Part 1 - The Callup
The scene opens to a property in Coconut Grove, Miami, Florida - The home of former SCW World Heavyweight champion Mark “The Dragon'' Cross. A small portable speaker at poolside is blasting out Gabrielle Aplin as the aforementioned two-time Blast From The Past winner floats around in the pool on a giant inflatable pink flamingo, Ray Ban Wayfarers shielding his eyes from the sun, a smile plastered on his face as for once, he has no flights booked, has no travel case packed, ready to head out at a moment’s notice, and nobody demanding his time or attention. From out of the corner of the shot, a butler-for-hire, complete with tuxedo t-shirt and black shorts with white stripe, attire fitting for the 90-plus degree heat and 90-percent plus humidity of the sunshine state appears, holding out a phone.
Butler: Christian Underwood for you, Mr Cross.
The Dragon lazily paddles himself over to the edge of the pool, accepting the phone.
The Dragon: Ahoy hoy? Christian!! How’s it going fella? Yuh-huh I’m still in Florida...yuh-huh I’m taking bookings...you bet I’m still in the gym every day...nuh-uh I’m still not leaving the state...oh, Disney? You mean Orlando Disney? Yeah that’s still in Florida, I can do that...alright...put me in coach...now remember though, unless you’re gonna relocate and call it Sunshine State Wrestling this is a one time deal alright? I’m starting to remember what owning a swimming pool feels like. Okay, cool, see you in Orlando!
Hanging up the phone, he passes it back to the butler, kicking his feet against the side, sending himself floating back into the middle of the pool.
Butler: Another beer Mr Cross?
The Dragon: Nah - Too many calories, turns out I’ve got a match next Sunday, better make it a hard seltzer.
Heading over to the poolside bar, he opens the fridge, pulling out a can.
Butler: Sir, can you float closer please?
The Dragon: Just throw it over!
Mark holds one arm up in the air, ready to receive.
Butler: Are you sure you can-
The Dragon: Skill position player in the NFL, four years in the league - I’ve got it bud.
Butler: Well...okay…
Looking more than a little anxious about his throwing ability, the butler pulls back and heaves the can in the direction of The Dragon...who for the first time since the scene opened...looked alert, wide awake. That throw was terrible, too high, a little wide, the kind where a ball-hawk opposition safety would have come after it, eyes like two saucers, licking their lips as they get ready to chow down on a pick-six combo meal...unless Mark pulled off a miracle. Paddling back a couple of times, launching himself up in the air as he juggles the can once...twice...three times...closes his hands around it finally...the brief airtime sending him clear of the flamingo and straight into the water, goes straight under.
Butler: Mr Cross!! Mr Cross are you okay!?!
Floating back up to the surface, a can of White Claw held triumphantly up in the air...Mark “The Dragon” Cross emerges with another completed catch to add to his stats. Any NFL scouts watching should consider themselves impressed. Reaching around in the water with his spare hand, he retrieves his slowly sinking Ray Bans, restoring them to his face.
The Dragon: Next time, leave the can, I’ll float over and get it, deal?
Butler: Deal. Hey - Mr Cross...can I ask you something?
The Dragon: Sure you can...
Cracking open his White Claw as he treads water in the pool, deciding trying to climb back on the flamingo was only going to dump him back in the drink, and undoubtedly mean spilling his beverage all at the same time.
Butler: So I’m a big fan of Demon of Durango…
The Dragon: You want an autograph or something?
Butler: No...I’m okay thank you...unless...do you still speak to Kenzie?
The Dragon: Yes I do - What was your question?
Butler: No umm...autograph from Sable then? Okay you’re looking at me like you’re gonna kill me here so I’m just gonna ask my question…
The Dragon: Great plan kid...
Butler: Did you actually set yourself on fire?
The Dragon: Well...that was an interesting day...
Part 2 - Kerosene and Making a Killing
I stand opposite a slender brunette, outside of a row of trailers, looking a lot like one of those stereotypical backstages areas of film sets you’d see on TV and in the movies. Dressed in his best Western garb, hair and beard grown out, wide brimmed cowboy hat atop his head, complete with a matching dark overcoat...maybe my favourite part of all for this gig was the outfits. This was definitely right up my alley.
Kayla: You’re going to let them set you on fire?
The Dragon: Technically I’m going to set myself on fire…
Kayla: ...You know they have a stuntman right?
The Dragon: I do know th-
Kayla: He’s in the trailer right across from yours if you wanna back out…
My hands fall down on her shoulders as I step closer to her.
The Dragon: Kayla.
Kayla: Mark?
The Dragon: Stop panicking.
This was it, my final scene, after this my work here was done, and I, as well as my character, was going up in a blaze of glory, quite literally. I was for-real going to pour real kerosene on myself, and for-real set myself on fire, all in the name of small-screen entertainment.
I loved wrestling as a kid...that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to be one when I grew up. I just kind of...fell into it. By the same token, I loved movies, and binge-watching series...I still do now...that didn’t necessarily mean I wanted to be an actor. I was just another in a line of wrestlers who, since we’re experts in playing up to a narrative, firing up the crowd, getting them to cheer for the heroes and boo the bad guys...all in the hope of peddling tickets, merch, and securing pay-per-view sales...figure we’re basically just glorified actors anyway, so how hard could it be, right??
I didn’t want to sit waiting for the phone to ring when my contract with the Raiders came to an end, so I tried wrestling, more as an excuse to get out of bed in the morning and stay fit. It worked out great, but I didn’t plan on wrestling for the rest of my life...in fact I had this image that I’d be done by the time I’d hit age 40. That milestone was just a few short years away from me now, so when I had the opportunity to try acting, even in a minor role...I didn’t care...I did my usual...grabbed hold of it with both hands, said yes now, asked questions never, and I took that chance and went along with it. Turns out I enjoyed it enough that I wanted to try again, to keep at it, to explore that potential new career path and take on a few more auditions.
The truth was...much like wrestling in the early days...the first couple of years of my in-ring career really...I felt like a bit of a fraud. Maybe I was playing up to my ex pro football gimmick because that’s all I really had.. Maybe that’s why turning myself into a human torch was my way of ‘proving myself’ to my peers in this new facet of my life. I managed my own wrestling affairs from day one, but acting? I was completely out of my depth, and unlike wrestling, it wasn’t my full-time commitment, not yet anyway. I needed someone to make the connections, secure the auditions, tell me where to be and when, and most importantly, stop me from royally screwing it up.
That’s where Kayla came in...my agent...who looked as white as a sheet as she learned of what I was just about to do. By choice.
The truth was…this wasn’t the concern of someone who needed me to pay their rent. Kayla didn’t need me as a client. She was busy enough, and I was hardly a golden ticket even if she wasn’t...but shortly after my divorced was finalised, we’d ended up engaged in a bit of a whirlwind romance that...when it all boiled down to it, was little more than a pure physical attraction, mutually agreed but...by the same token, I still felt more comfortable having her in my corner than anyone else...maybe something that extended a little more than professional trust...and she didn’t want to see me burned to a crisp if it all went wrong...maybe a little beyond concern for the safety of a client. It was maybe...at this moment...that I might have realised our relationship was a little more complicated than either of us wanted it to be...or expected it to be...if I wasn’t so nervous about what was due to happen that the thought didn’t even cross my mind. Looking back on it now...maybe it was time we talked about parting ways.
This was the second time I’d filmed with Splat! Media...think Netflix or Amazon Prime on a much smaller scale, and back with the company that had given me that first break, playing Dick Grayson (AKA Nightwing) in “Orphan”. It was a small, very limited role...but it gave me something to add to my acting resume, other than a demo tape of talking trash about an upcoming opponent...then kicking them in the face a bunch of times, claiming I could do my own stunts. That might have helped get me into a Jackie Chan movie or something...but then again I didn’t look very Chinese, so my options were very limited without a proper showreel…
...but back to the point. We were on the set of Demon of Durango, shooting episode 4 of a 7 part opening season. My character, Doc Banner, was the town’s local physician, who had one day shown up in town, built a clinic, and stayed around to help the population of Durango. The clinic was all just a front of course, a way to fund his research, his experiments...as some years prior, he’d seen one...a demon. He was the only witness, the only man not slaughtered as he ducked for cover while the townsfolk fought to take it down. Something that had been talked about in whispers, rumours, considered an old wive’s tale, a legend, nothing more...to the point that few believed the Doc’s stories of their existence, few indulged in his delusions, even Sable...his own daughter…was more than a little skeptical.
There was even talk of the Doc continuing, an eccentric, obsessive character, making it through into a second season...but after debating it for a long while, the creators decided to kill him off instead, leaving Sable to continue on her father’s legacy, thinking that was a more appealing storyline and to be honest? I had to agree, it made a lot more sense that way.
Producer: Okay so Mark...when you hit the ground and start to roll? Count to three seconds...the camera will cut to Kenzie...then roll all the way over to us and we’ll put you out.
The Dragon: Got it.
Producer: Now with the kerosene? Your clothes and hat are fire-resistant...ish...your hair is not, so be careful where you splash that stuff alright? Although you’ve gotta make it look like you don’t care about your own safety...and still act drunk...
The Dragon: I’ll...try my best?
My eyes narrow to Kenzie Garrett, who’d been killing it in her role as Sable, and from this moment forward was tasked with carrying on the Banner craziness in the Doc’s stead.
The Dragon: You got this in one take right?
A firm nod comes back in my direction, along with...if I didn’t know any better...a hint of a smirk. Yeah you go ahead and smirk...you’re not going to be able to light the Olympic flame with your own body hair in a few moments...
The Dragon: Alright…
Picking up the can of kerosene, the book of matches, looking down at them, examining them, shaking the can to hear the liquid sloshing around in it...this was all very real...taking one last deep breath of air into my lungs as I psych myself up.
The Dragon: Okay...let’s do this.
Director: Aaaaaaaaand ACTION!
The whiskey started to flow frequently in the doc, and one could almost find him every day seated at the bar in the saloon or staggering down the street with a bottle in his hand. There were no drunken and disorderly laws then, so there wasn’t much the sheriff could do unless things got violent.
In the evenings, Doc would be seen staggering around town “preaching” about his discovery of demons. Sable and Sebastian would have to come out and ease him back to the hospital, where he would eventually pass out and sleep until morning, when it would all start again.
And then, one evening, in a drunken stupor, he proclaimed his life an excess one. After dousing himself in kerosene, he lit himself on fire in front of his daughter, and she sobbed as she watched him die before her very eyes engulfed in flames.
Credit @wearesplat - https://wearesplat.com/demon-of-durango-5
SPOILER ALERT - I didn’t finish up lightly toasted. Sorry to disappoint.
Part 3 - Orlando Magic
The scene opens to an annoying British guy who wrestles occasionally...standing in front of a blank white screen.
Hey - I’m Mark Cross, AKA The Dragon, and your FORMER World heavyweight champion here to officially welcome you, the Sin City Wrestling fans to Floridaaaaaaaa! Now if you hadn’t heard already, I’ve chosen to spend a lot more time here in Florida for a while, and a lot less time on the road...and since then maybe the biggest question I’ve been asked...is why do you like Florida so much? Well let me tell you why!
We cut to a golf course. The Dragon, dressed in flat-cap, chino shorts and brightly coloured polo shirt covered in flamingos, steps up to his ball, makes a couple of practice backswings, and shanks his shot into the trees, hearing the sound of it ricocheting off virtually every trunk in the forest of them on the way through.
Exquisite golf courses!
We cut to The Dragon, in the same attire, driving away in a golf cart, screaming like a little girl as he watches over his shoulder. The camera cuts again, showing his cart being chased down by a pretty giant Florida gator, who doesn’t seem to be giving up in his pursuit of a midday snack.
Exotic wildlife!
We cut to The Dragon, laying face-down on the towel in the middle of the sand, reading a book. From out of shot, a bucket of sand gets dumped on top of him, followed by the sound of giggling kids as he scrambles up to give chase.
Beautiful beaches!
We’re taken to a boardwalk next to the beach. The Dragon is unfolding something steaming hot, wrapped in foil, looking about ready to chow down, licking his lips at the thought, until he is bumped in the back by a dude on rollerblades from behind, making him lose his grip and drop his lunch on the decking, looking down at it sadly
Incredible Cuban sandwiches!
We cut to a gym, to a treadmill. The Dragon is deep into a workout, his face flushed red, his shirt soaked with sweat. Really starting to feel the heat, he grabs his water bottle, unscrews the top and dumps the whole contents over his head, freshly squeezed orange juice, complete with juicy bits, going all over him, the machine, and the belt he’s running on.
The best OJ!
We cut to Disney World...a character in an Eeyore costume is walking, when he is stopped in his tracks by The Dragon, who hugs his second favourite Disney character (apparently Stitch was on vacation or something), the pair high five, and then Mark poses for a selfie
Disney! Aaaaaaaand the most magical place on Earth! *Clicks fingers*
With a bit of that Disney magic, Mark teleports himself in front of the Cinderella Castle, walking slowly along as the camera pans around, taking in some of the sights and sounds as he talks away.
Well hey...guess who's back for one night only, huh? Yup, you guessed it, me. If you’re here early for the show I highly recommend checking out Universal Studios as well as Disney, and if you guessed right - 10 points to Gryffindor...or whatever other bullshit house that isn't the ALMIGHTY Slytherin, that you might happen to belong to. Look at me choosing violence right outta the gate huh? Anyone would think I had a point to prove around here or something? Well you know what...maybe I do…
See the last time I showed my face around Sin City I was talking about joining the 400 club...becoming 'the best to ever do it'...THE greatest male singles competitor in the rich history of this company...adding the longest reign on top of my achievements, including three Sin City Underground championships and two straight Blast from the Past wins...an accolade I hoped I COULDN'T defend, because I planned on already holding the damn title we were fighting for...and with Hall of Fame season right around the corner, I was on track to cement my place for next year if nothing else, as I broke record after record...yet instead I’m here, making a one-off appearance as the former champion, reflecting again on what happened a few short months ago. And why. I’ve thought about it a lot, of course. One thing in particular that sticks with me - In the lead-up to my defence, I get accused of buying into my own hype, drinking my own Kool-Aid…and that’s an interesting thought...
...but it turns out it was Mac doing his best “OH NO...OH NO...OH YEAAAAAAAAH” act that night, as The Bar needed to come out three damn times to get me outta there. Three times. The same thing that usually? Splits a man in two at the first time of asking. That was one hell of a match, I can tell you that much. My recovery programme is pretty well thought out by now, a decade down the line, but even for me, I was still feeling that a week later. Matches like that...they can change certain individuals...I know more than a few who wouldn’t quite be the same again. I’m glad I’d won the right for it to be the Main Event a couple of weeks before, as no offence to Amber and Myra...but that war would have been a pretty tough act to follow, I figure.
Now in my time away, or more officially, my time at home...I figured it out. Let me tell you the REAL problem, okay guys? Now unfortunately, that loss? It means you need two hands now, to count every name that's managed to defeat me one-on-one in an SCW ring. Six names, six matches, line them up, look at the opponent. Every one a former champion. Every one hall of fame caliber, past or future, here or elsewhere. Every one, a name you'd hate to see opposite you when the card goes up backstage, a little warning that come Sunday, regardless of result, you’re not going to be in for a fun time.
Every single one...I dragged through hell and back before they finally got me outta there. I think, from memory, every one needed more than one finishing move before finally...I couldn’t fight on any longer.
No...Mac was wrong...it's not me just buying into my own hype, not completely. It's my opponents buying into it too, because they’re seeing the very real facts in front of their face. If they want to defeat me they need their best. I’m an A-game or bust kind of opponent. They need to roll back the years and find that peak performance from when they were in their prime, if they’re not there already. They need to hit me with everything, unleash the kind of offense that'd make a great wrestler crumble and fall...and while they watch me climb to my feet and dust myself off, knowing they have to go and do it all over again. And again. And again. And even then...may find it just isn’t quite enough.
No win against me is cheap, or easy. No win against me is meaningless...and you know what happens? I don’t get a cheap, or easy win in return. Every single one has to be ground out, fought for, as my opponent knows they have to step their game up or be sent packing. I know it’s probably considered ‘old-fashioned’ these days but I scout my opponents. I watch a ton of their matches and you know what I notice? The things I see in the ring a lot of the time? I have to dig deep into the archives to find them raising their game to that kind of level. Sometimes I don’t see it at all.
Fact of the matter - I bring out the best in people. And that’s different to just being the man at the top. That brings a lot more heat on top of me.
Clicking his fingers again, Mark teleports to New Orleans Square, walking through the middle of the street as visitors mill around him.
Become the champion, especially the World champion, you get a target painted on your back, I get it. That’s the standard, everyone wants a shot at you after all, and I’m not gonna complain about that...like I said...I wanted to rack up as many defences as I could to reach 400 days, I wanted to be busy...but you know what holding that accolade normally means? A few overconfident guys, buoyed by a few wins in a couple of matches against mid-tier opponents, to put their name forward for a shot. They get fed to the wolves in that situation too because...you know what...you need to put the champ in some matches...get the star attraction in as many shows as you can...all while genuine contenders shuffle, put themselves in position, prepare, give themselves the best chance to take a legitimate run at that belt, at a Supershow, where it really counts...and where we really want to see a title change hands.
And this...my friends...is how Caleb Storms keeps getting title shots. A stop-gap, a placeholder. A title match to put bums on seats at a Climax Control and make it more interesting. A chance for the champion to say he’s defending, put a couple of notches under his name, keep the momentum rolling...until one of two things happens.
You’re me...who’s a little too good for that...and you get SCW Hall of Famer Goth...multi-time champion Senor Vinnie...multi-time champion Austin James Mercer...and multi-time Hall of Famer Mac Bane...
...or you get so complacent, so lacklustre, that at the very next time of asking, you lose to Alex Jones.
Now I’m going to wrap this around to my opponent this week in just a second but let me just close this point up real quick. They say don’t disrespect someone you haven’t faced but Alex started this with me a long time ago. Sin City Underground wrestlers aren’t even fit to share a ring with main roster guys, according to him. Well hey I did, and I do, and I got myself all the way to the top...so it’s safe to say I’ve already done my bit to disprove that one...and now it’s my turn...because I can tell you for a FACT that the Mac Bane who faced me at Summer XXXtreme doesn’t lose to Alex Jones. The Mark Cross at Summer XXXtreme doesn’t lose to Alex Jones. Neither...to be honest...does the Mark Cross who turns up to Climax Control this week.
Mac raised the bar to take that belt from me. He let it slip down to the level of his next opponent...just a little bit too low...thinking he could coast his way to victory, take it easier compared to the blood and thunder that we threw at each other and that...given his experience...was a bit of a rookie error. We both know he should still be holding that title belt but...as the champion, you’ve gotta deliver.
Hey look...I don’t have to hang around here every week anymore, let’s not mince words? And let’s finally turn our sights on our boy Agostino. Spin in how you want, winning a title? Sure...big achievement...but there's a tier system. Like most things in life, it doesn’t matter you’re a champion, it matters what you’re a champion OF, and where. It matters even less what you WERE. The truth is...and anyone making their first cuts in the wrestling business won’t thank me for saying this...but anyone can win the Internet title. String a few wins together, stroll right in, ask for a shot...you’re golden. Honestly...been around a long time, not doing so hot? Fall back on your loyalty to the company or whatever, probably snag your shot that way. Turn up, be the best man or woman on the night? Hey Mom...look at me, I did it! I won a title! Wrestler or gambler, you can hit a little hot streak, it can make you look and feel like a baller for a while, like you belong…
Until you walk into the boss’s office...and ask for a shot at the World Heavyweight title...and whether they’re nice and subtle about it or not...they laugh you out of the damn building…
And trust me it’s for your own good. Now for a lot of time in Sin City, I enjoyed my underdog status. I started in the Underground brand, I won two tag titles, held their top singles belt for almost half a year and depending on who you ask, that was still a great achievement for sure...but that still didn’t make me fit to even lace the boots of anyone on the main roster in the eyes of our esteemed new champion, and while there were plenty that gave me the respect I deserved, maybe at times a little too much...I think it’s safe to say I’ve got nowhere left to hide anymore, not from anyone. What I’m capable of is out there in plain sight.
Agostino - You’re walking into the ring with the real deal. You’re facing an opponent that can beat the very best in the company, past, present, or future. You’re standing opposite a guy that, just a few short months ago, strapped a belt around his waist that proved he, in that moment in time, was standing at the very top of the pyramid. There was no big ‘fall from grace’ as I figure, there’s not that many who actually believed I belonged there in the first place, am I right? I’m not broken physically, my pride isn’t hurt, I’m not licking wounds. I made a man, with a career as decorated as anyone who’s walked into that six-sided ring, bring out one of the single best performances I’ve seen from him in a decade...and trust me I watched a lot of his matches in preparation...to beat me. Performances like that? They come a few times in a lifetime and you know what, if that’s what it took to get me outta there well fine, I can concede that title, I can leave with my head held high.
Now I’m as prepared for you, as I was then. I haven’t had anywhere to be other than home, where my gym is, where I can train even more often than when I was travelling out to Vegas. So think...Agostino Romano...as you sit there in your dragon outfit or whatever comedic bullshit you’re going to pull this time around...to your BEST EVER performance. When everything clicked, when you were completely and totally dialled in...in a match, in training, whatever...and you ask yourself...is it enough? Could you...on your best day...defeat someone as tough, as experienced, as well-rounded, as confident as me? Could you defend and adapt as I throw plan A, plan B, plan C...you get the picture...and come at you from all angles? Could you keep yourself out of harm’s way long enough, when you know all I really need is one or two big blows to put you away? If you answer yes...think about it again. Work out where that’s coming from. Is it a place of knowing, or is it just pure overconfidence? Do you know what it’s even like to face the best? Have you ever been in the ring against it?
There’s a reason you face the same opponents every week, Agostino...because there’s an upper deck to the locker room. We fish in a different pond. It’s a place that’s not filled by joke wrestlers who love their joke matches and dicking around out there. I may have my fun backstage but when I throw back that curtain and a bell rings the real work starts. It’s serious business. This top deck? It’s filled with winners, champions, leaders. It’s occupied by guys who wave down at you as we watch you hit your glass ceiling. Maybe you should have kept your lip zipped because let me tell you...when I say 50% of my wrestling career is kicking people hard in the face? That’s not ironic. That’s what I do. Trust me it hurts like hell. Trust me it’s not FUN. Going to war with Mac over the World title, that wasn’t FUN. It wasn’t FUN for Mac in the slightest and he won the fucking thing. Safe to say he was still feeling the effects going into Violent Conduct. Going through an exploding table isn’t FUN. There are people protecting you. There are guardian angels wanting you to keep that child-like spirit, while they put you in matches with known opponents, keeping you down at your level, because they know someone like me? Could break your spirit into tiny pieces in ten minutes or less.
This isn’t a fucking board game, and it’s not dateline. You’re not going to earn 200 bucks for passing GO and I’m not going to help you find a girlfriend either. What I am going to do is seriously hurt you if you underestimate me and you know what Romano? I don’t actually want to. I don’t go out to purposely injure anyone, it’s not malicious, it’s what I’m paid to do, and in a business like this, we have to hurt someone enough that they stay down for one...two...three. At this stage it feels like kicking a little lost puppy around in a crate just WRESTLING you, not even coming out to target you, to do damage just because. You know what...I’m sure you’ll make it exciting. You’ll flip-flop around...buzz around like some annoying little bug I can’t squash, get the crowd all on your side and then BOOM I’ll lay my hands on you. I’ll get that little moment of control, and that’s when the fun stops.
But I won’t stop. Not until my hand’s held up in the air, and once again we remember why I was this company’s World fucking champion.
The truth is Agostino...you’re everything that’s “right” in this industry...but so wrong in my own head. People like you - They think you’re cute, and funny, and adorable, and entertaining, and they love watching you fly around the ring, be a little showman you know? Throw yourself around on a bike on a weekday and then throw yourself a ring on a Sunday. Win, lose or draw, people will pay to see you out there doing some kinda stuff. Maybe...sadly...more than seeing a puroresu display from yours truly. Look we all get how this goes, the business is a bit of a popularity contest and more often than not, it’s that that keeps you in a job for the long-term but sad fact for some? You still have to win wrestling matches occasionally...and there are some of us who are still very much in the business of winning wrestling matches.
Including me. Rumours of my impending retirement have been very much blown out of proportion.
Snapping his fingers again, Mark teleports in front of Disney’s Hollywood Studios, hanging out by the red sign of the entrance.
It’s been more than a little change of scenery, to start wrestling back in Florida, that’s for sure, and I’m surprised by how much my own attitude has changed in just a few short years. For example, it's been maybe 5 years since I last had a permanent deal in my home state...right here in Miami in fact...when I signed for ECWF. Now as far as scale goes? Some of the biggest crowds I’ve ever worked in front of, week in, week out. I never planned on making it all the way to the top, let’s face it no matter how capable I may be in the ring I’ve never had that ‘star power’ so it was my very real chance of something big...for a company with their own, permanent, purpose-built arena...so close I could leave my house 30 minutes before I was due to walk through the curtain, if I wanted, and still have time to go through a full stretching regime before it was go-time.
The thing is...when I lived out of a suitcase? It felt like work. I didn’t have my creature comforts all around me. I had some cookie-cutter hotels that, as nice as they could be, they were two-a-penny. Usually with a little gym in the basement, nothing more than an afterthought, or failing that, a whole stack load of stairs, so I’d never miss getting in some kind of workout...and as much as I loved exploring new cities, I was a guest, a tourist, nothing more. I was there to do a job and turn around and go back home, or head straight on to the next place. It shares more similarities with the good ole 9-5 than you think it would, what we do...and don’t think I’m complaining about it but...when you travel? You go out, you do your job, you hide out in your hotel until it’s time to leave...mostly. I mean sure you can go out, live the rock and roll lifestyle for a while but you know what? That...isn’t sustainable.
Unless you live driving distance from the arena.
My house here in Miami? It’s my dream home, in my dream neighbourhood. Four bedrooms, good size swimming pool, hot-tub, two fully functioning bars, one in the kitchen, one poolside and yet, at most there’s only been two people living here. Even with Amber and I here practically all the time, it feels kind of empty...kind of quiet, because let’s face it I bought a party mansion. Suddenly, I could party to my heart’s content...I could train, work, and sleep, all within a little triangle you could cover in 30 minutes or less in the car. The company was big enough and ugly enough to tie people to permanent, exclusive deals and for me? I only take extra bookings to keep busy more than anything, or see a city I hadn’t been before, so that suited me down to the ground.
For a time...my home became the number one afterparty destination, the free AirBnB for wrestlers and staff who came in from out of town, or out of state...the place where the odd fan with a backstage pass and positive vibes got the chance to party with their favourite competitors, not just shake their hands in an arena...and where I could turn off my 6am hit the gym alarm right away...because I hadn’t even found my way to bed yet...
My work suffered, of course. Is anyone really surprised? For the first two years of my career I was taking literally every booking I could, I needed that in-ring experience, to learn everything I possibly could as quickly as possible. I was a long way short of where I needed to be. Then, to Japan, where pure wrestling mixed with a toughness that we quite literally beat into one another. I came back from there a completely different wrestler, a competitive wrestler, a wrestler who could win titles, compete with the best. I was beyond disciplined. Awake to train at 6am without fail. Strict diet, strict nutrition, strict early night’s sleep the day before a show...and if I did stay out later, go for a few drinks? I vowed never to get myself in a state where I couldn’t train at 6am the next day.
If I did, I forced myself to learn the hard way.
Taking a job in my home city? It gave me an excuse to almost...act like a college kid away from home the first time, even if I was in my thirties before I really let loose. I may have skipped too many sessions to nurse hangovers, I may have not always been in tip-top condition when I turned up to compete...but the memories...agreeing to spar with Bailey Archer and the two of us getting too competitive and leaving battered and bruised...Lacey Cohen telling me to shut up within three sentences of any conversation we ever had. The affair-that-wasn’t with the owner, Sarah Moss...and getting Starbucks with Porshe, the Russian ring announcer...and watch all the awful attempts at spelling her name wrong. Sarah Hartley...who to this day...is still annoyed by me retweeting possum pictures all the time...
I regret not taking that opportunity to show my full potential at such a high level, but I wouldn’t change the memories. Times have changed though, I know that much. My priorities have shifted, as sitting here at home, waiting for me to come back is someone so special to me that they’re wearing a ring on their finger, a promise to be mine from now until forever. I’m no longer putting myself first. I’m nowhere near as selfish...so this? This isn't a party for me. This is purely and strictly business. This is an hour or so on a plane, turn up, catch up with a few friends backstage, go out and get the win, climb back on the plane, and have my girl back in my arms before the night is out. One thing you can expect from me is an entirely professional job - Proof, once again, of why I’m a former Underground, and former World Heavyweight champion squaring off against a boy, a Moto GP rider playing at being a wrestler, clinging to his two Internet title reigns like they mean something...with no Candy around to protect him anymore.
That’s going to take more than a Disney miracle to overcome. The fact is I may have other interests, other concerns...but it's been a very long time since wrestling has been anything other than priority one. This one’s going to be a walk in the park. Let’s hope you guys at least get something to cheer for out there...before the inevitable happens…
The scene fades to black...with the outline of Mickey Mouse ears slowly appearing in white...
