my World Heavyweight title and you know what? That’s life, and I need to pull up my big boy pants and deal with it. Every mistake has a consequence after all.

Consequences, consequences, consequences. I think we can say I’ve learned quite a lot about consequences over the past few months. We can maybe discount the first couple of years of my career, where my performance didn’t...exactly...warrant my appearance fees a lot of the time, as when it came to the business of wrestling I was definitely what you’d call a late bloomer, but I’ve gotta say, it wasn’t what I expected. I’ve actually found there are very few consequences, since becoming a professional wrestler. At least...not meaningful ones. I thought being a cunt, talking about people’s families would backfire on me way more than it has done but generally? It tends to bring results...victories...tournament wins...title belts. The lot. Now taking every advantage I can to throw an opponent under the bus is kind of my thing...those aren’t mistakes after all. They’re calculated risks. I absolutely have bad faith in my mind, and if that backfires, becomes the reason I lose a match, torch a friendship on the way? I’m definitely not going to pull the oh-woe-is-me act. I do, however, have to nod my head to the level of respect that’s been shown to me thus far and really? For Amber and for Mac, I think they can both be very proud of who they have in their corners, both in wrestling, and in life. Ben and Evie, much the same. I’m sure they have their own little rivalries between themselves, harmless fun, just another little way to try and push each other to kick on, to achieve, to dust each other off when things weren’t going to plan. Two great representatives of this sport, living in the same household, standing top of the tree in their respective divisions...

...and the truth is, I could never quite do it. Not like those guys do. I don’t have that same ability to compartmentalise, to split my energies between my own wrestling achievements and someone else’s, not really. I can either be the best wrestler I can be...the best coach and mentor I could be...or I could absolutely suck at trying to do both at the same time. I’m very much an all-or-nothing kind of guy, I think that’s what put me here. They may be stronger together, but I’m stronger looking after number one.

I believe Mac asked how I’d deal with losing the World title to someone I’ve already pinned twice but let me back up. Let’s cut it short at how I’d deal with losing the World title as after all...like I said...when I do, I’m going home, and I’m staying there. I’ve laid that on the line and you know what? When the day comes, I might listen to the roar of the crowd, and I may be tempted to stay. I might sit down with the people who have been great to me in the office, they may ask me to stick around in some capacity and I might consider it...but my mind's made up. I’ll be true to my word and you know what’ll happen, at least for a while? I won’t have anywhere near as much of a purpose.

I don’t know how long that’ll be. I can’t sign an “I’ll be there eventually” deal with a Florida promotion...I mean I can ask, but that’s not the kind of position I want to find myself in, let alone put another company in, just leave them hanging. For the first time in over a decade I won’t have to wake up at 6am. For the first time I won’t have to kiss that beautiful blonde I wake up to every morning on the head and disappear. I can wrap my arms around her and hold her tight until her alarm goes off, a few hours later, then I can make her breakfast before she heads down to the studio. I can head out the golf course, play 9 holes, or not. I can still get in the gym before any of the students train and work out if I want to, or not. I trust my training staff enough that I could just not go in, if I didn’t want, they cope perfectly well when I’m out in Vegas after all. I literally have no reason to get out of bed in the morning, and that’s scary.

I’m fidgety at the best of times, always want to be busy, always have to be active and being without that? Scares the absolute fuck out of me. I may WANT to be back in Florida more, but I’m living the fucking dream now. I may PREFER to be working in Miami but I’m motivated to be the best damn World Heavyweight champion, not just to the best of my abilities, but to be better than anyone who has ever come before, or will again. I may be LOOKING FORWARD to the next chapter, but there’s no way it won’t make me sick to the stomach knowing I’m turning the page when I still have unfinished business here. I may have a backup plan, but can you blame me? Something to look forward to...after I become the first member of the 400 day club. After another full year or more, of you guys having to put up with me. Another full year, of laying everything on the line, in the gym, and in the ring, to prove I’m worthy, to be prepared to send every single comer packing, and back where they come from. Don’t think because I have my eye on the future I’m not fully committed to the now. After all...the Hall of Fame induction calls are going to dry up at some point Mac...where do you see yourself in ten years, huh?

So how about part two, how do I feel about losing to someone I’ve already pinned twice. I feel like that’s fucking stupid of me, to be honest. Run any match ten times, twenty times, fifty times, the result isn’t always going to be the same. Even in the biggest of mismatches, run it enough times, the underdog will fluke one. It’s just a game of probability after all and you know what, smart guys? Guys who get to our level? We kind of have to know how to do this thing called ADAPT, you know? We have to learn from what I talked about earlier - Mistakes. Last two times, you could write the finish with a piece of tracing paper and I know what you’re probably thinking. I'm looking for the hat-trick, a Go 2 Sleep. Of course I am. Just like I’m looking for Ketteiteki Desaki. Just like I’m looking for a Dragon sleeper. Just like I’m looking for a Shining Wizard and hoping the guy ends up knocked the fuck out right then and there. I’m offense first, always looking to get on the front foot, turn the tide, finish it right then and there. Preparing for me, properly? What does the scouting report look like? You may as well write DANGER in big fucking capital red letters and call it quits right now because unless you can stop me from building one SINGLE shred of offense I’m a risk. I can muster up something. It doesn’t matter who you put in with me. How capable. How many achievements. How many World titles? I WILL do damage. I can be beaten, sure. You have to hit the ground running, that takes momentum. You have to be ready for anything, that takes preparation. You have to be ready to take an assault and get back up, that takes conditioning, and you have to get in range of me to take me out. That takes confidence. Two contests, two wins, two identical finishes? I think that gives me confidence and momentum....so let’s say, for argument’s sake, Mac takes conditioning and preparation, dead heat, next variable, next point,

It’s also not lost on me...that this is a tag match, believe it or not. You know what that means? How many times, when it is a mixed tag match, has it been me getting the win, delivering the killing blow, picking up the one-two-three? I won’t make you look it up, it’s most of the time. See we all know how this works, right? Tag match, battle royale, you name it, there’s breathing room. There’s moments you’re on the sidelines, you tag a partner...the guy that rung your bell against the steps a few moments ago...they get dragged off into another fight. You can get air in your lungs, shake those cobwebs away, regroup. Those times when I’m one of your opponents and I’m not on your ass? That’s the moment the DANGER goes away, and you can try and take on someone you can gameplan for...or leave it to your partner, who may have a more favourable matchup. Someone with a weakness. See I don’t care it’s not tag. I don’t care that Mac has to deal with all of me all the time, and I the same with him. I hate sitting on the sidelines. I hate not being the centre of attention, and all that firepower that you’ve only had to deal with in short spurts up until now? You’re getting it with both barrels, all match, unrelenting, nowhere to hide. 

The truth is it doesn’t matter if I refer-to-type or not. A guy wants to kick my head off my shoulders a little bit more because of some comments I made and THAT is the difference between whether they win a World title or not? Fuck that, I’m not buying it. This is two professional match winners, two professional champions. Best man wins, not the angriest man. Not the most riled up man. The best. The most capable. The strongest, the toughest, the best conditioned, the most prepared. The way I am, or the way I’m not? Really it doesn’t matter one single bit. Just like most of the seasoning washes off when you’re cooking a steak, all this build-up, in the days and weeks before a match? That’s not really where the flavour develops. It’s what you’ve done over the long haul, the things you’ve given time to sink in, the things that give you your reputation.

I’m going to end this in a slightly different way for once, I’m going to surprise you all, and maybe this will be the least bravado thing I’ve said since I took the title, maybe even before. Anyone who beats me one-on-one, no matter how low my opinion was of them? They will earn my unrivalled respect until the very end of time. Very few who’ve faced me and not got the ‘dub are on that same level. Mac, for what it’s worth, already has it. He’s one of the very best in active competition in this sport. I do believe the fans deserve for this to be the Main Event. I believe it’ll be the match of the night. Mac could absolutely take me out, we both know he needs his best, and we both know it’d be naive and stupid of me to bring anything but my own. Two men, who believe they have what it takes to win and take all. Two men, who undoubtedly deserve to come out with their hand held aloft. One thing's for certain. This is a match for the fucking ages. I can’t wait to play my part in it.

Part 4 - Real Problems

The scene opens to a quiet part of the Sun Princess, high on the upper decks, where Mark “The Dragon” Cross stands alone at a small viewing area, peering out to sea, when SCU Backstage Interviewer Gemma Frost appears behind him.

Gemma: Sort out your little problem?

The Dragon: Not...as such.

Gemma: Uhh oh.

The Dragon: I mean...yes and no...I feel better but...I saw her. In my dreams. She was in my cabin.

Gemma: Guilt isn’t going to go away overnight, Mark, even if there wasn’t anything else you could do.

The Dragon: What if there was?

Gemma: Well by the sound of it...you’d be dead...along with who knows who else…

The Dragon: Yeah I guess that’s true.

Gemma: You haven’t done anything stupid have you?

The Dragon: What, like gathering up all her clothes and bagging them up and keeping them in my office in the gym? No…

Gemma: Dude.

The Dragon: What? I don’t look at them every day…

Gemma: Oh my god.

The Dragon: I know, I have a problem.

Gemma: No, you have your answer.

The Dragon: Huh?

Gemma: What you had, what you’re going through now, the guilt you’re feeling? Yes it was love. Yes it was real. Giving her up broke your heart.

The Dragon: Maybe. Probably. So...what do I do? Put up with this until it loses me my title?

Gemma: What does everyone do when they get their heart broken? Make themselves busy...except you're the World Heavyweight champion and already are...go out and have fun...except you're on a cruise and you already can...and find one of those plenty other fish in the sea...except you already have someone who loves you, who cares, who stays with you even as you rain down 7 tonnes of your bullshit on them. You're gonna be fine.

The Dragon: Hmm…

Gemma: You’re gonna come out of this and land on your feet aren’t you?

The Dragon: ...I think I might yeah…

Gemma: You annoying motherf-

Gemma turns away, her back to Mark as she tries to get her frustration under control.

The Dragon: C’mon Gemma, let it all out.

Gemma: Sometimes I REALLY wish I could punch you in the face, you know that?

The Dragon: I get that a lot…

Gemma whirls around, taking a few steps closer.

Gemma: You know I actually DEFEND you to people sometimes? You know I go into bat for you on the regular but sometimes it’s like dealing with a child. Hey - What are you doing?

Mark squares himself up to her, shoulders back, chest puffed out, fists clenched.

The Dragon: You get one free shot. I know you want to right now, let it out.

Gemma: Mark, c’mon…

The Dragon: I literally get paid to do this, just hit me.

Gemma: I...it’s fine…

The Dragon: Go ahead and lay one on your STILL World Heavyweight champion, the MASTER of Japanese Strong Style, the SINGLE greatest wrestler on BOTH sides of the Atl-

Mark finds himself interrupted by a fist that connects square with his jaw, snapping his neck back, way more than he would have liked. Checking his head was still attached, he rubbed at his now aching jaw.

The Dragon: Oh wow that actually hurt…

Gemma: You good?

The Dragon: Yeah I’m good...I just didn’t expect to even feel it ya know…Gemma you’ve got a SWING on you girl!

Gemma huffs loudly, turns and begins to storm away, her footsteps clanking on the metal deck.

The Dragon: Hey you’re leaving? Okay bye! You’re still my favourite Gemma!

Gemma: Fuck you!

The scene fades to black.

Part 1 - New Balls Please

That was stupid. The whole thing was beyond ridiculous, and there’s nobody to blame but myself. What I was staring at now was the aftermath of a chain-reaction of events, starting with me pulling off the road to take a call on a late-night drive, and ending with me trying to finish a match from the top rope like I’m fucking Royal Purple or something. This wasn’t going to be the end of it either. Of course I’m no stranger to being up there on the top turnbuckle, of course I practice it. I slapped on a mask, gave myself a Japanese name and wrestled a whole fucking tour marketing myself as a “high-flyer” just so I could use the techniques in a live setting, make sure I could rely on them when I needed one...the problem wasn’t the choice, the problem was the timing. The problem was I knew it wasn’t right, but I went for it anyway. I wanted out of there. I tried to yeet myself in my own Hail Mary pass and you know what, I let my guard down completely.

That was on me. That was all on me.

How many times in conversation would you throw up one of those hypothetical scenarios, one question, two very difficult choices...which one would you go with, if you had a gun to your head? Generally it’s a good way to get to know someone, figure out where their priorities lie, with no real consequences. Now how many of those have ever had to make a decision with a gun actually pointed at their head? I’d guess none. They wouldn’t want to dredge those memories back up any time soon, plus, they would be hyper-aware of anyone they cared about being put in that headspace, even in friendly conversation over a beer or two.

Yet I was that guy, just a few short weeks ago. I could probably use some time off, some therapy, maybe both, but I’m a World Heavyweight champion. The belt has to be defended. The fans need to see my face. That’s wrestling. It’s not the hand I was dealt, it was the position I chose to put myself in.

I feel like maybe I could be forgiven for the odd missed step after that experience, maybe a free pass on some irrelevant defeat in a non-title match, a no-show on an equally irrelevant mixed tag team match, one where the winner decides the Main Event at the next Supershow. I mean to be honest, sometimes it’d be an advantage NOT being the last match of the night, gives you a chance to slip off early to some after party, but then I remember we’re on a fucking BOAT, so nobody’s going anywhere regardless...I don’t know. Four people who are no stranger to the big stage...means little to us...but it was never about us individually, was it?

It’s all about the business. Either I got my head right, someone took the crown from me, or I laid it on the ground...sat back and watched while anyone who wasn’t brave enough to come at me the traditional way, suddenly grew a pair, and threw their own hats in the ring for a chance at it, hoping for a much lighter challenge. After all, for some, just holding was often enough. It was option one all the way. I’d come through things like this before…

And as if by magic, a reminder, as suddenly...I’m not where I was. It was familiar. I’d been here before, in that very scenario...maybe twenty years ago, maybe even more. I was used to competitive sport, even before I went pro and honestly...as a kid...if I thought I was going to “make it” in any, I figured it would have been tennis.

I lamely watched as my opponent crushed another weak serve of mine right past me. The feeling of powerlessness came over me. Oh, I remember this day alright. I looked down at my racquet, sighed heavily, smacked it hard against the back of my leg, hoping the sharp pain would snap me out of my malaise somehow.

In so many ways, I took after at least one of my parents, and in others, you might have even thought I was adopted. For example, my parents didn’t have a competitive bone in their collective bodies. My Dad even stopped playing soccer when they picked their goalkeepers based on who could kick it farthest, and golf, when the people around him took it too seriously, got too competitive. He just didn’t have that drive. My Mum didn’t play sports after she left school, when she didn’t have to anymore. Me on the other hand...I lived for it. It made me work harder, put in more hours, I wanted more and more until it started growing into an obsession and after a while, I’d explode into a wild fit of rage when I couldn’t get as far as I wanted, or as quickly. It never helped. It took me a lot of growing up before I realised that.

My tennis pretty closely resembled my approach to wrestling. It was imposing, powerful, unrelenting. I had the ability to turn defence into a winning point in one single stroke. The backhand groundstroke, usually a weakness for most players, underpinned my whole game. The default tactic of ‘target the backhand’ played right into my hands as the double-hander became my biggest weapon. My Dad used to think, so many times, that I played it so late, so far behind me, that he thought I’d missed it completely, only for me to whip my body all the way around it like a coiled spring, and send a scintillating shot back the way it came, with interest. Sometimes it was too aggressive, too inconsistent, but a lot of the time, I could make myself damn near unplayable. Again, much like someone who went nearly 600 days without losing a singles match on Climax Control, I had all the potential of someone that was unbeatable. In fact, the only person who could consistently beat me was myself.

It was an early morning match, 9am start or something, in a regional tournament being held at my home club. I had all the advantage, I knew the courts, knew the surface, knew the speed. I was a teenager, maybe fifteen, sixteen. My Dad had to give me a lift, since I wasn’t old enough to drive at the time, so I knew that much. When I had my own car I’d drive myself, I could pick the music, blast it, sing my lungs out, get my head right, I got better at handling it over the next few years. On this day though, I hadn’t slept much the night before. Not because of nerves, oh no, but because I was scared. Scared, for a friend.

An online friend...across the pond in the USA...which now in the days of Skype, Tinder, streaming services and social media, isn’t really a surprise these days. It’s very easy to have friends all over the world, and get actual face time with them, behind a screen, of course, but back then, it was a little more unusual. Enough that two people of my parent’s generation struggled to comprehend why it affected me so much, or at all, why the unrelenting aggression and unflappable approach of their teenage boy so comprehensively up and deserted him.

The next point was a double-fault, dumped both serves square in the bottom of the net. I wasn’t going through my routines, three bounces on the floor, manufacturer name pointing up on the first serve, model name pointing up on the second. I had routines on routines at that age, a real creature of habit. It was all a superstition of course, but it gave me something to ground me, focus my mind. I carried a lot of those quirks into wrestling when I first started out. It was only as my skills and experience grew when I decided I needed them less and less.

Another thing about my childhood - I was an avid gamer. Amiga, Sega Saturn, Game Gear, Dreamcast, N64...I had them all. Eventually graduating up to a PC, the internet began to intertwine itself with the ever advancing technology, online gaming became more commonplace and for my group of friends and I, when we were too young to drink at least...it was what we did to socialise after school and college. As soon as we all turned 18, that changed, it was clubs and bars all the way, with an occasional game of FIFA when we got home, but I stuck with it, when I wasn’t hung over. My gaming was much like my tennis, my wrestling...it became an obsession. As the world moved to flat panel monitors, I kept my big, clunky CRT that barely fit on my desk (Google for context) for the better refresh rate, as if that extra half-a-second made a difference. First-person shooters were my main thing. At the time the best teams were in the US in my game, and as I pushed for that next level of excellence, I too...basically played in the US, setting an alarm for 3/4am to play competitive matches, then back to bed for a few more hours before school. It was maybe an early sign that my commitment to hitting the top in SOMETHING was strong, and it was here where I found my clan.

A routine backhand, ready to be put in the trash where it belonged...until I got through the shot too early, made contact with my arms fully outstretched, and dumped it straight in the bottom of the net.

The truth was, I barely knew the man. Timezones were a killer with most of my new friends in North America, most of them older, working full-time jobs, wouldn’t even be home by the time I had to head to sleep. My parents generally wouldn’t let me get away with staying up much past midnight, but it was a Friday night, I didn’t have to be awake quite so early, and I was hanging out, sitting on Teamspeak, when I found out one of our own suffered a brain aneurysm on his drive home from work. By the time I’d woken up in the morning, ready to play my match, I found out that, sadly, he hadn’t survived the night.

I didn’t tell my parents, of course, not right away. Not until later that evening in fact. I was probably quiet of course, not my ‘usual self’ but that could have been nerves ahead of the match, just moody teenager things, lack of sleep from staying up too late playing computer games AGAIN, possibly a combination of all three. My Dad didn’t push it. He knew how I could be, he knew the reasons why, and most importantly, he knew when I got on court, it’d all figure itself out.

It didn’t figure itself out.

The difference was...I didn’t care out there. Tennis in my teenage years was one of two things...powering my opponent off the court until they were trying to hit from the parking lot...or a building ball of anger and frustration if things didn’t go my way, usually involving my racquet being thrown somewhere when it finally came to a head. On more than one occasion, we had to stop playing long enough for me to fish it out of a tree after I launched the thing clean over a fence. It was childish, immature, but I was basically a kid, I had a lot of learning to do. I didn’t have money worries, responsibilities, and when I got that passionate, that angry, at least then I FELT something. At least then I gave a fuck.

This was a matter of perspective, or lack thereof. It was the same then, just as it was now. The truth is it’s okay to mourn the loss of someone, to miss them, even if you didn’t know them much, even at all. Whether they meant something to your friends, whether you only shared a few moments together, it didn’t matter...they made a mark on you, or someone important to you...and that deserves to be acknowledged...but I played sport at a competitive level as a teenager...I’m working at the professional level now. The thing that sets me apart? It should be my ability to compartmentalise, put it away and deal with it when the time is right...and take that opportunity when it comes along.

Last week, I didn’t compartmentalise...but the fix was so damn close, and at the very least THAT was what I had to cling to, to pull me through...

The truth was, I knew I’d have to go back there, before the boat left for Summer XXXtreme. I wouldn’t get the opportunity before this tag match. I figure if maybe it’d been business as usual and I’d got it done against Goth I *maybe* could have gotten the chance to slip away for a couple of days but the vultures are circling, they could smell my blood. Before I even blinked my dance card got full and as was now the standard, there was no way I could really say no. That would land me in hot water, contractually, not just because O’Malley doesn’t think I’m doing enough...and suddenly I’m stacking headaches on top of each other like a giant game of Jenga and yes, surprise surprise, I’m definitely not going to bring my best into the ring, with the belt on the line this time. Plus, unless I wanted a long swim, I wasn’t going to be able to deal with it any quicker anyway. May as well face it now, and get off the boat with everything I climbed on with.

I had to see the chalet. I had to see the aftermath of what I’d done, the life that, for all I’d known, I had quite literally brought to an end. Maybe I could find a way to help, maybe there were clues, maybe I could make some kind of difference or hey, just maybe...I could make myself feel better enough that I could win a fucking wrestling match on a cruise, not undo the 12 months plus of work I’d put in since losing to Ben to rehab a knee injury, learn from my mistakes and come back better than ever, how about that? Maybe it’d give me some kind of closure...maybe it’d make me want to cry, to scream, to smash things up, to flush everything I’d bottled up in my system out, so I was finally ready to get back to business. Who knows.

I needed a release...and I needed it fast. Just a few more days...

Part 2 - Parade of the Dancing Monkeys

The scene opens to a hotel room in a Vegas casino. Mark “The Dragon” Cross sits perched on the edge of the bed, addressing the camera face-up. A healthy stack of casino chips can be made out, a little blurry, on a bedside table in the background of the shot. Mark’s choice of t-shirt seemed a little questionable, it was black, complete with a print of a dancing cartoon monkey.

So this was something I absolutely didn’t need. In fact, these two weeks? Probably could have done without either of them. This I guess is what they call the life of a champion, where on occasion you really don’t want to fucking be one, at least for a little while, but you pull your socks up and try and get it done anyway. That’s part of the job. That comes with the territory, and as much as the detractors may say I was never cut out for this, you’re not going to catch me throwing in the towel anytime soon, sorry to disappoint.

This isn’t going to be one full-on woe-is-me pity party that I’m going to make you sit through, but I do have to explain. I’ve been distracted. I don’t blame the fact that I’m a champion on why. I had somewhere else that I needed to be this week, but I don’t blame the fact that I’m in demand for not being able to. I could do without a ridiculous Main Event that serves as nothing more than an excuse to parade all the champions in one big match before Summer XXXtreme, but I don’t even blame Management for making it happen either. Just because profit isn’t my priority, ever really, but especially now, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t have to be theirs, out of necessity. After all...this is all for nothing if the doors don’t stay open, right? We all have to play our roles as dancing monkeys every once in a while. For us, for the crew, for our fans.

It was a couple of weeks ago when I found myself, quite literally, staring down the barrel of a gun. Not my first, probably not my last and you know what? It doesn’t get any less scary...but that isn’t what’s most harrowing. I take every day, every situation like it’s finite, I have from the moment my phone rang, and I was told the most influential man in my life went for a run, had a problem with his heart, and did not...would not...be coming back. That helps a lot with perspective, when you go through something like that. Mark, why didn’t you call the police? From what I gather, that’s what the guy behind it was. Why didn’t you ask for time off? Well...because the show must go on. I have very understanding bosses...exactly why I don’t fuck up those few big events of the year for my mistake. My view on life, it makes moments like being threatened with it a little easier to swallow. No, what cuts me up is the choice I made. Her...or me.

I didn’t really know who she was. I’d probably never know now, not really, only whatever research I could dig up, if I cared enough to try. It was the easiest decision to make, I only had one side to the story, hers, maybe it was a little twisted, maybe she deserved everything that was coming to her and you know what? If they could get after me, who was next? My students? My coaches? My partner, my ex-wife, anyone I’d ever dated? Where would it end, how many more bodies would hit the floor before someone went out to that chalet, and found her, and did the same thing I did, sold her down the river, but out of spite for all the fuckery she caused, the number of other lives she upturned and yet...it doesn’t make me feel any better about it. I could have been wrong about her, she could have been an awful human being after all...or I could have been right. A couple of weeks ago I signed someone’s death warrant, probably...so excuse me if I don’t quite act like myself until our boat...raises anchor or whatever the fuck boats do, and we set off for the next big event in the calendar. I’ve gone through some stuff and like I say, I have some things I need to do. I will be on my A-game when it matters, when the World Heavyweight championship goes back on the line, and unfortunately right now, that’s the best I can promise.

I guess though, until then, I still have to play the game. Three out of the four pieces from the Blast from the Past final, the fourth pawn upgraded to a queen, the order slightly shuffled, and off we go again for one more round. It’s a classic, a match for the ages and yet, sorry to disappoint, I don’t think any of us really have our eyes on the prize on Sunday night. With a Winner Takes All match two weeks away, looming on the horizon, I feel like priority number one is don’t get hurt, learn as much as you can, fire a couple of warning shots at your opponent, that kind of thing. Even with some real warriors in the contest, it feels a little bit like going through the motions, one that doesn’t quite live up to the billing.

ONE LAST CHANCE to take a look at your opponent. ONE LAST SCOUTING REPORT to prepare yourself for the big night...well trust me I’ve seen all I need to see from Mac up to this point. I’ve done the work before, it just needed a refresh - The preparations are already done. I’ve faced him once before. He’s tough, he’s rangy, he’s powerful, it takes a lot to be able to handle him, but I’ve done that once before. Power doesn’t bother me. Pedigree doesn’t bother me. Reputation doesn’t bother me. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just a non-factor. This match may not have all the makings of a total barn-stormer but you know what? Four competitors, Hall of Famers, top champions, past and present, all vastly experienced, all immensely capable. Professionals, professional merch peddlers too, sure...it definitely isn’t going to suck, even if the real prize is on the horizon...but maybe if I was in a better frame of mind I’d see this in a slightly different light, as a celebration, of sorts.

In me, a swift progression from budget brand baller to the very top of the pyramid in just a few short years. Writing my name into the history books with SCU, SCW, Blast from the Past, a multi-time champion, a multi-month champion, embarking on a quest to become the longest reigning SCW World Heavyweight champion of all time...damn near unbeatable in singles...a pretty tough cookie in mixed tag...definitely not the champion many wanted but in so many ways, the champion they deserve...whether it be as a beacon for what hard work, determination and a focus on ring craft as priority number one can lead to...or whether it be revenge for all those times they tried to tear me down. This was something, from minute one, that was always written in my future I think. There were always doubters, even then, even in my own mind, at times. I didn’t know if I could ever recapture the kind of form to put me back in this spot...but there’s no doubt in my mind now.

In Mac, my opponent in two weeks time, a competent and worthy Internet champion, to the point where he gets the opportunity to take that next step. Of course he’s no stranger to sitting on top of the pile, no stranger to having a strap in his hand, no slouch when it comes to matches of that magnitude. We’ve encountered each other before, he knows I’ve got enough to be able to handle him, just think back to Blast from the Past, and he knows he has more than enough to challenge me too, to make me really work for it. I feel like I caught him a little cold in the Blast from the Past final, a little too preoccupied chasing his partner, in life AND in this match, halfway across the country as part of his preparation. At times I’d listen to his pre-match comments and almost feel like he had the wrong guy, like he was talking about somebody else entirely, like he was coming in unprepared almost. I know he won’t make that mistake again, and with no tag partners for either of us to hide behind on the ship, I’m in for a tough night. A worthy adversary. This is my chance to remind him what I’m all about one more time and maybe, Main Event or not, we can put on one hell of a show.

In Amber, responsible for bouncing me out in attempt number one at Blast from the Past just gone, I was pretty surprised not to run into her in the Final. Probably the least likely out of the four of us to care about Summer XXXtreme in two weeks, and most likely to throw the kitchen sink at us anyway to pick up the win. You have to admire the heart of the woman, the way she’s evolved her game over the years, bolted other pieces onto her approach so she looks more and more like a complete package, teamed up with an insatiable appetite to cause damage and inflict pain and suffering. I figure my partner this time around will find her a little easier to manage than Krystal, who maybe hadn’t seen anyone quite so relentless, coming straight at her out of the gate, before she had time to think, time to react. Maybe now, with the confidence of a champion herself, would that match have been different? Who knows...I just know I wouldn’t like to deal with her when she’s angry...Mac...rather you than me there buddy.

And lastly, in Myra...fresh off a victory against SCW royalty in Christina Rose, proving to have much better luck against Hall of Famers than I did last week...got so close but yet so far in her own Blast from the Past quest, now with a two-time winner in her corner, maybe a little chance at redemption, if anything. Myra...maybe...is taking the biggest risk, 9 defences, coming up on a full calendar year as Internet champion...she has a formula that works, she’s found a level that’s comfortable. On one hand you could ask, why take the risk when you could continue to stretch your reign, yet on the other, maybe there’s nobody more deserving of the chance to go for broke? Possibly the most interesting dynamic of all. She’ll want to lay her own marker down, that’s for sure. Maybe after the last time, we’ve chosen to stay out of each other’s way for the most part. After all, I think we all know how I can get with a big match on the line, no punches pulled, no subjects off-limits. I figure we both know what needs to be done, we watch each other’s back, get the job done. No need to overcomplicate.

This one is finely in the balance. Maybe that’s what makes it exciting after all. It may not necessarily be a contender for match of the night. It may, in some part, be my fault for that, we’ll just have to see how it goes. I almost wonder if keeping busy here around Vegas, stepping right back into the ring, maybe that’ll be enough of a distraction to give it the performance it deserves. After all...I don’t want to be responsible for a disappointing showing, a weak Main Event, the last chance for the fans to see half of us competing as champions, even with titles on the line, at least...those that don’t have tickets for the cruise anyway. I just have to remind myself...a few short days...the end is near...

I guess to finish, since the honour of the Main Event is on the table and all, we have SOMETHING to fight for here, some bragging rights...look...the fact is...the only person in charge of my destiny is me, even still. You think this match is important in some way, for momentum, for the pride, of being the biggest face on the poster? No. You think the Goth result is relevant, making me doubt myself, denting my confidence somehow? Not quite. All this happened because of me. Factors inside of my control, yet factors I can’t control right away with matches coming thick and fast. The problem is simple. That unstoppable force I’ve made myself? Becoming that all over again at Summer XXXtreme is completely in my hands - I just need to get myself in the right headspace. I don’t need wins and losses for that. I don’t need to ‘get one over’ by being on the winning team, pinning my next opponent, or having my hand held up. I don’t need to defeat a Hall of Famer in the warm-up. I don’t need to put myself on the biggest stage at the biggest event to feel like a winner...I just need to take a drive. The only thing Mac can do on Sunday, to influence the result in the only match, that really counts? He has to make sure I’m in such a bad state that I can’t even get on the boat. I guess that remains to be seen but...I doubt it. Many have threatened that, many have failed, and many wouldn’t feel right taking a title that way, by default. The only question is which version of me turns up. The imposter, caught in his own thoughts, struggling to put life’s events in perspective...or your regular garden variety Dragon...the one that didn’t lose one-on-one for over two years? We won’t have long to wait...

The screen fades to black.

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

Mistakes were made. Sure, the result stayed the same, but something changed in me for those few months of Blast from the Past 2021. I’d achieved something that nobody had achieved before, and it’d probably be some time before it was achieved again. Evie still had the edge on me of course, she had that third appearance in the finals, but winning twice in a row? That was my little “thing” that I didn’t have to share with anyone else, my annotation into the annals of time, and a challenge to see who would be next.

No matter what, my name was etched into the history books, something to be talked about probably long after I’m gone from this place. I guess, by definition, I’ve already left something of a legacy with what I’ve achieved. Now the real challenge is...just how far can I take it?

Part of me says I should go for the three-peat. Part of me says I should win that World Heavyweight title and retain all the way through to the next Blast from the Past. Make it nigh on impossible to defend my title a third time since...well...as I said to Austin, possession is nine tenths of the law right?

I’m standing on the brink of something special here. The question is really just...how special?


28th March 2021
Las Vegas, Nevada
Backstage[/i]

Mark “The Dragon” Cross paced the locker room, his steps were purposeful, yet erratic. He looked frantic, like he didn’t really know what to do with himself, the kind of nervous energy that seemed to completely take over a person, such as in the build-up to having to go out to perform, and the kind of affliction that came over even the most experienced of competitors when it came to a big contest, a title match, or a tournament final.

Yet...his job was already done. He’d already stepped in the ring, became a two-time Blast from the Past winner, and his work for the night was over...so it was simply the adrenaline working its way out of his system.

Eventually, Mark takes a seat on the bench in the centre of the locker room, his back to us.

The Dragon: LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO!

It was a roar so powerful that anyone walking around in the nearby corridors would have definitely heard him...but by now the arena was practically empty. The reduced capacity crowd was long-gone, and all that were left were a few of the road crew packing down. At least, so he thought.

A wave of bright purple hair swung freely in front of the camera, bouncing against the black hooded sweatshirt its owner was wearing, the door creaking shut behind her, announcing her presence. She seats herself next to Mark on the bench, both of them facing forward.

Royal Purple: Hey.

The Dragon: Hey. You're not wearing your mask.

Royal Purple: Anyone that's still left either knows who I am already, or doesn't care. Besides, I feel like it's nearly time for Royal Purple to die, ya know?

The Dragon: Well sure, if you think you’re ready for that. So when does the feeding frenzy begin?

Royal Purple: As soon as I drop this title, mask off.

The Dragon: You could stick around here you know.

Royal Purple: Are you kidding? I'm underage. Security literally have to escort me to the backstage area every time they hold an event in a fucking casino, which, since COVID happened, is every fucking week. I literally had to shake one of them just to come find you in here! Besides, girls who put themselves in AA probably shouldn't spend much time hanging out in Sin City ya know? Kind of a bad mix. Besides...I'm worth more to this place gone, we both know that.

The Dragon: When that juicy release clause in your contract gets triggered right?

Royal Purple: Hell yeah! You're welcome SCW! Sooooo umm...you good? Kinda sounded like you were trying to scream the roof off this place or something...

The Dragon: Yeah I'm good. Just - it felt like I was holding on too tight for this one, if that makes sense? I’ve never talked about my Dad around here, or around wrestling circles at all really, got too far in my own head about winning two in two, I think it’s the only reason he came up. Forgot to have any fun along the way.

Royal Purple: You mean you had fun with Evie Fucking Jordan?

The Dragon: Making her angry every week gave me a great deal of enjoyment to be honest. It's weird, we genuinely just didn't like each other, those sarcastic tweets both ways weren't just for show...but the whole thing stirred up this weird desire that made me want to drag it out for another week. After week one it was to spite her, but after that...I don’t know...I guess I started to want to win it for her just as much as I did for me. Besides, I figured it was an easy excuse for her just to blame it all on me, claim some kind of moral victory if we didn’t win the whole thing...and we all know how stubborn I can be don’t we?

Royal Purple: You weren't trying to steal some dude's wife then?

The Dragon: FUCK no. We'd want to kill each other within a week, and I feel like I’d probably come off second best on that one. She’s got a special set of skills…

Royal Purple: Like Liam Neeson?

The Dragon: No...because she used to…

Royal Purple: She will find you...and she will kill you…

The Dragon: I know, that’s why I said-

Royal Purple: You don’t remember her? We spoke on the phone a few days ago, I told you she’d find you.

The Dragon: That’s not even the line…

Royal Purple: Please help us Obi Wan! You’re our only hope!

The Dragon: That’s Star Wars…

Royal Purple: Those aren’t the droids you’re looking f-OWW!

A swift and sudden smack to the back of the head stops Royal Purple in her tracks.

Royal Purple: What the fuck man!?!

The Dragon: I don’t know what’s more disappointing, that you’re just reeling off movie quotes, or that you didn’t tell me you’d finally watched Star Wars.

Royal Purple: Oh yeah - Katie promised to cook every day for like a week if I agreed to watch them with her. Couldn’t say no to that. I see why you two go crazy about that series, it was pretty good.

The Dragon: Told you.

Royal Purple: Although...why did they come out in a funny order again?

The Dragon: Well...where do I start?

Since that conversation could probably fill 10,000 words or more all by itself, ain’t nobody got time for that. The scene fades to black, but we hear a ringing phone in the background instead. One of the voices is familiar from her time working with Royal Purple, the other is completely new to us, and sporting a distinctive Philly accent.

Hadley: Hello?

Katie: Hadley?

Hadley: Yeah - Who’s this?

Katie: My name’s Katie - I’m a wrestler.

Hadley: Oh - Hey Katie. What can I do for you?

Katie: I wanted to ask a couple of questions if that’s okay? You trained at the Dragon’s Lair, in Miami?

Hadley: I did.

Katie: See I’ve just finished this tour of Japan and I’m looking for gyms where I can keep working on my Strong Style back in the US...Dragon’s Lair seemed like a good fit…

Hadley: I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming…

Katie: ...but I don’t wanna join a gym owned by a pro wrestler if they’re just a name on the door. Did you...see Mark Cross very often? Was he supportive?

Hadley laughs out loud, almost distorting the phone line.

Katie: What’s so funny?

Hadley: Oh yeah - He’s supportive alright. You’re not going to have any problems there.

Katie: Did something...happen to you...or something?

Hadley: Yeah - It did. It wasn’t anyone’s fault I just...uhh...had to get outta there in the end. How much do you know about Cross anyway?

Katie: Only what I’ve read online, honestly. Watched a lot of his matches when I was researching the place. What’s he like?

Hadley: In the ring, cold-blooded winner. Outside of it? Sweetest guy you could ever meet. If you join that gym, it’s like you’re one of his family. If it’s money, your job, your car...ex boyfriends...whatever it is that’s causing you trouble he will quite literally bend over backwards to help you. His whole team will go to the ends of the earth for their guys and girls...but that has it’s problems sometimes…

Katie: Why?

Hadley: Well you see...he has this...dark side to Mark, if you can even call it that...which only really comes out if you hurt someone in his circle. Or at least...that was the only place I ever saw it. Really tough to ever get on his bad side, but if you ever do...fuck...

THUMP THUMP...THUMP THUMP...A heartbeat sounds in the background.

Hadley: So there was this one time, he flew us all up to Orlando this one time, took us on a “field trip” to Disney for the day, all the students, the team, everything. Mark HATES heights so I thought it was gonna be so fucking funny sitting next to him on Exhibition Everest, tallest ride on the park, so I like push my way through to get the seat next to him and everything…

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP...The heartbeat quickened.

Hadley: But like...it turns out part of this ride meant going backwards, which I...just can’t...I properly lost my SHIT up there, the guy who’s supposed to be shit scared of heights is holding MY hand trying to calm ME down. He did his usual, he was kind, understanding, never judged me once, only teased me about it like a week later when he knew I was good...and I told him why it affected me so much, after we got off…

THUD. THUD. THUD...The sound of fist connecting on skull repeatedly.

Hadley: So when I was a kid my Dad took me on this swinging pirate ship ride at the fair. It got stuck when it was swinging backwards and we were up there for so long. I couldn’t stop crying, I was so scared, but because I wouldn’t stop Dad whipped me with his belt for it when we got home and umm...yeah I’ve never gotten over that really…

You think it’s fair to scar your daughter like that you FUCK!?!...The last word echoes away until it fades to nothing.

Hadley: Mark went and found my Dad. Not...just ‘cause of the fairground ride thing, my parents never supported my move into wrestling, so they were downright horrible to me from the moment I got to Miami. It was affecting me, my training, so he went to try and talk it out. Ended up beating my Dad half to death in his own home, his new wife sat there watching the whole thing. Safe to say he wasn’t planning to be more supportive of my career choices...

Katie: Didn’t he go to prison?

Hadley: My Dad was in some illegal shit, always has been, no WAY was he gonna call the cops. I don’t give a fuck about him anyway, he got what was coming to him. I was glad.

SPLASHHHHH...Two hands, shaking, covered in blood, being washed under cold water.

Katie: Is that why you left the gym?

Hadley: Fuck no! Someone goes to that length for me? I’m sticking with them all the way. Nah...Mark and I dated for a while, maybe eighteen months back. We only lasted a few months...he was still reeling from his divorce and I was so excited about being Facebook official with the guy whose poster I had on my damn wall. I even bought it with me when I moved to Miami to train at his gym, and stuck it in the bedroom of my little condo. We got into it for all the wrong reasons, and it didn't work out. Woulda made things too awkward being around the gym. It already was to be honest, everybody knew, we just figured we could be adults and get on with it but you know how these things are. The whispers were bad enough when we were actually dating, imagine when they heard we were having problems. He got me a development deal with some guys he trusted, up in Orlando, and off I went you know?

Katie: Jesus Christ.

Hadley: What was your name again, Katie, right?

Katie: Yeah, Katie Harmison.

Hadley: Well Katie, if you want someone in your corner, no matter what? Dragon’s Lair. If you want some asshole to take your cash and give zero fucks about you? Probably somewhere else. My Mom, my Dad, my boss, my ex...all tried to tear me down in one way or another, Mark made them all go away, and never once made me feel guilty for asking for his help. He goes harder than anyone in that building, I watched him train every morning, he won’t expect anything from you he wouldn’t give himself. Plus, if you’ve already trained in Japan, you won’t be surprised when he talks about all the sadistic shit…

Katie: Kendo sticks and stuff?

Hadley: Yeah, what the hell!?!

Katie: That’s kinda...what I thought too…he ever make you do it?

Hadley: Nah - He didn’t recommend it. Kept a few around for the Strong Style guys, so if you ever miss it he can hook you up! Hey Katie, listen, been nice to chat but I REALLY need to get to training. By the way, if you join up at the Lair, make sure you stay on Faith’s good side. She’s the real top dog around that place.

Katie: Faith, huh? OK - Perfect, thanks for all your help!

The line cuts out, and goes dead.

15th May 2021
Miami, FL
Mark Cross’ Residence[/i]

So here we go then, attempt number two at the big-time. Another opportunity that I, quite literally, have waited twelve months to roll around again. That doesn’t mean it’s all I’ve done  with my time, far from it...but it felt like part of the plan was to circle back around to this, to Blast from the Past, and to the World Heavyweight title once again.

The fact is I’ve been thinking long and hard about my career, about its path, and this is something that’s been going on before I even set foot in Sin City Underground, worked up to the main show, and now to this, twice. After all, another half a second against Ben Jordan, and this whole situation could have been completely different. I was just that close. Half a second. The slimmest of margins...but it doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile, a win is a win, and I didn’t quite have the stuff to bring it home back then...but I did have stuff. I had more stuff than I thought I would, coming back from a part-time schedule, just to keep busy while my prized pupil recovered from her broken leg. I was just trying to stay in shape, stay current...and then the Fire Dragons happened. The wins came. The titles came. It lit a fire in me that hadn’t burned for at least a couple of years, and it set in motion a run that meant, even a decade later...now, I’m wrestling better than I ever have. Even against Ben Jordan I knew...I didn’t quite have it yet, but the tank was far from empty. I still had way more room to improve. The ceiling was higher than I ever felt possible.

This last twelve months? It’s all been about filling my tank, ready to go one more time.

I feel like we’ve been here before Jack...Blast from the Past last year...you’re talking a good game about what I should be prepared for, but how about you prepare for me too? How about you...I don’t know, maybe put in some research, save us wasting time talking about more non-factors, and look at the facts. I trained in Japan, I’ve said that enough times, and you know why that’s relevant, since you’re asking if I’m ready to go to war with you? Well...the Japanese training methods are a little unique, to say the least. They’d have us grab boards, and kendo sticks, and hit each other with them over and over and over again, to toughen each other up. Oh, and respect is important, we bow to each other right after, in respect, in thanks for the lesson they just taught us. To an outsider, it all looks a little sadistic I’m sure...and to be honest it probably is...but if you go back through time, there is one thing so heavily entrenched in Japanese culture...and that’s building warriors. It wasn’t just about building great fighters, great wrestlers, but winners. Champions. Leaders of men. When I walked in that dojo I had much to learn. I was first to arrive, last to leave, and since in their eyes I was the rookie, the outsider, I wiped mats. I swept floors. I did the donkey work, all before I came back for more the next day.

Was it tough? Hell yeah it was tough. I’d roll out of bed in pain, after a restless night sleep, unable to lay anywhere other than on the welts that had formed from the onslaught of the day before. I thought about the scorching Miami sun, about the hot tub on the edge of my swimming pool and I considered, in my late-twenties, about packing it all up, going back home, living off my well-invested NFL dollars, and getting fat, because that’s always been an option for me. I didn’t have to embark on this wrestling journey at all. I definitely didn’t need to stay in it for ten years plus. I could have phoned it in at any point, if I wanted. I don’t think one single person who knew the full story would have judged me for it either. I think, honestly, they were all surprised I stuck with it too. Not because I wasn’t committed...usually I got so obsessed with something that it consumed me, like wrestling had, like it still did now, but I didn’t need this.

There are literally thousands of wrestlers out there, who feel like making it is the only shot they have of living a life that they’d be proud of, or a life of any real worth at all. Talk about motivation, that’s going to make you keep getting up after a fall, huh? They just can’t get their foot in the door...and yet, here I stand, able to muster up enough determination to surpass every single one of them, waving on the way past, as I get the chance to put myself top of the pile. Japan shaped me, in more ways than one, and long since cemented in me that throwing in the towel? Definitely not an option.

I remember there was this one day...the boards didn’t come out right until the end, we all thought we were safe, we’d given it our all in the session, we earned our rest. I got paired up with this young Japanese guy, a local, who’d recently joined the dojo to train. He wasn’t signed to the company, nowhere near the main roster. He was maybe my height, but slight-figured, I think he was maybe eighteen, nineteen...and we got our instructions - “shinu ma-de tatakau”. It roughly translated to fight to the death, and while the plan was not to kill, it was definitely to hit each other until one couldn’t swing back any more. Oh, and keep hitting them until someone tells you to stop.

I had an unfair advantage, of course. I’d been an NFL running back just over two years before. Take the ball, run at a bunch of guys that are bigger than you, get nailed, pick yourself up and go again. I could take punishment, and I’d never stopped training as a professional athlete even after I’d taken my last snap. My opponent was the first to fall. I swung the board again, again, again, this teenage kid literally crying on the floor in agony, trying to roll away, while I chased him down laid into him with this wooden board, waiting for the shout of “TOMERU!” (stop) to come. It didn’t. I didn’t let up, I knew how this worked. If I showed weakness, the show would have continued ever longer. This was part of the process. The sensei’s didn’t let up. Not until another warrior, further down the line, was reduced to one knee. Then, blissfully, the punishment was called to a halt. My arms were burning from all the exertion, woe is me, but I had absolutely come off better.

The kid was back in the dojo the very next morning. I figured I might have just ended a fledgling young career that day, ripped it away from the lad, but if anything, it rejuvenated my spirit. He came straight over, we bowed to each other, out of respect, and he thanked me like I’d taught him something, a valuable life lesson. Maybe I had, like tempering steel, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Whenever I felt like quitting, I had a new image in my mind now. I didn’t see my hot tub. I saw the lad who’d been beaten to within an inch of his life, dusting himself off, and coming straight back for more the next day, chasing his wrestling dream, just like we all were.

People like you don’t cause me serious injury, Jack. That’s your big problem. You’re top of the pyramid for a reason, I’m not here to belittle your ability, or your achievements, but winning matches and causing actual bodily harm are two completely different things entirely, in your case anyway. You don’t have a big reach advantage, we’re similar height, similar build. I don’t have the risk of you straight up overpowering me before I get the chance to slow you down. You can’t wrench on a body part that I might want to stay attached while I’m powerless to stop you. The likes of a Mac Bane, maybe. Dealt with him to get to you by the way. Submissions? Eh...we both know them, but we’re probably more adept at getting out of them than we are applying them, aren’t we? The danger of a blink-and-I’ll-miss-it hold out of nowhere, that separates my shoulder from its socket, before I even see it coming? Again...it’s just as likely to happen to you as it is to me. Fenris threatened to do something similar to mine. He didn’t, and I feel like his arm-breaking prowess surpasses either one of ours, don’t you agree?

For you to come out, and injure me? Really hurt me, put me out of action? That’d have to be your gameplan all along. You tend to have an inkling of course, you insulted a member of their family, you beat someone they care about...you have the title you took from them a few months back...or they admit in the warm-up to one of their matches that they intend to come out and inflict pain on you when they get the chance. The warning signs are absolutely plain as day, you can kind of prepare, and surprise surprise as they come out of the gates with a full head of steam, striking and striking and striking, wildly, loosely. Grabbing for holds and submissions when there are better options available. Working a joint even if it opens the other three up to retaliate in any way you please. It looks ragged. Almost desperate, like a man possessed.

So Jack - Really? Is that actually your plan, or are you just out here trying to talk a good game at me? Are you mistaking me for someone who takes any of that seriously, do you have me marked down as someone who cares? We all know what a big part of this game is. Talk. All words and empty threats a lot of the time, posturing, trying to act like the bigger man, and that’s fine...but do you really want to play that game with me, is it smart? Do you really think you’re going to get in my head, or are we all going to be disappointed when we find out that, once again, you’ve failed to deliver on all these promises you throw around.

I’ve faced plenty of ‘scary’ opponents in my time, sure. Bigger, stronger, faster, more experienced, more successful. There’s always someone out there with more...something, and yet here you and I are, fighting it out to be the best, not them. That says its own something. I don’t compete in this sport based on fear, and if you flick through some of the figures in my match history, names that I’ve faced, and beaten, just think...if they can’t make me fear them, then just what chance do you have Jack? I respect you, I don’t fear you. I expect to go to war with you, that doesn’t make me scared of what might happen. Instead it stokes the fires in my belly, brings my A game bubblig to the surface. I don’t tighten up when the bell rings, I’m relaxed, I’m laser focussed, I’m ready to get my work done.

I’ve heard it said, about me, that I come across a little holier than thou, as if I’m the only guy out here working hard, that I’m the only one without flaws, the only one worthy enough to capture these accolades and you know what? Maybe I have to accept that’s how it comes across. Maybe even, to be honest, I have to agree. Maybe I do just have to face the fact that I have my own way of doing things. I think that way is better, and nothing is going to sway me from it. Or more...I have a way that works better for ME. For how I am, for how I operate. Why change a formula that works though?

I don’t think I’m unbeatable. Far from it. In fact, like I spoke about at the top, I felt like I had so much more work left to stick into my game, compared to twelve months ago, compared to my first shot. If we’re not losing once in a while, and this applies to life as well, how are we ever really going to improve? What reason do we have to improve, when it’s just as easy to coast by, putting in the same easy level of effort. There’s no incentive to better ourselves and all that happens, is the envelope never gets pushed. There’s no disruptive innovation.

Disruptive innovation...now there’s a thing. Sounds negative, doesn’t it, but think about it...video streaming services...books you can buy online rather than from a store...a camera that fits in your pocket...smartphones in general...electric vehicles...the world is full of this disruptive innovation wherever you look and what is it, really? A different way of looking at things, a break from the traditional, usually a more efficient, more advanced way of thinking.

Now plenty has been said lately about how many microphones have been picked up ahead of this World title shot and really it’s been a grand total of none, I think. That seems a little odd, right? Blue chip title, main event, biggest show of the year? I mean, we HAVE to pick up our microphones, right? We HAVE to talk about it! Isn’t that the DONE THING? Isn’t that what Main Event wrestlers are SUPPOSED to do? Well let me tell every single one of you who is outraged to kindly sit down, and fuck off. THAT is disruptive innovation because you know what? Wrestling at the top level doesn’t have to be about a popularity contest. It’s not about sales. It’s not about profit. It’s not about the bottom line. It’s about wrestling. Two men. Six sides. One bell. One result. Who is better on the night. That, I can get behind. That is what I signed up for.

Jack, I just hope you’ve prepared for this like I’ve prepared for you. I hope your silence means you’ve used your time wisely, figured out how you’re going to “make me suffer” or whatever your grand plan is for me. I hope it’s enough. What you hold in your hands right now, that shiny strap, is something that belongs in mine. See I don’t like to share. Underground title? Over six months in possession. Blast from the Past achievements? I had to grab one that nobody else held, I had to go one better. Some time ago I compared myself to Dan Marino, the greatest to come through Sin City Wrestling without holding the World heavyweight title and you know what? The more I think about that analogy, the more I think I have a point, and the more I want to put that right.

Very few people can do what I can do in a wrestling ring. Forget about sellability, think winability. Give me another twelve months to get better, and that’s exactly what I do. That’s a scary prospect. A new era of champions is about to begin. One that wins first, and talks about it later. Jack tried to be that guy...but really all he’s been doing is neglecting his duty. All that radio silence, for nothing. The truth is, people can say what they want. It doesn’t matter...as long as you hold the title. They just have to come for you in the comments, complain and complain and complain until they manage to earn their shot and then BOOM, put them right back where they belong...in the only place in this business that truly matters. As the new champion, the ring will be my domain. Want to prove me wrong? That’s the only place where your opinion will be valid.

One. More. Win.

Timeframe - Unknown
Location - Unknown[/i]

Well that definitely wasn’t fucking worth it after all.

Sometimes in this sport, there are times when you have to lift and spin your opponent in order to execute a move correctly. Just lift, you put them straight up in the air, they come right back down to where you had them before. Just spin, you trap their leg in a position where it can’t get free and, as we all know, bone doesn’t bend, it breaks. Plus, if you don’t stop yourself at that point, you end up rolling your whole weight over the top of that trapped leg too. One wrong move, a few seconds or less, and I would be looking for a new form of employment.

*CRACK*

Adnan Virk: That looks like it could be a bad one people…

Timekeeper (picked up from one of the headset mics): Oh shit, Dragon’s really hurt…get the medics in there!

I knew at that moment I was done. I don’t think I even screamed in pain, or at least I didn’t hear myself if I did. I just knew. My opponent staggered back, shocked, the colour drained from the face of the referee as he heard the snap, and then saw the damage first-hand moments later. Everyone knew. Wrestling had been one big wild ride from the first minute to the last. I’d loved virtually every second of it, and thankfully I’d evaded serious injury for over a decade during the process. I began to wonder if maybe, once I made it into my forties, my luck with injuries would start to run out. I was mentally preparing myself for that milestone, thinking maybe that would be the time I began to wind down, phone it in, look for other ways to spend my time and get my kicks. It turns out I fell a few years short of that after all.

I could have gotten back, of course. I’d been a professional athlete for long enough to know that, even with my leg splintered into however many fucking pieces it’d just gotten split into, I was in prime physical condition before I even started on the road to recovery. I was wrestling arguably the best I ever had, for a start. I was no stranger to hard work, I craved adversity, I never shied away from it once. I’d probably come back from this encounter stronger than ever. But I wouldn’t come back. I didn’t need the money before, I definitely didn’t need it now, this was my own greed that put me here after all, my own stupid aspirations. It was karma. I’d sold out.

In fact, I sold my soul to the devil. I was quite content with the fact I’d never make it BIG. ECWF in Miami was probably the biggest company I’d worked for in terms of the size of the audience, the reach of the organisation, and while it was absolutely nothing to be sniffed at, it still wasn’t the major leagues. I was a great worker, an experienced head around the locker room, a model professional...but I never had that commercial appeal to put me right up there with the best of the best. I accepted it, I made peace with that pretty early on, and I took full advantage of that. No exclusive deal? I could say yes or no to whatever opportunities I wanted. Needed some time off? I was the master of my own destiny, I set my own schedule. I was in complete total control of my career, and I very much had my own life, and my own interests outside of wrestling that I pursued to my heart’s content.

And then, at a party, I joked with one of the trainers at the Development Centre asking about when my trial was going to be, and since it was in Florida, and I lived in Florida, I was only a few hours drive away. It turns out, a few weeks later, they were a little more serious about me than I was about them, and the call came.

As I said, my wrestling work was probably some of the best it's ever been, and it wasn’t like the door to the grand stage had ever been closed because of my ability in the ring anyway. That, aside from a shaky few years before I went to Japan, was never the issue. I made a great first impression, they wanted to use me here and there in a couple of dark matches to see how I did. One thing led to another until it led to a big stack of paperwork, and by far the most intricate, loop-holey (technical term) contract I’d ever seen in my whole life. I understood every word of course, picked through every clause. I’d taken classes in contract law so I could help the guys I trained in the Lair understand the deals they were being offered. I made myself an expert. I knew just how many ways they had me over a fucking barrel and I took the pen and I signed it anyway because that was what I wanted to do, and it was all going to be fine. I was ALWAYS fine.

We all knew what it was, of course. My role would be far more than just one of the guys on roster. In fact, that was very much secondary. Guys like me, we have our uses in the major leagues, and it’s not selling shirts, or filling seats. It’s more...developmental. We know how to make guys on the up-and-up look really good out there, even if their abilities are a little lacking at that moment in time, they were still learning the ropes in a lot of regards. We were there to facilitate that, and disguise it for the fans. We can teach guys how to work properly, either at live shows, or just in training. We can impart our experience, share our knowledge, put our arms around shoulders when needed and light a fire under someone’s ass when they deserve it too. We could be the oil in the cogs that kept everything moving in the places where management couldn’t go, and be the reliable old hands who could always be called on when something needed doing right. That, probably, is what put me in that situation, on that night.

Wrestling with someone on their first time out under the bright lights, in front of a crowd of THAT magnitude? It’s always tough. It’s pretty much unanimous for everyone involved to want...no...need someone like me to be out in the ring with them. Someone to keep the action moving toward its final conclusion, and to try and keep an excess amount of adrenaline from bubbling over and ruining the whole match. Guys overextend in those situations, throw you too far, or hit you too hard or...trap your leg under both of your weights as they botch a move. I thought I was capable enough to keep myself out of that kind of trouble in those situations, night in, night out. After all, I had done it for years. Done it for a decade in fact...

...but the one time it failed, it was in a place where they owned my fucking name. Literally. Mark Cross, the name on my passport, my birth certificate, the first name my lovely Mom gave me, the surname I inherited from my inspirational Dad. The name that I put the name of a mythical creature in the middle of, to make one of the most creative wrestler names in history, was contractually owned by a company with wealth so vast, and legal team so malevolent, that I knew I was up against a losing battle to get it back, that is, before my three year deal expired. Of course, arrogance took over. I had one bad injury in over a decade, I’m invincible, and my work will be even better than they expect of me. I’ll absolutely see out the full term of that contract. That’s just the kind of guy I am. Except...I didn't.

It's easy, just come back after your injury heals, see out your contract with us, or terminate it now and use a different name in your professional endeavours. Any questions?

I took option two, with a go fuck yourself for good measure. I actually didn't blame them. Rules were rules, they owed me nothing, really, I'd been with them for less than a year. You heard horror stories of people that had given a decade plus to that company, only to get their belongings handed back to them in a black trash bag. After all, this is the wrestling BUSINESS, profit is king, and the higher up the food chain you go, the more important the profit becomes...but it made me feel better to tell them to go fuck themselves, so I did it anyway. Besides, I was only burning bridges I never planned to cross again.

So there it was...in one match I became Marcus Sutherland, a nod to my Scottish heritage as I borrowed my Mother's maiden name for a while. It'd be mine for two years, maybe longer, who knew. Maybe I’d forge out a new career, scale new heights, and it’d just kind of stick Besides, most actors had a stage name didn't they? Why shouldn't I join the party? It was an easy way to sidestep the whole wrestler schtick.

We flick to an empty auditorium. The familiar face of Mark Cross stands in front of a table of four stern-faced, artistic-looking individuals, who peer down at him as they wait for him to introduce himself.

Marcus: I’m Mark Cro...Marcus Sutherland...auditioning for the role of-

Director: You don’t even know your name?

Marcus: Uh it’s a long story, it’s kind of a contractual thing?

Director: Your NAME is a contractual thing?

Marcus: Yeah, I was a wrestler before I-

Director: Ugh, a wrestler...I’ve heard enough. Next!

Marcus: I haven’t even read any of the l-

Director: Get. Out.

Marcus: Are you really not even going to give me a ch-

Director: GETTHEFUCKOUT!!

The Dragon: AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!

I woke up screaming in a puddle of my own sweat, and probably some tears, as an alternative reality seemed to throw itself upon me in my sleep. My hand shot under the covers to check my leg, the one I’d seen bent horrifically out of shape in the dream state, to find it intact. No breaks. No cast. No pins and metal plates. It was okay.

The Dragon: I need to call Melody and tell her not to worry about that trial…

Or maybe it was a sign...they say every dream carries some kind of meaning...a warning about another mistake I might have made…

Micaela: Mark? What’s wrong?

Oh...there it is.

The Dragon: I just had a bad dream...I shouldn’t be here...with you...this whole thing was a mistake…

Micaela: Wait, where are you going...we can talk about this...whatever it is…

The Dragon: Look...just...I can’t, right now. Stay here as long as you need. Spare keys in a drawer in the kitchen, the shop back in town is well stocked...

Micaela: Uhm...can I call you?

The Dragon: I uhh…No. I’ll call you when I uhh...figure this all out.

Micaela: I didn’t mean-

The Dragon: I’ve just...gotta go.


Congratulations Mark, and now you’re unfaithful.

Something about this was different. I knew casual, meaningless sex. I knew it like someone that's made up for lost time after a decade of marriage. I went after it like someone that's had it shoved in their face, their nose rubbed in it for just as long as he’d been in the wrestling business, which was true. I’d filled my boots like someone that, for 3,500 days or more had always said no...but now felt like he could finally say yes. In truth, I didn’t want to say yes all those previous times, I had someone I loved at home, and they were enough. Besides, I knew whether it be from drugs, alcohol, the thought of money, or the allure of spending the night with a minor celebrity, my potential suitors weren’t genuine. It didn’t tempt me, it wasn’t worth it. I knew it wasn’t worth it all that time ago, and when I finally sampled the real thing? Well it was exactly what I thought it was going to be. Empty. Pointless. Meaningless. All the thrill was in the chase...and there was never much of a chase.

Tonight was different. I was totally and completely in that moment. Nothing to influence either of us. I was exhausted, sure, but if there was ever an excuse to pack the unexpected guest off into one of the spare bedrooms and collapse, that was very much it. I was awful when I was tired after all...but once again, I had a girl at home, who I cared about. Why was this different?

Amber and I...we never...really defined what we were, never put a label on it. Suddenly I asked her to move to Miami, and that same day she packed a bag, we booked a flight, and off we went. Still no label. I took out a lease on an old pilates studio and we set about converting it, so she could carry on teaching dance and earn her own money. No label. We made each other breakfast and I’d turn up to the studio unexpectedly to surprise her with lunch and iced coffee...and we just fell into line like a couple would. We were a couple in every sense of the word...except for actually saying the words. Did that mean it was even cheating if we weren’t officially...anything?

Of course it was. She upped sticks and moved to Miami you fucking idiot. That level of commitment doesn’t need a label. Actions speak louder than words, you’ve been bumbling on about that for years.

Fuck.

If there was ever a time to have my head truly in the game, a World title shot on the line in just a few short weeks, this was it. Instead that mind-clearing drive with you, a Boss 302 engine and another kind of Boss on the tape deck, results in you complicating it even more for yourself, finding a damsel in distress and deciding she was going to become your next little project. Nice one, genius.

I had to take my mind off...that...for a while, get myself back on to wrestling, maybe figure out if O’Malley even had a point or not. After all, maybe there’s a reason I’m sitting here and he’s off licking his wounds after his own title aspirations went down in flames...

After all...When he’s picking up a microphone, I’m picking up my next weight. While he’s typing out his next toxic indirect Tweet, I’m typing out next week’s training plan on my phone. While he’s pedalling t-shirts, I’m pedalling a spin bike in a t-shirt, and while he’s smashing back a Guinness, I’m getting smashed in the back with a wooden board in a dojo to build toughness, all in the name of wrestling. Two entirely different approaches. One wrestling, one entertainment. I don’t know exactly who in our business coined the phrase wrestling entertainment, but I think there’s more than a few who still feel those two terms shouldn’t be mixed.

I wasn’t going to be in this sport forever. I wasn’t going to be on this planet forever, if we wanted to get morbid with it. I accept my own mortality, in all things, and to be honest I use that to motivate, to kick me on. Take the chances now, they won’t be there forever. If you want it, you’ve gotta send it. One day I want to get tired of wrestling, because I gave it everything I had. I want to get tired of love, because I loved unconditionally and so damn hard that it made my heart hurt. I want to grow tired of life one day, because I lived it to the fullest, sent it the hardest, and left it in a better place than I found it. Everything is finite. I’m OK with that. Since losing my Dad, I became even more aware that nobody is invincible, nobody will live forever, no matter how strong they were. I don’t mind that. I just know that, one day, in some faraway place, when I decide to call it quits, permanently, and we crack open a beer and reminisce about the old times, I won’t be sitting there with regrets. I gave it my all.

Does that make me a worthy champion? Well to me, yes it does. There will come a time when I’m long gone from Sin City Wrestling, or just from wrestling in general. The staff, the fans, the company itself, that could all go the same way, eventually. Gone, just words on the pages of history and you know what gets written down there? Successes. Accomplishments. Results. Suddenly this thing we’re chasing, profit, ticket sales, people wearing our merchandise, people cheering our name as we rip through the curtain...One day all of that will be pretty much meaningless. The only thing that history will remember is the wins. The losses. Who held what and for how long.

I want to be Mark Cross, wins most accolades, not some other guy, sells most novelty mugs...because even as little as ten years from now? Only one of those is still going to be relevant. After all, only one of those is written down as public record, on the SCW website, for all to see. The second, buried deep in the back-office, the part of the industry that many would prefer to keep secret.

There comes a time when you have to stop settling for second best. Blast from the Past winner, long-standing Underground champion, it’s pretty impressive, but it’s not the World Heavyweight title is it? Winning Blast from the Past in two straight years...well nobody’s done that before...but Evie has an extra finals appearance over me...and winning the tournament is just the next step. That last step actually, before you reach the pinnacle, before you become the guy at the top of the pyramid. Sure, I’d achieved stuff, but I was nothing without that belt.

I guess, if I’m going to take this opportunity with both hands, the same needs to be said of my romantic life too. Circling back around to the task back at hand, and suddenly it becomes even more complicated. There was a third player. One that existed before Amber saved me from some overzealous fans when I’d just stepped off a long flight from Japan. One prior to the mystery girl who, beaten and bruised, was now holed up in my ski chalet in some tiny little town up in the mountains. The fact is I knew neither one was ever going to be “the one”. The first, almost an arrangement of convenience, two humans who’d grown born of meaningless sex, craving something real, found it in each other...and became that old married couple that, strangely, never had sex, almost immediately. No “new car smell”. No rabbit stage. Just...comfort, and safety. I feel like we miss each other when we’re gone, but at the same time we’re too busy to notice. Sounds like my old marriage to me. We all know how this ended.

And then...to my latest project. Battered, bruised and broken. Literally, and figuratively. Abused by an ex husband when, finally, she told him where to get off. Pretty brave, honestly...but I didn’t know much about her. I didn’t...really want to either, honestly...I just felt sorry for her. I wanted her to be okay. I didn’t want anyone to go through anything like that. It didn’t make it love. It was the kind of thing I’d do for any of my students, and had done, many a time. I liked to help people

And then...there was one more. The third player, the one that got away...and kind of came back into contention what seemed like moments later. If anything she was the most broken of all...her meticulous shower routine that showed some obsessive compulsive tendencies...the scars that covered her wrists and legs...the kind that she hoped went unnoticed, the same ones that made me realise how brave she was for fighting through, feeling almost proud of who she was, while others would have judged her, said she was doing it for attention or something. The girl with an independence so strong, that my warmth and kindness scared her, made her push it away, push me away...because while she knew I could take her and her odd little family of puppy and adopted daughter away, protect them all forever...the risk seemed too great, if she finally let her guard down, shed some of that thick skin, pulled down the walls, for it all to go up in smoke once again. Of course, I didn’t realise what I’d lost, until suddenly she married someone else, some shotgun wedding in Vegas or whatever I think, it was all so out-of-the-blue...and it ended just as quickly as it started. He wasn’t right for her, of course, but choosing wrong meant one thing, she could keep her guard up. Nothing had to change. The fact is, I can be a selfish fucker. A perfectly natural reaction for me? Hope it all went tits up, and yet, instead my heart broke for her as I saw that chance for her to be happy fizzle away as soon as it began.

I guess, in a way, it meant there was still hope...but I had Amber, who I was already setting on trampling all over ...and I had to deal with that little situation I’d made for myself...oh, plus,  last time I suggested something more than friends with benefits to option number three, I got slapped back down to reality. So hard in fact, that I never brought it up again. I knew why I got shut down, I understood completely. Truth was? I probably didn’t fight hard enough, or long enough. I could have woken up to her soft brown curls in my face every morning, if only I’d put my foot down, made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. Amber would have stayed in NYC, with her friends, working two jobs to make ends meet, not really following her dream of teaching and choreographing dance. Micaela...probably would have been hunted down by her ex-husband halfway across the country. She’d been beaten half to death once, how much worse would the second time have been? Two people’s situations would have been worse-off, sure, but I would have been beyond happy. Would I have accepted that trade? In a heartbeat. Like we’ve been saying over the last year, I usually put myself first, regardless of who else gets hurt.

I thought I was a winner, a go-getter, a guy who sees what he wants and takes it. Turns out, I’m just a settler. Dream house, dream car, dream watches, dream job - Check. How about the dream title, dream girl? Well I guess I shouldn’t be greedy, right?

Wrong. Fuck that. No more messing around. I guess in wrestling, in love, in life...you Winsome, you lose some...now it’s my time to win. In every single aspect. I was going to get the belt. I was going to get the girl. Stage one was just over a week away. I knew what I had to do.

Part 1 - Memory Lane

The following is an excerpt from a 2018 radio interview with Royal Purple, shortly after capturing her first singles title, aged 16.

So you had wrestling in your family?

Yeah! My Grandpa was a wrestler, a pretty good one too, and like...you always used to go into the family business back in the day and stuff, so my Dad got into it too. He wasn’t as talented as Pops, he’ll tell you that himself, but he kept it going for a good ten years or something. It was only when Grandpa wanted to retire and start his own promotion that my Dad really started to shine, like with the business stuff? He’s always been smart, knew how to make deals and look after money, so he didn’t have to wrestle after that. Basically gave it all up and became a promoter.

Is that why you started wrestling too, to stay in the family business?

I mean there was never any pressure on me or anything, I guess my Mom and Dad just thought I wouldn’t be interested, ya know? I used to like hanging out at the shows and stuff but that was more so I could hang out with my parents, cause having a family in the wrestling business was pretty cool right? Most of my friends, their parents were like accountants, or cashiers, or worked in construction, that kinda thing. I wasn’t like...a total girly girl or anything, I mean I liked makeup and making my hair nice...but I was playing soccer and volleyball and stuff before wrestling happened, so I couldn’t keep my nails long or anything. I just wanted to see what it was like to actually do it, be in the ring like they used to.

Were you thinking about it before Dragon’s Lair opened up?

I mean, not really, honestly...when I heard there was a new wrestling school opening in the city I asked Dad about the guy that owned it, cause they were campaigning around the schools and stuff, trying to get local kids interested. I was like who's this Dragon guy? I don’t remember seeing him around, but turns out Mark had wrestled for the company a couple-a times, came in short notice to cover injuries and stuff. Said he was a nice guy, good worker, gave us like a discount on his appearance fee or something cause we couldn’t really afford someone like him otherwise. I don’t think Dad even clocked I was interested when I asked him about it, I mean I was always asking stuff about the biz, it wasn’t anything different...

So you figured that was the place to start?

Yeah, they were doing like five free sessions for under 18s at the time, so I didn’t even have to talk to Mom and Dad about it right away. They probably woulda supported me, but like I said me and wrestling wasn’t a talk we ever had...like EVERRRR, either in a good or bad way, so I didn’t wanna make it super weird when I was so on the fence about it myself. Besides, my Dad woulda, ya know, taken control and stuff? Would have wanted to put me in with people he knew and he liked...I kinda wanted to do my own thing.

Did Mark work with you right away?

Noooo see, he lives out in Miami, always has, so he spent a lot of time going back and forth to there when I first joined. When he was around, he worked his own programme from like 6am to 11 or so and then he’d just...leave. The rest of the time he stayed in Miami and trained there I guess, mainly came back for shows. I hardly saw him. I was mostly in group sessions with Octane McKane, old dude, always seemed kinda angry...but he was the guy that trained Mark and he was super nice to all of us and patient cause we were new. We fight all the time now, it’s sooooo funny arguing with him…he’s wayyyyy meaner to me now, but that’s his way of telling you he likes you. Strange really...but the last thing he wanted to be was the reason a recruit walked away.

What made you stand out? I’m assuming you did anyway?

Well...it was when we started working on some throws and stuff, ya know, hip tosses and arm drags? I mean all super basic stuff and all, even you could do it, but it was like they could show me a move once, and I learnt it. I could just go in and nail someone else with it, dunno why, it’s not like I was thinking about it. Even like the basic stuff takes a while for most guys to get down, like the amount of times I nearly got dropped on my head was like INSANE, I swear. It was at the end of the fourth session when I got asked to stick around a bit longer, first time I met Devinee, who was Mark’s old friend from school I think, been wrestling even longer than he has. She’s funny...so Irish though, like sooooooo Irish, couldn’t understand half of what she was saying to me, but she taught me some extra moves, more complicated stuff I guess...cause it was taking me like 3 or 4 go’s to get some of them down.

So Mark still hadn’t seen you work?

Nope, not really...except on that last free session. Like...I turned up at the gym and he was already there ya know, holding punch bags for people, fetching them water...I mean this guy was the real deal for anyone in that gym, full-time professional wrestler, been on TV and stuff, he was what most of them wanted to be. Some were like...just there while the sessions were free, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted...but a lot of the guys looked up at him a lot, and he was like their waterboy for the day, fetchin’ towels and chatting with everyone. I got put in the ring for a little practice match with one of the trainees, and apparently his eyes were on me the whole time, like Octane and Devinee had told him to pay close attention when I got in there or something?

And how did it go?

I mean...it was fun! Like...a lot of the moves Octane and Devinee showed me were from standing still, but I mean, I’m small and this guy was like waaaaay bigger so I thought I needed some help, ya know? I just started trying to hit these moves on the run, or like...springing off the ropes and stuff and they still worked! They worked better! I was running and jumping and flying and the guy couldn’t catch me, I mean if I was gonna be a wrestler I wanted it to be like THAT ya know? It was so fun and intense! I hadn’t done pins or anything yet so we just went at it until the whistle. Like the place was silent after we were done, but I heard Mark say...uhh...can I swear on this show?

Yeah sure you can!

I heard him say ‘holy fuck the girl’s the real deal’ and then him and all his team disappeared off into the office, and I guess I was gonna be a wrestler now, or something?

So that was when he started training you himself, full-time?

Nooooo not quite, but he was suddenly around way more. His wife Amanda too, she’s so sweet, I think they both just started spending way more time in New Orleans than Miami, rented a small house or something, as Mark was in the gym every day now...

Royal Purple: Hey guys, Royal Purple in editing here just jumping in for a second. Amanda - If you’re watching this, it sucks you guys broke up! I miss you! Call me sometime! Oh yeah...and by the way, listening to 16 year old me is like...umm...so like cringy and stuff? Definitely living up to the blonde thing...

He didn’t actually work with me much to begin with, it was more that he was there to work with the other guys more, so that one of the team was free to work with me one-on-one, which I guess was really cool for everyone else? You never want to see someone get special treatment in a place like that, buuuuuut if it means you get to work with the guy whose face is above the door more than before, then it can’t all be bad right? He only cut his schedule after the title shot.

And how do you feel about that?

What, Mark cutting down to a part-time schedule?

Yeah.

I mean...I don’t even really know properly what that means yet, ya know? But I super appreciate it too! I mean...wrestling is all he’s known, all he’s done for that many years, I feel like it’d be hard to give that up, having less chances for the fans to chant your name, that’s what I love the most about being out there I think, and having less time to like...stay sharp and stuff. I mean this could turn out to be beginner’s luck, or I could get injured or something, and it could all be a waste? It just seems so much to give up for one girl who’s won a couple of matches and stuff. I did like...ask Amanda about it or whatever...she just said that he can be selfish and stubborn sometimes, and if he didn’t want to cut down he would have found another way, so it’s not like he was ever gonna hold it against me.

Pretty dangerous ally to have in your corner. The guy sure knows how to win wrestling matches around here. Anyway that’s all we’ve got time for now. Thanks so much **BEEP** for coming on, any last words?

Ummm...thank you guys soooooo much for the support, I love you all! Oh...and remember, don’t try and race me, I’m always gonna be 2fast4u!


Part 2 - That was then...this is now…

We are taken to Royal Purple’s hotel room, where she has her feet up on the couch. With demand for her time higher now she was Bombshell Roulette champion, we can assume she’s already in Vegas ahead of Blaze of Glory.

Now they say you should never bite the hands that feed you...and to be honest, I dunno if the owner of that hand is even gonna see it that way as he’s like, always been super realistic with me, but do you really think it was Mark Cross that made me a champion? Or do you think I made it happen before he even really stepped in his own gym? Because I can tell you it was option number two. When Mark came on board, he wanted to help me stay there, to sustain it, to not flame out, and to help keep my feet on the ground and you know what? He managed it too...for a few years...but yet here I am wearing this fucking mask trying to hide the person I became. You know what that was, Sam? A bitch that couldn’t stop winning, who everyone wanted to be like, wanted on their show, wanted my face on a t-shirt. Everyone wanted a piece of me, and you know what would happen, if I took this mask off? Mark Ward and Christian Underwood’s phones blowing up, with offers to take me off of their hands, because they know what VALUE ADDED means to their brand. Royal Purple’s more than a little broken but what’s under the surface? That’s shit that sells.

Mark Cross and the Dragon’s Lair didn’t make me anything that I didn’t already have within myself, OK? Perform a move for me a couple of times and suddenly I could perform it, like it was hard wired into my brain. No thinking involved whatsoever. See I’m fast on my feet, sure, but up here?

She points to her head.

There’s nothing. No thinking time, it’s automatic. Wind me up and watch me go. I react faster because I don’t stop to think, I don’t shoot first and ask questions later, I don’t ask questions at all. I just do things out there. Things that my opponent this week? She can only fucking dream of. I have a gift, Sam. I have a gift that didn’t need to be nurtured. I just had to walk into a wrestling ring to unlock it, like it was hard-coded into my genes. It would have happened anyway. If it wasn’t a free lesson at the Lair it would have been curiosity getting the better of me, I’d have found a way, messing about at a show when I went with my parents, or one word to my Pops. “Hey Grandpa, I was thinking about maybe giving wrestling a try” and I’d be straight in a ring with a coach that he’d hired and discovering this thing anyway. One way or another, it would have happened. Would I have fallen to drink and drugs, had things been different? Maybe not. Or maybe I would have done it sooner. Maybe I would have got pushed further, faster, bigger crowds, bigger contracts, bigger weight of expectation just like...weighing me the fuck down, ya know? Big rise, even harder fall.

She sits up, leaning forward, hands cupped in front of her.

So Sam don’t come out here trying to pretend like you knew me, where I came from, what I’m about. Talking about playing me at my own game like you know what that is. I. Don’t. Know. What. My. Game. Is. All I know is a bell rings and it’s like I’m playing WWE 2K on the easiest difficulty. I can literally tune out, go to a totally different place, and watch my arms and leg move until, oh hey, I’ve won another match. Look at me, aren’t I amazing? Truth is, the best wrestlers hold the titles, like, first and foremost. That’s the natural order of things, it’s just the way shit goes. Me, with a belt? It doesn’t look outta place, ‘cause I can always go in there and back it up. I can actively go outta my way to make sure it DOESN’T happen ya know, I can turn up to the arena a total drunken mess, start a fight with a fan and terrorise backstage crew, chase them around with their own power tools until they’re begging me to start, act unstable, talk unstable, actually just BE unstable and still, you know what? I’m the best candidate for the job when it comes to a title shot, all while you talk about respect and knowing what it’s like to be here and being all apprehensive about your title contract and shit I mean seriously? Please…

Royal Purple pats the belt, sitting on the couch alongside her.

See when I first won this title belt? I thought great, less free time, more pressure, but I put it on my girlfriend Katie, and it was like she was like, glowing or something, it was pretty special. It was that feeling invincible thing you were talking about or whatever. I wanna talk about Katie real quick because...first of all...she stuck with me through my ABSOLUTE WORST and when someone does that? You don’t ever question their loyalty and two, yeah, she absolutely will have her own title one day, but we’re so completely different from each other it’s untrue. We’re walking different paths, and we’ll both get there, just at different speeds, and different times. See, you wonder why she’s called the Protege?

She sits back on the couch, resting her arms across the back.

Katie started out in Japan, and Mark? Who you seem so keen to bring up? His career really started to come alive when he went out to Japan. For Katie it was a choice, for Mark it just kind of clicked, but they both fell in love with the style, the approach, ya know? Katie didn’t really wanna live or work out in Japan, she got a little homesick, but she still wanted that to be her thing ya know, the way she worked in a ring? That’s how she ended up coming to The Dragon’s Lair, and that’s how she got the nickname The Protege, cause she’s the cardboard cutout female version of our very own Mark “The Dragon” Cross...just...way earlier on in her development. You know what that means? She’s gonna be one hell of a fucking wrestler, and one hell of a fucking champion one day, but she’s gotta get that dialled in, all figured out. She got the nickname the Protege because she’s accidentally modelled herself in the image of the Head Trainer. My nickname, under the mask? They called me The Future, because I wasn’t.

She adjusts the mask for a second, making sure it’s firmly in place.

Mark will tell you himself, I probably win 6 or 7 times out of 10 against him now. In fact I think he HAS said that himself around Sin City, so it won’t be news to you really and why is that? He’s all about that Bruce Lee “fear the man who’s practiced one kick a thousand times” or whatever and Katie? She’s on the same shit, repetition, repetition, repetition. I mean his game is soooo well rounded, and he’s literally practiced everything so much, the muscle memory is so ingrained that he’s basically fighting on instinct out there, he’s got his “thinking time” so low, even though it’s all subconscious or whatever, that sometimes he can predict what I’m gonna do next. Sometimes it’s a few times a match, in others it’s like he’s reading my mind, and trust me most of the time I don’t know what he’s reading, because again, I don’t think, I just do.

Samantha Marlowe could well land on one of those three or four times. She may just have my number out there. After all, like she’s willing to tell you herself, she’s so familiar with being in this spot. Done it before? She could easily do it again, that’s fair...but there’s a much higher chance she won’t even touch me. Blink and you’ll miss it, opportunity gone, get back in line and try and take it from me in a few months, okay? Because that’s the biggest problem. How do you beat someone who’s so unpredictable, how do you prepare? How do you get yourself to the position where, yeah, I can maybe win 30/40% of the time? Ring time. Seeing me up close, avoiding everything you throw at me and handing it back with interest. The first few times? You probably won’t figure it out. Maybe after three, four, five matches, it’ll start to make sense, maybe you’ll see a few chinks in the old armor, some ways you could maybe mount offense against me, but just think...how long does it take to earn three, four, five shots at the same title, Sam? We know you’re not getting any younger. We see your body starting to break down on you a lil bit, and while that adrenaline is gonna try it’s best to carry you through...are you really ready to go to war with me?

Royal Purple stretches her arms up in the air, yawning under the mask.

I admit, this result isn’t totally guaranteed. I am beatable, I have been beaten, but it doesn’t hinge upon the things you think it does. It doesn’t matter about the wheel, I’m adaptable, and you’ve been in enough of these to handle that. it doesn’t matter if my trainer is better than your trainer, they’re not out in the match fighting for us. It doesn’t matter who tries to play their game or someone else’s game or whatever because the prize is gonna go to who was better on the night. You wanna tell us all you’re still performing to a high enough level to hold this title? OK - Fine, I’ll bite. I’ll like...take your word for it or whatever. You know I do, It’s why I’M here after all. The question is HOW beatable am I? How many times out of ten could you take me out? I mean we can kick around some numbers, but however it rolls, whoever you ask, I think I’m gonna come away and say you know what? I like those odds. It’s ironic that we’re playing this match out in Vegas really, because like they say, the deck is always stacked, the house always wins eventually. In this example, if you couldn’t guess? I’m the house bitches. Gimme your best shot Sam, I’m looking forward to this one. Feel like I might even break a sweat.

The scene fades to black.