Post by Deleted on Apr 11, 2014 4:11:56 GMT -5
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I've been away for a while. On a magical trip I'm just dying to share with you all. When I say magical what I really mean is laboriously pain staking. It's taken me just shy of 18 months to loop the loop from on top of my game, to very much not on my game, to back on my game again. We come full circle. This is the sound of a man who is set on rewriting the record books. This is everyone's chance to really be a part of something. It doesn't matter if you missed the previous 10 seasons of "Drakz the Biggest Dog in the World" because we're starting a fresh. A complete reboot if you will. This is an opportunity for all of the newcomers to the business, young and old, to watch how this game should be played. I am the man with the loaded die and it just keeps hitting sixes all night long baby.
For those who don't know who the f*ck I am, my name is Isaac Cray, although you can and WILL call me Drakz, and I am an addict. An addict to out thinking the other man. An addict to always coming out on top. Completely reliant on winning, and why? Because I've just built up a tolerance to it. It started off tasting sweet and I wanted more, but now it's just what I need to get me through the day, to keep me at that baseline level of functionality. Things have changed a lot in my absence, as they always do, but don't worry yourself, Daddy's home now and he just so happens to be bringing all of his friend's along with him for one last blow out party.
Who's this at the door already? Well………if it isn't my old buddy Phillip Schneider! Welcome him to the show everyone, that's right let's give him a big hand for joining us tonight. Okay so perhaps buddy is a bit strong. Old hits the nail on the head though. We've practically been in a long distance marriage for 10 years and here we are, more solid than ever. Again I'm overstating our professional relationship.
Me and Phil. Phil and me. We've been around this town for the same length of time, almost to the day, although I think he just beat me to the punch with his debut. I'm sure he'll mention that, he always does. We came in not knowing our arses from our elbows, slumming it at the bottom of the card, fighting to be noticed by our superiors. Little by little we made our mark though. I was perhaps a little quicker to catch on to how things worked, but Phil was always working his socks off to keep me in his sights, albeit practically on the horizon. Whilst he was playing tag I was doing things on my own, jumping up the billing week after week, one step ahead of him, yet nowadays our list of accolades are somewhat comparable. This is one of the things I intend on fixing though. Phillip Schneider lays claim to the longest ever Heavyweight Championship reign…….for now. Let's not spoil things by setting our sights too far into the future though. We need to keep firmly rooted in the here and now.
What do we have immediately in front of us? Well that's easy. We have the beginning. The new beginning. The New Epoch……No wait we already did that. Think of this as the limited edition bonus disc you never knew you had. We're starting things with a mouth watering dream match. A shake down of the ages. This truly is a match that could sum up what the WFWF means. To an outsider of course it's just two more guys slapping the hell out of one another, but to those who know where we all came from, what this company came from, this match is more important than any that have come before it, and quite possibly any that come after it. Why? Simply because it's never happened before. In the 10 long years that we've both been active, both big names in the business, we have NEVER squared off against one another. I can only put this down to my always being a nose ahead of Obo, leaving him shrouded in the dust. Perhaps it could have happened last year? Perhaps it should have happened last year, but my run was cut short allowing Phil here to catapult himself into the top spot. The very top spot.
There are people that now consider him to be the best there is. The greatest of all time. I put it to these people though that they haven't seen me at my peak. They haven't seen how I really work. It's my own fault really. I've been so unreliable these past few years. Look who's back! And then look who's gone. Flakier than an old wh*re's drain pipe. However we're on to a winner this time around. We're making the log pile as big as we can and igniting it with one f*cker of a match. This time I'll burn the world. This time the only name anyone will remember in years to come is mine. I intend to wipe everyone else's achievements from memory by outdoing them all. I need to feed this problem of mine because I've been cold turkey for well over a year.
It's time to win, and win in style.
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Chapter One - Coma Black
Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
"His vitals remain constant Doctor, so that's a positive sign."
"It's a sign. I'm not sure I'd call it positive myself."
Who's vitals? Who even is that talking?
"He still shows no signs of measurable improvement though. Do you have much experience with patients in this state?"
"Some can remain this way for months, even years."
That sounds………foreboding. I wonder how the poor schmuck ended up so badly off? It's seriously dark in here.
"But so long as his insurance keeps trickling in we'll keep his bed for him, otherwise he can sleep it off elsewhere." *Laughs*
"Doctor! You shouldn't joke like that. What if someone heard you?"
I can hear you!
"Well there's only me, you…….and him, and I don't feel he's in any state to hear a word of it, so just laugh it off sister. You have to keep laughing in this job or you'll lose faith."
"This is all very new to me Doctor. I don't know it just seems a little…….I don't know…..in bad taste?"
"Pull that thermometer out of your ass nurse, it's in so deep it's making your back stiff."
This guy sounds like a pr*ck. I kind of like him.
"Doctor!"
"Inform me of any changes in the patient's condition. Oh and nurse……..If any senior management come knocking on my door asking questions about my conduct, you'll be the first to hear about it."
"Why me? You're the one being inappropriate!"
"Like I said before, the boy in the bed won't be doing much talking any time soon. Keep those lips from flapping and you'll be just fine."
That 6th sense tells me the room is now shorter on bodies and the soundtrack suddenly becomes that of a sniveling, bitter woman.
"Piece of sh*t. He can't talk to me that way. I'll report him to the matron when I see her. Doesn't he know what year this is? We're not still smoking on the wards and using leeches. I don't care how many years he studied he's just a misogynistic….."
I turn on the wench filter and sink back into the ether, so far back her endless talking is nothing but a dull hum. I thought she was the one worried about people hearing? I'm sick of her already and we only just met, sort of.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
Time has become a construct I don't really follow anymore, and thus I can't really say how long I've been stuck in this black box. It feels like an age, and I've been peppered with conversations throughout, talking in such a way that it's clear to me now that I am said patient. I remember why I'm here. I remember who did this to me and I know how to proceed once I'm able. I'm very much isolated now though. Not just from those talking, but from my own nervous system too. There's no pain, even though I've heard chatter of my condition enough times to have a basic grasp on what's wrong with the shell I'm dwelling inside of. Vertebrae 8 through 11 in the thoracic portion of the spine are fractured, while 6 and 7 have severely dislocated. That information has been repeated over and over, and I'm certain it's true. The rest is a little hazy as there's been contradictions and speculation galore. If they knew I could hear them I wonder whether they'd at least try and sugar coat it a little more?
"This guy's a cadaver as far as motor functions go."
"It's only mild bruising. He should recover with little issue."
"How much is the pool up to now?"
"His legs are hanging by a thread."
"I've got my money riding on 28 days."
"No way he'll be stuck here for at least another couple of months. Your money's as good as mine."
I guess we'll find out the truth once I get out of here. Also if I don't see any of that money they're gambling I'll scream bloody murder. If your horse wins the Grand National you at least give it a sugar cube, not a bullet in the temple.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness a little now and I can see a shape across from me. I move towards it in a way that feels entirely new to me. It's without effort. It's movement without movement.
"Nurse can you change the patient's I.V. please. We don't want him dehydrating."
As I get closer the blur of the shape sharpens some and I can make out a door frame. I get closer and the door growls. Don't worry brother I'm not going to hurt you. The growl stops the moment I reach out and grasp the handle but I can feel a heat radiating from it. Don't they tell you at school that if the door handle is hot, the fire is on the other side? Look for another exit.
"1000CCs fresh saline should see him through the next 12 hours."
I look. There is no other exit.
The door handle remains hot but it feels more like body heat. Yes, in fact the handle is even pulsing a little. Fairly weak but there's definitely a pulse there. I twist the knob and it moves. It keeps moving. It has no purchase on the mechanism and the handle simply keeps turning and turning to no avail. Brute strength may be my only option. It's stuck pretty fast though. I try to force it open but the door just barks back at me and I uncontrollably cower away. The door has a lot more teeth than any other I've seen before and part of me knows the last place I should be heading is through it, but right now it's my only option.
"Be sure to change his bedding as well, you know those catheters have a tendency to leak."
I strap my non-testicles back between my ethereal non-legs and make for the dog again. This time the door snarls and I feel saliva drip onto my shoulder as I take the dog handle in my non-hand. I try turning it again only this time there's a resistance. An almighty yank on the handle propagates a yelp of pain yet still the door refuses to budge. I hammer on it mercilessly and it whines at me amongst further barking until, exhausted, if I can describe it as that, I stop and return to my own space, slipping back into my blackened stupor.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
"Sister, get the Doctor…….now! There was a twitch then. His hand flinched, I'm certain of it."
I adjust my senses to the world around me. All this blackness remains as it has forever. All except the doorway. It still remains in the same spot as before, only…….only this time it's ajar! I make for it and grab the handle again. It's cold, like a door knob should be. It turns, like a door knob should. I pause, if only to enjoy the moment……and then……and then I move through it.
"Mr Cray? Mr Cray can you hear me? Where's the Doctor? His patient is waking up!"
I squint through my eyes. My real eyes, not my non-eyes. My two, normal, human eyes, and they're nearly burned out by the slit of light that attempts to penetrate them. I'm being f*cked by light……in the eyes. My normal lips, my real lips, half crusted together, peel apart and I attempt to let the nurse know to turn down the lights.
"I'm being……f*cked by….light."
World class stuff. If I don't win an oscar for this I'll be p*ssed off. I deliver the line again to my loving fans.
"I'm being f*cked."
"Mr Cray? What's that? Can you hear me? Open your eyes."
Not a chance. If I open these lids it's game over.
"Mr Cray if you can, I want you to open your eyes. The Doctor is here now and wants to check for brain damage. You've been asleep for a long time."
I almost laugh but my body won't allow it. I wish I'd stayed on the other side, the pain here is all too real. No doubt it's been marginalised by opiates as well. The next few months aren't going to be much fun.
The Doctor takes it upon himself to do his job and he gently (goodness his hands are soft) opens my left eye. My face screws up but I'm not strong enough to resist and so I'm bombarded by directional torch light as he checks my retinal reaction. Even after he releases me all I can see is the white of the torch light. I consider myself in for a penny by this point and open the right eye of my own accord to a brilliant whiteness. I feel as if light is pouring into me and honestly, whilst it may hurt, it feels great. After such a bid in the darkness I don't mind if this white out lasts for days. Anything is better than the dog-door and the endless black surrounding it.
"Mr Cray my name is Doctor Schwarz…"
Ironic after where I've just come from.
"and I'll be monitoring your progress over the course of the next few weeks."
He's definitely American. German parents perhaps?
"Right now it's important that we wean you back onto solid food to build your strength up. Then we can properly asses the extent of the damage to your nervous system. I don't mean that to sound too ominous but I can't lie to you, your current state is unclear. There's only so much a scan can tell us. Most of our diagnosis will be done based on your physical abilities, something we can test now you are back with us."
This isn't the same Doctor I heard originally. Maybe the nurse snitched and he got reassigned. B*tch. If you can't make a joke about a critically ill person then I don't want to live anymore.
"I would like to offer my congratulations on your waking up. You had us all guessing whether you were going to wake up this side of the new year."
I'll bet. Where's my cut of the stakes?
"For now though we just want you to relax and get some proper sleep."
I've had my head down for the last who knows how long and he wants me to get back to it?
"It's imperative you stay calm and relaxed throughout your time here. What lays ahead will require a lot of mental and physical strength, but we'll be there with you every step of the way."
Oh fun. This is going to be a riot. Off goes Doc and I'm left with a young nurse. It seems nurses' outfits these days aren't as revealing as the movies would have you believe, but she's got a pretty face.
"It's time for your bed bath Mr Cray."
Oh fun!
"Clean…..off those……barnacles….."
Nailed it.
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Chapter Two - The English Patient
St. Joseph's Hospital & Medical Centre, Phoenix, AZ
December 25th 2012
13:38
Merry Christmas one and all. I wish someone would bring me a bottle. I've been laid up here since the night of November 10th, yet I've only been conscious of my whereabouts for the last 4 days. The pain in my back is tremendous, but on the flip side I'm hooked up to a self regulated Morphine drip. Needless to say my thumb's been resting gently on that little button of boredom almost constantly until it locks out.
It's been a monotonous few days, with the hospital staff treating me like a child, minus the presents. To be fair I can't sh*t on my own and I need my food mashed up, so I guess I'm not too far off. I've got a neck brace that seems to extend down the length of my back and there are tubes coming out of every last bit of me. One saline I.V., one morphine I.V., an outlet for blood so they can test it whenever they get the itch and by far the worst is the tube snuggled a good 3km up my d*ck. I kid you not I can feel it grazing my tonsils. I'd rather sit and stew in my own filth for weeks on end than this, but I have no say in the matter apparently.
The end of the bed frame is wrapped with tinsel in an attempt to brighten up the place yet it only serves to let me know I'm stuck in here during the one time of year when it's acceptable to be drunk out of your mind 24/7. Just stick a santa hat on your head and you can be lying in your own puke in a stairwell, and people will still wish you good tidings. I'm talking from experience. I wish I had a santa hat on right now, just to really depress every nurse who walks by.
There's been no further information supplied to me regarding my condition as I'm not deemed well enough just yet for that burden. I infer from this that the news is going to be bad. Mind blowingly bad. I'm as rested up as I'm going to get though so I think it's about time I was enlightened.
I've got a call button next to my bed and I think I'm about to use it for the first time…….yes…..I am. I don't like to cause any bother and so it's been the ward staff's job to keep making sure I haven't slipped away in the night or started chocking on my own vomit, because they know I wouldn't tell them even if I was. Sod it though I need some answers.
*Click*
And they come a running.
"Mr Cray is everything okay? What's wrong sir?"
"Nothing's wrong. Well actually something is wrong. My back is all done in and I want the doc to come and talk to me."
"Dr Schwarz? Right away Mr Cray. I'll let him know right away."
You do that. Run along minion of the broken backed one. Fetch me the man they call Schwarz. Poor son of a b*tch having to work on Christmas day. I wonder if he has a family? I doubt he has time for it. Just the odd knee trembler in the x-ray room with one of the ward sisters. Wily old fox. I bet they're easy game at this lonely time of year. You'd think I was one of those nurses he'd f*cked and not called back the width of the berth this man's been giving me. He could have told me how I was right away, but I can only assume there's a procedure to all of this. They've probably dealt with a thousand people in my state. For me though it's all new. A once in a lifetime opportunity. I hope so anyway.
"Mr Cray you're looking great."
"Dr Schwarz how good of you to drop by. I'm not so sure 'great' should have been your operative word there. I feel like sh*t if I'm honest, but if you keep this poppy milk flowing I'll manage. Oh and Merry Christmas you wily old fox."
He doesn't seem to understand what I'm implying and without even asking sticks his stethoscope down my robe, and no that's not a euphemism, and yes it's cold as sin.
"You could at least take a girl out to dinner before you go shoving your hands all over her Captain Black."
He listens intently to my chest, most likely to my uncontrollably shallow breathing. Even when I try and force a deep one my lungs shy away from the damage done to my spine and I'm left gasping.
"Are you feeling a little more together now Mr Cray? I didn't want to rush you into a lecture immediately after you broke your comatose state."
"I'm just dandy. It's killing me all of this waiting around though. I'm what you might call a get up and go person, if by go you mean f*ck, fight or smoke. Heh heh."
My lungs wheeze and I splutter as I try to laugh and Dr Schwarz looks on concerned, his brow furrowed.
"I think you could use a couple more days to recuperate personally…."
"Not at all doc. As you lovely Americans say, please, lay it on me."
He squints his eyes a little and I can almost hear the cogs whirring as he decides what he thinks is best for me.
"Okay then."
He picks up my chart from the end of the bed and pulls up a chair beside me. I can't believe the information I've wanted has been tickling my toes the whole time.
"Mr Cray as I'm sure you're aware by now your back is broken. You have multiple fractures and some bruising to the spinal chord itself which is very serious indeed. It's not all bad though as with the right treatment and rehabilitation you could well make a full recovery, however we have to be careful to not push things along too quickly as that could cost you the use of your legs."
"Like Tiny Tim? I'm not going to die at Christmas am I Doc?"
It sounds to me like my stay here won't be as brief as I'd hoped.
"You're certainly not going to die. We'll keep you here for the first stages of your rehab which, if I'm honest, consists mostly of more resting and as little movement as possible so the back can heal before we put any strain on it."
"Okay so let's skip to the good bit. What happens once I can move of my own accord again?"
"Well for one it shouldn't be too long as you've been healing ever since you were admitted 6 weeks ago. Your being in a coma had no effect on that. You should be pleased to have slept through the majority of it. A lot of patients have to just lie here for weeks on end, but you've somewhat cheated."
It's what I do best.
"However once you are at the point of mobilisation we'll begin with basic exercises to check response in your extremities and build from there. Once we get past minor movement we'll transfer you to another facility where you'll begin physical therapy, teaching yourself how to walk again, all being well."
"Teach myself how to walk? Can I not just remember how I did it before?"
"You'd be surprised Mr Cray. We're still not entirely sure how well the spinal cord will recover from the bruising. Even with a full recovery the trauma to your nervous system will have caused something of a blackout, and while you're brain may be telling muscles to contract and flex they won't respond as you're used to. It's a frustrating and stressful process but you strike me as someone who should deal with those obstacles quite well."
I'm used to taking short cuts not overcoming the odds. What does this guy really know about me anyway? This is only the second time we've spoken and he doesn't fit the bill of a wrestling fan, he's educated for a start. Mind you, there was that nurse I took a leak on. She was a wrestling fan, however I guess the fact she wanted to suck my d*ck because she'd seen me on the TV proves she must have fluked her way into that position, either that or she sucked someone else's. Probably the latter. Hey old Schwarz might have done as well for all I know. For my sake I hope not. He holds my erection in his hands. Haha. I've got to use that at some point.
"Is there anything you require to make your time here more manageable Mr Cray? Your health plan is pretty well equipped from a financial stand point so let us know if there is anything that will help you pass the day. Many patients become quite depressed laying on their back for so long with nothing to do but count the roof tiles."
Jesus. I can understand why if that's how you talk to them.
"I'm fine for now doc. I should probably just enjoy a bit of time off. My job is a little…..strenuous. I'll let you know if anything comes to mind though."
"Very well. I'll check in on you tomorrow. Please feel free to call the nurse at any time should you need something."
"Of course Doctor…………You hold my erection in your hands………Until then Schwarz."
He sort of fakes a smile but I spot him rolling his eyes as well. Surely no one else with a busted back had the dry, cool wit to make such an incredible joke to him before now?
I suppose I could be a little more productive with my time alone. Thinking up new penis jokes will only keep me busy for so long. Isn't this what I was aiming for anyway? A cabin in the woods. Some time to breathe? I can do that right here. I've got all the time in the world to mull things over.
F*ck.
How did I end up here?
We were on a roll.
Michael…….you sell out piece of sh*t.
Just when I think I'm alone Schwarz pops his head back around the curtain as though he forgot something.
"Oh Mr Cray."
"Please call me Isaac, I'm already sick to death of everyone here calling me by my Dad's name."
"Okay, Isaac. I thought, seeing as you don't have any visitors today, or any day for that matter I'd share this with you. I wouldn't want you getting low, thinking you're completely alone, today of all days."
"But you wouldn't mind so much if it was June 7th?"
"Let's not argue over semantics. I wanted to tell you that you did actually have one visitor a couple of days after you were admitted here."
"Really? Who?"
Who the hell cares enough to come and visit an inanimate me?
"He didn't leave a name, he just said he knew you from a long time ago."
"Ooooh such mystery. Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"I only saw him from my office as he spoke with one of the nurses, but something I did notice, something that really stood out, was his face. It was quite heavily scarred. Not pockmarked, more like he'd been in an accident or something. Does that ring a bell? It's not a face you'd forget."
I've literally no idea who he could be talking about………..Sounds like the kind of thing you'd remember, especially if he claims to know me?
"Not at all doc. You sure he wasn't here for someone else?"
"No the nurse told me she showed him to your bed. Strange. Well I'll let you know if I remember anything else that might jog your memory, but to be honest if you don't recollect those scars I can't see anything else I can come up with being of much help. Well, Merry Christmas Isaac."
I don't respond, not out of rudeness, more because I'm deep in thought. I can't imagine who this guy was. How long ago are we talking? Maybe he's just a disfigured f*ck up who likes to lie his way onto wards to look at others in a terrible state. Boost his self worth. But how did he know my name? I guess anyone who watches the TV could have guessed I'd have been admitted here. People are more likely to know my name than some random old dear recovering from a stroke.
I'd rather he hadn't told me anything. I've got too much time on my hands to dwell on this. I'll have gone mad by the weekend. Oh! I must remember to send Phillip Schneider a Hanukkah card. It'll be late, but I'm sure he'll understand given the circumstances.
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Chapter Three - A Seed is Sown
Backstage at the WFWF Arena, somewhere in the USA
February 14th 2012
00:23 (Shortly after the end of Revolution)
It's hard to say how I feel about what just happened. My closest friend Michael Kyzer was just sedated and then pardoned, following the threat of almost certain brain damage and most likely death via blunt force trauma. All of this at the hands of a person I don't deem to be in the same league as any of us, (us being myself, Kyzer and our new compadre David Brennan).
Part of me is impressed and another part of me is disgusted. I'm impressed that Obo was able to get the jump on Michael and put him in a position like that. I'm impressed at the way he conducted himself, how calculated the whole thing was. I'm impressed that he chose to let Kyzer off, because it's what I would have done, simply because it's more insulting. On the other hand I'm disgusted with Kyzer for allowing that kind of moment to arise. I'm disgusted it was brought about by someone who, as I've already mentioned, I consider to be a mid card talent. I'm disgusted that everything we've done over the last few weeks to build our group into the beast that it is; has been cast into the sea through Michael's display of weakness, not just to Obo, not just to the entire locker room but to the world watching it on live TV.
Most other people in my position would be enraged at the assailant, looking for revenge at the first opportunity, but that's not how our relationship works. We have the bond of watching out for each other, but if you let yourself down the team allows you to fall. Otherwise how do you learn from it? You need those scabby knees to remind you how much you hated falling in the first place. We all understand this and that's why I know Kyzer will take no issue with my not racing to the ring to bail him out. I just wish he'd stop pacing the length of our locker room. He's wearing a track into the floor.
"That was a mistake. That should never have happened."
"I know Mike, it goes without saying. How the f*ck have you ended up in this mess anyway? Obo's not the right calibre of opponent for your first Heavyweight Title defence. Just the fact he's challenging for the title makes us look like bums. It should be exclusively top competition facing off with The Epoch."
Michael turns to look at me. I can tell he's still pretty riled up about the whole thing, which is strange, he never usually steps things up above more than a 6.
"Then why are you facing Trace Demon? Why are we facing anyone? Who really is there in the company at this time that's worth going toe to toe with?"
He's got a point. But my opponent is a means to an end.
"That's just the way things have panned out for me. I'm taking part in a tournament, it's out of my hands mate."
"Why are you even challenging for that less prestigious belt in the first place? The same argument can be made. It's below you. It's below us."
"I told you I'd leave you to it with the Heavyweight Championship picture. While you've got the gold I'm setting my sights else where. Jesus man. This is what Schneider's up to. Look at us squabbling like children. How do we come out of this without smelling like sh*t?"
"The same way we always do. We win."
It's a simple ethos but it's worked for most of our careers. How do you silence the whispers? You take the rumours and the doubts and you smash them into pieces so small they can be blown up the asses of those who didn't stand by you. We're heading into the first big show since the dawning of The New Epoch and with all three of us fighting in the top half of the card I can only assume winning three for three would set our dominance in stone.
"And win we shall brother."
Kyzer stops pacing and grips my shoulder, looking me in the eye as he speaks.
"We're f*cking unstoppable. We always have been. Obo may be the best thing the WFWF can throw at me right now, and in my opinion that says it all. That right there is the reason we're back. To raise the stakes. To bring back a legitimacy to what we do. Ever since we left the cream was skimmed off of the top of this company, it gave a chance for the filth and sediment to rise up and take its place. Who the f*ck wants to eat strawberry's and silt? The world is crying out for a bit of sweetness and at the next Pay Per View we will deliver it when we both walk out as champions and Brennan stakes his claim to the respect that he's been denied."
I've known this man for a long time now and of the very few people who are close to either of us it's safe to say we are one another's counterparts, which is why I know this.
He's lying.
Whether he knows it himself I can't be certain, but I can see in his eyes, this spiel he's giving me, as convincing as it may be to anyone else, he doesn't believe it. It seems Obo has accomplished what he set out to do tonight and that's plant the seed. Kyzer goes to turn away and begin pacing up and down again. Maybe he's actually started to believe the sh*t that pours out of Schneider's mouth? Why am I thinking about this. The guy's right here. Just ask him.
"What do you think about this curse of his?"
He stops and doesn't turn back to look at me straight away. He speaks with his back still turned.
"What do you think about it?"
"I think it's a load of horse. I can only imagine what's going on inside the poor saps head to lead him to the conclusion that whoever he faces meets an untimely demise of some sort. It's as if the kid is living inside his own fantasy novel. This fact does however make him a danger."
"Because he's unstable? Come on, we can match him and surpass him on that level."
He's back to looking right at me.
"That's not what I mean. What I mean is you have to make sure you don't fall into any kind of situation after the match, whatever the outcome, that could be construed as being down to him. You've got to understand that he's easily as narcissistic as either of us and that means, as you know, that everything is about him. Anything that happens to you after the fact, in his head, will be down to him and his 'curse'. He'll have all of the ammunition he needs to come back a second time, and a third time. Over and over until he flukes a victory and he's satisfied. That's why he's dangerous."
"A fluke victory? I'd have to be having a really sh*tty day. The whole thing sounds more like an annoyance to me. A sh*t eating fly."
"Flies may eat sh*t all day, but they also lay eggs in open wounds my friend."
"Then we don't give him the wound in the first place. We are The New Epoch. I am Michael Kyzer! There is no way anything like what happened tonight will be happening again. If that Jew thinks he's one step ahead we have to surprise him by being 5 steps ahead of that. If he wants to play mind games with me he's clearly underestimated who he's dealing with. We are the masters of this game!"
Again, he's right. We're the best in the business at getting inside people's heads, but perhaps it's this that has left him so wide open to Schneider's assault? Maybe we're so damn good we don't even notice those who's talents creep up to our level? What am I talking about? Obo is no where near our level. This entire thing is a complete farce.
"Michael. Tonight is nothing. People won't even remember this little stunt after you destroy that chump at the Pay Per View. Think of this as a wake up call. We got sloppy. Do we get ourselves all worked up about it? Or do we reassess and destroy? You said it yourself, we are The New Epoch. We're the three best guys this company has got. It's time we shut down the opposition, cut the cable so to speak. This next program should be our first statement. Everything that has come before this has been preparation for our first moment."
"We move forward."
"Look at it this way, you just got free dope."
We laugh together, and just like that Obo's plans to fell our great tree have dissipated. All of that planning, all of that action, all of that talking, all for naught.
After this Pay Per View Phillip Schneider will be back where he belongs, at the bottom of the card, not winning the National Title.
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And so we see the effect one man, one homeless Jewish man (which in itself is surely a contradiction in terms), can have on even the strongest of minds. Surely if Michael Kyzer can be usurped by such a being he's worthy of the top spot? Surely if he can go undefeated for 11 months that must mean something? If one, singular man can straddle the peak of a company for over 365 days, title in hand, surely that makes him a force to be reckoned with? Perhaps. I'm not denying Phillip Schneider's accomplishments, I'm not even denying any more that he is a main event talent. He's proved that time and time again……….sort of.
I've come to accept that regardless of my own opinion, many see him as the be all and end all of this game. The vast majority of the current locker room hold him in the highest regard, some without ever having even stepped into the ring with him. I'm aware that his name may strike fear into the hearts of those beneath him, yet I do still find myself wondering how it all came to be this way? It's as if I slipped off for just a minute, dozing in the corner, while the apocalypse happened, only to come around and find the baron waste land left in it's wake. Phillip Schneider went from a tag team guy to a main eventer in a remarkably short time and it seemed to pass me by. I left proceedings here in the WFWF and somewhere along the line he began to dominate. In my time away he put the work in, he paid his dues, and yet STILL I find myself asking what happened? Why did it happen? Most importantly………how did it happen?
Phillip Schneider flourished in a time when the going was a little too easy. He himself claims that during the period of his own absence things broke down here, yet I fear perhaps he's overlooking a few things a little closer to home.
I've heard Phillip claiming that once he left, after his little lovers tiff with Alex Sean, that the competition became so thin on the ground that mid card talents were being catapulted into the main event scene, and in all honesty I agree with him. I back every syllable of that statement, however I personally feel this age of mediocrity began way before then. I feel he is a product of this period. The number one son.
But how does this explain Schneider's win over my long term amigo Michael Kyzer? How does this account for his 12 month plus Heavyweight Title reign last year? You do right to ask me these questions, because I can't deny that on our return to the scene, The New Epoch brought back a legitimacy to dealings. We brought back a genuine level of competition and challenge, yet Schneider was able to overcome this and thwart the man many believed to be the architect of our little group. How can this be?
I still don't know the answer to this, but what I do know is that even in his loss Michael was still considered by the masses as "the leader" of our clan. Many people even deemed David Brennan to be more worthy of the top spot than myself, there's no denying the boy's got talent. People have short memories. People forget I beat Brennan twice already. People forget that before Kyzer was in the main event picture it was me topping the card. Does anyone even remember who the champion was moments previous to Kyzer's first title reign? Regardless of all this though, Phillip Schneider won the grandest prize in this business for a second time round, something that even I can not claim to have done.
I do not deny now that at this stage in his career Phillip was a contender. I previously had him pinned solely as the best of a bad crop and blindly maintained this opinion all of the way through my run with The New Epoch. However, over the course of the last 12 months I've done a serious amount of thinking and in this time I have come to realise that Schneider was and still is worth more than I ever gave him credit for.
He IS a champion. He IS a top guy. I have no issue with saying that now. This match in itself is proof enough of my confidence in the man's abilities. Think about it for a moment. Would I choose for my return match, my big comeback, at Superbrawl no less, to be against a man I deemed far below myself? What good would that do me? Perhaps it would prove a few points and silence a few stubborn idealists, but what would it really do for me? For my career? I chose Schneider because in my time away I realised that this is the biggest and boldest statement I could make. Phillip Schneider may well have blossomed at a less than perfect time in this company's history but that doesn't mean he isn't without merit. He has proven his worth since then, showing that perhaps even if the previous atmosphere of professionalism had maintained he would still have risen to the top. Perhaps.
This match with Phil will put me back at the top of the pile in one shot. I won't have to explain myself or justify any of my previous achievements to anyone after this match. I'll be the next in line for the top spot. I'll be the man the people pay to see. Does it hurt my pride that I feel I need to beat a peer to gain this respect? You would think so wouldn't you? Perhaps in times past this would be true. I demanded respect. I felt I was owed it. Had already earned it. Yet I know now that respect is a thing that is given willingly. You can not take it. You can not demand it. Respect is null and void if you have to force it out of the people, and that is why I know this match is the right thing for me at this point in my career. If I have to beat Phillip Schneider to prove my worth then so be it.
Perhaps once I do people will take a second look at their previous thoughts about my position in this company. My position in The New Epoch.
This generation deemed Michael Kyzer to be THE man. He was broken by Schneider on two occasions and now it is he who is considered as THE man and that's fine by me. I'll simply have to show them why they're wrong.
I'll simply have to show them that he is merely just another man.
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Chapter Four - The Seething Cripple
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
January 27th 2013
09:40
I'm surrounded by cretins, old and young. I've not been incarcerated for a long time and this really takes the biscuit for being a complete downer. Imagine a place where all anyone talks about is hope and how they've been blessed. Imagine being trapped in this place. Imagine being practically bed ridden because your damn legs don't work to let you run away. Every day that passes here another person "finds strength through the Lord" or "makes a real breakthrough". Breakthrough. That's a word that gets thrown around here more than a toddler in a foster home. Every time someone breaks wind without sh*tting their pants it's considered to be a step in the right direction. I am a heretic locked up with a troop of 'High Five Hopers'. Yes. That's actually what they call themselves. It won't be long before you experience that first hand. I actually shudder just thinking of those three words in succession. Is hopers even a real word?
This place is honest to Jebus my idea of hell. I hate being told to put on a brave face. I hate being spoken to like all I need is a cuddle. It strikes me that the entire pay roll of this facility is dealt with in prozac because I'm yet to see one of the members of staff without a smile on their face or a supportive word on their lips. Kill me.
As it stands……..wait that was a bad choice of word given my current whereabouts. Let me start again. Right at this moment I'm sat, in an old armchair, in the corner of the rec room. This room is where I do most of my seething. From 09:00 in the morning until 09:00 at night we're not allowed to return to our private quarters unless it's evident that we need sleep. In other words unless you're about to die of exhaustion, due to your demanding physical treatment, you're stuck here for 12 hours of every day. We eat together. We breathe together. We're supposed to laugh together but I haven't been doing much of that in the few days I've been here. It's supposed to stop us falling into a deep depression, cooped up in our rooms. If anything it's forcing me closer to the edge. My transfer from the hospital happened very suddenly and of course I had no say in the matter, as always. I was simply moved down here with the rest of these oddities.
I spend all of my waking hours either in the therapy ward, strapped into some f*cking shackled nappy that hangs from the ceiling, or sitting right here, trying to remain ignored, plotting my escape. It's all in vain mind you as, like I said before, my legs are still pretty useless. When I'm lynched up in the saddle I can just about support my own weight, but let's face it, unaided I'd do well to even get out of this chair.
The rest of the inhabitants here fit into their own categories quite neatly. It's mostly either children who's parents are willing to throw as much money as necessary at their legs until they start moving, or middle aged to retired guys and dolls who have enough cash in the bank to do the same for themselves. It's sad really, knowing the parents who visit their half crippled kids are probably running their lives into the ground to make sure they don't end up caring for a paraplegic the rest of their days. I'm certain that's the reason most of them are doing it. Not out of love for the child, and the want to benefit the child's existence, but because they know if the kid never walks again they'll stay home a lot longer than 18 and, until that holy day arrives, will need their arse wiping for them. The kids themselves are a nightmare of hormones. Constantly crying, or laughing and cheering at their accomplishments that day, or generally being kids; arguing, getting p*ssed off, you know the drill. I hate kids. They've mostly got no social skills or manners and that drives me up the f*cking wall, especially when I can't escape them. My whole life everyone around me, be it back at the WFWF or just in the street, seems to have children. I couldn't be any less sold on the idea. They're so needy. That's the reason I got the snip. Some men are scared it will kill off their libido. Make them less of a man. If anything it's only served to boost mine. I can f*ck who and how I like without the worry of filling her belly with a screaming sprog. I digress.
The older ones here are just as bad as well. If they don't have supportive partners yelping with admiration and pride they're the god bothering type. When you've got nobody tangible to hold your hand through this sh*t storm it seems people call on the 'never never' to help them. I've always been angered by preaching, but 9 times out of 10 you can avoid the idiot stood on his soap box in the centre of town by simply walking the other way. Right now I hear it every day, every hour. I've been holding my tongue though. I don't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself as it will only make matters worse.
If I can keep a low profile and fly under the radar I should be able to get out of here without starting a fight. Cripple fight. If only I could film it and take part. Perhaps I could instigate a riot? Not sure how it would go down but I can guarantee it would make national news. Perhaps it would make a good vignette for my return to the ring. Even in a wheel chair I could still probably beat half of the locker room. It might make for a good gimmick actually. The sympathy vote.
My time in hospital, laid flat in a bed for weeks conditioned me into a state that I could deal with the boredom. I never did get any books, but it was out of choice. I've decided I don't want this to be a pleasurable experience. I don't want to get too comfy here. I want to be in and out again with no messing around, so instead of entertaining myself with the written word I just sit and stare, think and plot. Then when it's time for my slot of therapy, whether it's mobilisation massages or aided motion I put my entire focus into it. I've realised the only way out is to walk out, and the only way I'll walk out is by working hard. Usually I'm the kind of person who would rather do anything else than work, and so if all I have except work is sitting with my own thoughts, I'm bound to get through this far quicker. At least that's the plan………
"Mr Cray. This is a reminder that your next physical therapy session is in 5 minutes. A member of staff will be with you in a moment."
That Tannoy system is my only solace in this room, because it means I'm about to leave it. As I come to this realisation one of the many children here, a small boy, begins to cry. For what reason? I don't know. I assume he doesn't either, because that's just what kids do. I will say one thing, spending so many hours of my day around children got me thinking. I'm certainly relived to know I'm no longer one of them, and never will be again.
"Mr Cray, are you ready for your aided motion session?"
Okay so for the next hour I will be wearing a nappy. That's about the closest I'm going to get though. Age is a blessing.
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Chapter Five - Won't Somebody Think of the Children?
Margaret Cray's Volkswagen Polo, Leeds City, UK
June 5th 1997
15:18
"Isaac. Talk to your Mother when she asks you a question."
Why would I talk to the woman who routinely abducts me from school? I can smell the hooch on her from here. She keeps slipping looks at me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a response that she won't be getting. I'm not giving her what she wants, because 90% of the time that's exactly what she gets, but not when she's with me. Someone needs to teach her some discipline. Role reversal is the flavour of this relationship at the best of times.
I turn away from her and look out of the car, but before I know it I've got slaps and back hands rapping my head on every side. Her right hand clings to the wheel as she batters me around and we nearly end up in someone's garden, but she stops and pulls the wheel back around. It wrenches back so quickly that my head is snapped to the side and bounces off of the passenger window. It hurts a lot more than any of her drunken strikes did and I can sense she's proud of herself, acting as though she nearly killed us both on purpose. I rub my forehead and can already tell there'll be an egg swelling up on the spot in a few minutes time. I keep my eyes on the street outside and hold back the tears, yet my bottom lip wobbles a little. Why has she got to be so f*cking poisonous?
"Are you gonna cry? Man up you little wuss. If you'd just answered when spoken to that wouldn't have happened. God you kids today. No respect for the women that brought you into the world. You know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."
Heaven forbid.
She controls the wheel with her thighs as she rummages through her jacket inside pocket for a packet of fags. Richmond Super-kings. A pack a day. Every day. Well, every day that I see her at least, which is once every couple of weeks at best. If it was with any more frequency I'd probably be dead already. She lodges the filter of the cigarette in between her yellow teeth before puckering her bright red lips to move it around her mouth, towards the lighter that sparks three times before pushing out a meagre flame. The floor of the car is littered with rubbish and empty lighters. Quite the fire hazard. I'm only 14 and I know that.
"How's your Dad?"
Why the f*ck does she care? She doesn't have a right to know how he is anyway. Once you walk out of that door, as far as I'm concerned, you've lost your input. She sucks hard on her cig and opens the opposite side of her mouth to let the smoke out as she continues to rattle on as though I give a sh*t.
"Does he miss me? Of course he does. God that's why I left the guy. He's too much of a wet blanket. Just a total sap."
"Let me out of the car."
She turns and looks at me in shock.
"Decided to talk now have we?"
"Stop the car and let me the f*ck out."
She tries to interrupt but I've had enough of her today. It's only been 15 minutes but she's already riled me enough to want to walk the rest of the way home.
"You're a lousy Mother and it's evident to me you were a piece of sh*t of a wife as well. Let me out of the car!"
She slams on and the car lurches to a halt. We both jerk forward and then back into our seats and I move to exit the vehicle. She says nothing but flicks her still burning tab end at me. It singes my arm, cascading embers down onto my legs. I'm only half way out of the car before she revs the engine and takes off again, my school bag falling out of the door and into the road. She's a complete maniac. I can never understand kids at school who hate their Dads. All they ever talk about is how their Dad walked out on their Mum, and that you should love and respect her no matter what. They clearly haven't met my parents. My Dad puts everyone before himself almost to a fault, and must have had the patience of a saint to put up with that wh*re for 16 years.
I can't work it out. How did they even meet? Either she used to be a decent human being or……….nope, I can't think of any other reasoning behind it. My Dad's not the sort of person who would crawl bars looking for vulnerable women. Even is he was I'd like to think he'd have more sense than to marry one of them after the fact.
It's been 8 months since she moved out of the house, seemingly into her car but I can't be sure. Apparently getting blind drunk on a daily basis and f*cking every low life on the estates makes for a better life than the one we had before.
I take a deep breath and release, trying to clear my head. I don't want to still be worked up by the time I get home or Dad will start asking questions. I hate to worry him when he's already got so much to worry about. Before she up and left, my Mother practically bankrupted my Father without him even knowing, either that or he just chose not to say anything to anyone about it in the hope that she would stick around. Now he's been left with a whole mountain of debt in his name and the bank keep threatening to take the house. I know it keeps him awake at night, but he likes to play it cool, putting on a brave face so as not to worry me. I wonder if he knows how much I really look into the whole situation. I steam open bank statements and final warning bill payments, just to keep a handle on where we stand. I know more about what Mum's up to than he does, and that's certainly for the best. He must be crazier than her because he's still cut up about her leaving. If he knew half the sh*t she got up to it would ruin him.
There are only so many self help books of life affirming poetry you can read in a lifetime, and I doubt any of them could block out the sound of your wife screaming another man's name.
There are times when I enjoy not having to deal with any of this adult madness myself but then the realisation comes crashing down that I already am dealing with it regardless of my age. At least if I was older I could cut the ties that bind me to this place and head for the hills. Eating charred squirrels and sh*tting in a hole in the ground sounds preferable to even half of my days at the moment.
I hate being a child. I suppose I'm not even considered a child any more. I hate being an adolescent. A w*nking, pimple popping, self loathing adolescent. Did I mention w*nking? Insatiable.
Good job I slipped a few of that wench's cigarettes before leaving. This block of resin is burning a hole in my pocket when it would better serve me in my lungs.
As I piece together the fallen contents of my bag I look up at the sky, already swelling with heavy black clouds. Typical English summer time weather. One minute the sun is shining and it looks like barbecue time, the next it's p*ssing it down. My language is so terrible. I get told this all of the time by my teacher's, but for the most part they overlook it as I'm firmly sat at the top of their classes. Some people call me a swot with no life, just books, but they're wrong. I don't work hard. I don't spend time revising for tests. I find the whole process of the national curriculum so easy that I don't need to bother. Naturally gifted. That's me in a nut shell. Gifted with a great mind that I'm fast stunting with all of this cannabis smoking, or at least that's what the government would have you believe. I'm yet to see the negative effects myself.
And here we go. The clouds above growl and crackle as a summer storm takes it's hold. The heavens open and the fat drops of rain begin to beat down on hot the pavement. The hot pavement and me. I sling my bag onto my shoulder and stand for a second, soaking to the bone, before setting off in the direction of home with a shirt that's fast turning see through. I've not really got the t*ts to make this look work for me.
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Chapter Six - The Meeting of the Minds
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
March 4th 2013
16:40
"Well Isaac…..Can I call you Isaac?"
"Nope. Call me Mr Cray like everyone else."
There's a pause in her breathing. I caught her off guard with that. The silence hangs like a bad fart and only the squealing wheel on my chair fills the gaps as we continue down the corridor and back to my favourite room.
"Ok, erm…..Mr Cray. You did very well today. You really are making good progress here."
"I bet you say that to all the boys."
"No I really mean it sir. You're actually ahead of schedule."
"By how many steps?"
"Well it's small increments and we don't want to be too precise with regards to actual steps taken because….."
"The devil is in the details. How many steps am I ahead of schedule."
"Well……two."
Jesus. I was joking. I didn't actually intend to have that mother load dropped on my balls.
"Well you've officially made today even more depressing my dear. Onward driver."
I hear her sigh. Slowly but surely I will break the unrelenting optimism of every member of staff in this building.
Aaaaaand through the double doors. The b*tch! She pushed me through at a jaunty angle there so as to let the door bounce off of my left knee. I turn only my head round to the left to look over my shoulder and I see a smirk on her face.
"That's the ticket nurse, can I call you nurse? A little malice goes a long way. Wait, are you even a qualified nurse? Or do you just enjoy cleaning other people's sh*t up? A fine way to start your day!"
I notice now I'm free wheeling. She's actually just pushed me off in the direction of my arm chair and turned to attend to another screaming invalid. Hold up. Who is this? I grab my wheels and control the movement of the chair, making sure I end up as close as possible.
"Hey Archimedes what are you doing?"
The old man before me turns only his watery eyes yet says nothing.
"This is my seat. Everyone here knows that."
He now turns his head, keeping his eyes on me until both are pointed in my direction.
"It strikes me that you're already sitting in your seat."
"No no no. You don't understand, this is a wheel chair. A means of getting from A to B. Where your dusty arse is sat is my seat. Come on, up and atom Fall Out Boy."
"You're not really thinking this through kid. Why are we all here? What is this place? Think about it. And you want me to just get on up and switch seats. Lord have mercy on this stiff idiot. If I could do that would I even be sat here in the first place? Do you think I want to spend my remaining time on this planet sat in a place that smells like this?"
Wow, someone else who hates this place as much as me.
"Fair point. Who dumped you here in the first place?"
"My son. He had the choice of home rehab or this. The ungrateful son of a b*tch would rather throw money at me until I go away than have me stay with him."
Role reversal.
"Thanks for the gory details but that's not what I meant. Which member of staff chose this seat for you?"
"None of them. I did. I arrived here today and when they brought me into this kindergarten I chose the seat furthest away from the action. All of these kids, falling around, throwing coloured bricks at each other. Why can't I just stay in my room? And what's all this High Five Hopers crap?"
"I know right. It's as if they're punishing us for being cripples……. You don't mind me calling us that do you?"
"What? Cripples? It's what we are ain't it? Spastics. I guess you can't say that any more."
"You know what Father Time, you can keep the chair……for today at least."
He smacks his dried out lips a few times with his eyes closed and then looks right back at me.
"You're a limey aren't ya?"
"Born and raised. Praise be."
"Then what the hell are you doing here? Don't you have free health care on your side of the pond?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"
"No but I don't like telling long stories."
"Okay then, well at least tell me what a young kid like you is doing in a wheel chair? As I see it most of the people here are either kids who's parents are incapable of keeping them from harm, or old folks like me who's kids are incapable of keeping them from harm."
Haha. I like this guy. He's got the right level of cynical in him to not just be a moaning old fool.
"It's another long story, but to break it down to basics, a friend turned his back on me."
"Sounds exciting."
"You?"
"Tripped over my trousers getting off the crapper. Heh-haha."
His laugh is cut short by a coughing fit that sounds full of all sorts of liquids. He gets on top of it and then turns to his left and just spits a yellow globule of lung butter out onto the carpet. Dirty old b*stard.
"What kind of a bid are you looking at then old timer?"
"I've only bust my hip. Had a load of pins stuffed in there, so it's just until it fixes. Should be a few weeks. That is assuming I don't fall on my ass again in the meantime. And it's Derek."
He holds out his hand and I shake it, being sure to make it a firm one. Don't want him thinking I'm gay……….or asian.
"Isaac."
"Did your Father nearly kill you in the name of the Lord?"
"Haha touché, but no. It was more likely my Mother who nearly killed me in the name of promiscuity. It's a wonder my brains aren't more scrambled from the d*ck beating I must have taken in the womb."
Perhaps that was a little strong. We've only just met.
"Sounds like my wife. She's dead now. The old wh*re. We were miserable for our entire marriage but all was forgotten every time she made me cum from my boots."
I was wrong. This guy can hang with the best of them.
"You're alright Derek."
"No I ain't. Here you want one of these."
He digs in the pocket of his brown corduroy trousers and pulls out a few scored pills, blue in colour.
"It'll take the edge off of this place. You ever had….."
"I know what Xanax is old bean. I practically lived on them for a while. Hand them over."
I throw them down dry and Derek grins at me knowingly.
"It's nice to have someone to talk to. My son just nods and smiles. He thinks I'm just some silly old man."
"So do I. But unlike him I don't see that as a bad thing. Your son should show some respect anyway. What's his problem?"
"He's a Momma's boy, always was. He couldn't see the wood for the trees. I was the one making all of the money to keep our family alive while she spent it all and treated me like a scab for my labours."
Sounds familiar.
"I hate him already. Blind, unrelenting love is the love of the moron."
"Don't I know it. I offered them both blind love my entire life and it took me years to realise I was being taken advantage of. When you're inside it though it's hard to see out. That's why they call it blind. It's a curse, it really is a curse."
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East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
March 11th 2013
09:02
"Hahaha, so you're telling me you paid the caretaker to smuggle this in for you?"
I take a long, oh so long, draw from the joint in my hand. It's been months and I'm revelling not just in the fact that my blood stream is flowing with THC, but the means by which it has happened. Right now there is a ring of boy racers in their hot rods, tucked away behind the garages of the Rehab Centre. From an outsiders perspective I'm the only one who could even be mistaken for a boy as the rest of the gang are 65 plus. Myself, Derek, Tony and Bert. Our hot rods are our wheel chairs and you better believe we drag race them when we know there's no one looking.
Since talking with Derek for the first time he's eased up and told me the real reason he's here. The real reason why any of these old boys are here. All three of them have been in and out of this place for the last few years, and each time they come back it's because they choose to come back. All three of them are widowers with adult children, all with money to burn and let me tell you there's no love loss in each family. These guys get so bored, or tired, or just plain sick to the back teeth of dealing with their obnoxious children that they have little 'accidents', not all of them successful, but for the most part they've had enough practice now that they know how to fall. Tony and Derek have had their drivers licenses revoked due to their poor eye sight and so they find it hard to get around and see one another these days, so instead they organise a date and, when the time comes, all throw themselves down the stairs, or slip in the shower, you get the picture. This is their little rascals club, where they get to have sleep overs every day of the week, get washed by young women, have their food cooked for them and get their daily dose of barbiturates, opiates and prozac, all the while not having to deal with their ungrateful kids. You'd think it would be easier to just buy a condo in Barbados and sever all ties but who am I to judge how people get their kicks?
"Of course. Billy, the caretaker's been slinging us dope for the last couple of years. He takes a little for himself and the risk is minimal. It's win win for all parties."
The group cackles and wheezes in succession and I puff again.
"Hey kiddo, share the wealth."
I smile, breathing smoke through my teeth and pass it along. You might question why they don't just opt to move into an old folks home together and avoid all of the drama and hospital time. I had to ask this myself because I didn't see the point in wasting so much money on medical bills every time they want to spend some quality time together. The answer is simple. The more they spend, the less their kids will inherit. Spiteful? Not really. Just deserts as far as I can see it. Their kids have been fighting to put them all in homes for ages but none of them will give in. They worked too hard for their money to give it to some ungrateful sacks of sh*t. These dogs are smart and they've had enough of being told what to do and when to do it. It's life from the other side of the looking glass. Imagine being fully grown, having lived a lifetime of experiences yet being treated as though you don't know what's best for yourself. It's as if things comes full circle and you get treated like a child all over again. Having decisions made for you by middle aged people until you loathe every word that comes out of their mouths. In fact it's exactly like being a child.
"Hey Yitskhak. We're always telling you our stories, why don't you spill a bit of yours."
Bert's a Jew and he always calls me that. Apparently it's the Hebrew version of Isaac. I find it funny that whilst he refers to me in his mother tongue he routinely breaks just about every over rule under the Yiddish sun. He's as religious as I am really.
"You know there's a reason it's you boys telling the stories and not me. You've all lived long and full lives. I've got nothing to talk about."
Derek chimes in.
"Now I know that's not true. You've hinted that there are a few long stories, too long you say, that you're holding out on. Come on kid……. Hey Tony gimme some of that."
The weed continues to flow around the group and I can sense that they won't relent in asking me until I give them something.
"Alright, what do you want to know then?"
"What do you do? What's your job? That's a good place to start."
"Haha, now that's a doozy. How to best put this. I'm a…..well I guess I'm…."
"Gentlemen?"
"Oh sh*t."
One of the staff has heard us and are honing in on our location. Just as she comes around the corner Derek flicks the still lit joint onto the garage roof, exhales and wafts the smoke away with his hand. We've been busted.
"What are you four doing back here?"
What a sight we must be. 3 old kooks and the facility's resident miserable youth, all claret eyed and trying not to laugh. Of course these boys are professionals though.
"What? Where are we?"
"Tony is that you? How did we get out here?"
I decide to chime in, before realising this excuse of confusion isn't going to fly when you're only 31 years old.
"Mildred? Where are you Mildred? Come back to me."
I'm hoping that goes unnoticed. In retrospect I should have just kept quiet.
"Let's get you all back inside, you'll catch a cold out here."
"Thank you nurse. You're too kind."
As he says this Bert touches the nurse on the back, making sure as his hand comes away that it runs down the curve of her backside.
Thick as thieves. These boys stick together no matter what. There's an unspoken respect between them all because they appreciate they've all been through sh*t in their lives. No one has it worse than any of the others. They could all just rot away in their respective houses but instead they have fun with each other and p*ss their children's futures up the wall, and I for one like that. What kind of a child turns his back on his Father yet still expects to reap the financial benefits once he's in the ground? These guys have worked their whole lives to earn respect, yet they're given none by the generation below them. Respect is earned, not given. That seems to have been an idea that's bounced around my whole life yet maybe I haven't given some people their due in the past?
I'm hoping before each of the boys peel off from here, and head home, I can learn a thing or two……….and get high. Who doesn't want to get high with 3 old lads?
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Chapter Seven - A Streak of Red
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
April 28th 2013
14:44
Another day in the life of a cripple. Bert left the party this morning as he was deemed 'fit for home rehab'. I've taken it the hardest just because I'm not planning on coming back here, where as the other two boys will be seeing him again in the not too distant. I'm not dwelling on it too much though because one of the things the guy taught me was that all of this around us is transient and, when in the moment, you shouldn't take it for granted. Wasting time on things past is a mark of disrespect to the here and now. I say he taught me this, it's not as if I didn't already appreciate the fact but he really cemented it for me in his phlegmy Jewish way. I never did tell him how I got in here, nor any of them for that matter, which is why it struck me as a strange coincidence that he entrusted this knowledge to me after what happened between myself and Michael. It's up to me how I choose to work Bert's knowledge into my current and future 'moments' and in some respects I don't even agree with him, but non the less it's food for thought and right now that's all I've got.
"Hey Isaac. You've not been saying much these last few hours. Something wrong kid?"
Derek address me in his usual drawl as we both sit in our corner of the rec room.
"Of course something's wrong. I haven't got my d*ck wet in months."
He chuckles his gravelly chuckle.
"This is no laughing matter D. It may seem trivial to a bloke who last got laid in the 70s but for a man of my age this is serious stuff. I'm in my prime."
"You sure look it kid. Can that thing even stand up on its own these days?"
"Don't tell anyone but I've got a neck brace for it."
We cackle and carry on in this childish manner most of the time, simply because we can. I find this kind of chatter funny at the best of times but when you've got a pensioner making fart jokes about his balls it's hard not to enjoy your day. Oh here we go, one of the girls (I'm still not sure if any of them are actually nurses) is coming this way.
"What do you think D, could I work the sympathy vote with this one?"
Derek begins to cough manically as I'm delivered a message that I never saw coming.
"Mr Cray. You have a visitor."
"Is his face all minced up?"
"Ermmmm no? I don't think so anyway."
Hmmmm thought I was about to get some answers regarding my previous mystery visitor. Never mind I'm sure whoever this turns out to be is equally as much of a creep. Probably some deranged fan who's hunted me down……again.
"Hey Derek, I'm told I have a visitor. Can you believe that? Don't die on me while I'm gone."
Derek continues to hawk up god knows what and just flashes me a thumbs up. He may well be the coolest guy on the planet.
I wheel my sorry backside out of the room and toward the lobby. As I do so I can see through the window behind the secretary's desk and I catch sight of a horrible haircut with a streak of red in it. What in the blue f*ck is this guy doing here? I roll around the corner and come groin to face with the last man to give me a competitive match in WFWF. The man formerly known as T Drizzle. Trace Demon.
"Have you come to steal my finishing move again and drop me through this wheel chair? I think that would make great TV. Have you got the camera crew with you?"
Trace's eyebrows raise and he smirks. Maybe he was expecting a less well humoured reaction to his being here?
"Drakz. How long has it been?"
"5 months, 2 weeks, 3 days and approximately 16 hours………ish."
He's somewhat taken aback by my precision, but that's hardly surprising. He's always been so f*cking sloppy. I think that's how he beat me. So sloppy he dripped right through my defence. This is sounding pornographic now.
"Not that I'm counting."
"Yeah why would you be?"
"Hmmmmm. Enough of pretending to be friends. What are you doing here? Come on, roll and talk."
I wheel on out of the front door and he walks beside me as he begins to explain what on earth is going on.
"I wanted to know what ever became of the great Drakz."
"I literally just told you it's been 5 months. Is that really enough time for people to start wondering how my life ended up?"
Things really move fast in this business. Not fast enough for that to be a legitimate excuse though. He's got an ulterior motive. He always does.
"I was there the night you erm……the night of your incident. I was in the back watching and admittedly rather p*ssed that you and Kyzer had just won the Tag belts. Why would I care? Because it meant you were now Grand Slam as well, and you of all people know I don't like sharing the limelight."
It's true he's a real prima donna.
"And?"
"And, I was also somewhat perplexed at the events that followed the victory. Whatever though, it's none of my business and I'm not here to pry as to what went on behind closed doors. I understand even the strongest marriages have their ups and down."
He's pushing it.
"AND?"
"What shocked me more……What shocked ME more was the way you fell. I can't imagine for a second that you remember any of what happened immediately after. You were completely gone."
Finally some kind of closure on this. I'm interested to see how I actually ended up coming around in a hospital bed 39 days later.
"I've got nothing."
"You came down pretty hard on your neck and back. Although I'm sure this is hardly news to you."
I don't respond, I simply tap my hand on the arm of my wheelchair and tilt my head to the side. He continues:
"The whole arena was silent. I've never seen that before. I've heard it erupt. I've heard it ring with boos. I've never heard a packed arena go completely silent though. It spooked a lot of the younger guys in the locker room and to be honest I thought you were dead. You were swarmed by EMTs and once they got you onto a gurney they wheeled you out of there as quick as possible. Of course the cameras had stopped rolling prior to all of this. I guess they must have taken you to St Joseph's straight from there but I don't really know. It's not as if I was crying by your side in the ambulance the whole way."
Nice to know I can control an audience even when I'm unconscious. I really am the best in the business.
"This is great and everything but I still haven't been told why you're actually here. Let's cut to the chase shall we? I know you well enough to realise there's something going on here beyond checking up on the biggest victory of your career."
I stop and shift the chair so I'm looking at him. God he even makes an expensive suit look cheap.
"I'm not here to discuss Trace Demon's career. This is about Drakz's. This is about what happens next in your journey."
Talking in the third person like it's 1998.
"And why is that a discussion I'll be having with you of all people?"
"Because if WFWF is where you want that journey to continue then I'm your boss."
My what? Wait just a moment here. I crack up, almost out of confusion. What other response does this news warrant?
"I'm co-owner of the WFWF now and acting booker amongst other things. This is the all business Demon. I'm not here to f*ck with you and I'm certainly not here because I care. I'm here to look after an investment."
How in………This is just………I mean…….
"What the f*ck?"
"Indeed."
"This makes no sense to me. How are YOU co owner? How does a mid card talent at best find the money to get involved with that kind of game?"
"You really are that self involved aren't you? The entire time you were around I was having it out with the WFWF officials regarding my contract. Does this not ring any bells?"
"Why would I pay attention to your contract dealings darling?"
And I'm the self involved one?
"Because, darling…..it lead to the most lucrative contract this company, hell this entire business has ever seen. I became the highest paid superstar on the roster, past, present and probably future. I was and still am earning more than double what you have ever earned in a year. That's how I can afford to partake in such an extravagance as buying into the company that's paying my wages."
Double? How is this schmuck earning double what I earned? How did the company let this happen?
"I don't know if I'm offended or impressed. Honestly I think the word would be offenpressed………..As you can see I'm trying to make light of this whole situation. I fear if I don't my brain will run out of my ears."
Here I am crippled in a chair, with no job, no prospects, no friends but a bunch of bus pass stalwarts and I'm being casually goaded by the man that beat me, who has more money than me, has more power than me and can walk on his own accord.
"I need to breeze over this bit of news right now. I'll chew it over some other time simply because I still don't fully understand why you're here, which right now is a far more pressing matter than your bank balance. Jesus. You really bought half of the company's assets? Don't answer that, I'd really like to move on from this."
"In that case let me speak."
He's loving this. I can't blame him. If I were in his position I'd be lapping every second of this up. I'd have brought a disposable camera with me just to capture the moment I nearly broke the mind of the guy in the chair.
"As I said before. I'm here to look after an investment. You. I know you weren't ready to leave when you were forced to. I know you had bigger plans than what came to fruition in those 12 months. Some people claimed Michael Kyzer to be the 'leader' of The New Epoch, even I did because I knew how much it got under your skin, to be thought of as anything but his equal. People ignored the fact that on paper you're more decorated and have achieved greater things than he has, but to them it doesn't matter. It's all about appearances, and that's why they still considered you to be the number two. You know why? Of course you do. He was the Heavyweight Champion, at that very moment. He was in the main event, at that very moment. What struck me though when I took over proceedings at the WFWF was documentation that proved to me you were holding yourself back. I found a contract dated the week after Superbrawl, where you first faced Brennan, that offered you a World Heavyweight Championship match against Kyzer at the following Pay Per View. I saw it was a carbon of the contract that must have been sent to you, and I also saw it had been signed by Xavier Pierce, however it was missing your signature. I got to thinking, why? I mean it's fairly obvious really. You simply didn't want to go head to head with your own boy. You wanted to leave him to it and instead you entered yourself into the International Title Tournament which ended with you……"
He points right at me.
"Vs me."
And at himself.
"This happened on the same show where Kyzer was in the main event against non other than Phillip Schneider. So as the locker room and the outside world sees it you weren't ready to make the step back up to that top level yet, where as Kyzer was already there. But there's a twist isn't there? Kyzer was dethroned that night and that opened things right back up for you, didn't it?"
"Can we speed things up here? I know all of this already. Stop with the bravado and get to it."
He stares me down and just carries on as before. Schmuck.
"Kyzer ends up in the main event again at the following Pay Per View, as does your new protege of sorts, David Brennan. He's leap frogged you into the big leagues. Why so? Because you were billed to face me again. The outcome of our match is neither here nor there, I'm not trying to brag about the past. I do want to apologise for it though."
Wait. What?
"The way I see it, had I not been so stubborn regarding our rematch, it would have been you in that main event. It would have been you fighting for the Heavyweight Championship. It could well have been you who walked out of there with that belt. For taking that opportunity away from you I'm sorry. That leads me onto why I'm here now."
"Hold on, hold on, back up a little. You don't owe me sh*t. I chose to smash you up a second time around. I wasn't forced into anything. If I don't want to be in the main event I won't be and that's all it is. You're right I turned down that contract but don't for one minute think just because Schneider beat Kyzer that I was set to jump straight back in. I knew they had unfinished business and so, like a gentleman, I left them to it."
Is he offering me some kind of charity here?
"In all honesty Drakz, I don't care too much about your reasoning. I'm here right now because I know if the time is right you can make me a lot of money."
"I can't do anything for anyone mate. I'm glued to these wheels 16 hours a day. There is no investment here, unless you're going to make me the face of high end electric wheel chairs. Steven Hawkins' isn't very marketable. The guy's got the brains but he looks like sh*t."
"I know it's going to take time, perhaps a lot of it, but when you're ready I'm offering you a new contract with the WFWF. I want you back because I know the fans will want you back. They want to see you in the main event. They want to see you face off with people you've never faced before. They want to see you as champion. You're a man they've not seen all of just yet, and I know if I can give you the opportunities you need there will be fireworks."
"F*ck it mate. It's a lost cause. I'm a spastic now. You're right, I might walk again, given time. But wrestle? Are you mental? I sh*t my pants almost every other day. Do you think anyone's going to pay to see that?"
He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper followed by a fountain pen.
"If the time never comes then that's fine, but like I said if you decide you're ready, that the time is right, the door is wide open. This contract I've drawn up offers you almost free reign in terms of what you want. If you want a specific opponent we'll make it happen. If you want a title shot, we'll make it happen. If Kyzer ever comes back and you want revenge, we will grant the platform to make it happen. I don't offer this kind of thing lightly Drakz. Take this is a bond of mutual respect……"
He hands me the folded contract and pen as he continues.
"This contract is valid for as long as I choose and right now it's open ended. Don't waste this. You could be back where you were all those years ago. At the top of the pile with no doubters. Whatever happens though don't ever say I didn't try."
With that he takes his leave across the garden and heads back toward the car park. He gets about 20 feet away and then stops and looks back over his shoulder.
"Oh and Drakz…….We still need our Third Act."
He continues off but I pay him no mind. Instead I stare at the folded sheet in my hand and can't help but smile. I still can't be sure if all of that was true or if he's bull sh*tting me, but in any case I needed that. I've been feeling like a flaccid c*ck these last few months and that might just have been the thing to cause a stir in my blood and a swelling in these blue balls of mine.
It's time to get out of here.............I need to earn double what he's on now.
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Chapter Eight - Walk Like an Egyptian
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
July 18th 2013
08:58
Today's the day. This is finally it. I'm actually going to walk out of here on my own two. Sh*t. I feel like I've just finished a murder bid. Time to brave the real world again. Will I be okay with how it treats me? Will it be okay with how I treat it? It could all come crashing down around me if I don't keep my head screwed on. I could decide to 'fall' from a balcony and end up back in here again for the security it offers. Comfort and friends. I could be in and out, over and over again, just like Bert, Tony and Derek do time after time. I'm going to have to say goodbye to Derek today. That's going to be weird. He's been my saving grace. Who'd have thought I'd be rescued by a cynical old man? It's not as if he turned my life around or anything, he just kept me sane. Our conversations kept my mind at work, kept me fresh inside even if the outside was a twisted mess. The funniest part of our goodbye today is that we've already done it once when he left me here on the 23rd of May. He was back within 3 weeks though and he's been here ever since. Bert and Tony haven't returned though which got me thinking perhaps this time Derek came back just for my sake. Crazy old f*cker. There's a knock on my bedroom door.
"Rise and shine. Mr Cray are you up?"
The door opens and to my alarm clock's surprise I'm already up and dressed.
"This is a first Mr Cray, you're actually ready and willing to leave your room on time."
"I'm ready and willing to leave this building on time, that's why. When I get the word that I'm good to go you don't have to tell me twice."
"Congratulations sir, hopefully you won't be a repeat offender like the company you keep."
"If I can wind up like them one day I'll be doing okay."
She smiles and carries on down the corridor, waking the masses as she goes. That's the first time I've made a staff member in this facility smile and it's because I'm finally leaving. I've made it no secret that I want out, and needless to say I was a real piece of sh*t when I first arrived here. I can't claim to have made an effort to brighten up their days but the more time I spent with Derek, the more respectful I became towards them. After all I was going to need their help if I wanted to speed up my getting out of here. It's like Alcatraz for some people. Not me though. I've paid my dues.
It's been just over 8 months since my little incident and I've had a lot of time to think things over. I'm not much older, but thanks to my home boys I'm a damn sight wiser. I know what's important to me, and what I need to get my mind right. Well, there's no need to put this off any longer. The reception opened 2 minutes ago and I still need to find Derek. I grab my crutches and on the count of three haul myself to an upright position. The mechanical me staggers toward the door like an injured beast, just trying to get home before it dies. My legs have seriously wasted while I've been sat down and the pain in my knees as I struggle along the hall way is something else. I stabilise myself with my arms and my feet play catch up the whole way down the length of the building until I reach Derek's dorm. I lean my elbows on my crutch supports and knock on the already half opened door.
"Come in kid."
He's been expecting me.
"You're looking great."
"You wait until now to try it on with me D? All this time I've been so vulnerable. I couldn't run and yet you wait until now."
"Eesh. That's too easy. Anyway you're not my type, I like blondes."
"So, this is us mate."
"This is us."
"It's been a real pleasure Derek. You're a true gentleman and I know I've already told you this but I want to make sure you understand just how much your friendship has meant to me over the course of these months. I wouldn't be getting out of here today if it weren't for you. If you knew me prior to our time here you'd know I don't say things like this very often, if at all."
"Bull sh*t kid. You did all of this on your own. Perhaps I guided your hand a little, kept you on the straight and narrow, but honestly advice is just advice. You made of it what you wanted and I just hope it's for the better."
"I guess that's subjective. All I know is that I've got a lot of things to finish and now I can at least think about them on my own terms, back at home."
This is all getting a bit too soft for me.
"I'll be sure to send you a little something in the post. Signed, sealed, rolled and delivered. You don't get service like that from the caretaker my lad."
Derek coughs and splutters along with his laugh.
"I look forward to it Isaac. You know before you go can you at least tell me one thing?"
"Shoot."
"What did you do before you came here? You've managed to duck answering that question for months and I thought seeing as you're leaving you could at least tell this to your old pal."
"D. Let me put it this way. I'd rather you didn't know. I like the fact that you only know the me that's been present over the course of this year so far. I wouldn't want to………..jade our relationship with details. Here this is my home number. Call me if you need anything. You, me and the boys should hook up on the outside sometime. Maybe then I'll fill you all in on my little secret. Maybe."
I pass him a shred of paper with a completely random phone number on it. Why you might ask? The same reason I didn't tell him about being a wrestler. I want the time we had here to be holy. Self contained. I don't want to ruin a snapshot in time by sh*tting all over it as I'm bound to do once I get back into the swing of real world living. This man and his friends have taught me a lot about respect and it's this new found respect I have that is keeping me from attaching myself to them. I may feel like a better person right now. I may even act like a good person, but I know further down the line old habits always die hard and I don't want to drag them into my world, not at their age.
"Well kid, I'll be seeing ya."
"For sure D."
I lean my body weight onto my left crutch, freeing my right hand with which I take his and firmly shake it. Then with an exchange of silent nods I turn and clamber my way across the room on all fours. It's an odd thing using crutches in this way. It feels animalistic. Primal. It's as if I've been granted another set of legs. Maybe I'm overselling a simple medical advancement but right now it's helping me get out of my prison.
After hobbling toward the exit, signing out at reception and leaving the building with only the clothes I've got on I realise this is it. I'm out. I'm back on my own. I approach the taxi that's been booked for me but I'm not sure exactly where it's heading. I'll think of something. The driver opens the door for me and I gingerly descend into the rear seat, my crutches laid across my lap.
"Where to buddy?"
"Erm…..the airport I guess. Can we swing via the bank on the way as well please mate?"
I see the driver's face take note in the rear view mirror and I shuffle around to get comfortable, slipping both my hands into my jacket pockets. Inside, my left hand grazes a folded sheet of paper and I smile to myself. I'll be home soon.
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Chapter Nine - Seven Years
Unknown Gym, Unknown Location
November 1st 2013
23:40
These walls are making me want to puke. They're closing in on my throbbing head. The faded lemon paint has darkened to a muddy stain from all of the sweat in the air. The corners of the ceiling look almost burnt. My lungs are almost burnt. Jesus f*cking christ. I don't remember it being this hard. This is the place I train. This is the place I have always trained. It's no frills and for the most part it's empty on a night. I'm not one for partners. I prefer my solitude, although right now it's doing me no favours. I'm gassed, on the verge of throwing up my pancreas, and my legs are shaking.
I've been walking unaided now since late August but I only felt strong enough to return to this regime a couple of weeks ago, yet my body is telling me it's definitely not ready right now. I can't keep up with my own expectations. The last few months have been boring as hell, perhaps more so than rehab and hospital because when you're in the real outside world and struggling it brings it all home to you. You start to realise your limitations a lot more when you're surrounded by things you recognise.
My back pain is sneaking in which means the pain killers are wearing thin. I rifle in my bag and find the plastic pop lid tub that holds my meds. I never thought I'd be taking these for anything other than recreational purposes, yet here I am knocking them back to keep the aches at bay.
I came back to this place the same day that I sent off my newly signed contract to the WFWF. I've not been keeping much of an eye on the place as it's not worth my time right now but one thing I do know is that Trace Demon has accidentally booked himself into the Heavyweight Title picture. Not only that but he's got it pretty easy, taking the belt off of some girl. I shouldn't sneer at her though, she was the one to knock Schneider form his pedestal. I'm annoyed it wasn't me who ended his gloating but it's almost better that it was some green grass girl. A little more salt in the wounds. Evidently just the right amount as he high tailed it shortly after, following in the foot steps of all of the other forgotten 'legends'. That word gets used too much in this business, and looking at the state of it right now it's not hard to see why people such as Obo are considered such.
I have to hand it to the guy, he broke the record for longest ever title reign but I can't say I'm overly confident in the calibre of opponent he's been keeping. I'm crouched on my haunches staring at the ground, trying my best to stop everything from spinning, something only spitting seems to help with. I slip backwards onto my backside and then lay entirely flat out, staring upwards, thinking of why I'm doing this to myself.
Why? Because I'm the best there is. Why? Because the people need to know that. I've said it before this business moves quickly, and people's minds are quick to rot. In the space of 1 year I am but a distant memory. The New Epoch is a thing of the past. A point of reference. I won't allow it to stay this way though. Not yet. I'm 31 years old now. I've got a long way to go before I'm in that wheely chair for good, and in that time I have a lot to accomplish.
Some people measure their worth by what they have achieved. How many belts they've laid claim to. Who they've beaten. I say you're only as good as your most recent deed. What the f*ck is my most recent deed? 1 year ago I won the Tag Team Titles, a point overshadowed by the betrayal I suffered, followed by the demise of The Epoch and my incarceration within my own darkness. That is all the people know. No one knows, or likely cares, about the months that followed. Why should they? Who would want to see the pathetic comings and goings of a crippled man, shot down in his prime, striving to rehabilitate himself? This isn't a f*cking Rocky montage. It doesn't last 2 minutes with an empowering soundtrack. It went on and on for weeks, months at a time. It still continues even now. I can barely even run the ropes without going light headed.
What has been my most recent deed? Collapsing, half dead amongst gasps for air. Here I am, laid out on the gym floor simply thinking about what needs to be done but not actually doing any of it.
If the people are to remember me, if they are to chant my name, be it in support or begging for my comeuppance, I need help. I need to push through these physical boundaries that have been dealt to me through months of incapacitation. My back is weak, my legs are twitching even now and I have no stamina to speak of. What have I got left? My mind? It's a powerful tool but what good is a nuclear warhead without rocket propulsion to get it where it needs to go?
I sit up and drag myself back up to a standing base……. What was that? A noise from the locker room.
"Hello?"
Someone probably forgot their bag from earlier on. I should make sure they know I'm here. I don't want them bolting the door. Whilst I need the motivation to push myself I don't think being locked in here over night is the answer. I walk towards the double doors and still amaze myself by doing so. Why is this not inspiration enough? 11 months ago I was in a coma with a broken back and here I am walking. Weak as sin, but walking none the less.
"Hello? Who's that?"
I approach the doors and as I reach out to take one of the handles it's pulled away from me. I back up a couple of paces to get some distance between myself and whoever this could be. Always prepared.
The door opens and all I see is a silhouette. A big silhouette.
"What are you after brother?"
He doesn't say a word.
"Stop playing the Blair Witch and come into the light. Who is that? I didn't think anyone else used the gym at this time of night. In fact I could have sworn the front door was locked from my side?"
The silhouette moves forward and I take another step backward to maintain this distance. Into the light he comes and I feel my eyebrows raise in disbelief.
"You!?"
His gaze is fixated on mine and I, for the first time in my adult life, feel threatened.
"Come to settle the score? You took your time with it. I guess you were waiting for a moment when I wasn't at 100%. Makes sense I suppose."
He doesn't move a muscle. His dead pan stare goes right through me, and I continue to talk just to fill the dead air with something other than dread.
"Was it you who visited me? In the hospital? Why didn't you finish things then? While I was out of it."
Nothing.
"Of course it was you. Who else could it have been? I'm disappointed in myself for not clicking right away. The scars were a dead give away in hindsight. Although…………..what's it been? 7 years? I've been busy these last 7 years. Too busy to keep you at the top of my list of possibilities. I'm glad you decided to get rid of that mask, it was so unbecoming."
I can feel my nerve steadying the more sh*t I talk.
"Your face is looking real nice. You must give me your plastic surgeons number, I hear heavy scarring is really in this year."
And with that I'm under his skin. He steps towards me and tilts his head to one side, cracking his neck, and then the other.
"Oh that's it I remember it was a more natural incident wasn't it? You always said you hated fake t*ts. Natural all the way. Tell me Smith are you still angry that I beat your face into the ball bag that it resembles now?"
Ray Smith. Of all the people. Why? Believe it or not there are some questions even I don't know the answers to.
"Drakz."
"He speaks!"
"Enough of this talking yourself up. You're terrified. However much I enjoy this though it pains me to tell you there is no need to be. I'm not here for revenge or anything, this face is old news to me. Unlike you I've had to live with it for the last 7 years and, after a time, you become used to it. Old angers fade into the ether."
This is not the way I expected tonight's training session to go. I've got a TV appearance in just over 2 weeks yet here I am talking to one of the men who was in the ring when I won the Heavyweight Championship. For that matter I think Smith is now the only person from that match I have seen since. I am the career killer.
"Bizarre as this may sound, I'm here to help."
"What could I possibly want with your help Raymond?"
"You're a sack of sh*t right now. You're still recovering from the meagre work out you've managed so far this evening, yet you're proposing a return to in ring action by the end of this month? Not a chance. It doesn't matter who you wind up facing they'll put you down like a sick dog, and that will be the last thing you're remembered for. I'm here to stop that happening."
"What's in it for you?"
"A number of things. First of all I saw what happened last year. I watched as Michael Kyzer tossed you head first from the stage and it took me back. It took me back to when you did what you did to me. You've never had to deal with something like that in your career. You've never had to come back from such a life changing incident. What you did to me helped make me a stronger person and first of all I wanted to see if you could do the same for yourself. It's evident to me the answer to that is no. There's also the fact that if your career ends in the sh*ts then how does that make me look? If a man who can barely hold his own in the opening match on the card was able to do this to me all those years ago, how does that make me look? How will I be remembered? This is equally as much about me as it is you."
I hold my fore finger and thumb up to his face.
"Perhaps a little more about me."
"Perhaps."
"But this still doesn't strike me as a legitimate reason to rear your god ugly head after 7 years to help me of all people. You're reasoning is off the deep end mate."
"There's more to this than what I've told you. There still remains unfinished business between us, and right now I'm in the best shape of my life. I want to rehabilitate you to ring standards, perhaps to a level that surpasses where you were before. It's no secret you've never kept the most strenuous regime."
"How dare you sir!"
"Smoking weed and injecting opiates does not count as training."
"I'll have you know I've been on a strictly natural diet for years now. Well……….that may not be strictly true, but at least for the last 12 months. That may not be true either but everything in my body now is prescribed by a registered professional. I'm on the up and up."
"I honestly don't care. I'm here now to push you up and over the top, running head long into the machine gun fire. The reason? The ultimate pay off for all of this? Retribution. A chance to close the book on my time in this profession, so I can finally move on knowing I'll be remembered for what I was good at. Down the line I want a final match with you. Winner takes all. I want the people who remember and know you to remember and know that I am the one who beat you. How can I make this victory surpass all others in my career? By making sure you beat everyone else first."
This has taken a mighty interesting turn.
"You're more devious than I remember you Smith. This could be a real let down though. What makes you think after all of the times I beat you that this time you'll take me?"
"Faith."
The George Michael song?
"Oh no, you've not converted to the lord and saviour have you? Man alive. I've been dealing with this kind of cr*p all year long in the clinic."
"Faith in myself."
"That's far cheesier but I'll let it slide because I do still prefer it to the other option. Well seeing as we seem to be reaching some kind of agreement would you at least like to know what direction you're pointing this cocked gun?"
Square between the eyes of a man I need to beat. The one victory that might just lure Kyzer out of the woodwork out of jealousy, or hurt pride, or something like that.
"Phillip Schneider."
"Who?"
He really ruined my poetic ending to this scene with that question. Is he really that out of touch?
"F*ck man. Obo the Hobo."
We've both got a lot of work to do.
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An interesting turn of events no? Even to me this has all come as quite a shock. A shock that was clearly necessary to jump start my motor again. With the help of Ray Smith I have now adjusted everything in my regime. With the help of a man whom I disfigured many years ago I'm now pushing myself to a new degree. My health is better than it ever has been. My cardio is improving with every passing day and I am finally seeing myself in a new light, one which no longer beams from my arse hole.
My mind is clear and I have it set on only one thing………total domination. I intend on beating Phillip Schneider. I intend on putting a number of new guns back in their places. I intend on winning the Heavyweight Championship. I intend on settling my score with Trace Demon, and most importantly I intend on luring a snake out from whatever hole it's hiding in and beating it to death before it even has a chance to taste the air.
For once my confidence in such matters isn't born through arrogance. This time it's because I can look back on my career so far and see that if I was as good as I used to be in my former state, then I can only imagine how unstoppable I will be from this point forward. My mind surpasses all those that can stand before me and now my body isn't letting the side down.
Looking forward I see Superbrawl on the horizon. I see Phillip Schneider. Don't for one minute think I'm preoccupied with what lies beyond him. I am focused exclusively on showing him why beating Michael Kyzer isn't enough to call yourself God. There are chinks in his armour that so many people fail to see, yet to me they are glaringly obvious. For one he has become reliant on the help of others. Cast your thoughts back to the night Schneider lost the belt he seemed so secure in holding onto. If with the aid of Percy, Deville and his replacement dead girl he still can't get the job done then to me that really calls his prowess and ability into question. I know he'll be coming all guns blazing telling the world how he was never beaten for the belt. No one ever pinned him or tapped him out.
That is irrelevant.
A champion NEVER loses. A champion finds a way to win even when the cards are stacked against him. So Scarlett Quinn won the belt by beating Cam Nitta, a man who wasn't the champion in the first place and in all honesty had no place even being in the match. Schneider was still present at this very moment though and in my opinion could and should have stopped it happening. Maybe Quinn couldn't have beaten Schneider one on one, in fact I'll go on the record as saying I'm almost certain she couldn't, but she did still win the match, and the title, and that's what matters. Granted she clearly wasn't ready for it as the belt was gone again after only 1 successful defence, but she showed that she knew how to win with the cards she was dealt. She had the wiles and gaul to work out how to come out as the champion, even if that meant picking the weakest opponent and euthanising him. It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's exactly how it works in the wild. A predator doesn't head straight into the centre of the stampede and grab the first beast it sees. No. It scopes out it's prey. It finds the young, or the sick, or the slow and singles them out. The easiest route is usually the most sensible one. Perhaps not the most proud and honourable but what does that matter when you've been crowned as the number one in the world? The ends justify the means.
This will be true of my own victory over Schneider as well, only I will take him out personally.
My mind is sharper than his. My body is stronger than his. My drive is more furious than his……..and yet this isn't enough. I know this isn't enough. No matter how hard I work myself I know I can't rely on this alone.
There is a thing I must do. An act I made a point of storing in my memory for a later date, far down the line. When I learned of this moment of vulnerability I knew what needed to be done, but I wasn't going to act on the knowledge immediately as it wouldn't benefit me. Now it will benefit me. Now it will give me the edge I need to do what many before me have failed to do.
The end will justify the means.
To destroy a cursed man you must first destroy the curse.
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Chapter Ten - Ihr Kampf
Somewhere in the Deep South, USA
April 12th 2014
03:08
I certainly am a ramblin' man, all the way out here in the middle of hick city. With every turn my rental car makes the scenery outside gets a little more depressing. From high rise flats, to beaten up old bungalows, through to terraces and now we're cooking on gas. Either side of the vehicle spans emptiness. The outskirts of sh*tsville. Sh*tsville USA. Evidently the farmers have only recently begun the sowing process out here, as the fields I'm bordered by are mostly turned up soil flecked with the odd shoot of green. This is all speculation of course as I can only see about 10 feet on either side, the headlights beaming the way dead ahead.
Corn fields.
Along with cotton it's the most despicable mass produced vegetation this country has ever known. When the cotton plantations were bought up by the banks the real people were forced out. Now that corn is in such high demand, mostly because fat b*astard American's love it in syrup form, the same has happened. The real people, the real farmers have been replaced, threatened and pushed out by the banks, the conglomerates, whatever you want to call them. My despicable surroundings are a good sign though. A sign I'm getting close, close to the people I need to see.
The dirt track shudders my body to a point that my back pain creeps back into the fray. Luckily I brought my meds with me, and a simple pop of the lid, swing of the arm and gulp of the mouth means I'll be right as rain in a matter of minutes. God bless medical science. The radio whispers under it's breath, as it has for the last 40 miles while I've been trying to think, but now I need to get psyched up. I roll the dial with my fingers and the speakers come to life.
"Mother…..Tell your children not to walk my way….."
F*cking Danzig. Terribly appropriate all things considered, but not what I had in mind. How did this even end up in here? I steer with my left hand and this time fiddle with the tuning with my right. I tear through static, followed by a series of thoroughly terrible pop stations before deciding silence is just fine. Off it goes. F*cking Danzig.
I rumble down this beaten up dirt track for more than long enough when I am finally given sight of what I'm out here for. Stationed at the far side of the field are a number of make shift homes. Some are caravans, some trailers, some old buses. All surrounded by the shed skin of other motor vehicles. Car doors peeled like scabs and flicked out of sight. Old tyres deposited almost ritualistically around the site. As I pull in close I shut off my headlights. Wouldn't want to announce my arrival now. This is after all less of a social visit and more of a…………….more of a………sh*t I don't know what you'd call it. An exorcism? Social cleansing? Hmmm, both statements lend too much grandeur to what is essentially me crossing my Ts and dotting my Is.
This is me going double dutch on my third favourite girl. The one with the stretch marks all over her thighs and the lack of a Grand Slam.
This is just me taking unnecessary precautions for my own piece of mind.
This is just business. All business Isaac. That's what the kids would call me.
I'm somewhat straying off topic here.
I bring the vehicle to a halt now and slip out of the open window so as to make as little noise as possible. An accidental door slam could end me right now. I reach back into the car and grab the jerry can that's been stinking out the place the entire journey. Petrol, or gas as some retards would call it, has a smell I've always loved. I used to enjoy driving onto the forecourt and being hit with the fumes as a child. It gets you right in your gut whilst also pleasing you. In a lot of ways I'm aiming to be a lot more like petrol this time around. Does that even make sense? Naughty but nice? Either way I'm about to raze this f*cking trailer park to the ground.
Bent double, I take light footed goose steps through the dirt and toward the trailers, making sure not to step on any of the shrapnel littering the place. The lights are off and there's no sign of life, which honestly is to be expected at this time of night. Unscrewing the can's lid leaves my fingers wet, and I bring them up to my nose to take a deep breath of the stench. It makes my eyes wobble and somewhat steadies my nerve. Solvent abuse is bad kids. This was just a one off. Did I mention I'm on the straight and narrow these days?
Before I know it I'm half way round the first caravan, lashing petrol up the side and on the ground surrounding it. Then the second, making sure I get the right amount of coverage to keep the action going once the fumes have burnt away. As I turn a corner I notice the third trailer has a light on and I slip back into cover, peering around for any signs of life. Inside I hear a young girl playing. At this time? F*cking red necks. No structure in their parenting. It's no wonder they grow up fingering their brother and sister's arses. Can I really do this with a child inside? I stop and think to myself. Is this what a good guy does? Hmmmmm. To be honest this whole scenario doesn't strike me as much of a good guy's gig. I think this is the closest I've ever come to an internal struggle, and honestly it's not that hard of a fight. I can think of a lot more reasons to go ahead with this than I can to stop and head back to my motel room. These people are trash. They aided the bad guy. In Nazi Germany that meant you were as good as dead………wait…….they were the bad guys. I'm not sure I can use that argument to justify this. At the end of the day if you get involved in other people's business you have to accept there could be consequences. Hang on though, that kid probably doesn't even know who Phillip Schneider is. Although perhaps he banged one of the strung out broads here and got her up the stick? She could be just another of his forgotten daughters. Why do some people insist on spreading their seed so far and wide? It's twice as fun on the face, that's always been my motto. Okay. Am I doing this? Yes or no? Good guys are supposed to drink their milk and take their vitamins, yet here I am, the apparent reformist, drizzling petroleum around the place with a mind to send a made up curse into the made up heavens. I am such a fruit. A handsome fruit at that. Get back on track Isaac!
I close my eyes so tight I can hear it, before shaking my head clear. This whole time I've been arguing with myself I've been oblivious to the fact that I've not only finished encircling the third caravan with petrol but I've slid the can itself, still a quarter full under the front of the scummy home, wedged against a stack of milk crates. I've subconsciously made my bed, now it's time to sh*t in it.
Bending down I take a box of matches from my pocket and slip one out. Everyone in the movies always uses a zippo, tossing it nonchalantly over their shoulder to light the trail as they walk away. I'm not that cool. I spark the match head against the side of the box and flick it towards the petrol. It goes out mid flight. I try to spark another and this time I snap it in half before it catches. I repeat, this is real life, and I'm not that cool. The third I'm more gentle with and I cup the flame with my hand, slowly lowering it to the puddle. This time it takes. Oh my it takes fast. Fire races around the trailer and then follows my footsteps to the second and then back to the first and I know now it's time to get the hell out of here. I stand to run and just before I sprint off get a sense of well being at the fact that I'm still going to do the right thing……….in a f*cked up kind of way. I bang hard on the caravan door with my fist to raise the alarm and then proceed to high tail it back to my vehicle, Dukes of Hazzarding it back through the window, cracking my head on the way in. I'm not phased. I'm rushing too much to be phased. I turn the keys and the engine roars as I rev it, once again this isn't a film and my car hasn't inexplicably died on me in the heat of the moment. I throw the wheel around and the car follows, spraying gravel out the back and against the window of the first trailer. Just like that I'm back racing along the track as before, only this time there's a raging inferno in my rear view mirror, dancing and licking the night sky.
"Where's your curse now Pompadour?"
I actually shout that aloud to myself in the car and it feels great. No matter how much training I've done with Smith, or how much healthier I feel thanks to my diet, it took this moment right here for me to know, at Superbrawl, I will beat Obo. Call it superstition if you want, but I call it covering all bases. I never believed in the whole curse spin he played with for months and months. No matter how many people fell to him and, in a way, backed up his claims, I knew it was his belief in the curse that kept him going, not the curse itself.
So why burn the trailer park? If I don't believe these people genuinely gave him any kind of power over anyone, except himself, why incinerate the source?
Because I'm smart enough to know I'm not always right. What if there really is a curse? I'd look pretty stupid if it came and bit me on the behind just because I didn't take precautionary measures. I'm watching my own back. That's what the good guy does. He thwarts evil and never gets beaten, and that's why I'm the good guy…………….Because from now on I'm never going to be beaten.
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So this is it. The big return to arms, or legs in my case. You've heard my story. How I came to be stood here, behind the curtain once again.
This is the start of my ultimate chapter, the third and final act. That all sounds very ominous, but never fear people it will also be my longest work to date. I'm not leaving until I have completed my to do list, and there are items on there that in their very essence may take some time.
There are few men whom I really consider to be trying opponents in this business, and right now I'm faced with one of them in Phillip Schneider. My feelings toward him see saw daily, in direct response to his conduct, and the way he holds himself.
I try and maintain respect for him because of what he has achieved, yet I can't help but want to belittle him. He moves, acts, talks, even breathes in such a way that I can only try not to laugh at times. He is everything I was at the dawn of my career. Overacted. That's really the perfect word for the man. He overacts in his own character, his own being. That may seem like a funny thing to say. How can a man over do his own nuances? Surely if anyone knows the man completely it his him? Of course. There's no one out there who knows Phillip Schneider as well as Phillip Schneider does, yet he still pushes the flaws in his personality to the highest level in an attempt to justify himself, his own personality. The man knows no subtlety, and honestly it grates, and not in the way he hopes it will.
Have I lost you?
Let me break it down.
Who is Phillip Schneider? If someone were to ask you that question, someone who had no idea at all who the man was, what would you say? A fighter. That goes without saying. But let's look past that, into his persona. How does he present himself to the world? Fundamentally the image is that of a rock star. A grungy, long haired man with an "I don't give a f*ck attitude". This is a stereotype that for years people have deemed "cool" or "edgy", yet there is a fine line between this and simply trying too hard. He's walking a razors edge between "I don't give a f*ck" and "I give so much of a f*ck that I have to live and breathe this even if it's not who I really am". If you're actually TRYING to be this no frills superstar figure then it loses it's attraction. It stops being anything but pitiful really.
Does Phillip Schneider do this? Why yes he does. He continually tells us how many girls he's f*cked, or watched p*ss in the bath. He makes such a point of talking about these women, a clear cry back to the age of the groupie, that it makes me wonder how much of it is even true. Even if it is true, is he perhaps doing more than fulfilling an insatiable lust? It seems he's perhaps just trying to fill the boots of the rock star.
What else does he signify? A man who doesn't run? A man who takes his problems head on. A fighting champion? All of these terms have been used to describe Phillip Schneider at one point or another and I myself believed them to be true………………until the lead up to this match. Why would a man who fears no one avoid accepting a challenge for so many weeks? Why would he dress up in a mask and play games? Why would he live out his dreams (I mean that in the most literal sense) of helming an army of minions, built in his image, to threaten and intimidate me instead of simply coming out and speaking with me? There can be only one answer, and no it has nothing to do with mind games as he of all people knows who he is dealing with, and that answer is fear. He fears, not just me, but the idea of returning to the ring. He needs smoke and mirrors to try and build his balls back up. He needs to get a few cheap shots in before hand, to get a feel for the game again.
Facing me in particular terrifies him because he doesn't know if he can win. He had it so damn easy during his title reign because the likes of myself, EBR and David Brennan had left the scene, and I think he knows that. I think this match against me scares him because he has a real challenge on his hands, and he hasn't had to prepare himself for that since Michael Kyzer. Michael Kyzer presented a challenge, a real challenge, yet Phillip rose to the occasion. What scares him now though is that he knows what I know……………….I was, am and always will be better than Michael Kyzer.
What more proof do you need than how we've ended up in this situation? The same games he played before their match played out prior to this match. A game of minds. Prior to Schneider's title win he managed to trick Kyzer into signing a contract for a no ropes barbed wire match, something which many believe gave him the edge. Now let's take a look at what crazy, horror show gimmick we have set for our match at Superbrawl. No ropes barbed wire 3? A Psycho Circus? Maybe something a little more traditional like an impromptu cage match? None of the above. This time I tricked Phillip Schneider with his own move. This time around he's competing in a match which gives him no advantage. Phillip is a man inclined to fight with his nails as well as his fists and feet, so I've taken that away from him. The playing field is levelled in a simple one on one singles match. Why did I do this? Of course you might assume it's because I know that Obo's strongest personality trait may get the better of me otherwise. He is a man who is willing to take things as far as he deems necessary to prove a point. In some cases too far. They don't call him the King of Gimmicks for nothing……………I know, I know it's the King of Gore, but in all honesty that's all it's ever been to me. A gimmick. I don't need an Inferno Hell in a Cell Street Fight to prove how capable I am of pulling an opponent apart. I know I'm just as ready to destroy him…..or her, with my own hands. I also know that the fans will pay to see me do it.
But that's not the reason.
The reason I wanted things like this is because I wanted to silence everyone's favourite Ham Shank Champion Phillip Schneider. I don't want him telling the world for years to come that I never beat him, that I just "climbed a ladder and pulled a title belt down". I don't want him to be able to say it wasn't his shoulders that were flat against the mat, it was someone else's. I want this match to have one clean, clear winner. This fight has taken 10 years to come to fruition, and now it's finally upon us I want the winner to officially be known as the better man, not just on the night, but the better man………full stop.
All that remains now is turning up and doing the deed.
You will do me that honour won't you Phillip?
Of course you will, because once again I've formulated this entire thing to perfection. I put the biggest worm I could find on the proverbial hook. No not the World Heavyweight Championship, it's bigger than that. The National Title. The National Title you say? Yes. That belt means more to Schneider than any of the other belts he's held, and why? Because he's never held it. As it stands there are only 6 Grand Slam Champions in the history of this company and as it stands Phillip Schneider is not one of them, because the National Championship has always eluded him. He IS one of the few men to be inducted into the Hall of Fame twice, but then…so am I. He IS a Triple Crown Champion but so…...am……I.
This is the final frontier for Phil and I know he wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to complete his collection. That is why, after he stood me up at Scars & Stripes, after all of this masked nonsense and after not even turning up to the contract signing I took it upon myself to give him a real reason to make Superbrawl the greatest match of either of our careers, and I know in years to come he'll be glad I did.
This match is going to go down in history Phil.
This is one they'll be talking about for years to come.
I can guarantee you that this match, win, lose or draw will be what we're remembered for.
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I've been away for a while. On a magical trip I'm just dying to share with you all. When I say magical what I really mean is laboriously pain staking. It's taken me just shy of 18 months to loop the loop from on top of my game, to very much not on my game, to back on my game again. We come full circle. This is the sound of a man who is set on rewriting the record books. This is everyone's chance to really be a part of something. It doesn't matter if you missed the previous 10 seasons of "Drakz the Biggest Dog in the World" because we're starting a fresh. A complete reboot if you will. This is an opportunity for all of the newcomers to the business, young and old, to watch how this game should be played. I am the man with the loaded die and it just keeps hitting sixes all night long baby.
For those who don't know who the f*ck I am, my name is Isaac Cray, although you can and WILL call me Drakz, and I am an addict. An addict to out thinking the other man. An addict to always coming out on top. Completely reliant on winning, and why? Because I've just built up a tolerance to it. It started off tasting sweet and I wanted more, but now it's just what I need to get me through the day, to keep me at that baseline level of functionality. Things have changed a lot in my absence, as they always do, but don't worry yourself, Daddy's home now and he just so happens to be bringing all of his friend's along with him for one last blow out party.
Who's this at the door already? Well………if it isn't my old buddy Phillip Schneider! Welcome him to the show everyone, that's right let's give him a big hand for joining us tonight. Okay so perhaps buddy is a bit strong. Old hits the nail on the head though. We've practically been in a long distance marriage for 10 years and here we are, more solid than ever. Again I'm overstating our professional relationship.
Me and Phil. Phil and me. We've been around this town for the same length of time, almost to the day, although I think he just beat me to the punch with his debut. I'm sure he'll mention that, he always does. We came in not knowing our arses from our elbows, slumming it at the bottom of the card, fighting to be noticed by our superiors. Little by little we made our mark though. I was perhaps a little quicker to catch on to how things worked, but Phil was always working his socks off to keep me in his sights, albeit practically on the horizon. Whilst he was playing tag I was doing things on my own, jumping up the billing week after week, one step ahead of him, yet nowadays our list of accolades are somewhat comparable. This is one of the things I intend on fixing though. Phillip Schneider lays claim to the longest ever Heavyweight Championship reign…….for now. Let's not spoil things by setting our sights too far into the future though. We need to keep firmly rooted in the here and now.
What do we have immediately in front of us? Well that's easy. We have the beginning. The new beginning. The New Epoch……No wait we already did that. Think of this as the limited edition bonus disc you never knew you had. We're starting things with a mouth watering dream match. A shake down of the ages. This truly is a match that could sum up what the WFWF means. To an outsider of course it's just two more guys slapping the hell out of one another, but to those who know where we all came from, what this company came from, this match is more important than any that have come before it, and quite possibly any that come after it. Why? Simply because it's never happened before. In the 10 long years that we've both been active, both big names in the business, we have NEVER squared off against one another. I can only put this down to my always being a nose ahead of Obo, leaving him shrouded in the dust. Perhaps it could have happened last year? Perhaps it should have happened last year, but my run was cut short allowing Phil here to catapult himself into the top spot. The very top spot.
There are people that now consider him to be the best there is. The greatest of all time. I put it to these people though that they haven't seen me at my peak. They haven't seen how I really work. It's my own fault really. I've been so unreliable these past few years. Look who's back! And then look who's gone. Flakier than an old wh*re's drain pipe. However we're on to a winner this time around. We're making the log pile as big as we can and igniting it with one f*cker of a match. This time I'll burn the world. This time the only name anyone will remember in years to come is mine. I intend to wipe everyone else's achievements from memory by outdoing them all. I need to feed this problem of mine because I've been cold turkey for well over a year.
It's time to win, and win in style.
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Chapter One - Coma Black
Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
"His vitals remain constant Doctor, so that's a positive sign."
"It's a sign. I'm not sure I'd call it positive myself."
Who's vitals? Who even is that talking?
"He still shows no signs of measurable improvement though. Do you have much experience with patients in this state?"
"Some can remain this way for months, even years."
That sounds………foreboding. I wonder how the poor schmuck ended up so badly off? It's seriously dark in here.
"But so long as his insurance keeps trickling in we'll keep his bed for him, otherwise he can sleep it off elsewhere." *Laughs*
"Doctor! You shouldn't joke like that. What if someone heard you?"
I can hear you!
"Well there's only me, you…….and him, and I don't feel he's in any state to hear a word of it, so just laugh it off sister. You have to keep laughing in this job or you'll lose faith."
"This is all very new to me Doctor. I don't know it just seems a little…….I don't know…..in bad taste?"
"Pull that thermometer out of your ass nurse, it's in so deep it's making your back stiff."
This guy sounds like a pr*ck. I kind of like him.
"Doctor!"
"Inform me of any changes in the patient's condition. Oh and nurse……..If any senior management come knocking on my door asking questions about my conduct, you'll be the first to hear about it."
"Why me? You're the one being inappropriate!"
"Like I said before, the boy in the bed won't be doing much talking any time soon. Keep those lips from flapping and you'll be just fine."
That 6th sense tells me the room is now shorter on bodies and the soundtrack suddenly becomes that of a sniveling, bitter woman.
"Piece of sh*t. He can't talk to me that way. I'll report him to the matron when I see her. Doesn't he know what year this is? We're not still smoking on the wards and using leeches. I don't care how many years he studied he's just a misogynistic….."
I turn on the wench filter and sink back into the ether, so far back her endless talking is nothing but a dull hum. I thought she was the one worried about people hearing? I'm sick of her already and we only just met, sort of.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
Time has become a construct I don't really follow anymore, and thus I can't really say how long I've been stuck in this black box. It feels like an age, and I've been peppered with conversations throughout, talking in such a way that it's clear to me now that I am said patient. I remember why I'm here. I remember who did this to me and I know how to proceed once I'm able. I'm very much isolated now though. Not just from those talking, but from my own nervous system too. There's no pain, even though I've heard chatter of my condition enough times to have a basic grasp on what's wrong with the shell I'm dwelling inside of. Vertebrae 8 through 11 in the thoracic portion of the spine are fractured, while 6 and 7 have severely dislocated. That information has been repeated over and over, and I'm certain it's true. The rest is a little hazy as there's been contradictions and speculation galore. If they knew I could hear them I wonder whether they'd at least try and sugar coat it a little more?
"This guy's a cadaver as far as motor functions go."
"It's only mild bruising. He should recover with little issue."
"How much is the pool up to now?"
"His legs are hanging by a thread."
"I've got my money riding on 28 days."
"No way he'll be stuck here for at least another couple of months. Your money's as good as mine."
I guess we'll find out the truth once I get out of here. Also if I don't see any of that money they're gambling I'll scream bloody murder. If your horse wins the Grand National you at least give it a sugar cube, not a bullet in the temple.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness a little now and I can see a shape across from me. I move towards it in a way that feels entirely new to me. It's without effort. It's movement without movement.
"Nurse can you change the patient's I.V. please. We don't want him dehydrating."
As I get closer the blur of the shape sharpens some and I can make out a door frame. I get closer and the door growls. Don't worry brother I'm not going to hurt you. The growl stops the moment I reach out and grasp the handle but I can feel a heat radiating from it. Don't they tell you at school that if the door handle is hot, the fire is on the other side? Look for another exit.
"1000CCs fresh saline should see him through the next 12 hours."
I look. There is no other exit.
The door handle remains hot but it feels more like body heat. Yes, in fact the handle is even pulsing a little. Fairly weak but there's definitely a pulse there. I twist the knob and it moves. It keeps moving. It has no purchase on the mechanism and the handle simply keeps turning and turning to no avail. Brute strength may be my only option. It's stuck pretty fast though. I try to force it open but the door just barks back at me and I uncontrollably cower away. The door has a lot more teeth than any other I've seen before and part of me knows the last place I should be heading is through it, but right now it's my only option.
"Be sure to change his bedding as well, you know those catheters have a tendency to leak."
I strap my non-testicles back between my ethereal non-legs and make for the dog again. This time the door snarls and I feel saliva drip onto my shoulder as I take the dog handle in my non-hand. I try turning it again only this time there's a resistance. An almighty yank on the handle propagates a yelp of pain yet still the door refuses to budge. I hammer on it mercilessly and it whines at me amongst further barking until, exhausted, if I can describe it as that, I stop and return to my own space, slipping back into my blackened stupor.
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Unknown Location
Unknown Date
Unknown Time
"Sister, get the Doctor…….now! There was a twitch then. His hand flinched, I'm certain of it."
I adjust my senses to the world around me. All this blackness remains as it has forever. All except the doorway. It still remains in the same spot as before, only…….only this time it's ajar! I make for it and grab the handle again. It's cold, like a door knob should be. It turns, like a door knob should. I pause, if only to enjoy the moment……and then……and then I move through it.
"Mr Cray? Mr Cray can you hear me? Where's the Doctor? His patient is waking up!"
I squint through my eyes. My real eyes, not my non-eyes. My two, normal, human eyes, and they're nearly burned out by the slit of light that attempts to penetrate them. I'm being f*cked by light……in the eyes. My normal lips, my real lips, half crusted together, peel apart and I attempt to let the nurse know to turn down the lights.
"I'm being……f*cked by….light."
World class stuff. If I don't win an oscar for this I'll be p*ssed off. I deliver the line again to my loving fans.
"I'm being f*cked."
"Mr Cray? What's that? Can you hear me? Open your eyes."
Not a chance. If I open these lids it's game over.
"Mr Cray if you can, I want you to open your eyes. The Doctor is here now and wants to check for brain damage. You've been asleep for a long time."
I almost laugh but my body won't allow it. I wish I'd stayed on the other side, the pain here is all too real. No doubt it's been marginalised by opiates as well. The next few months aren't going to be much fun.
The Doctor takes it upon himself to do his job and he gently (goodness his hands are soft) opens my left eye. My face screws up but I'm not strong enough to resist and so I'm bombarded by directional torch light as he checks my retinal reaction. Even after he releases me all I can see is the white of the torch light. I consider myself in for a penny by this point and open the right eye of my own accord to a brilliant whiteness. I feel as if light is pouring into me and honestly, whilst it may hurt, it feels great. After such a bid in the darkness I don't mind if this white out lasts for days. Anything is better than the dog-door and the endless black surrounding it.
"Mr Cray my name is Doctor Schwarz…"
Ironic after where I've just come from.
"and I'll be monitoring your progress over the course of the next few weeks."
He's definitely American. German parents perhaps?
"Right now it's important that we wean you back onto solid food to build your strength up. Then we can properly asses the extent of the damage to your nervous system. I don't mean that to sound too ominous but I can't lie to you, your current state is unclear. There's only so much a scan can tell us. Most of our diagnosis will be done based on your physical abilities, something we can test now you are back with us."
This isn't the same Doctor I heard originally. Maybe the nurse snitched and he got reassigned. B*tch. If you can't make a joke about a critically ill person then I don't want to live anymore.
"I would like to offer my congratulations on your waking up. You had us all guessing whether you were going to wake up this side of the new year."
I'll bet. Where's my cut of the stakes?
"For now though we just want you to relax and get some proper sleep."
I've had my head down for the last who knows how long and he wants me to get back to it?
"It's imperative you stay calm and relaxed throughout your time here. What lays ahead will require a lot of mental and physical strength, but we'll be there with you every step of the way."
Oh fun. This is going to be a riot. Off goes Doc and I'm left with a young nurse. It seems nurses' outfits these days aren't as revealing as the movies would have you believe, but she's got a pretty face.
"It's time for your bed bath Mr Cray."
Oh fun!
"Clean…..off those……barnacles….."
Nailed it.
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Chapter Two - The English Patient
St. Joseph's Hospital & Medical Centre, Phoenix, AZ
December 25th 2012
13:38
Merry Christmas one and all. I wish someone would bring me a bottle. I've been laid up here since the night of November 10th, yet I've only been conscious of my whereabouts for the last 4 days. The pain in my back is tremendous, but on the flip side I'm hooked up to a self regulated Morphine drip. Needless to say my thumb's been resting gently on that little button of boredom almost constantly until it locks out.
It's been a monotonous few days, with the hospital staff treating me like a child, minus the presents. To be fair I can't sh*t on my own and I need my food mashed up, so I guess I'm not too far off. I've got a neck brace that seems to extend down the length of my back and there are tubes coming out of every last bit of me. One saline I.V., one morphine I.V., an outlet for blood so they can test it whenever they get the itch and by far the worst is the tube snuggled a good 3km up my d*ck. I kid you not I can feel it grazing my tonsils. I'd rather sit and stew in my own filth for weeks on end than this, but I have no say in the matter apparently.
The end of the bed frame is wrapped with tinsel in an attempt to brighten up the place yet it only serves to let me know I'm stuck in here during the one time of year when it's acceptable to be drunk out of your mind 24/7. Just stick a santa hat on your head and you can be lying in your own puke in a stairwell, and people will still wish you good tidings. I'm talking from experience. I wish I had a santa hat on right now, just to really depress every nurse who walks by.
There's been no further information supplied to me regarding my condition as I'm not deemed well enough just yet for that burden. I infer from this that the news is going to be bad. Mind blowingly bad. I'm as rested up as I'm going to get though so I think it's about time I was enlightened.
I've got a call button next to my bed and I think I'm about to use it for the first time…….yes…..I am. I don't like to cause any bother and so it's been the ward staff's job to keep making sure I haven't slipped away in the night or started chocking on my own vomit, because they know I wouldn't tell them even if I was. Sod it though I need some answers.
*Click*
And they come a running.
"Mr Cray is everything okay? What's wrong sir?"
"Nothing's wrong. Well actually something is wrong. My back is all done in and I want the doc to come and talk to me."
"Dr Schwarz? Right away Mr Cray. I'll let him know right away."
You do that. Run along minion of the broken backed one. Fetch me the man they call Schwarz. Poor son of a b*tch having to work on Christmas day. I wonder if he has a family? I doubt he has time for it. Just the odd knee trembler in the x-ray room with one of the ward sisters. Wily old fox. I bet they're easy game at this lonely time of year. You'd think I was one of those nurses he'd f*cked and not called back the width of the berth this man's been giving me. He could have told me how I was right away, but I can only assume there's a procedure to all of this. They've probably dealt with a thousand people in my state. For me though it's all new. A once in a lifetime opportunity. I hope so anyway.
"Mr Cray you're looking great."
"Dr Schwarz how good of you to drop by. I'm not so sure 'great' should have been your operative word there. I feel like sh*t if I'm honest, but if you keep this poppy milk flowing I'll manage. Oh and Merry Christmas you wily old fox."
He doesn't seem to understand what I'm implying and without even asking sticks his stethoscope down my robe, and no that's not a euphemism, and yes it's cold as sin.
"You could at least take a girl out to dinner before you go shoving your hands all over her Captain Black."
He listens intently to my chest, most likely to my uncontrollably shallow breathing. Even when I try and force a deep one my lungs shy away from the damage done to my spine and I'm left gasping.
"Are you feeling a little more together now Mr Cray? I didn't want to rush you into a lecture immediately after you broke your comatose state."
"I'm just dandy. It's killing me all of this waiting around though. I'm what you might call a get up and go person, if by go you mean f*ck, fight or smoke. Heh heh."
My lungs wheeze and I splutter as I try to laugh and Dr Schwarz looks on concerned, his brow furrowed.
"I think you could use a couple more days to recuperate personally…."
"Not at all doc. As you lovely Americans say, please, lay it on me."
He squints his eyes a little and I can almost hear the cogs whirring as he decides what he thinks is best for me.
"Okay then."
He picks up my chart from the end of the bed and pulls up a chair beside me. I can't believe the information I've wanted has been tickling my toes the whole time.
"Mr Cray as I'm sure you're aware by now your back is broken. You have multiple fractures and some bruising to the spinal chord itself which is very serious indeed. It's not all bad though as with the right treatment and rehabilitation you could well make a full recovery, however we have to be careful to not push things along too quickly as that could cost you the use of your legs."
"Like Tiny Tim? I'm not going to die at Christmas am I Doc?"
It sounds to me like my stay here won't be as brief as I'd hoped.
"You're certainly not going to die. We'll keep you here for the first stages of your rehab which, if I'm honest, consists mostly of more resting and as little movement as possible so the back can heal before we put any strain on it."
"Okay so let's skip to the good bit. What happens once I can move of my own accord again?"
"Well for one it shouldn't be too long as you've been healing ever since you were admitted 6 weeks ago. Your being in a coma had no effect on that. You should be pleased to have slept through the majority of it. A lot of patients have to just lie here for weeks on end, but you've somewhat cheated."
It's what I do best.
"However once you are at the point of mobilisation we'll begin with basic exercises to check response in your extremities and build from there. Once we get past minor movement we'll transfer you to another facility where you'll begin physical therapy, teaching yourself how to walk again, all being well."
"Teach myself how to walk? Can I not just remember how I did it before?"
"You'd be surprised Mr Cray. We're still not entirely sure how well the spinal cord will recover from the bruising. Even with a full recovery the trauma to your nervous system will have caused something of a blackout, and while you're brain may be telling muscles to contract and flex they won't respond as you're used to. It's a frustrating and stressful process but you strike me as someone who should deal with those obstacles quite well."
I'm used to taking short cuts not overcoming the odds. What does this guy really know about me anyway? This is only the second time we've spoken and he doesn't fit the bill of a wrestling fan, he's educated for a start. Mind you, there was that nurse I took a leak on. She was a wrestling fan, however I guess the fact she wanted to suck my d*ck because she'd seen me on the TV proves she must have fluked her way into that position, either that or she sucked someone else's. Probably the latter. Hey old Schwarz might have done as well for all I know. For my sake I hope not. He holds my erection in his hands. Haha. I've got to use that at some point.
"Is there anything you require to make your time here more manageable Mr Cray? Your health plan is pretty well equipped from a financial stand point so let us know if there is anything that will help you pass the day. Many patients become quite depressed laying on their back for so long with nothing to do but count the roof tiles."
Jesus. I can understand why if that's how you talk to them.
"I'm fine for now doc. I should probably just enjoy a bit of time off. My job is a little…..strenuous. I'll let you know if anything comes to mind though."
"Very well. I'll check in on you tomorrow. Please feel free to call the nurse at any time should you need something."
"Of course Doctor…………You hold my erection in your hands………Until then Schwarz."
He sort of fakes a smile but I spot him rolling his eyes as well. Surely no one else with a busted back had the dry, cool wit to make such an incredible joke to him before now?
I suppose I could be a little more productive with my time alone. Thinking up new penis jokes will only keep me busy for so long. Isn't this what I was aiming for anyway? A cabin in the woods. Some time to breathe? I can do that right here. I've got all the time in the world to mull things over.
F*ck.
How did I end up here?
We were on a roll.
Michael…….you sell out piece of sh*t.
Just when I think I'm alone Schwarz pops his head back around the curtain as though he forgot something.
"Oh Mr Cray."
"Please call me Isaac, I'm already sick to death of everyone here calling me by my Dad's name."
"Okay, Isaac. I thought, seeing as you don't have any visitors today, or any day for that matter I'd share this with you. I wouldn't want you getting low, thinking you're completely alone, today of all days."
"But you wouldn't mind so much if it was June 7th?"
"Let's not argue over semantics. I wanted to tell you that you did actually have one visitor a couple of days after you were admitted here."
"Really? Who?"
Who the hell cares enough to come and visit an inanimate me?
"He didn't leave a name, he just said he knew you from a long time ago."
"Ooooh such mystery. Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"I only saw him from my office as he spoke with one of the nurses, but something I did notice, something that really stood out, was his face. It was quite heavily scarred. Not pockmarked, more like he'd been in an accident or something. Does that ring a bell? It's not a face you'd forget."
I've literally no idea who he could be talking about………..Sounds like the kind of thing you'd remember, especially if he claims to know me?
"Not at all doc. You sure he wasn't here for someone else?"
"No the nurse told me she showed him to your bed. Strange. Well I'll let you know if I remember anything else that might jog your memory, but to be honest if you don't recollect those scars I can't see anything else I can come up with being of much help. Well, Merry Christmas Isaac."
I don't respond, not out of rudeness, more because I'm deep in thought. I can't imagine who this guy was. How long ago are we talking? Maybe he's just a disfigured f*ck up who likes to lie his way onto wards to look at others in a terrible state. Boost his self worth. But how did he know my name? I guess anyone who watches the TV could have guessed I'd have been admitted here. People are more likely to know my name than some random old dear recovering from a stroke.
I'd rather he hadn't told me anything. I've got too much time on my hands to dwell on this. I'll have gone mad by the weekend. Oh! I must remember to send Phillip Schneider a Hanukkah card. It'll be late, but I'm sure he'll understand given the circumstances.
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Chapter Three - A Seed is Sown
Backstage at the WFWF Arena, somewhere in the USA
February 14th 2012
00:23 (Shortly after the end of Revolution)
It's hard to say how I feel about what just happened. My closest friend Michael Kyzer was just sedated and then pardoned, following the threat of almost certain brain damage and most likely death via blunt force trauma. All of this at the hands of a person I don't deem to be in the same league as any of us, (us being myself, Kyzer and our new compadre David Brennan).
Part of me is impressed and another part of me is disgusted. I'm impressed that Obo was able to get the jump on Michael and put him in a position like that. I'm impressed at the way he conducted himself, how calculated the whole thing was. I'm impressed that he chose to let Kyzer off, because it's what I would have done, simply because it's more insulting. On the other hand I'm disgusted with Kyzer for allowing that kind of moment to arise. I'm disgusted it was brought about by someone who, as I've already mentioned, I consider to be a mid card talent. I'm disgusted that everything we've done over the last few weeks to build our group into the beast that it is; has been cast into the sea through Michael's display of weakness, not just to Obo, not just to the entire locker room but to the world watching it on live TV.
Most other people in my position would be enraged at the assailant, looking for revenge at the first opportunity, but that's not how our relationship works. We have the bond of watching out for each other, but if you let yourself down the team allows you to fall. Otherwise how do you learn from it? You need those scabby knees to remind you how much you hated falling in the first place. We all understand this and that's why I know Kyzer will take no issue with my not racing to the ring to bail him out. I just wish he'd stop pacing the length of our locker room. He's wearing a track into the floor.
"That was a mistake. That should never have happened."
"I know Mike, it goes without saying. How the f*ck have you ended up in this mess anyway? Obo's not the right calibre of opponent for your first Heavyweight Title defence. Just the fact he's challenging for the title makes us look like bums. It should be exclusively top competition facing off with The Epoch."
Michael turns to look at me. I can tell he's still pretty riled up about the whole thing, which is strange, he never usually steps things up above more than a 6.
"Then why are you facing Trace Demon? Why are we facing anyone? Who really is there in the company at this time that's worth going toe to toe with?"
He's got a point. But my opponent is a means to an end.
"That's just the way things have panned out for me. I'm taking part in a tournament, it's out of my hands mate."
"Why are you even challenging for that less prestigious belt in the first place? The same argument can be made. It's below you. It's below us."
"I told you I'd leave you to it with the Heavyweight Championship picture. While you've got the gold I'm setting my sights else where. Jesus man. This is what Schneider's up to. Look at us squabbling like children. How do we come out of this without smelling like sh*t?"
"The same way we always do. We win."
It's a simple ethos but it's worked for most of our careers. How do you silence the whispers? You take the rumours and the doubts and you smash them into pieces so small they can be blown up the asses of those who didn't stand by you. We're heading into the first big show since the dawning of The New Epoch and with all three of us fighting in the top half of the card I can only assume winning three for three would set our dominance in stone.
"And win we shall brother."
Kyzer stops pacing and grips my shoulder, looking me in the eye as he speaks.
"We're f*cking unstoppable. We always have been. Obo may be the best thing the WFWF can throw at me right now, and in my opinion that says it all. That right there is the reason we're back. To raise the stakes. To bring back a legitimacy to what we do. Ever since we left the cream was skimmed off of the top of this company, it gave a chance for the filth and sediment to rise up and take its place. Who the f*ck wants to eat strawberry's and silt? The world is crying out for a bit of sweetness and at the next Pay Per View we will deliver it when we both walk out as champions and Brennan stakes his claim to the respect that he's been denied."
I've known this man for a long time now and of the very few people who are close to either of us it's safe to say we are one another's counterparts, which is why I know this.
He's lying.
Whether he knows it himself I can't be certain, but I can see in his eyes, this spiel he's giving me, as convincing as it may be to anyone else, he doesn't believe it. It seems Obo has accomplished what he set out to do tonight and that's plant the seed. Kyzer goes to turn away and begin pacing up and down again. Maybe he's actually started to believe the sh*t that pours out of Schneider's mouth? Why am I thinking about this. The guy's right here. Just ask him.
"What do you think about this curse of his?"
He stops and doesn't turn back to look at me straight away. He speaks with his back still turned.
"What do you think about it?"
"I think it's a load of horse. I can only imagine what's going on inside the poor saps head to lead him to the conclusion that whoever he faces meets an untimely demise of some sort. It's as if the kid is living inside his own fantasy novel. This fact does however make him a danger."
"Because he's unstable? Come on, we can match him and surpass him on that level."
He's back to looking right at me.
"That's not what I mean. What I mean is you have to make sure you don't fall into any kind of situation after the match, whatever the outcome, that could be construed as being down to him. You've got to understand that he's easily as narcissistic as either of us and that means, as you know, that everything is about him. Anything that happens to you after the fact, in his head, will be down to him and his 'curse'. He'll have all of the ammunition he needs to come back a second time, and a third time. Over and over until he flukes a victory and he's satisfied. That's why he's dangerous."
"A fluke victory? I'd have to be having a really sh*tty day. The whole thing sounds more like an annoyance to me. A sh*t eating fly."
"Flies may eat sh*t all day, but they also lay eggs in open wounds my friend."
"Then we don't give him the wound in the first place. We are The New Epoch. I am Michael Kyzer! There is no way anything like what happened tonight will be happening again. If that Jew thinks he's one step ahead we have to surprise him by being 5 steps ahead of that. If he wants to play mind games with me he's clearly underestimated who he's dealing with. We are the masters of this game!"
Again, he's right. We're the best in the business at getting inside people's heads, but perhaps it's this that has left him so wide open to Schneider's assault? Maybe we're so damn good we don't even notice those who's talents creep up to our level? What am I talking about? Obo is no where near our level. This entire thing is a complete farce.
"Michael. Tonight is nothing. People won't even remember this little stunt after you destroy that chump at the Pay Per View. Think of this as a wake up call. We got sloppy. Do we get ourselves all worked up about it? Or do we reassess and destroy? You said it yourself, we are The New Epoch. We're the three best guys this company has got. It's time we shut down the opposition, cut the cable so to speak. This next program should be our first statement. Everything that has come before this has been preparation for our first moment."
"We move forward."
"Look at it this way, you just got free dope."
We laugh together, and just like that Obo's plans to fell our great tree have dissipated. All of that planning, all of that action, all of that talking, all for naught.
After this Pay Per View Phillip Schneider will be back where he belongs, at the bottom of the card, not winning the National Title.
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And so we see the effect one man, one homeless Jewish man (which in itself is surely a contradiction in terms), can have on even the strongest of minds. Surely if Michael Kyzer can be usurped by such a being he's worthy of the top spot? Surely if he can go undefeated for 11 months that must mean something? If one, singular man can straddle the peak of a company for over 365 days, title in hand, surely that makes him a force to be reckoned with? Perhaps. I'm not denying Phillip Schneider's accomplishments, I'm not even denying any more that he is a main event talent. He's proved that time and time again……….sort of.
I've come to accept that regardless of my own opinion, many see him as the be all and end all of this game. The vast majority of the current locker room hold him in the highest regard, some without ever having even stepped into the ring with him. I'm aware that his name may strike fear into the hearts of those beneath him, yet I do still find myself wondering how it all came to be this way? It's as if I slipped off for just a minute, dozing in the corner, while the apocalypse happened, only to come around and find the baron waste land left in it's wake. Phillip Schneider went from a tag team guy to a main eventer in a remarkably short time and it seemed to pass me by. I left proceedings here in the WFWF and somewhere along the line he began to dominate. In my time away he put the work in, he paid his dues, and yet STILL I find myself asking what happened? Why did it happen? Most importantly………how did it happen?
Phillip Schneider flourished in a time when the going was a little too easy. He himself claims that during the period of his own absence things broke down here, yet I fear perhaps he's overlooking a few things a little closer to home.
I've heard Phillip claiming that once he left, after his little lovers tiff with Alex Sean, that the competition became so thin on the ground that mid card talents were being catapulted into the main event scene, and in all honesty I agree with him. I back every syllable of that statement, however I personally feel this age of mediocrity began way before then. I feel he is a product of this period. The number one son.
But how does this explain Schneider's win over my long term amigo Michael Kyzer? How does this account for his 12 month plus Heavyweight Title reign last year? You do right to ask me these questions, because I can't deny that on our return to the scene, The New Epoch brought back a legitimacy to dealings. We brought back a genuine level of competition and challenge, yet Schneider was able to overcome this and thwart the man many believed to be the architect of our little group. How can this be?
I still don't know the answer to this, but what I do know is that even in his loss Michael was still considered by the masses as "the leader" of our clan. Many people even deemed David Brennan to be more worthy of the top spot than myself, there's no denying the boy's got talent. People have short memories. People forget I beat Brennan twice already. People forget that before Kyzer was in the main event picture it was me topping the card. Does anyone even remember who the champion was moments previous to Kyzer's first title reign? Regardless of all this though, Phillip Schneider won the grandest prize in this business for a second time round, something that even I can not claim to have done.
I do not deny now that at this stage in his career Phillip was a contender. I previously had him pinned solely as the best of a bad crop and blindly maintained this opinion all of the way through my run with The New Epoch. However, over the course of the last 12 months I've done a serious amount of thinking and in this time I have come to realise that Schneider was and still is worth more than I ever gave him credit for.
He IS a champion. He IS a top guy. I have no issue with saying that now. This match in itself is proof enough of my confidence in the man's abilities. Think about it for a moment. Would I choose for my return match, my big comeback, at Superbrawl no less, to be against a man I deemed far below myself? What good would that do me? Perhaps it would prove a few points and silence a few stubborn idealists, but what would it really do for me? For my career? I chose Schneider because in my time away I realised that this is the biggest and boldest statement I could make. Phillip Schneider may well have blossomed at a less than perfect time in this company's history but that doesn't mean he isn't without merit. He has proven his worth since then, showing that perhaps even if the previous atmosphere of professionalism had maintained he would still have risen to the top. Perhaps.
This match with Phil will put me back at the top of the pile in one shot. I won't have to explain myself or justify any of my previous achievements to anyone after this match. I'll be the next in line for the top spot. I'll be the man the people pay to see. Does it hurt my pride that I feel I need to beat a peer to gain this respect? You would think so wouldn't you? Perhaps in times past this would be true. I demanded respect. I felt I was owed it. Had already earned it. Yet I know now that respect is a thing that is given willingly. You can not take it. You can not demand it. Respect is null and void if you have to force it out of the people, and that is why I know this match is the right thing for me at this point in my career. If I have to beat Phillip Schneider to prove my worth then so be it.
Perhaps once I do people will take a second look at their previous thoughts about my position in this company. My position in The New Epoch.
This generation deemed Michael Kyzer to be THE man. He was broken by Schneider on two occasions and now it is he who is considered as THE man and that's fine by me. I'll simply have to show them why they're wrong.
I'll simply have to show them that he is merely just another man.
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Chapter Four - The Seething Cripple
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
January 27th 2013
09:40
I'm surrounded by cretins, old and young. I've not been incarcerated for a long time and this really takes the biscuit for being a complete downer. Imagine a place where all anyone talks about is hope and how they've been blessed. Imagine being trapped in this place. Imagine being practically bed ridden because your damn legs don't work to let you run away. Every day that passes here another person "finds strength through the Lord" or "makes a real breakthrough". Breakthrough. That's a word that gets thrown around here more than a toddler in a foster home. Every time someone breaks wind without sh*tting their pants it's considered to be a step in the right direction. I am a heretic locked up with a troop of 'High Five Hopers'. Yes. That's actually what they call themselves. It won't be long before you experience that first hand. I actually shudder just thinking of those three words in succession. Is hopers even a real word?
This place is honest to Jebus my idea of hell. I hate being told to put on a brave face. I hate being spoken to like all I need is a cuddle. It strikes me that the entire pay roll of this facility is dealt with in prozac because I'm yet to see one of the members of staff without a smile on their face or a supportive word on their lips. Kill me.
As it stands……..wait that was a bad choice of word given my current whereabouts. Let me start again. Right at this moment I'm sat, in an old armchair, in the corner of the rec room. This room is where I do most of my seething. From 09:00 in the morning until 09:00 at night we're not allowed to return to our private quarters unless it's evident that we need sleep. In other words unless you're about to die of exhaustion, due to your demanding physical treatment, you're stuck here for 12 hours of every day. We eat together. We breathe together. We're supposed to laugh together but I haven't been doing much of that in the few days I've been here. It's supposed to stop us falling into a deep depression, cooped up in our rooms. If anything it's forcing me closer to the edge. My transfer from the hospital happened very suddenly and of course I had no say in the matter, as always. I was simply moved down here with the rest of these oddities.
I spend all of my waking hours either in the therapy ward, strapped into some f*cking shackled nappy that hangs from the ceiling, or sitting right here, trying to remain ignored, plotting my escape. It's all in vain mind you as, like I said before, my legs are still pretty useless. When I'm lynched up in the saddle I can just about support my own weight, but let's face it, unaided I'd do well to even get out of this chair.
The rest of the inhabitants here fit into their own categories quite neatly. It's mostly either children who's parents are willing to throw as much money as necessary at their legs until they start moving, or middle aged to retired guys and dolls who have enough cash in the bank to do the same for themselves. It's sad really, knowing the parents who visit their half crippled kids are probably running their lives into the ground to make sure they don't end up caring for a paraplegic the rest of their days. I'm certain that's the reason most of them are doing it. Not out of love for the child, and the want to benefit the child's existence, but because they know if the kid never walks again they'll stay home a lot longer than 18 and, until that holy day arrives, will need their arse wiping for them. The kids themselves are a nightmare of hormones. Constantly crying, or laughing and cheering at their accomplishments that day, or generally being kids; arguing, getting p*ssed off, you know the drill. I hate kids. They've mostly got no social skills or manners and that drives me up the f*cking wall, especially when I can't escape them. My whole life everyone around me, be it back at the WFWF or just in the street, seems to have children. I couldn't be any less sold on the idea. They're so needy. That's the reason I got the snip. Some men are scared it will kill off their libido. Make them less of a man. If anything it's only served to boost mine. I can f*ck who and how I like without the worry of filling her belly with a screaming sprog. I digress.
The older ones here are just as bad as well. If they don't have supportive partners yelping with admiration and pride they're the god bothering type. When you've got nobody tangible to hold your hand through this sh*t storm it seems people call on the 'never never' to help them. I've always been angered by preaching, but 9 times out of 10 you can avoid the idiot stood on his soap box in the centre of town by simply walking the other way. Right now I hear it every day, every hour. I've been holding my tongue though. I don't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself as it will only make matters worse.
If I can keep a low profile and fly under the radar I should be able to get out of here without starting a fight. Cripple fight. If only I could film it and take part. Perhaps I could instigate a riot? Not sure how it would go down but I can guarantee it would make national news. Perhaps it would make a good vignette for my return to the ring. Even in a wheel chair I could still probably beat half of the locker room. It might make for a good gimmick actually. The sympathy vote.
My time in hospital, laid flat in a bed for weeks conditioned me into a state that I could deal with the boredom. I never did get any books, but it was out of choice. I've decided I don't want this to be a pleasurable experience. I don't want to get too comfy here. I want to be in and out again with no messing around, so instead of entertaining myself with the written word I just sit and stare, think and plot. Then when it's time for my slot of therapy, whether it's mobilisation massages or aided motion I put my entire focus into it. I've realised the only way out is to walk out, and the only way I'll walk out is by working hard. Usually I'm the kind of person who would rather do anything else than work, and so if all I have except work is sitting with my own thoughts, I'm bound to get through this far quicker. At least that's the plan………
"Mr Cray. This is a reminder that your next physical therapy session is in 5 minutes. A member of staff will be with you in a moment."
That Tannoy system is my only solace in this room, because it means I'm about to leave it. As I come to this realisation one of the many children here, a small boy, begins to cry. For what reason? I don't know. I assume he doesn't either, because that's just what kids do. I will say one thing, spending so many hours of my day around children got me thinking. I'm certainly relived to know I'm no longer one of them, and never will be again.
"Mr Cray, are you ready for your aided motion session?"
Okay so for the next hour I will be wearing a nappy. That's about the closest I'm going to get though. Age is a blessing.
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Chapter Five - Won't Somebody Think of the Children?
Margaret Cray's Volkswagen Polo, Leeds City, UK
June 5th 1997
15:18
"Isaac. Talk to your Mother when she asks you a question."
Why would I talk to the woman who routinely abducts me from school? I can smell the hooch on her from here. She keeps slipping looks at me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a response that she won't be getting. I'm not giving her what she wants, because 90% of the time that's exactly what she gets, but not when she's with me. Someone needs to teach her some discipline. Role reversal is the flavour of this relationship at the best of times.
I turn away from her and look out of the car, but before I know it I've got slaps and back hands rapping my head on every side. Her right hand clings to the wheel as she batters me around and we nearly end up in someone's garden, but she stops and pulls the wheel back around. It wrenches back so quickly that my head is snapped to the side and bounces off of the passenger window. It hurts a lot more than any of her drunken strikes did and I can sense she's proud of herself, acting as though she nearly killed us both on purpose. I rub my forehead and can already tell there'll be an egg swelling up on the spot in a few minutes time. I keep my eyes on the street outside and hold back the tears, yet my bottom lip wobbles a little. Why has she got to be so f*cking poisonous?
"Are you gonna cry? Man up you little wuss. If you'd just answered when spoken to that wouldn't have happened. God you kids today. No respect for the women that brought you into the world. You know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."
Heaven forbid.
She controls the wheel with her thighs as she rummages through her jacket inside pocket for a packet of fags. Richmond Super-kings. A pack a day. Every day. Well, every day that I see her at least, which is once every couple of weeks at best. If it was with any more frequency I'd probably be dead already. She lodges the filter of the cigarette in between her yellow teeth before puckering her bright red lips to move it around her mouth, towards the lighter that sparks three times before pushing out a meagre flame. The floor of the car is littered with rubbish and empty lighters. Quite the fire hazard. I'm only 14 and I know that.
"How's your Dad?"
Why the f*ck does she care? She doesn't have a right to know how he is anyway. Once you walk out of that door, as far as I'm concerned, you've lost your input. She sucks hard on her cig and opens the opposite side of her mouth to let the smoke out as she continues to rattle on as though I give a sh*t.
"Does he miss me? Of course he does. God that's why I left the guy. He's too much of a wet blanket. Just a total sap."
"Let me out of the car."
She turns and looks at me in shock.
"Decided to talk now have we?"
"Stop the car and let me the f*ck out."
She tries to interrupt but I've had enough of her today. It's only been 15 minutes but she's already riled me enough to want to walk the rest of the way home.
"You're a lousy Mother and it's evident to me you were a piece of sh*t of a wife as well. Let me out of the car!"
She slams on and the car lurches to a halt. We both jerk forward and then back into our seats and I move to exit the vehicle. She says nothing but flicks her still burning tab end at me. It singes my arm, cascading embers down onto my legs. I'm only half way out of the car before she revs the engine and takes off again, my school bag falling out of the door and into the road. She's a complete maniac. I can never understand kids at school who hate their Dads. All they ever talk about is how their Dad walked out on their Mum, and that you should love and respect her no matter what. They clearly haven't met my parents. My Dad puts everyone before himself almost to a fault, and must have had the patience of a saint to put up with that wh*re for 16 years.
I can't work it out. How did they even meet? Either she used to be a decent human being or……….nope, I can't think of any other reasoning behind it. My Dad's not the sort of person who would crawl bars looking for vulnerable women. Even is he was I'd like to think he'd have more sense than to marry one of them after the fact.
It's been 8 months since she moved out of the house, seemingly into her car but I can't be sure. Apparently getting blind drunk on a daily basis and f*cking every low life on the estates makes for a better life than the one we had before.
I take a deep breath and release, trying to clear my head. I don't want to still be worked up by the time I get home or Dad will start asking questions. I hate to worry him when he's already got so much to worry about. Before she up and left, my Mother practically bankrupted my Father without him even knowing, either that or he just chose not to say anything to anyone about it in the hope that she would stick around. Now he's been left with a whole mountain of debt in his name and the bank keep threatening to take the house. I know it keeps him awake at night, but he likes to play it cool, putting on a brave face so as not to worry me. I wonder if he knows how much I really look into the whole situation. I steam open bank statements and final warning bill payments, just to keep a handle on where we stand. I know more about what Mum's up to than he does, and that's certainly for the best. He must be crazier than her because he's still cut up about her leaving. If he knew half the sh*t she got up to it would ruin him.
There are only so many self help books of life affirming poetry you can read in a lifetime, and I doubt any of them could block out the sound of your wife screaming another man's name.
There are times when I enjoy not having to deal with any of this adult madness myself but then the realisation comes crashing down that I already am dealing with it regardless of my age. At least if I was older I could cut the ties that bind me to this place and head for the hills. Eating charred squirrels and sh*tting in a hole in the ground sounds preferable to even half of my days at the moment.
I hate being a child. I suppose I'm not even considered a child any more. I hate being an adolescent. A w*nking, pimple popping, self loathing adolescent. Did I mention w*nking? Insatiable.
Good job I slipped a few of that wench's cigarettes before leaving. This block of resin is burning a hole in my pocket when it would better serve me in my lungs.
As I piece together the fallen contents of my bag I look up at the sky, already swelling with heavy black clouds. Typical English summer time weather. One minute the sun is shining and it looks like barbecue time, the next it's p*ssing it down. My language is so terrible. I get told this all of the time by my teacher's, but for the most part they overlook it as I'm firmly sat at the top of their classes. Some people call me a swot with no life, just books, but they're wrong. I don't work hard. I don't spend time revising for tests. I find the whole process of the national curriculum so easy that I don't need to bother. Naturally gifted. That's me in a nut shell. Gifted with a great mind that I'm fast stunting with all of this cannabis smoking, or at least that's what the government would have you believe. I'm yet to see the negative effects myself.
And here we go. The clouds above growl and crackle as a summer storm takes it's hold. The heavens open and the fat drops of rain begin to beat down on hot the pavement. The hot pavement and me. I sling my bag onto my shoulder and stand for a second, soaking to the bone, before setting off in the direction of home with a shirt that's fast turning see through. I've not really got the t*ts to make this look work for me.
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Chapter Six - The Meeting of the Minds
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
March 4th 2013
16:40
"Well Isaac…..Can I call you Isaac?"
"Nope. Call me Mr Cray like everyone else."
There's a pause in her breathing. I caught her off guard with that. The silence hangs like a bad fart and only the squealing wheel on my chair fills the gaps as we continue down the corridor and back to my favourite room.
"Ok, erm…..Mr Cray. You did very well today. You really are making good progress here."
"I bet you say that to all the boys."
"No I really mean it sir. You're actually ahead of schedule."
"By how many steps?"
"Well it's small increments and we don't want to be too precise with regards to actual steps taken because….."
"The devil is in the details. How many steps am I ahead of schedule."
"Well……two."
Jesus. I was joking. I didn't actually intend to have that mother load dropped on my balls.
"Well you've officially made today even more depressing my dear. Onward driver."
I hear her sigh. Slowly but surely I will break the unrelenting optimism of every member of staff in this building.
Aaaaaand through the double doors. The b*tch! She pushed me through at a jaunty angle there so as to let the door bounce off of my left knee. I turn only my head round to the left to look over my shoulder and I see a smirk on her face.
"That's the ticket nurse, can I call you nurse? A little malice goes a long way. Wait, are you even a qualified nurse? Or do you just enjoy cleaning other people's sh*t up? A fine way to start your day!"
I notice now I'm free wheeling. She's actually just pushed me off in the direction of my arm chair and turned to attend to another screaming invalid. Hold up. Who is this? I grab my wheels and control the movement of the chair, making sure I end up as close as possible.
"Hey Archimedes what are you doing?"
The old man before me turns only his watery eyes yet says nothing.
"This is my seat. Everyone here knows that."
He now turns his head, keeping his eyes on me until both are pointed in my direction.
"It strikes me that you're already sitting in your seat."
"No no no. You don't understand, this is a wheel chair. A means of getting from A to B. Where your dusty arse is sat is my seat. Come on, up and atom Fall Out Boy."
"You're not really thinking this through kid. Why are we all here? What is this place? Think about it. And you want me to just get on up and switch seats. Lord have mercy on this stiff idiot. If I could do that would I even be sat here in the first place? Do you think I want to spend my remaining time on this planet sat in a place that smells like this?"
Wow, someone else who hates this place as much as me.
"Fair point. Who dumped you here in the first place?"
"My son. He had the choice of home rehab or this. The ungrateful son of a b*tch would rather throw money at me until I go away than have me stay with him."
Role reversal.
"Thanks for the gory details but that's not what I meant. Which member of staff chose this seat for you?"
"None of them. I did. I arrived here today and when they brought me into this kindergarten I chose the seat furthest away from the action. All of these kids, falling around, throwing coloured bricks at each other. Why can't I just stay in my room? And what's all this High Five Hopers crap?"
"I know right. It's as if they're punishing us for being cripples……. You don't mind me calling us that do you?"
"What? Cripples? It's what we are ain't it? Spastics. I guess you can't say that any more."
"You know what Father Time, you can keep the chair……for today at least."
He smacks his dried out lips a few times with his eyes closed and then looks right back at me.
"You're a limey aren't ya?"
"Born and raised. Praise be."
"Then what the hell are you doing here? Don't you have free health care on your side of the pond?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"
"No but I don't like telling long stories."
"Okay then, well at least tell me what a young kid like you is doing in a wheel chair? As I see it most of the people here are either kids who's parents are incapable of keeping them from harm, or old folks like me who's kids are incapable of keeping them from harm."
Haha. I like this guy. He's got the right level of cynical in him to not just be a moaning old fool.
"It's another long story, but to break it down to basics, a friend turned his back on me."
"Sounds exciting."
"You?"
"Tripped over my trousers getting off the crapper. Heh-haha."
His laugh is cut short by a coughing fit that sounds full of all sorts of liquids. He gets on top of it and then turns to his left and just spits a yellow globule of lung butter out onto the carpet. Dirty old b*stard.
"What kind of a bid are you looking at then old timer?"
"I've only bust my hip. Had a load of pins stuffed in there, so it's just until it fixes. Should be a few weeks. That is assuming I don't fall on my ass again in the meantime. And it's Derek."
He holds out his hand and I shake it, being sure to make it a firm one. Don't want him thinking I'm gay……….or asian.
"Isaac."
"Did your Father nearly kill you in the name of the Lord?"
"Haha touché, but no. It was more likely my Mother who nearly killed me in the name of promiscuity. It's a wonder my brains aren't more scrambled from the d*ck beating I must have taken in the womb."
Perhaps that was a little strong. We've only just met.
"Sounds like my wife. She's dead now. The old wh*re. We were miserable for our entire marriage but all was forgotten every time she made me cum from my boots."
I was wrong. This guy can hang with the best of them.
"You're alright Derek."
"No I ain't. Here you want one of these."
He digs in the pocket of his brown corduroy trousers and pulls out a few scored pills, blue in colour.
"It'll take the edge off of this place. You ever had….."
"I know what Xanax is old bean. I practically lived on them for a while. Hand them over."
I throw them down dry and Derek grins at me knowingly.
"It's nice to have someone to talk to. My son just nods and smiles. He thinks I'm just some silly old man."
"So do I. But unlike him I don't see that as a bad thing. Your son should show some respect anyway. What's his problem?"
"He's a Momma's boy, always was. He couldn't see the wood for the trees. I was the one making all of the money to keep our family alive while she spent it all and treated me like a scab for my labours."
Sounds familiar.
"I hate him already. Blind, unrelenting love is the love of the moron."
"Don't I know it. I offered them both blind love my entire life and it took me years to realise I was being taken advantage of. When you're inside it though it's hard to see out. That's why they call it blind. It's a curse, it really is a curse."
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East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
March 11th 2013
09:02
"Hahaha, so you're telling me you paid the caretaker to smuggle this in for you?"
I take a long, oh so long, draw from the joint in my hand. It's been months and I'm revelling not just in the fact that my blood stream is flowing with THC, but the means by which it has happened. Right now there is a ring of boy racers in their hot rods, tucked away behind the garages of the Rehab Centre. From an outsiders perspective I'm the only one who could even be mistaken for a boy as the rest of the gang are 65 plus. Myself, Derek, Tony and Bert. Our hot rods are our wheel chairs and you better believe we drag race them when we know there's no one looking.
Since talking with Derek for the first time he's eased up and told me the real reason he's here. The real reason why any of these old boys are here. All three of them have been in and out of this place for the last few years, and each time they come back it's because they choose to come back. All three of them are widowers with adult children, all with money to burn and let me tell you there's no love loss in each family. These guys get so bored, or tired, or just plain sick to the back teeth of dealing with their obnoxious children that they have little 'accidents', not all of them successful, but for the most part they've had enough practice now that they know how to fall. Tony and Derek have had their drivers licenses revoked due to their poor eye sight and so they find it hard to get around and see one another these days, so instead they organise a date and, when the time comes, all throw themselves down the stairs, or slip in the shower, you get the picture. This is their little rascals club, where they get to have sleep overs every day of the week, get washed by young women, have their food cooked for them and get their daily dose of barbiturates, opiates and prozac, all the while not having to deal with their ungrateful kids. You'd think it would be easier to just buy a condo in Barbados and sever all ties but who am I to judge how people get their kicks?
"Of course. Billy, the caretaker's been slinging us dope for the last couple of years. He takes a little for himself and the risk is minimal. It's win win for all parties."
The group cackles and wheezes in succession and I puff again.
"Hey kiddo, share the wealth."
I smile, breathing smoke through my teeth and pass it along. You might question why they don't just opt to move into an old folks home together and avoid all of the drama and hospital time. I had to ask this myself because I didn't see the point in wasting so much money on medical bills every time they want to spend some quality time together. The answer is simple. The more they spend, the less their kids will inherit. Spiteful? Not really. Just deserts as far as I can see it. Their kids have been fighting to put them all in homes for ages but none of them will give in. They worked too hard for their money to give it to some ungrateful sacks of sh*t. These dogs are smart and they've had enough of being told what to do and when to do it. It's life from the other side of the looking glass. Imagine being fully grown, having lived a lifetime of experiences yet being treated as though you don't know what's best for yourself. It's as if things comes full circle and you get treated like a child all over again. Having decisions made for you by middle aged people until you loathe every word that comes out of their mouths. In fact it's exactly like being a child.
"Hey Yitskhak. We're always telling you our stories, why don't you spill a bit of yours."
Bert's a Jew and he always calls me that. Apparently it's the Hebrew version of Isaac. I find it funny that whilst he refers to me in his mother tongue he routinely breaks just about every over rule under the Yiddish sun. He's as religious as I am really.
"You know there's a reason it's you boys telling the stories and not me. You've all lived long and full lives. I've got nothing to talk about."
Derek chimes in.
"Now I know that's not true. You've hinted that there are a few long stories, too long you say, that you're holding out on. Come on kid……. Hey Tony gimme some of that."
The weed continues to flow around the group and I can sense that they won't relent in asking me until I give them something.
"Alright, what do you want to know then?"
"What do you do? What's your job? That's a good place to start."
"Haha, now that's a doozy. How to best put this. I'm a…..well I guess I'm…."
"Gentlemen?"
"Oh sh*t."
One of the staff has heard us and are honing in on our location. Just as she comes around the corner Derek flicks the still lit joint onto the garage roof, exhales and wafts the smoke away with his hand. We've been busted.
"What are you four doing back here?"
What a sight we must be. 3 old kooks and the facility's resident miserable youth, all claret eyed and trying not to laugh. Of course these boys are professionals though.
"What? Where are we?"
"Tony is that you? How did we get out here?"
I decide to chime in, before realising this excuse of confusion isn't going to fly when you're only 31 years old.
"Mildred? Where are you Mildred? Come back to me."
I'm hoping that goes unnoticed. In retrospect I should have just kept quiet.
"Let's get you all back inside, you'll catch a cold out here."
"Thank you nurse. You're too kind."
As he says this Bert touches the nurse on the back, making sure as his hand comes away that it runs down the curve of her backside.
Thick as thieves. These boys stick together no matter what. There's an unspoken respect between them all because they appreciate they've all been through sh*t in their lives. No one has it worse than any of the others. They could all just rot away in their respective houses but instead they have fun with each other and p*ss their children's futures up the wall, and I for one like that. What kind of a child turns his back on his Father yet still expects to reap the financial benefits once he's in the ground? These guys have worked their whole lives to earn respect, yet they're given none by the generation below them. Respect is earned, not given. That seems to have been an idea that's bounced around my whole life yet maybe I haven't given some people their due in the past?
I'm hoping before each of the boys peel off from here, and head home, I can learn a thing or two……….and get high. Who doesn't want to get high with 3 old lads?
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Chapter Seven - A Streak of Red
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
April 28th 2013
14:44
Another day in the life of a cripple. Bert left the party this morning as he was deemed 'fit for home rehab'. I've taken it the hardest just because I'm not planning on coming back here, where as the other two boys will be seeing him again in the not too distant. I'm not dwelling on it too much though because one of the things the guy taught me was that all of this around us is transient and, when in the moment, you shouldn't take it for granted. Wasting time on things past is a mark of disrespect to the here and now. I say he taught me this, it's not as if I didn't already appreciate the fact but he really cemented it for me in his phlegmy Jewish way. I never did tell him how I got in here, nor any of them for that matter, which is why it struck me as a strange coincidence that he entrusted this knowledge to me after what happened between myself and Michael. It's up to me how I choose to work Bert's knowledge into my current and future 'moments' and in some respects I don't even agree with him, but non the less it's food for thought and right now that's all I've got.
"Hey Isaac. You've not been saying much these last few hours. Something wrong kid?"
Derek address me in his usual drawl as we both sit in our corner of the rec room.
"Of course something's wrong. I haven't got my d*ck wet in months."
He chuckles his gravelly chuckle.
"This is no laughing matter D. It may seem trivial to a bloke who last got laid in the 70s but for a man of my age this is serious stuff. I'm in my prime."
"You sure look it kid. Can that thing even stand up on its own these days?"
"Don't tell anyone but I've got a neck brace for it."
We cackle and carry on in this childish manner most of the time, simply because we can. I find this kind of chatter funny at the best of times but when you've got a pensioner making fart jokes about his balls it's hard not to enjoy your day. Oh here we go, one of the girls (I'm still not sure if any of them are actually nurses) is coming this way.
"What do you think D, could I work the sympathy vote with this one?"
Derek begins to cough manically as I'm delivered a message that I never saw coming.
"Mr Cray. You have a visitor."
"Is his face all minced up?"
"Ermmmm no? I don't think so anyway."
Hmmmm thought I was about to get some answers regarding my previous mystery visitor. Never mind I'm sure whoever this turns out to be is equally as much of a creep. Probably some deranged fan who's hunted me down……again.
"Hey Derek, I'm told I have a visitor. Can you believe that? Don't die on me while I'm gone."
Derek continues to hawk up god knows what and just flashes me a thumbs up. He may well be the coolest guy on the planet.
I wheel my sorry backside out of the room and toward the lobby. As I do so I can see through the window behind the secretary's desk and I catch sight of a horrible haircut with a streak of red in it. What in the blue f*ck is this guy doing here? I roll around the corner and come groin to face with the last man to give me a competitive match in WFWF. The man formerly known as T Drizzle. Trace Demon.
"Have you come to steal my finishing move again and drop me through this wheel chair? I think that would make great TV. Have you got the camera crew with you?"
Trace's eyebrows raise and he smirks. Maybe he was expecting a less well humoured reaction to his being here?
"Drakz. How long has it been?"
"5 months, 2 weeks, 3 days and approximately 16 hours………ish."
He's somewhat taken aback by my precision, but that's hardly surprising. He's always been so f*cking sloppy. I think that's how he beat me. So sloppy he dripped right through my defence. This is sounding pornographic now.
"Not that I'm counting."
"Yeah why would you be?"
"Hmmmmm. Enough of pretending to be friends. What are you doing here? Come on, roll and talk."
I wheel on out of the front door and he walks beside me as he begins to explain what on earth is going on.
"I wanted to know what ever became of the great Drakz."
"I literally just told you it's been 5 months. Is that really enough time for people to start wondering how my life ended up?"
Things really move fast in this business. Not fast enough for that to be a legitimate excuse though. He's got an ulterior motive. He always does.
"I was there the night you erm……the night of your incident. I was in the back watching and admittedly rather p*ssed that you and Kyzer had just won the Tag belts. Why would I care? Because it meant you were now Grand Slam as well, and you of all people know I don't like sharing the limelight."
It's true he's a real prima donna.
"And?"
"And, I was also somewhat perplexed at the events that followed the victory. Whatever though, it's none of my business and I'm not here to pry as to what went on behind closed doors. I understand even the strongest marriages have their ups and down."
He's pushing it.
"AND?"
"What shocked me more……What shocked ME more was the way you fell. I can't imagine for a second that you remember any of what happened immediately after. You were completely gone."
Finally some kind of closure on this. I'm interested to see how I actually ended up coming around in a hospital bed 39 days later.
"I've got nothing."
"You came down pretty hard on your neck and back. Although I'm sure this is hardly news to you."
I don't respond, I simply tap my hand on the arm of my wheelchair and tilt my head to the side. He continues:
"The whole arena was silent. I've never seen that before. I've heard it erupt. I've heard it ring with boos. I've never heard a packed arena go completely silent though. It spooked a lot of the younger guys in the locker room and to be honest I thought you were dead. You were swarmed by EMTs and once they got you onto a gurney they wheeled you out of there as quick as possible. Of course the cameras had stopped rolling prior to all of this. I guess they must have taken you to St Joseph's straight from there but I don't really know. It's not as if I was crying by your side in the ambulance the whole way."
Nice to know I can control an audience even when I'm unconscious. I really am the best in the business.
"This is great and everything but I still haven't been told why you're actually here. Let's cut to the chase shall we? I know you well enough to realise there's something going on here beyond checking up on the biggest victory of your career."
I stop and shift the chair so I'm looking at him. God he even makes an expensive suit look cheap.
"I'm not here to discuss Trace Demon's career. This is about Drakz's. This is about what happens next in your journey."
Talking in the third person like it's 1998.
"And why is that a discussion I'll be having with you of all people?"
"Because if WFWF is where you want that journey to continue then I'm your boss."
My what? Wait just a moment here. I crack up, almost out of confusion. What other response does this news warrant?
"I'm co-owner of the WFWF now and acting booker amongst other things. This is the all business Demon. I'm not here to f*ck with you and I'm certainly not here because I care. I'm here to look after an investment."
How in………This is just………I mean…….
"What the f*ck?"
"Indeed."
"This makes no sense to me. How are YOU co owner? How does a mid card talent at best find the money to get involved with that kind of game?"
"You really are that self involved aren't you? The entire time you were around I was having it out with the WFWF officials regarding my contract. Does this not ring any bells?"
"Why would I pay attention to your contract dealings darling?"
And I'm the self involved one?
"Because, darling…..it lead to the most lucrative contract this company, hell this entire business has ever seen. I became the highest paid superstar on the roster, past, present and probably future. I was and still am earning more than double what you have ever earned in a year. That's how I can afford to partake in such an extravagance as buying into the company that's paying my wages."
Double? How is this schmuck earning double what I earned? How did the company let this happen?
"I don't know if I'm offended or impressed. Honestly I think the word would be offenpressed………..As you can see I'm trying to make light of this whole situation. I fear if I don't my brain will run out of my ears."
Here I am crippled in a chair, with no job, no prospects, no friends but a bunch of bus pass stalwarts and I'm being casually goaded by the man that beat me, who has more money than me, has more power than me and can walk on his own accord.
"I need to breeze over this bit of news right now. I'll chew it over some other time simply because I still don't fully understand why you're here, which right now is a far more pressing matter than your bank balance. Jesus. You really bought half of the company's assets? Don't answer that, I'd really like to move on from this."
"In that case let me speak."
He's loving this. I can't blame him. If I were in his position I'd be lapping every second of this up. I'd have brought a disposable camera with me just to capture the moment I nearly broke the mind of the guy in the chair.
"As I said before. I'm here to look after an investment. You. I know you weren't ready to leave when you were forced to. I know you had bigger plans than what came to fruition in those 12 months. Some people claimed Michael Kyzer to be the 'leader' of The New Epoch, even I did because I knew how much it got under your skin, to be thought of as anything but his equal. People ignored the fact that on paper you're more decorated and have achieved greater things than he has, but to them it doesn't matter. It's all about appearances, and that's why they still considered you to be the number two. You know why? Of course you do. He was the Heavyweight Champion, at that very moment. He was in the main event, at that very moment. What struck me though when I took over proceedings at the WFWF was documentation that proved to me you were holding yourself back. I found a contract dated the week after Superbrawl, where you first faced Brennan, that offered you a World Heavyweight Championship match against Kyzer at the following Pay Per View. I saw it was a carbon of the contract that must have been sent to you, and I also saw it had been signed by Xavier Pierce, however it was missing your signature. I got to thinking, why? I mean it's fairly obvious really. You simply didn't want to go head to head with your own boy. You wanted to leave him to it and instead you entered yourself into the International Title Tournament which ended with you……"
He points right at me.
"Vs me."
And at himself.
"This happened on the same show where Kyzer was in the main event against non other than Phillip Schneider. So as the locker room and the outside world sees it you weren't ready to make the step back up to that top level yet, where as Kyzer was already there. But there's a twist isn't there? Kyzer was dethroned that night and that opened things right back up for you, didn't it?"
"Can we speed things up here? I know all of this already. Stop with the bravado and get to it."
He stares me down and just carries on as before. Schmuck.
"Kyzer ends up in the main event again at the following Pay Per View, as does your new protege of sorts, David Brennan. He's leap frogged you into the big leagues. Why so? Because you were billed to face me again. The outcome of our match is neither here nor there, I'm not trying to brag about the past. I do want to apologise for it though."
Wait. What?
"The way I see it, had I not been so stubborn regarding our rematch, it would have been you in that main event. It would have been you fighting for the Heavyweight Championship. It could well have been you who walked out of there with that belt. For taking that opportunity away from you I'm sorry. That leads me onto why I'm here now."
"Hold on, hold on, back up a little. You don't owe me sh*t. I chose to smash you up a second time around. I wasn't forced into anything. If I don't want to be in the main event I won't be and that's all it is. You're right I turned down that contract but don't for one minute think just because Schneider beat Kyzer that I was set to jump straight back in. I knew they had unfinished business and so, like a gentleman, I left them to it."
Is he offering me some kind of charity here?
"In all honesty Drakz, I don't care too much about your reasoning. I'm here right now because I know if the time is right you can make me a lot of money."
"I can't do anything for anyone mate. I'm glued to these wheels 16 hours a day. There is no investment here, unless you're going to make me the face of high end electric wheel chairs. Steven Hawkins' isn't very marketable. The guy's got the brains but he looks like sh*t."
"I know it's going to take time, perhaps a lot of it, but when you're ready I'm offering you a new contract with the WFWF. I want you back because I know the fans will want you back. They want to see you in the main event. They want to see you face off with people you've never faced before. They want to see you as champion. You're a man they've not seen all of just yet, and I know if I can give you the opportunities you need there will be fireworks."
"F*ck it mate. It's a lost cause. I'm a spastic now. You're right, I might walk again, given time. But wrestle? Are you mental? I sh*t my pants almost every other day. Do you think anyone's going to pay to see that?"
He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper followed by a fountain pen.
"If the time never comes then that's fine, but like I said if you decide you're ready, that the time is right, the door is wide open. This contract I've drawn up offers you almost free reign in terms of what you want. If you want a specific opponent we'll make it happen. If you want a title shot, we'll make it happen. If Kyzer ever comes back and you want revenge, we will grant the platform to make it happen. I don't offer this kind of thing lightly Drakz. Take this is a bond of mutual respect……"
He hands me the folded contract and pen as he continues.
"This contract is valid for as long as I choose and right now it's open ended. Don't waste this. You could be back where you were all those years ago. At the top of the pile with no doubters. Whatever happens though don't ever say I didn't try."
With that he takes his leave across the garden and heads back toward the car park. He gets about 20 feet away and then stops and looks back over his shoulder.
"Oh and Drakz…….We still need our Third Act."
He continues off but I pay him no mind. Instead I stare at the folded sheet in my hand and can't help but smile. I still can't be sure if all of that was true or if he's bull sh*tting me, but in any case I needed that. I've been feeling like a flaccid c*ck these last few months and that might just have been the thing to cause a stir in my blood and a swelling in these blue balls of mine.
It's time to get out of here.............I need to earn double what he's on now.
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Chapter Eight - Walk Like an Egyptian
East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic, Phoenix, AZ
July 18th 2013
08:58
Today's the day. This is finally it. I'm actually going to walk out of here on my own two. Sh*t. I feel like I've just finished a murder bid. Time to brave the real world again. Will I be okay with how it treats me? Will it be okay with how I treat it? It could all come crashing down around me if I don't keep my head screwed on. I could decide to 'fall' from a balcony and end up back in here again for the security it offers. Comfort and friends. I could be in and out, over and over again, just like Bert, Tony and Derek do time after time. I'm going to have to say goodbye to Derek today. That's going to be weird. He's been my saving grace. Who'd have thought I'd be rescued by a cynical old man? It's not as if he turned my life around or anything, he just kept me sane. Our conversations kept my mind at work, kept me fresh inside even if the outside was a twisted mess. The funniest part of our goodbye today is that we've already done it once when he left me here on the 23rd of May. He was back within 3 weeks though and he's been here ever since. Bert and Tony haven't returned though which got me thinking perhaps this time Derek came back just for my sake. Crazy old f*cker. There's a knock on my bedroom door.
"Rise and shine. Mr Cray are you up?"
The door opens and to my alarm clock's surprise I'm already up and dressed.
"This is a first Mr Cray, you're actually ready and willing to leave your room on time."
"I'm ready and willing to leave this building on time, that's why. When I get the word that I'm good to go you don't have to tell me twice."
"Congratulations sir, hopefully you won't be a repeat offender like the company you keep."
"If I can wind up like them one day I'll be doing okay."
She smiles and carries on down the corridor, waking the masses as she goes. That's the first time I've made a staff member in this facility smile and it's because I'm finally leaving. I've made it no secret that I want out, and needless to say I was a real piece of sh*t when I first arrived here. I can't claim to have made an effort to brighten up their days but the more time I spent with Derek, the more respectful I became towards them. After all I was going to need their help if I wanted to speed up my getting out of here. It's like Alcatraz for some people. Not me though. I've paid my dues.
It's been just over 8 months since my little incident and I've had a lot of time to think things over. I'm not much older, but thanks to my home boys I'm a damn sight wiser. I know what's important to me, and what I need to get my mind right. Well, there's no need to put this off any longer. The reception opened 2 minutes ago and I still need to find Derek. I grab my crutches and on the count of three haul myself to an upright position. The mechanical me staggers toward the door like an injured beast, just trying to get home before it dies. My legs have seriously wasted while I've been sat down and the pain in my knees as I struggle along the hall way is something else. I stabilise myself with my arms and my feet play catch up the whole way down the length of the building until I reach Derek's dorm. I lean my elbows on my crutch supports and knock on the already half opened door.
"Come in kid."
He's been expecting me.
"You're looking great."
"You wait until now to try it on with me D? All this time I've been so vulnerable. I couldn't run and yet you wait until now."
"Eesh. That's too easy. Anyway you're not my type, I like blondes."
"So, this is us mate."
"This is us."
"It's been a real pleasure Derek. You're a true gentleman and I know I've already told you this but I want to make sure you understand just how much your friendship has meant to me over the course of these months. I wouldn't be getting out of here today if it weren't for you. If you knew me prior to our time here you'd know I don't say things like this very often, if at all."
"Bull sh*t kid. You did all of this on your own. Perhaps I guided your hand a little, kept you on the straight and narrow, but honestly advice is just advice. You made of it what you wanted and I just hope it's for the better."
"I guess that's subjective. All I know is that I've got a lot of things to finish and now I can at least think about them on my own terms, back at home."
This is all getting a bit too soft for me.
"I'll be sure to send you a little something in the post. Signed, sealed, rolled and delivered. You don't get service like that from the caretaker my lad."
Derek coughs and splutters along with his laugh.
"I look forward to it Isaac. You know before you go can you at least tell me one thing?"
"Shoot."
"What did you do before you came here? You've managed to duck answering that question for months and I thought seeing as you're leaving you could at least tell this to your old pal."
"D. Let me put it this way. I'd rather you didn't know. I like the fact that you only know the me that's been present over the course of this year so far. I wouldn't want to………..jade our relationship with details. Here this is my home number. Call me if you need anything. You, me and the boys should hook up on the outside sometime. Maybe then I'll fill you all in on my little secret. Maybe."
I pass him a shred of paper with a completely random phone number on it. Why you might ask? The same reason I didn't tell him about being a wrestler. I want the time we had here to be holy. Self contained. I don't want to ruin a snapshot in time by sh*tting all over it as I'm bound to do once I get back into the swing of real world living. This man and his friends have taught me a lot about respect and it's this new found respect I have that is keeping me from attaching myself to them. I may feel like a better person right now. I may even act like a good person, but I know further down the line old habits always die hard and I don't want to drag them into my world, not at their age.
"Well kid, I'll be seeing ya."
"For sure D."
I lean my body weight onto my left crutch, freeing my right hand with which I take his and firmly shake it. Then with an exchange of silent nods I turn and clamber my way across the room on all fours. It's an odd thing using crutches in this way. It feels animalistic. Primal. It's as if I've been granted another set of legs. Maybe I'm overselling a simple medical advancement but right now it's helping me get out of my prison.
After hobbling toward the exit, signing out at reception and leaving the building with only the clothes I've got on I realise this is it. I'm out. I'm back on my own. I approach the taxi that's been booked for me but I'm not sure exactly where it's heading. I'll think of something. The driver opens the door for me and I gingerly descend into the rear seat, my crutches laid across my lap.
"Where to buddy?"
"Erm…..the airport I guess. Can we swing via the bank on the way as well please mate?"
I see the driver's face take note in the rear view mirror and I shuffle around to get comfortable, slipping both my hands into my jacket pockets. Inside, my left hand grazes a folded sheet of paper and I smile to myself. I'll be home soon.
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Chapter Nine - Seven Years
Unknown Gym, Unknown Location
November 1st 2013
23:40
These walls are making me want to puke. They're closing in on my throbbing head. The faded lemon paint has darkened to a muddy stain from all of the sweat in the air. The corners of the ceiling look almost burnt. My lungs are almost burnt. Jesus f*cking christ. I don't remember it being this hard. This is the place I train. This is the place I have always trained. It's no frills and for the most part it's empty on a night. I'm not one for partners. I prefer my solitude, although right now it's doing me no favours. I'm gassed, on the verge of throwing up my pancreas, and my legs are shaking.
I've been walking unaided now since late August but I only felt strong enough to return to this regime a couple of weeks ago, yet my body is telling me it's definitely not ready right now. I can't keep up with my own expectations. The last few months have been boring as hell, perhaps more so than rehab and hospital because when you're in the real outside world and struggling it brings it all home to you. You start to realise your limitations a lot more when you're surrounded by things you recognise.
My back pain is sneaking in which means the pain killers are wearing thin. I rifle in my bag and find the plastic pop lid tub that holds my meds. I never thought I'd be taking these for anything other than recreational purposes, yet here I am knocking them back to keep the aches at bay.
I came back to this place the same day that I sent off my newly signed contract to the WFWF. I've not been keeping much of an eye on the place as it's not worth my time right now but one thing I do know is that Trace Demon has accidentally booked himself into the Heavyweight Title picture. Not only that but he's got it pretty easy, taking the belt off of some girl. I shouldn't sneer at her though, she was the one to knock Schneider form his pedestal. I'm annoyed it wasn't me who ended his gloating but it's almost better that it was some green grass girl. A little more salt in the wounds. Evidently just the right amount as he high tailed it shortly after, following in the foot steps of all of the other forgotten 'legends'. That word gets used too much in this business, and looking at the state of it right now it's not hard to see why people such as Obo are considered such.
I have to hand it to the guy, he broke the record for longest ever title reign but I can't say I'm overly confident in the calibre of opponent he's been keeping. I'm crouched on my haunches staring at the ground, trying my best to stop everything from spinning, something only spitting seems to help with. I slip backwards onto my backside and then lay entirely flat out, staring upwards, thinking of why I'm doing this to myself.
Why? Because I'm the best there is. Why? Because the people need to know that. I've said it before this business moves quickly, and people's minds are quick to rot. In the space of 1 year I am but a distant memory. The New Epoch is a thing of the past. A point of reference. I won't allow it to stay this way though. Not yet. I'm 31 years old now. I've got a long way to go before I'm in that wheely chair for good, and in that time I have a lot to accomplish.
Some people measure their worth by what they have achieved. How many belts they've laid claim to. Who they've beaten. I say you're only as good as your most recent deed. What the f*ck is my most recent deed? 1 year ago I won the Tag Team Titles, a point overshadowed by the betrayal I suffered, followed by the demise of The Epoch and my incarceration within my own darkness. That is all the people know. No one knows, or likely cares, about the months that followed. Why should they? Who would want to see the pathetic comings and goings of a crippled man, shot down in his prime, striving to rehabilitate himself? This isn't a f*cking Rocky montage. It doesn't last 2 minutes with an empowering soundtrack. It went on and on for weeks, months at a time. It still continues even now. I can barely even run the ropes without going light headed.
What has been my most recent deed? Collapsing, half dead amongst gasps for air. Here I am, laid out on the gym floor simply thinking about what needs to be done but not actually doing any of it.
If the people are to remember me, if they are to chant my name, be it in support or begging for my comeuppance, I need help. I need to push through these physical boundaries that have been dealt to me through months of incapacitation. My back is weak, my legs are twitching even now and I have no stamina to speak of. What have I got left? My mind? It's a powerful tool but what good is a nuclear warhead without rocket propulsion to get it where it needs to go?
I sit up and drag myself back up to a standing base……. What was that? A noise from the locker room.
"Hello?"
Someone probably forgot their bag from earlier on. I should make sure they know I'm here. I don't want them bolting the door. Whilst I need the motivation to push myself I don't think being locked in here over night is the answer. I walk towards the double doors and still amaze myself by doing so. Why is this not inspiration enough? 11 months ago I was in a coma with a broken back and here I am walking. Weak as sin, but walking none the less.
"Hello? Who's that?"
I approach the doors and as I reach out to take one of the handles it's pulled away from me. I back up a couple of paces to get some distance between myself and whoever this could be. Always prepared.
The door opens and all I see is a silhouette. A big silhouette.
"What are you after brother?"
He doesn't say a word.
"Stop playing the Blair Witch and come into the light. Who is that? I didn't think anyone else used the gym at this time of night. In fact I could have sworn the front door was locked from my side?"
The silhouette moves forward and I take another step backward to maintain this distance. Into the light he comes and I feel my eyebrows raise in disbelief.
"You!?"
His gaze is fixated on mine and I, for the first time in my adult life, feel threatened.
"Come to settle the score? You took your time with it. I guess you were waiting for a moment when I wasn't at 100%. Makes sense I suppose."
He doesn't move a muscle. His dead pan stare goes right through me, and I continue to talk just to fill the dead air with something other than dread.
"Was it you who visited me? In the hospital? Why didn't you finish things then? While I was out of it."
Nothing.
"Of course it was you. Who else could it have been? I'm disappointed in myself for not clicking right away. The scars were a dead give away in hindsight. Although…………..what's it been? 7 years? I've been busy these last 7 years. Too busy to keep you at the top of my list of possibilities. I'm glad you decided to get rid of that mask, it was so unbecoming."
I can feel my nerve steadying the more sh*t I talk.
"Your face is looking real nice. You must give me your plastic surgeons number, I hear heavy scarring is really in this year."
And with that I'm under his skin. He steps towards me and tilts his head to one side, cracking his neck, and then the other.
"Oh that's it I remember it was a more natural incident wasn't it? You always said you hated fake t*ts. Natural all the way. Tell me Smith are you still angry that I beat your face into the ball bag that it resembles now?"
Ray Smith. Of all the people. Why? Believe it or not there are some questions even I don't know the answers to.
"Drakz."
"He speaks!"
"Enough of this talking yourself up. You're terrified. However much I enjoy this though it pains me to tell you there is no need to be. I'm not here for revenge or anything, this face is old news to me. Unlike you I've had to live with it for the last 7 years and, after a time, you become used to it. Old angers fade into the ether."
This is not the way I expected tonight's training session to go. I've got a TV appearance in just over 2 weeks yet here I am talking to one of the men who was in the ring when I won the Heavyweight Championship. For that matter I think Smith is now the only person from that match I have seen since. I am the career killer.
"Bizarre as this may sound, I'm here to help."
"What could I possibly want with your help Raymond?"
"You're a sack of sh*t right now. You're still recovering from the meagre work out you've managed so far this evening, yet you're proposing a return to in ring action by the end of this month? Not a chance. It doesn't matter who you wind up facing they'll put you down like a sick dog, and that will be the last thing you're remembered for. I'm here to stop that happening."
"What's in it for you?"
"A number of things. First of all I saw what happened last year. I watched as Michael Kyzer tossed you head first from the stage and it took me back. It took me back to when you did what you did to me. You've never had to deal with something like that in your career. You've never had to come back from such a life changing incident. What you did to me helped make me a stronger person and first of all I wanted to see if you could do the same for yourself. It's evident to me the answer to that is no. There's also the fact that if your career ends in the sh*ts then how does that make me look? If a man who can barely hold his own in the opening match on the card was able to do this to me all those years ago, how does that make me look? How will I be remembered? This is equally as much about me as it is you."
I hold my fore finger and thumb up to his face.
"Perhaps a little more about me."
"Perhaps."
"But this still doesn't strike me as a legitimate reason to rear your god ugly head after 7 years to help me of all people. You're reasoning is off the deep end mate."
"There's more to this than what I've told you. There still remains unfinished business between us, and right now I'm in the best shape of my life. I want to rehabilitate you to ring standards, perhaps to a level that surpasses where you were before. It's no secret you've never kept the most strenuous regime."
"How dare you sir!"
"Smoking weed and injecting opiates does not count as training."
"I'll have you know I've been on a strictly natural diet for years now. Well……….that may not be strictly true, but at least for the last 12 months. That may not be true either but everything in my body now is prescribed by a registered professional. I'm on the up and up."
"I honestly don't care. I'm here now to push you up and over the top, running head long into the machine gun fire. The reason? The ultimate pay off for all of this? Retribution. A chance to close the book on my time in this profession, so I can finally move on knowing I'll be remembered for what I was good at. Down the line I want a final match with you. Winner takes all. I want the people who remember and know you to remember and know that I am the one who beat you. How can I make this victory surpass all others in my career? By making sure you beat everyone else first."
This has taken a mighty interesting turn.
"You're more devious than I remember you Smith. This could be a real let down though. What makes you think after all of the times I beat you that this time you'll take me?"
"Faith."
The George Michael song?
"Oh no, you've not converted to the lord and saviour have you? Man alive. I've been dealing with this kind of cr*p all year long in the clinic."
"Faith in myself."
"That's far cheesier but I'll let it slide because I do still prefer it to the other option. Well seeing as we seem to be reaching some kind of agreement would you at least like to know what direction you're pointing this cocked gun?"
Square between the eyes of a man I need to beat. The one victory that might just lure Kyzer out of the woodwork out of jealousy, or hurt pride, or something like that.
"Phillip Schneider."
"Who?"
He really ruined my poetic ending to this scene with that question. Is he really that out of touch?
"F*ck man. Obo the Hobo."
We've both got a lot of work to do.
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An interesting turn of events no? Even to me this has all come as quite a shock. A shock that was clearly necessary to jump start my motor again. With the help of Ray Smith I have now adjusted everything in my regime. With the help of a man whom I disfigured many years ago I'm now pushing myself to a new degree. My health is better than it ever has been. My cardio is improving with every passing day and I am finally seeing myself in a new light, one which no longer beams from my arse hole.
My mind is clear and I have it set on only one thing………total domination. I intend on beating Phillip Schneider. I intend on putting a number of new guns back in their places. I intend on winning the Heavyweight Championship. I intend on settling my score with Trace Demon, and most importantly I intend on luring a snake out from whatever hole it's hiding in and beating it to death before it even has a chance to taste the air.
For once my confidence in such matters isn't born through arrogance. This time it's because I can look back on my career so far and see that if I was as good as I used to be in my former state, then I can only imagine how unstoppable I will be from this point forward. My mind surpasses all those that can stand before me and now my body isn't letting the side down.
Looking forward I see Superbrawl on the horizon. I see Phillip Schneider. Don't for one minute think I'm preoccupied with what lies beyond him. I am focused exclusively on showing him why beating Michael Kyzer isn't enough to call yourself God. There are chinks in his armour that so many people fail to see, yet to me they are glaringly obvious. For one he has become reliant on the help of others. Cast your thoughts back to the night Schneider lost the belt he seemed so secure in holding onto. If with the aid of Percy, Deville and his replacement dead girl he still can't get the job done then to me that really calls his prowess and ability into question. I know he'll be coming all guns blazing telling the world how he was never beaten for the belt. No one ever pinned him or tapped him out.
That is irrelevant.
A champion NEVER loses. A champion finds a way to win even when the cards are stacked against him. So Scarlett Quinn won the belt by beating Cam Nitta, a man who wasn't the champion in the first place and in all honesty had no place even being in the match. Schneider was still present at this very moment though and in my opinion could and should have stopped it happening. Maybe Quinn couldn't have beaten Schneider one on one, in fact I'll go on the record as saying I'm almost certain she couldn't, but she did still win the match, and the title, and that's what matters. Granted she clearly wasn't ready for it as the belt was gone again after only 1 successful defence, but she showed that she knew how to win with the cards she was dealt. She had the wiles and gaul to work out how to come out as the champion, even if that meant picking the weakest opponent and euthanising him. It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's exactly how it works in the wild. A predator doesn't head straight into the centre of the stampede and grab the first beast it sees. No. It scopes out it's prey. It finds the young, or the sick, or the slow and singles them out. The easiest route is usually the most sensible one. Perhaps not the most proud and honourable but what does that matter when you've been crowned as the number one in the world? The ends justify the means.
This will be true of my own victory over Schneider as well, only I will take him out personally.
My mind is sharper than his. My body is stronger than his. My drive is more furious than his……..and yet this isn't enough. I know this isn't enough. No matter how hard I work myself I know I can't rely on this alone.
There is a thing I must do. An act I made a point of storing in my memory for a later date, far down the line. When I learned of this moment of vulnerability I knew what needed to be done, but I wasn't going to act on the knowledge immediately as it wouldn't benefit me. Now it will benefit me. Now it will give me the edge I need to do what many before me have failed to do.
The end will justify the means.
To destroy a cursed man you must first destroy the curse.
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Chapter Ten - Ihr Kampf
Somewhere in the Deep South, USA
April 12th 2014
03:08
I certainly am a ramblin' man, all the way out here in the middle of hick city. With every turn my rental car makes the scenery outside gets a little more depressing. From high rise flats, to beaten up old bungalows, through to terraces and now we're cooking on gas. Either side of the vehicle spans emptiness. The outskirts of sh*tsville. Sh*tsville USA. Evidently the farmers have only recently begun the sowing process out here, as the fields I'm bordered by are mostly turned up soil flecked with the odd shoot of green. This is all speculation of course as I can only see about 10 feet on either side, the headlights beaming the way dead ahead.
Corn fields.
Along with cotton it's the most despicable mass produced vegetation this country has ever known. When the cotton plantations were bought up by the banks the real people were forced out. Now that corn is in such high demand, mostly because fat b*astard American's love it in syrup form, the same has happened. The real people, the real farmers have been replaced, threatened and pushed out by the banks, the conglomerates, whatever you want to call them. My despicable surroundings are a good sign though. A sign I'm getting close, close to the people I need to see.
The dirt track shudders my body to a point that my back pain creeps back into the fray. Luckily I brought my meds with me, and a simple pop of the lid, swing of the arm and gulp of the mouth means I'll be right as rain in a matter of minutes. God bless medical science. The radio whispers under it's breath, as it has for the last 40 miles while I've been trying to think, but now I need to get psyched up. I roll the dial with my fingers and the speakers come to life.
"Mother…..Tell your children not to walk my way….."
F*cking Danzig. Terribly appropriate all things considered, but not what I had in mind. How did this even end up in here? I steer with my left hand and this time fiddle with the tuning with my right. I tear through static, followed by a series of thoroughly terrible pop stations before deciding silence is just fine. Off it goes. F*cking Danzig.
I rumble down this beaten up dirt track for more than long enough when I am finally given sight of what I'm out here for. Stationed at the far side of the field are a number of make shift homes. Some are caravans, some trailers, some old buses. All surrounded by the shed skin of other motor vehicles. Car doors peeled like scabs and flicked out of sight. Old tyres deposited almost ritualistically around the site. As I pull in close I shut off my headlights. Wouldn't want to announce my arrival now. This is after all less of a social visit and more of a…………….more of a………sh*t I don't know what you'd call it. An exorcism? Social cleansing? Hmmm, both statements lend too much grandeur to what is essentially me crossing my Ts and dotting my Is.
This is me going double dutch on my third favourite girl. The one with the stretch marks all over her thighs and the lack of a Grand Slam.
This is just me taking unnecessary precautions for my own piece of mind.
This is just business. All business Isaac. That's what the kids would call me.
I'm somewhat straying off topic here.
I bring the vehicle to a halt now and slip out of the open window so as to make as little noise as possible. An accidental door slam could end me right now. I reach back into the car and grab the jerry can that's been stinking out the place the entire journey. Petrol, or gas as some retards would call it, has a smell I've always loved. I used to enjoy driving onto the forecourt and being hit with the fumes as a child. It gets you right in your gut whilst also pleasing you. In a lot of ways I'm aiming to be a lot more like petrol this time around. Does that even make sense? Naughty but nice? Either way I'm about to raze this f*cking trailer park to the ground.
Bent double, I take light footed goose steps through the dirt and toward the trailers, making sure not to step on any of the shrapnel littering the place. The lights are off and there's no sign of life, which honestly is to be expected at this time of night. Unscrewing the can's lid leaves my fingers wet, and I bring them up to my nose to take a deep breath of the stench. It makes my eyes wobble and somewhat steadies my nerve. Solvent abuse is bad kids. This was just a one off. Did I mention I'm on the straight and narrow these days?
Before I know it I'm half way round the first caravan, lashing petrol up the side and on the ground surrounding it. Then the second, making sure I get the right amount of coverage to keep the action going once the fumes have burnt away. As I turn a corner I notice the third trailer has a light on and I slip back into cover, peering around for any signs of life. Inside I hear a young girl playing. At this time? F*cking red necks. No structure in their parenting. It's no wonder they grow up fingering their brother and sister's arses. Can I really do this with a child inside? I stop and think to myself. Is this what a good guy does? Hmmmmm. To be honest this whole scenario doesn't strike me as much of a good guy's gig. I think this is the closest I've ever come to an internal struggle, and honestly it's not that hard of a fight. I can think of a lot more reasons to go ahead with this than I can to stop and head back to my motel room. These people are trash. They aided the bad guy. In Nazi Germany that meant you were as good as dead………wait…….they were the bad guys. I'm not sure I can use that argument to justify this. At the end of the day if you get involved in other people's business you have to accept there could be consequences. Hang on though, that kid probably doesn't even know who Phillip Schneider is. Although perhaps he banged one of the strung out broads here and got her up the stick? She could be just another of his forgotten daughters. Why do some people insist on spreading their seed so far and wide? It's twice as fun on the face, that's always been my motto. Okay. Am I doing this? Yes or no? Good guys are supposed to drink their milk and take their vitamins, yet here I am, the apparent reformist, drizzling petroleum around the place with a mind to send a made up curse into the made up heavens. I am such a fruit. A handsome fruit at that. Get back on track Isaac!
I close my eyes so tight I can hear it, before shaking my head clear. This whole time I've been arguing with myself I've been oblivious to the fact that I've not only finished encircling the third caravan with petrol but I've slid the can itself, still a quarter full under the front of the scummy home, wedged against a stack of milk crates. I've subconsciously made my bed, now it's time to sh*t in it.
Bending down I take a box of matches from my pocket and slip one out. Everyone in the movies always uses a zippo, tossing it nonchalantly over their shoulder to light the trail as they walk away. I'm not that cool. I spark the match head against the side of the box and flick it towards the petrol. It goes out mid flight. I try to spark another and this time I snap it in half before it catches. I repeat, this is real life, and I'm not that cool. The third I'm more gentle with and I cup the flame with my hand, slowly lowering it to the puddle. This time it takes. Oh my it takes fast. Fire races around the trailer and then follows my footsteps to the second and then back to the first and I know now it's time to get the hell out of here. I stand to run and just before I sprint off get a sense of well being at the fact that I'm still going to do the right thing……….in a f*cked up kind of way. I bang hard on the caravan door with my fist to raise the alarm and then proceed to high tail it back to my vehicle, Dukes of Hazzarding it back through the window, cracking my head on the way in. I'm not phased. I'm rushing too much to be phased. I turn the keys and the engine roars as I rev it, once again this isn't a film and my car hasn't inexplicably died on me in the heat of the moment. I throw the wheel around and the car follows, spraying gravel out the back and against the window of the first trailer. Just like that I'm back racing along the track as before, only this time there's a raging inferno in my rear view mirror, dancing and licking the night sky.
"Where's your curse now Pompadour?"
I actually shout that aloud to myself in the car and it feels great. No matter how much training I've done with Smith, or how much healthier I feel thanks to my diet, it took this moment right here for me to know, at Superbrawl, I will beat Obo. Call it superstition if you want, but I call it covering all bases. I never believed in the whole curse spin he played with for months and months. No matter how many people fell to him and, in a way, backed up his claims, I knew it was his belief in the curse that kept him going, not the curse itself.
So why burn the trailer park? If I don't believe these people genuinely gave him any kind of power over anyone, except himself, why incinerate the source?
Because I'm smart enough to know I'm not always right. What if there really is a curse? I'd look pretty stupid if it came and bit me on the behind just because I didn't take precautionary measures. I'm watching my own back. That's what the good guy does. He thwarts evil and never gets beaten, and that's why I'm the good guy…………….Because from now on I'm never going to be beaten.
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So this is it. The big return to arms, or legs in my case. You've heard my story. How I came to be stood here, behind the curtain once again.
This is the start of my ultimate chapter, the third and final act. That all sounds very ominous, but never fear people it will also be my longest work to date. I'm not leaving until I have completed my to do list, and there are items on there that in their very essence may take some time.
There are few men whom I really consider to be trying opponents in this business, and right now I'm faced with one of them in Phillip Schneider. My feelings toward him see saw daily, in direct response to his conduct, and the way he holds himself.
I try and maintain respect for him because of what he has achieved, yet I can't help but want to belittle him. He moves, acts, talks, even breathes in such a way that I can only try not to laugh at times. He is everything I was at the dawn of my career. Overacted. That's really the perfect word for the man. He overacts in his own character, his own being. That may seem like a funny thing to say. How can a man over do his own nuances? Surely if anyone knows the man completely it his him? Of course. There's no one out there who knows Phillip Schneider as well as Phillip Schneider does, yet he still pushes the flaws in his personality to the highest level in an attempt to justify himself, his own personality. The man knows no subtlety, and honestly it grates, and not in the way he hopes it will.
Have I lost you?
Let me break it down.
Who is Phillip Schneider? If someone were to ask you that question, someone who had no idea at all who the man was, what would you say? A fighter. That goes without saying. But let's look past that, into his persona. How does he present himself to the world? Fundamentally the image is that of a rock star. A grungy, long haired man with an "I don't give a f*ck attitude". This is a stereotype that for years people have deemed "cool" or "edgy", yet there is a fine line between this and simply trying too hard. He's walking a razors edge between "I don't give a f*ck" and "I give so much of a f*ck that I have to live and breathe this even if it's not who I really am". If you're actually TRYING to be this no frills superstar figure then it loses it's attraction. It stops being anything but pitiful really.
Does Phillip Schneider do this? Why yes he does. He continually tells us how many girls he's f*cked, or watched p*ss in the bath. He makes such a point of talking about these women, a clear cry back to the age of the groupie, that it makes me wonder how much of it is even true. Even if it is true, is he perhaps doing more than fulfilling an insatiable lust? It seems he's perhaps just trying to fill the boots of the rock star.
What else does he signify? A man who doesn't run? A man who takes his problems head on. A fighting champion? All of these terms have been used to describe Phillip Schneider at one point or another and I myself believed them to be true………………until the lead up to this match. Why would a man who fears no one avoid accepting a challenge for so many weeks? Why would he dress up in a mask and play games? Why would he live out his dreams (I mean that in the most literal sense) of helming an army of minions, built in his image, to threaten and intimidate me instead of simply coming out and speaking with me? There can be only one answer, and no it has nothing to do with mind games as he of all people knows who he is dealing with, and that answer is fear. He fears, not just me, but the idea of returning to the ring. He needs smoke and mirrors to try and build his balls back up. He needs to get a few cheap shots in before hand, to get a feel for the game again.
Facing me in particular terrifies him because he doesn't know if he can win. He had it so damn easy during his title reign because the likes of myself, EBR and David Brennan had left the scene, and I think he knows that. I think this match against me scares him because he has a real challenge on his hands, and he hasn't had to prepare himself for that since Michael Kyzer. Michael Kyzer presented a challenge, a real challenge, yet Phillip rose to the occasion. What scares him now though is that he knows what I know……………….I was, am and always will be better than Michael Kyzer.
What more proof do you need than how we've ended up in this situation? The same games he played before their match played out prior to this match. A game of minds. Prior to Schneider's title win he managed to trick Kyzer into signing a contract for a no ropes barbed wire match, something which many believe gave him the edge. Now let's take a look at what crazy, horror show gimmick we have set for our match at Superbrawl. No ropes barbed wire 3? A Psycho Circus? Maybe something a little more traditional like an impromptu cage match? None of the above. This time I tricked Phillip Schneider with his own move. This time around he's competing in a match which gives him no advantage. Phillip is a man inclined to fight with his nails as well as his fists and feet, so I've taken that away from him. The playing field is levelled in a simple one on one singles match. Why did I do this? Of course you might assume it's because I know that Obo's strongest personality trait may get the better of me otherwise. He is a man who is willing to take things as far as he deems necessary to prove a point. In some cases too far. They don't call him the King of Gimmicks for nothing……………I know, I know it's the King of Gore, but in all honesty that's all it's ever been to me. A gimmick. I don't need an Inferno Hell in a Cell Street Fight to prove how capable I am of pulling an opponent apart. I know I'm just as ready to destroy him…..or her, with my own hands. I also know that the fans will pay to see me do it.
But that's not the reason.
The reason I wanted things like this is because I wanted to silence everyone's favourite Ham Shank Champion Phillip Schneider. I don't want him telling the world for years to come that I never beat him, that I just "climbed a ladder and pulled a title belt down". I don't want him to be able to say it wasn't his shoulders that were flat against the mat, it was someone else's. I want this match to have one clean, clear winner. This fight has taken 10 years to come to fruition, and now it's finally upon us I want the winner to officially be known as the better man, not just on the night, but the better man………full stop.
All that remains now is turning up and doing the deed.
You will do me that honour won't you Phillip?
Of course you will, because once again I've formulated this entire thing to perfection. I put the biggest worm I could find on the proverbial hook. No not the World Heavyweight Championship, it's bigger than that. The National Title. The National Title you say? Yes. That belt means more to Schneider than any of the other belts he's held, and why? Because he's never held it. As it stands there are only 6 Grand Slam Champions in the history of this company and as it stands Phillip Schneider is not one of them, because the National Championship has always eluded him. He IS one of the few men to be inducted into the Hall of Fame twice, but then…so am I. He IS a Triple Crown Champion but so…...am……I.
This is the final frontier for Phil and I know he wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to complete his collection. That is why, after he stood me up at Scars & Stripes, after all of this masked nonsense and after not even turning up to the contract signing I took it upon myself to give him a real reason to make Superbrawl the greatest match of either of our careers, and I know in years to come he'll be glad I did.
This match is going to go down in history Phil.
This is one they'll be talking about for years to come.
I can guarantee you that this match, win, lose or draw will be what we're remembered for.
I dont know good luck 
