Empty Handed
“Success is a lousy teacher. It seduces smart people into thinking they can't lose.” - Bill Gates
[On-Camera]
When you go from the top of the mountain to a footnote, that’s not an easy thing for anyone who’s ever held a world title to accept. I never took Alex lightly, I was prepared for this match and lost anyway.
I stood in front of the camera for the first time since I lost the world title, my trademark stetson sitting on a table nearby. Today I wore the face of a poker player, no emotion was betrayed. I had not planned for this eventuality, so I have no excuses, only the ownership of the problem and no one but myself to blame. The loss of that title had consumed my thoughts from the time the bell rang to this point in time. Where pride and joy once lived so outwardly to the world, now anger and hatred preside.
I could be like my predecessors and stand here in front of you all and make excuses about how and why I lost to Alex Jones. I could simply walk away just like Mark Cross and Jack Washington did. The only thing the three of us have in common is that we WERE world champions who lost. Jack would never admit that he lost to a better fighter in Mark Cross, who would also never admit that I kicked his ass. As I told him on social media, we are not the same. On that night, Alex Jones was better than me. He beat me and he did it clean. Well, as clean as you can in that type of match.
I feel my face darken as the anger rises in me again, without knowing, my fists are clenched at my side. Upon realizing it, I foreably unclench them, flexing my fingers a few times to work the blood flow back into them.
I’ve been told that I can pass on the title rematch, should I choose to do so. At first I was going to take some time off. That would make me as fragile as Mark Cross, who all of a sudden is back. I guess Florida is not the be all, end all of Professional Wrestling after all.
I reach back and tighten the knot of my bandanna that is holding my hair out of my face and smirk at the camera.
A while back, after I had won the Internet Title, Goth had issued an open challenge. For whatever reason, ownership allowed Milo to answer that call. That was cute and all but anyone with any brain cells left knew that Milo stood no chance of winning that match. It doesn’t matter what you think of Goth, he’s a legend, famous or infamous depending on perspective. I’ve been on record saying how much respect I have for the man. He’s an elite competitor and has held many titles here. That’s where the respect ends though. See, you came back for a cup of coffee and then left again into the void known as retirement. And….now you’re back again.
The smirk is gone again as I finish that sentence, replaced by a gaze that is not quite a glare but it’s far from friendly.
Welcome back, Chief. I hope you will be sticking around for a while, this company is far better with you than without you. Everyone knows that when you step into the ring that you draw money. The same can be said of myself. The difference is, I’ve not taken time off from the sport in over a decade. My dedication to the company and this industry is fucking unparalelled. You will never encounter anyone in this sport that has as much passion for what we do than me. We’ve never encountered each other here or anywhere else for that matter so this will be a historic night.
I frown slightly and nod as I continue.
You came back for a match that many have been anticipating for a while. I continue on as I prepare to take back something that was taken from me. I will regain my world title and you are the first step in that. I’ve often been referred to as “The Gentleman Wolf” and in an ideal world that is exactly who you would be facing. That can no longer be said. That part of me is dormant, one could say that it was stripped away. That’s not your fault of course, it is circumstance. The problem is that AJ is not available, so to try and get back to center, I have to vent my frustration. You’ll have to do.
Fade
Aaron
Unnamed Hospital, Port Arthur, Texas.
/Scene Opens\
[Off-camera]
The flight home had been uneventful, I was fifteen pounds lighter for the trip back and none too happy about that. I had lost to Alex Jones and it stung more than a little bit. That meant there was only one thing to do. Take back what was mine. The envelope that I had been given in Alaska still rested in the breast pocket of my jacket, unopened. Having shown my vaccination card to the hospital staff, I had been allowed into the room where my friend of thirty-six years and my sister’s husband of thirty-three years lay dying. Aaron, who was every bit as big as me, was a gentle giant. A god-fearing man, who had been a deacon in his church for the last twenty years. He was dying because of a stubborn streak that was as wide as the state we called home. His kidneys were functioning at ten percent when he’d been brought in. The doctors had informed us that as of this morning they were at six percent. In essence, the man was in a coma and in full renal failure. All because of his pride. My sister Abi, sat in a chair beside his bed. For the first time in a long time, she seemed to be at peace. Her red hair hung limply around her shoulders, her green eyes were rimmed red with tears but she wore a grim smile that accentuated the wrinkles around her mouth.
As I entered the room, she looked up and gave me a smile, glad that someone was there. I had no idea where Aaron’s Dad and Sister were. She just shook her head and motioned me over. I gave her a long hug, not just because she was my baby sister but because no one I’ve ever known needed one worse than she did right now. When she pulled back, she said to me, “I’m glad you could be here. It’s really a shame his own family doesn’t care as much as mine does.” In response, I didn’t get angry but simply kissed my sister on the forehead. She seemed to melt against me as I guided her back to a seated position. She held Aaron’s hand as I spoke softly to the man who had been one of my closest friends in life. We had known each other since we were around eight or nine years old. “Well old friend, your stubborn pride finally got the better of you.”, I said as quietly and smoothly as I could. I knew my eyes were beginning to well up but I didn’t care. “Fair winds and following seas old man.”, I said softly to him. The tears were running freely as my little brother, as I used to call him took his last breaths, with only myself and his wife of thirty-plus years for company.
The heart monitor flatlined and I moved out of the way for the hospital staff as they rushed in. My sister Abi stopped them, showing them his “Do Not Resuscitate” card. They stopped, unable to be able to help bring him back to the land of the living. All due to his own wishes, another example of Aaron’s stubbornness, which I respected, we always said that when it was our time, it was our time. He believed that if he allowed himself to be revived, that went against God’s will. He was not big on challenging the big man as he liked to call him. I finally looked over at Abi and even though her heart had been broken in two, she was at peace. It’s such a foreign concept to me. Peace. What does that even feel like, I’ve often wondered? What might it feel like to be completely satisfied with the life you’ve chosen to lead with zero regrets. I was very jealous of Aaron and Abi just then. I wished with all of my might that I could have that, even though I knew that was beyond my ability to achieve. Imagine that, suddenly realizing that there was one thing that no matter how hard you tried, you could never achieve.
“Where’s Gerald and Nickki?”, I asked her quietly. She shook her head no, either not knowing or not wanting me to know. “Okay, when was the last time they were here?”, I asked. She smiled and then replied, “They left about ten minutes before you got here.” I looked over where Aaron lay, a sheet now pulled over his face. “They knew the shape he was in and they just left?” I asked her with a tone of incredulity. She nodded, not saying anything else. “Would you like for me to take you home, Abi?”, I asked her softly as I laid an arm across her shoulder. She leaned her head into my shoulder and cried softly. After a while, when the tears had finally subsided for this round, she looked up and spoke. “I would like that Mac, it’s been a couple of days since I’ve slept or even ate anything.” We stood up together and I guided her towards the door. We stopped by the door and turned to look one last time, neither of us believed that he could really be gone.
Fade.
No More Micky Mouse Bullshit
Orlando, Florida.
/Scene Opens\
[Off-camera]
I stood in line at the hotel waiting my turn to check-in, when my phone buzzed. A message from Amber, giving me the room number. “Thank god for that woman.”, I said quietly to myself. I left the line and went to the elevator. I turned the corner a bit more sharply than I had intended and nearly ran into a woman who looked like a cast reject from “The Housewives of Miami”. ‘Excuse me, ma’am.” I made my apologies and maneuvered around her. She wreaked of bourbon and weed. “Sure thing.” she said as I went around her. “My, my you are a tall drink of water.”, she followed me to the elevator. “Thanks, I think?” I said in response. She eyed me up and down, looking at me like I’d be her next meal. “So, Tex, where’d you park your horse?” she said in a voice that was full of snark. I’d had a really tough week and so I don’t think anyone but God would blame me for what was said next. “He’s parked between my legs but you’re too fat to ride.” I said in a voice that was equally sarcastic as I entered the elevator. She tried to follow me in but I stopped her. “I’m sorry miss, but this car is at maximum capacity.”, I said politely but firmly.
I pressed the button for our floor, “God damn Mac don’t you ever get tired of this micky mouse bullshit?!” I shook my head in disgust as the elevator climbed suddenly. It threw my balance off briefly but I recovered quickly and leaned against the wall of the elevator. I let out a long sigh as they chime dinged letting me know I had arrived at our floor. I exited the elevator and made my way towards our room, pausing once to readjust the bag I had slung over my shoulder as it threatened to slide down. Since I had lost the title to Alex, I had been tempted to just buy out the remainder of my contract and call it a career. That wasn’t how I was though. As a competitor and as a man, there was no way that my pride would allow that. No, I was going to reclaim what was mine. No one had to like it but I knew when I was in this mode there was nothing they could fucking do about it either. I started to get closer to the room and the door opened, my wife was a lot of things to a lot of people. She was everything to me. The combination of violence and beauty was a rare thing in our business. Not many women could pull off both. Most of the beauties were just eye candy for some jackass who couldn’t work a mic. Not mine though, she’d kicked my ass before and would do it again if it was called for.
“Red” greeted me with a smile, a kiss, and a hug as I entered the room. “Feeling any better?”, she asked softly. “About fifteen pounds lighter”, I quipped to her as I allowed the bag to slide off my shoulder. “Well, you already know what to do about that.” she quipped back at me in response. I smiled at her, the sarcasm levels were always evenly matched between us. “Yes Ma’am, I certainly do,” I said in return. I rested my bag on the office chair and turned back around. Amber reached up and grabbed me by the ears, pulling me closer so we were nose to nose. “Make him pay for even thinking about taking your title, darling”. I smiled at her aggressiveness and responded in kind, “They will rue the fucking day, my love.”. Her smile broadened, “Fuck, I love you.” she said as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My only response was to say, “I know.”
Fade.
In this business we often say a lot of things that we don’t mean. We call each other all variety of names. We thinly veil our contempt for each other with fancy words laced with innuendo. We insinuate things and flat out accuse each other of things that may or may not be true. There is one thing that I know is true about Goth. He is a legend in our business and one of the cornerstones that Sin City was built on. Whether you like or dislike his methods is irrelevant. He was always someone who simply got shit done. If he failed, he owned it. If he succeeded he never let you forget it. The days of face paint and liquor are gone, but the ass-kickings continued. Don’t believe me? Ask Mark Cross how his match went with Goth. If you can get him to cut the crap long enough, to tell the truth, that is.
The thing is this, Goth came back in some sense of redemption, I guess. He did a lot of bad things early in his career and felt the need to come back to “make things right”. Now to him, it doesn’t matter if anyone took him seriously or even believed him. In his mind and his heart, he thought he was doing the right thing. The next thing that happened was just as unexplainable as him materializing, to begin with. He disappeared once again. No one knew where he went or if he was okay. He just vanished. Much like Mark Cross after I beat his ass. Yes, I’m repeating myself because it amuses me to say that. Bear with me kids, I’m getting to the point. So, Goth is back again, but will it be for the same reason as last time? Will it be, “to make things right” or will it be because he misses the spotlight and everything that goes with it. Will water bottles be replaced by bottles of booze again or will he stick to the straight and narrow? All valid questions as far as I’m concerned. Not that I care, but the fans will likely be interested to know the answers to the questions all the same.
Fans today, you can’t pull the wool over their eyes like in the old days. Use to be that people in this industry protected their art like a member of the family. Never let anyone inside or get too close to give away any of the secrets of what we do. These days though, they are way smarter and you can’t really hide anything from them. Like my anguish of losing the world title. It’s not like I tried to hide it. I did what a man should do, I congratulated the new champ and told him I was coming for him and that title once again. I’m not going to stand here all full of fake bravado and yell at the top of my lungs how I am going to tear you apart and that there isn’t anything you can do about it. No, because that would be fake and disingenuous. What and who I am, has always been obvious. I am first and foremost a wrestler. I take pride in that, just like the previous generation of Bane’s did and the generation that I raised. When I step between those ropes, I’m on a mission. That is my domain, I don’t play well with others and I don’t share my territory. Every wrestling move I execute is done with precision and impact. Every punch I throw is thrown with velocity and hate. That’s the difference between me and the rest of the roster.
The rest are out there trying to win matches. I’m out there protecting what’s mine. While you are trying to beat me in a match, that’s not what I’m doing. When I tell you we are not the same, you can take that as the gospel. Every move and punch is designed to hurt you. I’m not out there to win a match. I’m out there to hurt the enemy that stands across the ring from me. It doesn’t matter who you are or what your name is. All of that disappears when the bell rings. I only see red, and I only see enemies across from me. You would think, Goth, as long as you have been around and doing this. You would think that I would be the last person you would want to face, instead of the first. I could lie and tell you this is not personal, but it is. Not because I dislike you personally. You’ve done nothing to me, outside of signing a contract to face me one on one.
That was a mistake.
Not because I think I’m so much better than you. I don’t think that at all, I know I’m better. At the end of the night, you’ll know it as well. There is only one thing I’m not so certain of. That’s whether you’ll be able to leave under your own power. I’m fucking done placating people in Sin City. The fans, the ownership, my so-called peers. J2H was right, as bad as I hate to say it. He was fucking right about all of you. The Gentlemen Wolf has been stripped away in a single match. What’s left behind is raw, unbridled hatred for every single one of you. Get ready bitches, you reap what you sew.
