#LongRoadHome

[mattoriginal]

[mattoriginal]

I feel like vomiting. I have legitimately never been this nervous in my entire life. I stare down at my boots, and attempt to tie them. I struggle to, due to my arms shaking violently. It’s been a long while since the last panic attack, and this is the absolute worst possible time to have one..

“Hey kid, you’re on next, step it up!” 

My trainer, Richard Myers, yells from outside the locker room. At this point, all the other talent is watching the show from atop the dirty high school gymnasium. I’m the only one in the locker room, and I feel just as disconnected with reality. Is this really happening? How did I get to this point? The months of training have come to this point. I finish taping my wrists, and finally finish lacing my boots before joining the rest of the boys in the upper bleachers. The opening match is Black Dog, who did not come out to the Led Zeppelin song, versus Lexx Insanity. Indie wrestling, ladies and gentlemen. Black Dog is a skinny white kid in a black and yellow Mistico hood, probably not a day over 17, and Insanity is about 43 and rocking the skullet. I can’t deny though, these guys are pulling something out of nothing. I stand from my seat and walk over to my opponent who is with Myers over in the corner. Shawn Legend, Tennessee County Wide Television Champion, will be the person I have the distinct honor of having my first match with. Detect the sarcasm?

“Kid, this is Shawn. He’ll be going over in about a seven minute match. You’ll get some sh*t in, don’t worry.. He’ll hit you his finish, handshake after, he raises your hand, the fans love ya’. Got it?”

I look up, and lock eyes with Shawn, and it hits me. This is real. This is it. My dream, finally realized at only Twenty Three. I’m doing what I was put on this earth to do.. And then I rush over to the trash can. After a solid two minutes dry heaving, I hear the bell ring. F**k… I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shawn walk over to me.

“Listen to me son, you are sweating this way too much. Listen, I could carry a broomstick to a match that those people would love. Granted, that broom’s got like five pounds on you, I’m sure I could carry you just the same. Now, we’re gonna go out there, and we’re gonna make the boys who go on after us wish they didn’t have to follow us. Got it?”

He extends his hand, and I nervously shake it as Black Dog walks through the curtain. I walk to what the “big leagues” would call the gorilla position, as Lexx Insanity limps through the curtain. They both wish me luck. I’m slowly becoming more and more numb to my surroundings as Legend’s music hits, “Right Above It” by Lil Wayne. He leaves with his WCW Television title around his waist. He’s got the generic black tights, and a pretty douche-tastic Tapout shirt on. Although, speaking about gear, I’m pretty sure I have no room to talk. I’ve stolen Chris Sabin’s shorts that he’s been wearing for about a year now, and just threw my ring name on the back. I’ve got this crapty camp t-shirt I bought from Goodwill last night. What can I say, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Then I hear it; “Reasons” by The Nearly Deads plays. That’s the song I selected as my theme, I know it’s time. I’ve only started on my..

Long Road Home..

[Red Dragon]

You always have such good starts to diaries but then nothing. Hope this is different. Great writing as always Matty O. Really good characterisation too. Hopefully you can keep this up like you did like your other 'Road' diary. Good luck.

[Mike Bockwinkel]

Dec 9, 2011 1:12:34 GMT -5 Mike Bockwinkel said:

Well, this is gonna be interesting as hell... AS LONG AS YOU KEEP IT UP!

[mattoriginal]

“From Spring Hill, Tennessee! Weighing in at One Hundred and Fifty-Four Pounds, Nixon… Jepson!”

Yeah, something tells me I’ll regret this being my ring name one day. I mean, that’s what happens when you spend three hours with a drunken roommate. Also, One-Fifty? That’s being HIGHLY generous. I burst out of the curtain to… silence. I really don’t know what I was expecting, I’m a debuting rookie. I stand there for a second, probably obviously shell shocked before going into straight babyface mode.

“C’MON BABY! LET’S DO THIS! JEPSON HAS ARRIVED!!”

That sounds ridiculous. Can I sound anymore generic? I look indieriffic as is, but “Jepson has arrived?” Ugh.. I make my rounds around the ring, like the usual babyface would, but I only end up high fiving one kid, who honestly looked like he felt sorry for me. I climb onto the apron and totally rip off Shinsuke Nakamura’s pose. Although, let’s face it, no one in this crowd in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee has ever, EVER, heard of Nakamura. Probably didn’t do me any favors though, because here come the hecklers.

“That was lame.”

“You suck.”

“Your shorts are ugly.”

“Your boots don’t even match!”

Hey, the boots not matching thing is by design. Plus, it’s not even a not matching thing. The insides are inverted on each side, one has Black on the inside and white on the out, the other is vice versa. I stand there though, shaking and do my best Bo Dallas impression. Little did I know as I turned and climbed to the second rope, Mr. Legend has taken the ring announcer’s microphone.

“Um. Excuse me, son. Just who do you think you are? Yeah I’m talking to you Carly Rae!”

Ugh, yeah. I figured that was coming, I jump down from the turnbuckle and basically make a Jericho ’99 over exaggerated face. 

“Damn son, you’re near green as grass, ain’t’cha? Careful, look’s like you still got water behind your ears! Look kid. I feel bad for ya’. I really, really do. With a name like Nixon, your parents must’a really hated you. But that’s not even why I feel bad for ya’. You got’s to debut against a livin’ legend. A champion! Not only that, but a future Tennessee Hall of Famer in me SHAWN LEGEEEENNNNNDDDD, HAHA!”

Well. I mean. No one ever said Mr. Legend was a good promo..

“But I’ll tell ya this, bucko. Five minutes. You hang with me, you got’s yourself a contract here in the TVWA. But if you can’t hang, then you best check your skinny ass outta town, ya’hear?”

Alright. I got this. I can do this. Just have to do at least do five minutes. Simple. Easy as. The bell rings, and walk out to the center of the ring, and offer my hand. I mean, I’m a clean cut, smiling babyface, why would I not. Legend looks around with a sh*t eating grin on his face, and goes to shake. I quickly pull my hand away, and deliver a spin kick to his midsection which gets a nice reaction considering the hecklers earlier. I run the ropes and nail a spinning head scissors. Got to include my flippy-do’s. He rolls to the outside, obviously stunned. I start to clap and all the kids in the venue are into it. I go to do a dive, but Legend dashes, although he is late to discover I’ve faked him out, only running at the ropes. Legend looks furious and rolls in the ring and kicks me as hard as I’ve ever been kicked in the gut. I actually fly back a little from it. As I gasp for air, he picks me up and delivers a scoop slam. All the bumps in the world cannot prepare you for that landing. Before I can even catch my breath, he lands on me with a big leg drop. I can just barely kick out at two. I hear the ring announcer announce that two minutes have passed. Almost half way through this. I can do this. Legend pulls me up by my long hair, and irish whips me into the ropes, and I dodge via a lucha roll. I fire off with some kick based offence, and try and hit a tornado DDT, but he throws me off and hits a big lariat. Godd*mn, man. He picks me up, and hits another scoop slam. This is not at all how my practice matches went back home. It’s so different not even calling spots, though I will say everything appears to be going smoothly. Although just as I think that, Legend grabs a headlock.

“Alright kid, moment of truth. Elbows, I whip you, big dropkick. Do the ol’ clap gimmick, fightin’ spirit, all that bullsh*t, go up top, hit me with somethin’. Two count.”

Whoa, that’s a lot to process, but I’m sure I can handle it. I start to stomp my feet, and I’m actually winning some of these people over. After I get to me feet, I give three big elbows, before running to the ropes, although instead of a dropkick, I hit a single leg lariat. Hope everything will be copacetic there.. 

“HIGH RISK OFFENCE BABY! COME ON, LET’S DO THIS!!!”

Jesus, am I bad at this babyface thing. I need to learn when to shut the hell up. I climb up top and manage to pull off a decent crossbody from the top, and get a two. I struggle to my feet and get in the corner as I hear that four minutes have now passed. Only one more minute left, and then we can take it home. I’m starting to feel comfortable as I begin to tune up the band for some reason. I charge in for a superkick, why I’m not too sure, and I get caught with a rough T-Bone suplex. First time taking that. Not going to lie, I think I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I manage to struggle my shoulder up right at two and three quarters. Legend picks me up again by the hair, before locking in a headlock again.

“Hit that spinnin’ DDT, two and a half.”

Legend backs me off into the ropes before the irish whip, and I nail an alright Tornado DDT. Right as we make impact with the canvas I hear that I’ve made it the full five minutes, and I smile to myself. I’ve got this. Now we can wind it down. I struggle to make the cover and get two and a half, and the crowd is now fully into this match. Working in front of twenty five people is rough, but I’ll tell you, it’s damn gratifying once they get on your side. I pick up Legend and whip him into the corner before delivering a weak knife edge chop. He looks me square in the eye, and I felt the fear of God strike me down. He reverses it quicker than the blink of an eye, and starts chopping me like no tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I might have blacked out from the pain, because my memory of the match gets a little hazy there. Next thing I know, I’m on being thrown off his shoulders, Attitude Adjustment style. The room begins to spin as I hear the ref’s hand strike the mat three times, and I close my eyes in relief that it’s all over. I made it through my debut. I hear someone on the microphone talking, but I’m barely aware of my surroundings as the referee helps me up. I lean against the rope. 

“Listen sport, I ain’t the type of cat that does this often, and these people know I only respect those who earn it.. but son, tonight you earned all of our respect.”

The high school gym claps and I dizzly go to shake his hand, and he helps me up. I’ve honestly never felt so great, and so dead at the same time. Legend and the referee help me to the back. Where Myers is waiting.

“Kid. What in the hell was that?”

“w-What?”

“I said.. Kid.. WHAT IN THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

“I, uh..”

“You know that little kick thing you did mid match? That’s Johnathon Titan, THE TENNESSEE CHAMPION’S FINISH. Boy, you can’t go around your first night and be stealin’ the main event’s finish.”

Well, that’s not exactly what I was anticipating..