[Staggs]

 
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Never, Never


Never did I think that I would step back inside of a Sin City Wrestling ring.
Never did I think that the place I helped to build would come to an end.
Never did I entertain the notion that three years of my career, dedicated to building an empire, would slow.
Never did it dawn on me that nothing lasts forever.

But all things are possible.
All things end.
By the laws of physics, all energy is converted, not lost.
Nothing lasts forever.

In my time away from Sin City Wrestling, I did not become a poet.  I kept my promise of training the tomorrow of wrestling, giving back to the sport.  Vixen and I both have worked hard to make Staggs Dungeon the premier training spot in Las Vegas.  Some names you have seen or heard from.  Other names, you will.  I didn’t give a second thought to SCW’s closure, even after my uncle parted ways with the company.  Unlike my unnecessarily vindictive uncle, I held no true ill will to SCW.  How could I?  Unlike my uncle, I was there in the beginning, getting my hands dirty.  I was pushing boundaries, and doing what my uncle requires an army to do.

That is why, when my phone rang that fateful December day, and my caller ID read “Christian Underwood”, a million thoughts rushed through my mind, but what I heard was not one of them.  Blast From the Past 2018 considerations, given my run with Lucy Seraphina, was at the top of that list.  I answered the phone with an almost snide tone to my voice as I stepped away from the ring, where I was training with a few upstarts.

Me:  Yeah?

Christian:  Yeah, Spike?  How are you doing?  It’s Christian.

I roll my eyes and nod my head as I walk to my office.  Vixen is sitting there with the twins, awaiting the time where we get to leave and have dinner together with Tim and Eden.  She looks at me, confused for a moment, before I continue.

Me:  What can I do for you, Christian?  It’s been a while.

Christian:  I wish I were calling under better circumstances, but I have a favor to ask of you.

I can’t hide my attitude any longer.  I give a soft chuckle that, if I were anyone else, Christian would likely give up, refusing to pander.

Me:  Look, it’s been nearly two years now, and my current job leaves me with little time to go on a six week tour like that.

Christian:  Six weeks?  No, I was wondering if you wanted to take part in Climax Control 200.  It’s a monumental show, and all things considered…

Me:  Why don’t you call me back right before C.C. 250.

Vixen gently shushes Bijou as she reaches up to grab at Vixen’s sunglasses and screams out suddenly.  Christian goes silent for a moment before finally breaking the quietness on the phone.

Christian:  I take it that you haven’t heard the news?

This time, it is I who stays quiet.  I rack my brain, trying to think of what he could be talking about.

Christian:  SCW will not be around for Climax Control 250.  Our last show will be in January, Full Circle. That’s it.

Me:  I… see…

Christian:  I had hoped to see you in the six sided ring, one final time.  Vixen as well.  It would be wonderful to see both of you back, even just for one show.  We have two separate Survival Tag Team Matches, one for the men and one for the Bombshells.  Just… give it some thought?

I hear him out, while every bone in my body screams no.  However, one muscle screams yes, and it is the muscle I’ve made a career out of following.  As he finishes up, I give it one final series of seconds to think it over before I give him an answer.

Me:  While I don’t want to officially answer for her, I’m sure she wouldn’t have it any other way.  As for me, go ahead and fax over the paperwork, and count on seeing me… one last time.  Again.  Goddamnit, Christian.  You know, this is the only way I’ll stay away forever…

Christian:  I will make sure those papers are faxed to your office by the morning.  Thanks again, and… take care of yourself?

Me:  Yeah…

With that, the phone clicks off, and the call ends.  I have the opportunity to get my fairytale ending to my career.  The one that I never got.  I set my phone down as the sounds of Jamie hazing my students rings through the air.  Vixen looks at me with concern.

Vixen:  Care to share the details, mon amour?

Me:  I’m just… sort of shocked right now.  I… I don’t even know how to process this.

Vixen stands up as Bijou nestles on the bench, next to Kit, the quiet one.  She grabs onto my hand, as the emotions swirl around in my head.  She uses her other hand to turn my head, looking deep into my eyes.  Her hypnotic eyes come to the rescue once again as I take a deep breath.

Me:  I… wish there were an easier way to break the news, but SCW will be closing their doors in January.  We need to figure…

Just then, the door to my office opens up, and my brother pokes his head inside.  He looks around and finds us standing there.  Aloof as always, Jamie gives that look that makes you just want to…

Jamie:  Yo, scro… We got a problemo out here-o.

Me:  Does it involve a prank gone awry?

Jamie’s eyes search around as he looks for another explanation.

Jamie:  Noooo….?  For your information, it involves two sacks of potatoes, copper wiring, an air duster, and Jaden Pierce.

Me:  So, in other words… yes?

I pull out of Vixen’s hold as I pinch the bridge of my nose.  I storm out through the door, leaving Vixen in the office, only to hear my desperation at what I’ve witnessed.

Me:  Oh… my… FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!


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The Grieving Process

”Within a week of receiving news of SCW’s closure, I had already spent a combined 72 hours in the gym, preparing myself for the physicality of each and every name that was announced, both on my side of the ring, and on the opposite side of things.  I passed off the duties of the gym to Jamie, and prayed to God that he didn’t screw it up.  I had little faith, but enough to continue training my ass off.

This long Wednesday night couldn’t have gotten any longer if it had tried.  Armed with only a protein shake, and two gallons of water, I was powering through a high endurance cardio and weight regimen that I used when preparing for World Heavyweight Championship defenses.  I have weights attached by bands around my shoulders. Biceps, forearms, wrists, knees, and ankles, as I carry a loaded barbell on my shoulders, taking slow steps on the treadmill.  Sweat pours out of every pore of my body as I fight through the physical pains.  I don’t know how I heard it over the whirring of the machine below my feet, but I catch the slightest sound of my phone going off.  That fucking phone…

I gasp as I lean in and switch the machine off with an elbow before walking the last few paces with the slowing machine.  Once it stops, I gently back up and drop the barbell to the ground with a loud thud.  I walk over to the bench with my gym bag, and I pick up my towel, wiping the sweat from my eyes so that I can see clearly.  I don’t recognize the number of the missed call, but they left a voicemail.  I begin listening to it, and everything after that is a blur.

”Good evening, Mr. Staggs.  This is Officer Denise Rogers of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.  If you could give me a call back at…. That would be great.  I cannot share much of the details here, but there has been an accident…. Accident… accident…”

The words echo through my head, and all of the worst thoughts are running amuck.  I don’t even remember getting in the car, or driving anywhere.  I don’t remember pulling up to the emergency room parking area.  All I remember is seeing the ambulance roll up at the doors, and turning to see my baby girl being rushed in on a stretcher.  I remember lunging for her, and feeling my entire body go on fire in a way that it hasn’t been in a long time.  I see my precious baby girl bleeding and unconscious, bruised and battered, and I lose it.  The officers accompanying the ambulance stop me, holding me back, but barely so as I drag them part way with me.

Officer Rogers:  Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stand back!

Me:  THAT’S MY BABY GIRL GODDAMNIT! THAT’S MY BABY GIRL!

Like a vicious animal, I sputter and spit as I bark out uncontrollably, and they ease their hold on me as I charge to the doors.  They hand her off to the staff, awaiting her as they begin working on her right then and there.  I hold onto her hand as I move along with them, whispering to her in my mind as tears stream down my face.

Me:  My precious angel… you’re going to be just fine.  Daddy is here now, and he won’t let anything happen to you.  I love you, baby.  I fkn’ love you, Eden…

The doctors turn the corner and as I prepare to go with them, one of the nurses stops me.

Nurse:  I’m afraid that this is as far as you can go, sir.  Your daughter needs our immediate care if there is any hope of survival.  Every second counts, do you understand me?

All I can do is nod my head, even as she disappears around the corner and readies herself for the operating room.  I stand there, just nodding my head.  Even as another nurse approaches me, and helps me to the waiting room. I can’t say a single word.  All I can do is keep nodding my fucking head.

After a few hours, sitting in the waiting room, Officer Rogers walks through the sliding glass doors.  She is in pedestrian clothing, and her hair is let down as she approaches me.  I give her a confused look as she sits down next to me, setting her purse down on the table in front of us.

Rogers:  How are you holding up?

Me:  Peachy keen…

Rogers:  Do you remember our conversation when you first got into the waiting room?

I nod my head, but the blank look gives me away completely.  She nods her head in response as she checks a text on her phone.  She silences it and places it back into her purse, giving me her full attention.

Rogers:  I didn’t think so.  You went into shock, but responded enough not to be seen yourself.

Me:  I’ll be fine…

Rogers:  You will, because she will.  I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. Staggs.  I’ve seen a lot of shit in my time, but that?  It was the worst.  As a mother, I couldn’t imagine getting into an accident and causing harm to my son.

Me:  How is Misty?

Rogers goes quiet for a second, looking deep into my eyes.  She waits to see if I’m some sick fuck before she takes a deep breath.

Rogers:  Misty didn’t make it out of the vehicle alive.  Her last words were “Save my baby”, as the man who made the initial call told us.

My entire body went numb.  I don’t feel worry, or anger, or sadness, or anxiety, or even sick to my stomach.  Wait about eighty-seven seconds, though, and an odd mix of each of these emotions smack into my like a freight train.  I sink back in the seat, and my eyes well up.  My vision goes blurry, and a pain shoots through my entire chest, radiating from my heart.  This sounds just like Misty, concerned about others before herself.  Misty and I were best friends.  We’ve had our differences.  We’ve seen the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.  We’ve suffered great loss, and we’ve shared the glory of parenthood.  There is a place in my heart that will always hold her close.  While our hearts belong to others, and neither of us would have it any other way, there is a small piece of my heart that has hollowed out.”

I look up from the piece of paper in front of me, and I look out into the crowd of loved ones who have gathered to say goodbye to Misty.  I see her husband O’Malley, her son Owen, her sisters Desiree and Dixie.  Her father, her mother, her friends, her enemies, and I don’t feel sad.  I feel the love in the room, gathered together for her.  I smile as I look up at the stained glass ceiling, and I raise my hand to my heart, and then up toward the ray of light shining through.  I hear the sobs, and I see the smiles.  I know I did good.  I reach into my pocket, and I pull out a single black rose, placing it on top of the closed casket in secrecy.  I give her a nod before I step down from the altar, and make my way back to Eden, Tim, Vixen, and the twins.  As I take my seat, the pastor comes back up to the podium and continues the service.


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Back In the Saddle Again

Lights. Camera. Action.

Picture this.  The lights are off.  You see nothing.  You hear nothing but the footsteps echoing off of the walls.  Slowly, but surely, the cheering crowd can be heard growing as the footsteps get louder.  The lights begin to click on down the hallway, one at a time, until they meet me halfway.  My black tights with silver spikes printed across them are probably the first thing that you see.  My boots, my knee and elbow pads, or the wrist tape?  No, let’s be honest.  The first thing that you notice about my ensemble is my black, red, and white New X-Tremes t-shirt, still available in the SCW shop, by the way.

”NEW X-TREMES! NEW X-TREMES! NEW X-TREMES!”

Me:  Well… hello there…

I say in my slick and playful tone.  The crowd outside of the casino go wild as I acknowledge them.  I wink as I begin walking further down the hallway.

Me:  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?  A lot has happened since Blast From the Past 2016.  Things have changed.  Faces have changed.  But some things just seem to stay the same.  See, I’ve been around a loooooooong time.  Since day one, as a matter of fact.  199 episodes later, and here I am, in these same hallways, with that same shit-eating grin, wearing the same tights.  Predictability is good, right?

I take my time as I walk down the hallway.  I’m in no hurry.

Me:  See, around the time that I signed my contract with Sin City Wrestling, there was a fella running around here, who thought that his shit didn’t stink.  He was the most arrogant, pompous, self-centered, diabolical, COCKY...

The crowd gives just the reaction I had hoped for.  I nod my head as my slick smile returns to my face.  I loosen up my arms and shoulders as I bounce up and down in place, getting myself pumped up.

Me:  â€¦ man by the name of Nick Jones.  He did a lotta this…

I flap my hands in front of my mouth, mimicking the notorious gum flapping of Nick Jones.

Me:  But didn’t do a whole helluva lot to back it up.  Now, let’s take his attitude, and freeze frame it.  Fast forward time a few years, crack off a few inches and several pounds, and who do we have left in his place?  Our longest reigning World Champion, J2H.  Same shit, new day.  The only difference is that J2H bored the fans with a never ending reign.  We get it, kid… you’re good.  Don’t rub it in.  It’s bad for business.  Hey, I’m not gonna say anything.

I click my jaw as I pick up the pace a bit, moving forward until I reach the curtains.

Me:  You know what?  Let’s go real old school here.  Give me a microphone.

The crowd cheers once more as I am handed a microphone.  I push through the curtains and move to the ramp.  The fans at the pre-show event scream for me as “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch plays over the speakers.  They wave their signs and shirts at me.  I stop where I can and sign a few as I work my way down the ramp.  I dash forward, jumping onto the apron as I hold onto the top rope.  I lean forward before hooking my leg on the middle rope.  I look around, soaking it in for old time’s sake.  I then step inside of the ring and find my sweet spot in the middle of the ring as I call for the music to be cut.

Me:  It was in this very ring that I defeated Nick Jones for the World Heavyweight Championship belt, five years, one month, and four days ago.  It was in this ring, that I defended that belt for five months, which to this day, is the second longest reign of that belt in history, because I was not greedy or entitled.  No, I get it.  The point of being a champion is to defend it, and keep it as long as you can.  When I was done, I was done.  What can I say?  I was off building a company instead of taking it under siege.  I was making sacrifices for the younger generation.  If memory serves correctly… one of those defining moments was bending one James Huntington-Hawkes… the third… over my knee and spanking him like a red-headed step child for all the world to see.  Do you remember that, sweet cheeks?

The crowd laughs as I begin pacing in the ring, getting myself pumped up.  I look down at the mat as I concentrate on what really matters.

Me:  I bet my handprint is still etched on your backside to this very day.  I did what your daddy failed to do, and I whooped your ass, both literally and figuratively.  Put you on your back for three, and waved at you as I walked to the back.  See, James, you are my biggest competition in this match, because the record books say that I’m second to you.  Kain, he is too infrequent to count on.  Nick Jones was past his prime the minute I put him on his back, just the same as I did for you.  Banton barely showed up, held our title for a minute, and then pissed off, in a way that surely made his daddy ashamed to share the same name.  Goth accomplished many things elsewhere, but not enough to be in the same class as us.  The crowd knows that it’s going to come down to you and me.

The crowd boos at this, and I hold up a hand, nodding my head as I try to hold off the hatred that they are raining down.

Me:  Hey, hey, hey now… Let’s look at the fact here, because we all know that Hunny is going to drop them to us.  He was the longest reigning World Heavyweight Champion.  He held that belt for well over a year.  He more than doubled my reign.  That’s impressive.  No one else has touched my record.  He held every belt in the company at one point or another, and did so twice.  That’s a lot of titles, right?  It’s a lot of losses, too.  That’s something that I didn’t taste nearly as much.  Jimmy thinks that he built this company.  He did some pretty spectacular things in this company.  I won’t take that away from him, all joking of ass whippings aside.  I even applaud him.  Join in with me.

I tuck the microphone under my arm as I begin clapping my hands.  I look around at the crowd, most of which don’t join in with me.  I am sincere in my clapping as I walk around the ring, trying to encourage the crowd to join me.  I get a mediocre reaction, causing me to nod and give up.  I take center stage once more before continuing.

Me:  Color me impressed.  Oh, how J2H has grown up.  I surely didn’t see that coming, but it is a testament to what Austin Parker can do for one’s career.  I owe a lot to him, myself.  With that said, let me clear up a few misconceptions.  No one in this company is responsible for the heights that SCW has soared over the last six years.  It was a combined effort.  But, if we are going to get down to the bare bones of the matter, though… there were a few names that helped SCW progress.  Let’s mention Drake Green here.  He held the belt, and drew competition into the company.  His charisma was infectious, and the crowd reacted.  Gabriel, our first ever World Heavyweight Champion.  He was magic in the ring, and magic in the ratings.  And let us not forget the man who worked double time to represent Sin City in the NeWA.  The man who brought the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship to SCW.  The man who brought SCW to Twitter.  The man who brought this to the world tier.  Who else could I be talking about, but myself?

I admit, I’m not being modest anymore.  I shrug my shoulders, because modesty has never been my strong suit.  I look around as the fans cheer for me.  They scream my name.  They wave their signs in support of me and my career and what I’ve done.

Me:  There is a reason that Spike Staggs was in the inaugural class of SCW’s Hall of Fame.  It wasn’t because he made false claims of being the best, or the man that sold SCW to the world.  It was because I did sell SCW to the world.  I carried this company on my back as I climbed to the top.  If anyone in history has built this house, it was me.  I set the foundation, and I posted up the walls.  You just moved in your furniture, and kicked your feet up in my house, Jamz.  But, there is no need to try to tell you this, because your big head stops you from seeing the undeniable truth.  Just as it did five years back, this is only going to fall on deaf ears.  I understand though.  It’s hard when you can’t buy success.  It’s not easy to see someone who worked as hard as I did, harder than you could ever dream of working, especially when you have never been left wanting for anything in your entire life.

I pause and look out to the crowd.

But, that’s enough about James.  There are four other people on his team.  Kain, a man that I’ve encountered a limited number of times, but have always come out on top.  I won’t sweat Kain, because he can’t come close to touching me, or my skills, no matter how much ring rust has built up.  There is Goth, a man who fell to the man I personally trained in Giani Di Luca.  Gene Banton Junior… I already said this.  There’s nothing to be said.  Nick Jones, I’ve already proved that I got his number, time and time again.

I shrug my shoulders as I walk over to the ropes.  I lean on them, resting my foot on the bottom rope as I look around.

Me:  You don’t only have to worry about me.  On my side, we’ve got Bo Dreamwolf, JDubs Jordan “P.S.” Williams, Tom Dudely, and Despayre.  We’ve got the dream team, the ones that have made the fans scream.  J2H and the “gang of dysfunction” have got a lot to worry about come Sunday.  See you there, boys…  Let’s put on a great show, just like most of us did back in 2011!

I raise my fist into the air as “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch begins playing once more.  I step out of the ring, and take a much longer round with the fans, snapping pictures, and signing their merchandise, and doing what I’ve always done best since day one.

Face...TO BLACK!