The Fight You Wanted
“See, people with power understand exactly one thing: violence.”
― Noam Chomsky
The Sin City production team signals they are ready to begin recording. Dressed in a black “Mac Bane” t-shirt, blue jeans, and black boots, I get ready to begin. Taking a deep breath, standing in front of a standard, Sin City Wrestling backdrop, I begin my discourse on the most recent events.
Even with the debut of our team not going as planned, like natural selection, it worked itself out.
I smirk at the audience as I continue.
Vinnie and Bill were left laying and the team that we had assembled stood tall. Now then, if you can believe anything that Bill has said, he’s at home recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of your saviors.
I try to look sad for the people at home but I just can’t pull it off as the smile replaces the frown almost as quickly as it appeared.
This isn’t simply about me, that’s what many don’t understand. What we do is for the betterment of this company and this industry. Some have even called me a hypocrite, that’s cute and all but you know what?
I shrug at the audience, still smiling, I continue.
The path to true success in this business, whether it’s the boardroom or in the ring. It’s a twisting path, one fraught with danger. It’s a path that is strewn with casualties and paved with hypocrisy and good intentions. One thing I’ve always been is very straightforward about is my hatred for people who go out there and don’t leave it all in the ring. The people who go out there and half-ass it and still get paid.
I feel my nostrils flare as my tempo picks up and my agitation becomes more obvious.
The curtain jerkers who wallow in their own mediocrity. They do the same shit week after week expecting a different outcome!
I allow my breathing to slow to a more normal rate, clasping my hands in front of me, I continue.
When you eliminate mediocrity as a whole then every match is special. What if every match was a five-star match and every super card was a showcase of wrestling gods?
I shake my head in disgust.
It can’t be right now though. The only wrestling gods that are present are the men that are the saviors of sin city.
The smile returns, not the friendly kind, the kind you might see on a wolf before it attacks. I begin ticking off items on my right hand with my left.
Dominick Strife, Supreme Machine, Ken Davison, and myself. We educate and if necessary, we decimate. Some might laugh at the “educate” part of that statement, but we all know that pain is the most effective teacher.
I again allow my hands to fall to my sides as I bow my head in reverence.
Pain is nothing more than weakness leaving the body.
When I look back up again, the smile is gone, replaced by a look that speaks only the language of violence.
That being said, Jack….are you ready to become stronger than you’ve ever been? The potential you had when you first arrived on the scene was off the damn charts.
I use my hands for emphasis on that last part, slamming the balled-up fist of my right hand into my left.
Pissed it all away though, didn’t you?
I spread my hands and arms out wide to illustrate my confusion.
Had some friends that you trained with and what happened….your ego drove them away and straight to Alex Jones. Ironic, isn’t it? I mean, have you even figured out why or how you lost yet?
I allow the smirk to return, because I had, and I knew why he had lost.
I mean, you and a lot of other people not named Mac Bane thought you had that shit in the bag. You believed too much in your own hype and allowed the idiots to inflate your ego. Even Alex fed you spoonfuls of bullshit and you swallowed it like a fat kid with a tub of chocolate frosting.
I roll my eyes in order to get my point across.
You were so fucking sure of yourself and you didn’t hesitate to tell the world that you were going to win. There was never a doubt in your mind. There should have been, but too much pride and way too much arrogance ruined your chances. I heard about all the shit you said about me.
My hands return to my side at first and then they were on my hips as I leaned slightly forward toward the audience.
Dumbass!
I almost laugh at the temerity of the man, shaking my head, I allow an exasperated sight to escape.
You should have had the balls to say that shit to my face, but that’s okay. You see I have a way of shutting punks like you up. I hit harder than anyone in this fucking business!
My pulse quickens as my rage tries to rise again and break free.
I am going to beat the fuck out of you. You are in need of a proper education more so than possibly anyone on this roster. You talk plenty, you just never seem to back it up. Not in a long time anyway. Yes, you deserve respect for being a two-time world champion in Sin City. You’ve got that, even from me. The problem is, you don’t respect the business or the company.
Hardening my gaze again, I point at the camera.
At times, I don’t think you even respect yourself, considering the way you carry yourself in public. I can’t imagine what a sad sack of shit you are in private.
I lower my arm and coking my head to the side...
Living with all that regret over deserting your friends and driving them away.
I shake my head in a sad way to indicate my sympathy for him and his plight.
Here’s what I want you to do. Go study all the video footage of my matches leading up to this point. Then I want you to forget everything you think you know about me and try again. That footage will not help you in the least, it will only serve me, knowing that you have no idea who or what you are stepping into the ring with. I’m going to be very straightforward with you. I’ve been playing this game for a long time. The real problem for you and everyone after you is this.
Looking straight ahead, into the camera for the audience watching online and for my opponent.
The rules of engagement have changed. Everything you think you know about me has changed. The price of survival is way up now and most of you can’t afford the ante, let alone to go all-in with the likes of me!
I force myself to breathe more normally again after that last segment I had been damn near frothing at the mouth. I wipe it away and smile again.
I have no regrets or remorse about any of the shit I’ve done or said, to be blunt, you and I are more similar than not. I say that knowing you will fight tooth and nail to beat me in a wrestling match. That’s who you are at the end of the day.
Keeping a steady and confident tone, I allow myself to continue on this train of thought.
A wrestler.
I allow the smile to return as I continue.
Me? I’m so much more than that.
I raise my right hand, fingers extended.
First and foremost,
I’m a fighter.
My index finger comes down to the palm of my hand.
A survivor.
My thumb comes down to the palm of my hand.
A killer.
My pinky finger comes down.
A career-ender.
The ring finger comes down, leaving only the middle finger remaining.
Maybe most importantly, I’m honest about who I am. I am the villain in my own story and have been my entire career. I make no apologies for that, not to myself, not to the fans, and certainly not to a single mother fucker on this roster.
I shake my head in disgust as I move forward to close this out, middle finger stil extended and now up close and personal with the camera.
You’re simply the next casualty on my way back to where I fucking belong. Like you, Alex thinks he’s got it all figured out, and like you, he’ll find out exactly how wrong he is. This is the fight you wanted right?
Fade
{Port Arthur, Texas - unnamed stretch of road - “Ruh Roh Raggy”}
It’s that moment when you know you are screwed, not that you did anything yourself but someone else put you in that position. One, Felicia Del Gado, the wife of a known gangster on the east coast. His family had been running rackets and all sorts of activities in and around Atlantic City for ages. So, with my mind now racing I pull into the parking lot of the Veteran of Foreign Wars Bar where I was to meet Jeff Castello. He was already there, standing beside an unmarked navy-colored van. Flagging me down, I slowed down to a crawl, parking next to the van for easy transfer. He looked as haggard as I felt and upon seeing my passengers he began to smirk. Then shaking his head, he opened the passenger door. “Mrs. Felicia Del Gado, I presume?”, he said smiling at the woman. She nodded her head, “Si” was her response. He nodded his head, “Ma’am, would you like political asylum?”, she repeated her previous answer. “Very well. Mac, We’ll take it from here. Go get some rest, you look like shit.” I gave Jeff a mock salute, “Aye sir. I feel like it too.”
“Hey Mac, thanks, you did more in a single night than anyone in Atlantic City has done in a decade.”, I shook my head at his comment and laid my head back for a moment. “Blind luck, old friend.” He barked a laugh, “I don’t believe in luck, you were in the right place at the absolute worst time but people are put into those positions for a reason.” He finished his statement and slapping the side of the truck he closed the door. The feeling of being out of my element was there again. Whenever I had any dealings with the Del Gado family, it was like you’re bleeding in deep water. It felt like the sharks were circling and you had no way to defend yourself against what was coming. I watched them as they escorted the wife of Del Gado and her sons to the waiting van where emergency medical personnel were on hand to check them over during the transport. After they pulled away, I put the truck in gear and headed out. I needed to get rid of it and Silsbee, Texas had the perfect solution. Using the truck’s dialer, I called my cousin Lea. “Hey Le-le, I need a huge favor.” After a long pause, she replied, “As long as it’s not hiding a body, sure.” I could almost feel the smirk on her face. I chuckled, “Nah, nothing that drastic. Meet me at the yard?” Another long pause, “Yeah, I can do that. What’s going on?” “Too much to explain over the phone, see you in about twenty minutes.” With that, I hung up the phone. With it being just a few days before Thanksgiving, the roads were nearly deserted and I made good time, with the sound up full blast. I listened to “I’ve always been crazy” by Waylon Jennings among other songs as I made my way down the road. When I got to the wrecking yard, she already had the gates unlocked.
I followed her up to the office and parked the truck nearby. We entered the building and sat down in very old and worn fabric-covered office chairs. This had long been one of my favorite places to visit. It smelled of burnt things, oil, gas, rubber. I smiled as I leaned back in the chair almost to the point of tipping. “Mac, it’s great to see you, but what’s going on?”I shook my head, and I dug a pack of smokes out of my pocket and lit one. I offered her one as well but she declined. Instead, she dug an ashtray out of the top drawer of the desk and slid it across the surface to me. “Thanks, Cuz”, I said quietly. She waited patiently as I thought about how to phrase what was going on. “Always best to be honest”, I mused to myself. “Lea, I’m in trouble.” She nodded knowingly, “I thought as much because it’s not like you to ask for help.” I continued on, “I need a couple of things.” She arched an eyebrow as I continued to explain. “I need you to destroy and meltdown my truck. All of it.” That really got her attention. “Dafuq is wrong with you?”, she asked in a disbelieving tone. I hesitated only briefly. “I did some recon tonight and the truck may have been spotted by people that may want to do me harm.” That froze her in place much as I suspected it would. “Then I need you to take me to the airport.” She continued to stare at me like a doe caught in the glare of headlights. She nodded though and followed along. “Alright, I’m guessing you need this now?” I nodded in response, “Yeah, it’s important.” another curt nod from her and she picked up her phone. She was likely calling her old man, Eric. “Get to the yard, we got an emergency of sorts.” that’s all she told him as she hung up.
I reached into my jacket and pulled out a wad of cash, I rolled it across the desk and she stared at it for a moment. “Mac, we’re family, you don’t owe me nothin’.” I smiled at her, “Keep it, Lea, for the trouble I’ve caused you tonight. I know Eric was probably sleeping.” She nodded her head, opening the desk drawer she swept the wad of cash into it. Eric arrived only moments later as I was crushing out my cigarette. “Big Mac! I didn’t know you were in town. How you doin’ brother?” I shook the offered hand of my cousin’s husband. “All good hoss, how’s life at the paper mill?” “Oh, you know”, he started and the look that Lea gave him stopped him in his tracks. She motioned for him to follow her as she went outside. “Keys are in it I said at her back as she shut the door.”. I leaned back forward and rested my elbows on the desk and put my face in my hands. “Jesus Mac, when you fuck up, you do it right.” Chuckling to myself as the door opened back up again and Lea came back in. “Eric is working on it, let’s get you to the airport.” I stood up and stretched, allowing the vertebrae in my back to pop. It wasn’t much but there was relief there. “You can sleep on the way”, she added quietly. “This is the most tired I’ve ever seen you,” she added. I nodded my head in agreement, “yeah, I could use some rest, but evidently, there’s no rest for the wicked.” She smirked at me, “Another family tradition I suppose.” I laughed in response, it felt good too, I thought to myself. For the first time in a while, I’ve been genuinely able to laugh. I wasn’t forced, maybe a little manic but not forced. I gave her a quick hug, “Thanks Lea, this means a lot.” She hugged me back and patted me on the back. “Any time, loser.”
She had called me that just about our entire lives, the running joke in the family. I didn’t like to lose and hadn’t lost very often throughout my career. It came from the fact that losing wasn’t something I processed well. It had when I was younger driven me to extremes. I had done things in the face of losing just for spite. That was a long time ago though and this is now. Lea put a hand on my chest, “Who pissed you off beyond the point of no return?” I shrugged, “Don’t know why you say that…” she smirked, “Your eyes Mac when someone pushes you too hard they go from a blue-green to slate grey.” I had honestly forgotten about that and I chuckled. “Never mind, you can tell me on the way to Beaumont.” I gathered my bag and we headed into the night.
Fade.
