Post by King Richius on May 3, 2019 5:33:36 GMT -5
Prologue: Ups and Downs
So let’s get right to it. There’s an elephant in the room named Tugarin Zmey.
Not gonna’ lie, I’m disappointed with how the gauntlet turned out for me. I wanted that guaranteed world title shot more than you could possibly know. I want MY shot at Drakz (or will it be Kyzer?) for the world title.
But Tugarin Zmey beat me… again.
Not a knock on Tugarin but his two victories over me are somewhat tarnished. First time around Whitner and Draven gave him the assist. Second time I was nursing bruised ribs.
Tugarin has his two wins over me and yet I still want to know what will happen when we meet with both of us at one hundred per cent and there’s no interference. One day we’ll find out but for now I didn’t get the job done. Tugarin Zmey got the title shot.
I can take solace that perhaps it was a bit of karma. Tugarin had his SuperBrawl world title match taken away from him for no reason other than Drakz is a whiny little bitch and Lila folds faster than a poker player holding two eight unsuited so this may be the universe’s way of saying sorry. I sincerely hope he makes the most of it.
Don’t think my loss to Zmey is a pre-cursor to a SuperBrawl loss for me. Let’s not forget that I did beat Tyler Draven and the Vanguard Champion Mesh with those very same bruised ribs. Even at less than my best I was more than good enough to get two wins in three matches during the gauntlet. That’s a solid nights work I can be proud of.
The ribs will be healed by the time we roll into Dallas. My resolve is as firm as ever.
Every wrestler in the WFWF has his ups and downs. I hit a low spot in Phoenix. I’m hitting a high spot in Dallas.
My journey also hit a low spot at the last SuperBrawl. I won’t let it happen again. Same ladder match, only two opponents instead of five this time. Two opponents I am quite familiar with. Two opponents I have beaten in the past. I know what needs to be done and how to do it.
And this time I’m not trying to claim a championship. I’m defending MY International Championship. That makes a huge difference. I will fight tooth and nail to my very last breath to defend what is mine.
Last SuperBrawl I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. This time I have everything to lose. Everything I’ve said and done over the past year is on the line. SuperBrawl X is where the “fighting champion” Frank Lynn puts up or shuts up.
Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven better be ready because neither one of them is Tugarin Zmey and recent history has shown that is who you have to be to beat me.
WFWF SuperBrawl X RP
In the Spotlight
featuring Frank Lynn
“Just give me the spotlight and I’m gonna’ seize it. Okay?” - Zach Stone
Framingham, MA : April 12, 2019
A Day of Rest and Relaxation
Doctor’s orders: no physical contact until the ribs are fully healed.
Puts a damper on my training for Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven but it’s not as bad as it could be. I just faced Tyler Draven and put him down. I’ve faced Ante Whitner so many times that I know all his tricks. The ladder match isn’t one I need to do as much prep for as I would if I was facing someone I’ve never been in the ring with before.
My preparation for the match boils down to making sure I’m in peak physical condition. Sure, I’ll watch some film and do some sparring sessions with Legacy guys who have a similar style to Ante and Tyler, but it’s just to remind me of what I already know.
I have plenty of time for that. For now, I’m following doctor’s orders. I’m taking a day off for some rest and relaxation.
The gym is empty. Usually, there are a few Legacy wrestler’s here training with me or on Saturdays a bunch of kids I work with and Daphne practically lives here but today I have the place to myself.
People often ask me how do I relax. I realize I can come off rather intense, someone who perhaps doesn’t know what fun is. Wouldn’t they be shocked to see me now?
I tune the strings on my guitar again. I bent the hell out of them while playing “Interstellar Overdrive” going for maximum distortion. Once the guitar is back in tune, I jump right into Beck’s “Motherf***er”, adding my own poorly sung vocals.
Hey you stupid @$$hole!
Everyone is out to get you mother f***er!
It’s a short song, over almost before it even starts, but it’s very therapeutic. It’s balls to the walls loud and the lyrics hit home. I am the International Champion and everyone is out to get me. The song fires me up, gets me in the mindset that this sh*t is mine and you can’t have it.
Up next, I make loud feedback driven noise with the guitar, making full use of my effects pedal. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s pure noise. You make of it whatever you want. For me, it’s a way to clear my head and let my thoughts wander.
And wander they do.
I close my eyes and I can see Ante Whitner standing on top of a ladder holding the Golden Opportunity briefcase.
Are you with me?
No, I’m not with you Ante. To borrow from you, I want redemption. I should have won. This time I will. I cannot live with the fact that Trevor Wolfe has more wins at SuperBrawl than I do. That’s f***ing embarrassing.
Keeping my eyes closed while the feedback washes over me, I see David Brennan in the corner of the ring, his face having been bashed in by a pipe. Daphne is screaming at me.
This is it Frank! This is your chance! Cash in and take his belt! No one can stop you!
It doesn’t feel right. Brennan is in no condition for a match. This is not how I want to become a champion. But Daphne keeps pushing. The crowd is cheering. Everybody wants this but me. I crack. For all my bravado, my greatest victory in the WFWF, if you can even call it that, is the result of a moment of weakness.
And the moment fades away, as it should. Some things are best forgotten. If only I could. If only Brennan had shown any interest at all in a proper rematch so I could know I really deserved the belt I so proudly carry around.
My trip down memory lane continues as I keep on punishing my guitar, producing pure chaotic noise. I go all the way back to my very first night in the WFWF. All the aches return from the street fight against Mike Jette. I won but I wasn’t sure if it was worth it. Then I ran into Samael Ahriman, who dropped these words of wisdom on me.
If you don’t let this place f*ck with your head you could go far.
Well I’ve gone far… all the way to the International Championship… but have I done it without letting this place f*** with my head?
Sometimes I feel like a thief in the night always looking over his shoulder for the police.
Sometimes I feel like the king of the world, unstoppable as I head towards my destiny to be a world champion, one of the greats in the history of the WFWF.
Sometimes I’m just confused. What’s more important? Image or results? Win at all costs or lose with honor? Be a champion or be a good man?
Is it possible to be both? It wasn’t for Joshua Dean, Joe Bishop, or Penny Shannon. Good men (and woman) who couldn’t be champion for very long. It isn’t possible for Drakz. A not so good man who almost always has a belt around his waist. Who am I to think I can do it better than any of them?
Almost unconsciously, my guitar noise has evolved into the opening chords of “Something” by the Butthole Surfers. I slide right into singing (actually more like screaming) the vocals.
Something she said to me last night,
Something she said to me,
She’s been talking behind my back again,
This time she’s gonna bleed.
And then right into one of my favorite epic guitar leads of all time. It’s not as smooth as Hendrix or as polished as Eddie Van Halen but nothing gets my blood pumping quite like Paul Leary’s guitar playing. My guitar playing is a poor man’s substitute but it works for me. The windows in the gym rattle as I beat the bloody hell out of my guitar and all thoughts of confusion and inadequacy are pummeled to the back of my mind.
Now this is rest and relaxation! Sweet pours out of me as I try to emulate every last screeching note of the guitar solo that goes on for almost ten minutes. No problem getting my cardio in today even on a day of supposed rest.
What the hell is that noise?
What was that? I was so into playing the song that I didn’t see Daphne entering the gym. I think she said something but I couldn’t hear. Her lips are moving but the guitar drowns out her words.
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE?!?!?
I heard her that time. It didn’t hurt that she climbed into the ring and got right in my face before shouting at the top of her lungs.
And how dare she. The Butthole Surfers are not noise. They are one of the most underrated great bands of all time. This is an affront I must address immediately.
I stop playing but leave the volume up on the guitar, lean it against the amp so the last note drags out in a feedback loop that keeps the sonic assault going.
That is the Butthole Surfers. They’re a great band. Show some respect.
That was garbage… pure unadulterated noise… I think my ears are bleeding.
She pokes a finger in her ear, then checks it for blood. Funny girl. Real funny.
Good. That means I was doing it right.
I know you can play guitar well when you want to. Why do you play that noise?
One man’s noise is another man’s masterpiece. The Butthole Surfers are awesome. Certainly better than that Despacito song you’re always listening to.
That remark earns me the evil eye. Then she starts to sing the song the accursed song and dance along. My turn for my ears to bleed.
Please stop before I have to gouge out both my ears and eyes.
Mercifully, she does, all smiles now.
There’s no accounting for taste, of which you clearly have none.
Says the girl who still has a Ricky Martin picture in her locker.
She punches me lightly in the ribs, then makes an “oops” face as I wince. The ribs are better but still need more time to heal.
Oh God, I’m sorry. Are you okay?
I’ll be fine. Just need a few more days to heal.
I won’t hit you again, I promise.
Her expression changes, becoming more serious. Play times over. She’s switching to manager mode.
I have to ask, even if you can’t do anything with physical contact, is this really a good alternate way to train?
I pick up the guitar, set the effects pedal to something mellow, and quietly play “Castles Made of Sand” before I answer.
There’s more to training than weights, cardio, and sparring. I need to get my head straight too. Playing guitar helps me do that.
Daphne is enjoying the Hendrix song much more than the Butthole Surfers, her toes tapping along as she sits on the top turnbuckle.
Is it working? Is your head on straight? Are you ready to go kick Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven to the curb?
Absolutely. I have to. This match is everything to me. It’s my chance to make up for the last ladder match. To make up for how I won the title in the first place. To step into the spotlight and say ‘Yes, I am that damn good.’
What if you lose? Ladder matches are unpredictable. The best man doesn’t always win.
This time the best man will win. Failure is not an option.
Daphne stares at me, making her assessment as I continue to play and her toes continue to tap.
It’s good to hear you say it. As your manager and friend, I can only tell you so many times that you are the best before it loses its impact. You have to believe it. I think you do and that means you’re ready to dominate.
It’s all or nothing for me. Win and be a worthy champion or lose and be a hypocrite who curtain jerks his way to a completely forgettable career of what could have been but never was.
Daphne jumps off the turnbuckle and kisses my cheek.
You are the best. You deserve the title and you deserve to win at SuperBrawl. Never stop believing in yourself.
She slides out of the ring and walks towards the door, then stops just short and turns back to me.
If playing that godawful noise helps, then by all means get back to it. I’ll be leaving now to reach a safe distance for my ears.
BEST BAND EVER! One day I’ll convert you.
Daphne walks out, closing the door behind her, and I quickly switch from “Castles Made of Sand” to “Goofy’s Concern”.
I don't give a f*** about the FBI!
I don't give a f*** about the CIA!
I don't give a f*** about the cash on the street!
I don't give a f*** about anything!
Another good song for motivation. I can’t give a f*** whether I deserve the title or not. It’s mine now. That’s all that matters. Cross, Whitner, and Draven all failed to take it from me. SuperBrawl X will be no different. They think they’re better than me. They’re wrong. I’m the f***ing champ.
I’m going to prove it one more time in the ladder match.
Framingham, MA : April 30, 2019
Off to War
It feels odd to pack a full suitcase for a show. I’m used to an overnight bag with a single change of clothes.
But “the show of shows” comes with a week of "WFWF All Access”, an assortment of public appearances, autograph/photo ops, and a whole lot of glad handing with people I don’t know who think they’re my best friend because they read some crap about me on the dirtsheets. I try not to be a cynic but it’s hard when a total stranger in a DB F’N WF t-shirt comes up to me claiming to be my biggest fan going all the way back to my college wrestling days.
I’ll have to grin and bare it because it is expected of every WFWF superstar. At least I’ll know that Drakz is suffering as much as I am, maybe even more given how little respect he has for… well anybody.
I count how many days I'll be in Dallas - eight it turns out - and start grabbing clothes when Sarah walks in.
Packing already? Your flight isn’t until noon tomorrow.
Have to make sure I pack enough for the whole week.
It can’t be that hard. All you own are t-shirts and jeans. Grab a stack of each, toss in some underwear and socks… bam… you’re done.
When you put it like that…
I throw a stack of t-shirts at her. While she’s blinded I jump the bed and trap her in a bear hug. She pulls the shirts off her head and we kiss.
Okay, now you’ve made a five minute task take ten minutes ‘cuz you’ll have to refold your shirts. Good job honey.
As you already pointed out, what does it matter how long it takes? I’ve got all day to get packed.
Maybe not all day given how we spend the next hour but that’s nobody’s business but our own. Afterwards, we lay on the bed amidst a pile of my clothes that now need to be washed before I can fold ‘em and cram ‘em into my suitcase.
Sarah decides now would be a good time for serious conversation. I’d like to roll over and catch a quick nap but that’s not an option for a happily married man... if he wants to stay a happily married.
I’ve never seen you so focused before. This match means a lot to you, doesn’t it?
Damn right it does. I hear the whispers in the locker room. I know what the dirt sheets are saying. Frank Lynn doesn’t deserve to be champion. He stole the international Championship from Brennan after he stole the Golden Opportunity from Whitner. He’s going to choke at SuperBrawl just like he did last time.
They’re just jealous. They see what you’ve done in the past year and they want some of it for themselves. If they can’t have it, then they’ll do whatever they can to tear you down.
Oh that’s some of it but there's also a nugget of truth in each criticism. I didn’t really beat David Brennan. I know it. That’s why I fight so hard to keep the International Championship. Every time I successfully defend it I make a better case that I am a deserving champion.
When you beat Whitner and Draven in the ladder match will that really change anyone’s opinion?
A question I’ve asked myself many times.
Probably not. People will always find something negative to say.
So why do you care what they think? Do your own thing and be happy that you get to come home to me and Laura. We’ll always love you no matter what.
There is one person who’s opinion I can change.
And who pray tell would that be?
Me.
Dramatic pause. Well, I’d like to think if this was a movie it would be a dramatic pause. Sarah looks at me like I’m wasting her time.
What I needed was a match with David Brennan, a real match, not some cash in on an injured Brennan. He’s gone now so it will never happen. I’ll never know if I could really beat him for the title I took from him.
So you punish yourself instead. You let the guilt eat away at you until you get yourself booked into a triple threat ladder match. Why not go the full monte and give yourself a dozen lashes every night before bed?
Hmmm, she has a point. I did contribute pretty heavily into my SuperBrawl match, what with my bad refereeing in the number one contender match right up to demanding that Lila make it a ladder match. Maybe I am a masochist who would enjoy self-flagellation.
I’ll pass. I can handle Ante and Tyler in a ladder match. It won’t be easy but I’ll get it done. It should erase a few of my sins and I’ll feel better about myself afterwards.
I hope so. You haven’t done anything to feel guilty about. You should be happy. You deserve it.
Having made her point, Sarah gives me a peck on the cheek, gets up, throws some clothes on, and heads downstairs to make dinner. I gather up my clothes, throw them in the laundry basket, and it's off to the laundry room.
* * *
10 am the next day and I’m packed and ready to head off to Logan for my flight to Dallas. Sarah joins me on the drive so she can take the car back home. No way am I leaving the Impala in long term parking and I refuse to leave for a show in any other vehicle.
The Impala is my good luck charm. The Winchester’s always take their Impala when they go off to fight monsters, demons, and not so angelic angels. I take mine when I’m off to battle the Whitners and Dravens of the WFWF. One of my silly superstitions, right along with always putting on my right boot first and taping my left wrist first.
As we approach the airport drop off, we go though our typical “goodbye have a good match see you soon” talk.
I wish I could go with you. We haven’t had a real vacation in forever.
I wish you could too. You could hold my hand through all the meet and greets.
You’ll be fine. You’re more of a people person than you think. Besides, I’ll be there for the weekend after my parents arrive to take care of Laura. I have to keep watch over the Legacy wrestlers participating in the inter indy fed super show the day before SuperBrawl.
I’m not sure why she's reminding me about it. I used my newfound influence over Lila to get permission to attend the indy super show instead of the WFWF pre-show party. Daphne gets her chance to regain the Legacy Women’s Championship. No way am I gonna’ miss it.
Aren’t you the lucky one? The Dixons are on the card, right? You’ll have your hands full with them good ole boys.
No worse than you’ll have it with Whitner and Draven. I don't want you having too much fun this week. Stay focused. I’ll be somewhere in the crowd cheering you on so you better win.
That is the plan.
Before I get out of the car, she takes my hands and stares into my eyes.
You can do it. Let go of the guilt and believe in yourself. You can beat Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven.
I can do it.
You will win.
I will win.
Good. Now kiss me goodbye and get out before you miss your flight.
I don’t miss my flight but I do miss my wife and my daughter. Life of a wrestler. It’s not all wine and roses. Winning makes it worth it. Being a champion makes it worth it.
Dallas, TX : May 3, 2019
Giving Back
Day 2 of my WFWF All Access adventures. I’m visiting the Dallas Medical Center to spread some good will to sick children. It’s a lot harder than it sounds.
The nurse who accompanies me on my tour gives me the rundown on each kid. Thanks so very f***ing much for that. I just love knowing which ones are going to live and which ones are going to die BEFORE I see them. Don’t tell me that sh*t until AFTER I see them. How the hell am I supposed to cheer them up when I’m getting more depressed by the minute?
Halfway through the tour I’m wishing I was Drakz. I know that callous MFer wouldn’t care, could brush it all off with a fake smile and meaningless platitudes. He’d probably tell the terminal ones to ask for the good drugs and raise some hell before they go.
That’s not me. I can’t help but care when I see them, so tiny and frail yet full of hope. I want to help them. The only way I can help is to put on my happy face and provide a five to ten minute distraction from whatever it is that ails them.
I feel dirty.
I enter a room where there are two patients: Ricky and Lucy. I’m told that boys and girls don’t usually room together but they are brother and sister with the same cancer going through the same treatments. More information I didn’t really need to know before my visit. Their parents must be emotional wrecks.
As soon as I enter, Ricky’s eyes light up like Times Square on New Years Eve.
Hey champ, how ya’ doin’?
Holy sh*t! You’re Frank Lynn!
The nurse takes it upon herself to act like his mother and admonish him for his language.
Language Ricky. Show your visitor some respect.
Aw hell, Frank don’t mind, do you? You say worse on the TV all the f***ing time
I shrug and make a guilty smile at the nurse. The kid has a point.
RICKY! Language!
He’s not wrong. You know what Ricky? I can tell just from the way you talk. You’re a fighter, aren’t you?
Sure am. I’m on the wrestling team. Well, I was before…
I don’t let him finish that sentence. I’m here to cheer him up and that is not a cheery thought.
And you will be again after you beat this, won’t you?
Hell yes! I want to be just like you.
RICKY! Do I have to wash your mouth out with soap?
From the tone of her voice I believe she might actually do it but I say cut him some slack. He’s been through hell from the looks of it.
I give the nurse a sympathetic look and nod towards the door. She takes the hint.
Okay, I can’t hear any more of this so I’m just going to wait in the hallway.
You really should listen to the nurses. They’re the ones who take care of you in the hospital. All the doctors are good for is giving orders. You don’t want to piss off somebody who may give you an IV later.
I wink at Ricky and he winks back, a knowing exchange between two people who have had more than their fair share of IVs and know the pain that comes when the nurse misses the vein. Ever want to know what a pin cushion feels like?
I can’t believe you’re here. You’re my favorite wrestler in the WHOLE WORLD!
I’ve heard that several times on my tour but this is the first time I actually believe it. Ricky is too enthusiastic to be faking.
We spend the next few minutes going over every big match I’ve had, the good and the bad. Ricky is a virtual encyclopedia of Frank Lynn knowledge, knowing minor details that even I forgot. He isn’t even bothered by my cash in win over Brennan. As he put it “Them’s the breaks. Sucks to be him.”
Our time together passes quickly. I give him some swag: T-shirt, hat, kid’s replica International Championship belt - all signed. Unlike some of the other kids, I’m positive these aren’t gonna’ end up on the Bay in a week.
Then I ask him the same dreaded question I’ve asked every kid before him.
Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?
Can you cure cancer?
Ouch. The kid doesn’t pull his punches.
Sorry Ricky, that’s a big fat no from me. I’m a wrestler, not a doctor.
I hope that didn’t come off too callous. I’ll have to make a fat donation to the American Cancer Society.
I’m pullin’ your leg. You should have seen your face. You turned white as ghost. Hahaha.
His laughter turns to a coughing fit. I start to get worried but he gets control back, sips some water, and appears perfectly fine again.
Can I get a picture with you?
Now that is a request I can grant. It’s all about realistic expectations kid.
My phone is over there, next to that pile of books.
I find his phone and approach the bed so we can get in frame together.
Say cheese.
Oh hell no. I’m not taking this picture lying down.
Ricky motions me back from the bed, presses the button to alert the nurse, and starts to get up. The nurse comes in and is shocked.
Ricky! What are you doing?
I’m taking a picture with Frank. I want to stand up for it. Here’s my phone. Can you take the picture?
The nurse looks at me, I shrug and mumble that it wasn’t my idea. She goes over to Ricky and helps him stand. I guess she’s dealt with him enough to know when he is serious about something and it is better to let him have his way.
I have to say, I’m impressed by Ricky. He doesn’t look like he can stand but with minimal help from the nurse, he manages it. Ricky is on wobbly legs with several tubes dangling everywhere being held up by first the nurse and then me, but he is standing. The ear to ear sh*t eating grin on his face tells me its all worth it to Ricky.
The nurse takes the picture as quickly as she can, but is careful to make sure she got a good pic before saying “Got it”.
Ricky almost folds up as I help him back into the bed.
Damn that kid has some inner strength. He puts most adults I know to shame.
Cool. I can’t wait to show Dad. He’s a fan too even though he’s too embarrassed to admit. He says wrestling is for kids.
For kids?!?!? Has his Dad ever seen the sh*t that goes on in the WFWF? I’m not letting Laura watch the WFWF until she leaves for college.
Then another high pitched voice from behind the curtain yells out.
Are you ever going to shut up so Frank can visit me?
The nurse pulls the curtain back and there is Lucy, a year younger than her brother with the same cancer. She has on a blue wig and an arm covered by dozens of Kandi bracelets (I think that’s what they’re called). I don’t have to ask to know which WFWF wrestler is her favorite.
You know Mesh, don’t you?
Of course I do. We work together.
You beat her in the gauntlet. That wasn’t nice.
It wasn’t personal. Mesh knows that. One of us had to win and one of us had to lose. It was my night to win.
Lucy is very unhappy with me. She gets red in the face and I’m scared for what may come next. I don’t need a sick child throwing a temper tantrum because I won a wrestling match.
Ricky comes to my defense, although perhaps not for the best.
Shut your mouth Lucy. Mesh is a silly girl. Frank beat her because he’s better.
Mesh is not a silly girl. She’s a champ!
Frank is the champ! Has been for over a year!
Mesh is the Vanguard Knight!
Frank is the Lethal Weapon!
You’re a poopy-face!
I’m rubber and you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!
The nurse steps in before I see enough to convince me that Laura will be an only child.
Ricky… Lucy… settle down.
You’re both right. Mesh is not a silly girl, she’s a damn good professional wrestler and a champion, just like me. I just happen to be a little bit better.
Ricky nods approvingly while Lucy takes some satisfaction that I said something nice about her hero Mesh. They stop yelling at each other so it’s definitely an improvement.
So is there anything I can do for either of you?
Beat Ante and Tyler! You have to kick their @$$es.
Watch Mesh’s back and make sure she don’t get hurt. You owe her.
Great, a sick kid trying to drop a guilt bomb on me for doing my job. If she was an adult I’d be all over her for “What exactly do I owe Mesh?” but that might not come off very well in this situation.
Well Ricky, I will do my best to win my match. I always do. Try my best that is.
You HAVE to win. Promise me. Promise you will win.
*sigh*
Okay Ricky, I promise. Just for you.
Lucy is pouting now, thinking I’ve ignored her request.
What about Mesh? Will you make sure Anna doesn’t hurt her.
Mesh is a big girl and can watch herself. But I’ll be there if things get out of hand, just for you.
Please don’t let things get out of hand. I don’t need to get any hate mail from Lucy or her parents when I don’t swoop down like some guardian angel if Mesh gets into serious trouble in her match.
Okay, I think this has gone on long enough. Mr. Lynn has more patients to visit and the two of you need your rest. Say goodbye.
You heard the nurse. Time for me to go.
I turn to the nurse as I reach into my swag bag.
But first, a few gifts for Lucy.
As I approach Lucy, laying in her bed with a slight pout still on her face I realize there is something I can give that isn’t in my swag bag that she will appreciate much much more than some free Frank Lynn merch. That may have been good enough for her brother Ricky but not for Lucy.
I see her phone on the table next to her and pick it up, open the camera app, sit down next to Lucy who sits up next to me. As I hold the camera up to snap a picture, she grunts in disapproval.
Wait… you have to put this on.
And then she reaches into a bag and hands me a bright blue wig, obviously a spare in case something happens to the one already on her head.
I make a goofy pouty face and in a mockingly whiny voice ask:
Do I have to?
YES! You hafta’!
So with as much exaggerated discomfort as I can muster for Lucy’s entertainment, I put the blue wig on, we hold up matching peace sign signs while sticking out our tongues, and I snap the pic. Then I send out the pic in a tweet from Lucy’s account, adding the text:
He’s not Mesh but I guess he’ll do! Gonna’ beat cancer just like Mesh’s gonna’ beat Anna Ahriman!
I hand the phone to Lucy so she can enjoy the pic, the tweet, and (fingers crossed) the reply from Mesh that is sure to come since she can’t stay away from social media. Twitter and Instagram are Mesh’s crack.
I turn to the nurse who has been waiting patiently, stifling laughter at the sight of the big bad Frank Lynn in a blue wig.
Now I can go.
As we leave the room I hear a squeal of delight from Lucy. Of course Mesh responded already. I swear she’s jacked into her phone like Neo to the Matrix.
I have to admit, Ricky and Lucy somehow managed to lift my spirits during what could be a very depressing hospital visit. They showed me something special, the ability to be dealt sh*t in life and turn it into a tasty sh*t sandwich.
It’s not about how long you’re a star in the sky, it’s how bright you shine while you’re there.
I could learn a thing or two from Ricky and Lucy. And Mesh too, whose star certainly shines really f*cking bright in the WFWF.
I want to be remembered as one of the brightest stars in the WFWF.
To do that I have to outshine Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven in our match at SuperBrawl X AND our match has to outshine all the other matches on the card.
In the Spotlight
Well boys, I hope you’re ready. The spotlight will never shine any brighter than it is about to in Dallas at SuperBrawl X. Frank Lynn vs Ante Whitner vs Tyler Draven for the International Championship… in a ladder match!
Lots of great matches on the card but for my money our ladder match is going to steal the show. You two have been hounding and harassing me for months. Now I finally get my chance. No more surprise sneak attacks, no coming at me after I’ve already taken a beating from my official opponent, no more games.
The bullsh*t is over. I know exactly when and where you are coming at me.
I’m ready.
Are you?
* * *
Tell me Ante, what crutch are you gonna’ be leaning on this time? Drugs, alcohol, God? Doesn’t matter which because no crutch will be enough to help you beat me. The fact that you are always looking for crutches tells me you aren’t ready. If you want to be a champion, you have to believe in yourself. I don’t think you do. Too many past failures have chipped away at your confidence. You’re a shadow of the man who was once the longest reigning National Champion.
I don’t need crutches. I rely on my talent and my experience. That’s all a good wrestler needs. My talent has been enough to beat you in the past and my experience, particularly against you, has taught me all I need to know to beat you again.
There was a time when you were the better man, like at the last SuperBrawl. That’s why I asked for a ladder match again. I want retribution. I want to be the one on top of the ladder asking “Are you with me?” I want to erase the memory of LeeRoy Jenkins costing me the Golden Opportunity. And yes, it was LeeRoy who beat me that night as much as it was you. LeeRoy is no where to be seen so that’s one less crutch for you to lean on.
Surely you’ve realized that this time I’m the favorite. I’ve caught up to and surpassed you. I am the better wrestler. I sent you packing to parts unknown where you found religion. Now you’re back for one more lesson from your new master. No crutch, not even God himself, is gonna’ be enough to get you back on top.
Don’t think I forgot about how you injured Joe Bishop and Daphne either. You have much to answer for and I find it annoying that all this time you’ve been on your quest for redemption not once have you asked for forgiveness from Joe or Daphne for what you did.
You want redemption? You don’t deserve it! You’re scum that I will take great pleasure in beating down one more time. That’s what you deserve.
The greatest rivalry of the past two years is about to come to an abrupt end. I want to put you down for retribution and closure. I want to beat you so bad you never bother me again. I want to be done with you. There are other wrestler’s more deserving of a shot at my title than you.
* * *
Tell me Tyler, can you do better in a ladder match with two opponents than you could in a one on one singles match in the gauntlet? You can’t beat me one one one, what makes you think you can beat both me and Ante Whitner at the same time?
Are you finally going to have moment big enough to make people forget that your only claim to fame is making like Negan with a baseball bat? I’m sure that’s what you want. You’ve been whining for months about the constant reminders of your assault on Trace Demon.
“Look at me! I’m not a criminal! I’m a wrestler! Waaaaaaahhhhh!”
Here’s some advice for you: do something to make us forget about it. I know that has to be high on your list of reasons for wanting to win this match. You need the International Championship so people will forget that you’re a piece of sh*t.
Pro tip: the people will never forget. Just look at Drakz. All those world title reigns and the popular opinion is still that he’s a piece of sh*t.
Need I remind you that you may get the credit for removing Trace Demon from the WFWF but I was the one who did all the hard work? I beat Trace inside the ring, put him to sleep. I broke his spirit. You came along and broke his body afterwards. You’re swimming in my sloppy seconds mate.
What’s your other motivation?
Money.
It doesn’t matter what the cause is that drives you to want more money, at its core it’s greed. Greed isn’t a very good motivation because if one get rich quick plan fails, there’s always another… and another… and another. That’s the way of greed.
If you lose at SuperBrawl there will always be another rainbow with a pot of gold at the end for you to chase, maybe a Vanguard title shot since you beat Mesh in the gauntlet. That way of thinking is gonna’ limit how far you’re willing to go, ‘specially in a ladder match. You’re going to find out that plan A is really f***ing dangerous and you’ll have thoughts of “This sh*t isn’t worth it. I should move on to plan B.”
Your greed is no match for my desire to be the best wrestler in the WFWF. I want greatness and there is no plan B for attaining it. I will win because I have to.
* * *
There’s a reason for all the annoying cliches that get used to refer to SuperBrawl. The shows of shows. The grandest stage of them all. And so on.
It’s because the spotlight never shines any brighter than it will in Dallas. Getting to the WFWF is just the first step in a WFWF career. Getting on the SuperBrawl card in a championship match is the real end goal for all of us.
I’ve been there and tasted defeat.
Not gonna’ lie, it sucked. Took me months to recover.
It’s not going to happen again.
This time I am the defending International Champion. Not only is my pride on the line, but so is MY title.
I am the one in this match with the most to lose and the least to gain. That’s why you’ll have to kill me to beat me. I didn't come this far to fail again at SuperBrawl.
Ante and Tyler aren’t the only ones fighting for redemption. So am I. I need to redeem myself too… for my loss at SuperBrawl IX… for my cash in title win over David Brennan… for the failure of the revolution.
SuperBrawl is the end of a three year journey for me.
All this time spent honing my skill so I can compete with the best in the world.
All this time spent telling everybody that all I crave is competition so I can test myself, prove that I belong.
All this time scratching and clawing my way to the top.
That time is past. I proved myself. Not only do I belong here, I’m on top now.
Ante and Tyler are chasing me.
They won’t catch me.
I’m not afraid of the spotlight. It will bring the best out of me as I once and for all get all the monkeys off my back. No more Ante Whitner. No more Tyler Draven. No more doubts of any kind.
I am the International Champion.
Have been for over 400 days. I’m going to win this ladder match and go on to become the longest reigning International Champion in WFWF history.
It’s my destiny.
Ante Whitner.
Tyler Draven.
You can’t stop destiny.
Get the f*** out of my way.
So let’s get right to it. There’s an elephant in the room named Tugarin Zmey.
Not gonna’ lie, I’m disappointed with how the gauntlet turned out for me. I wanted that guaranteed world title shot more than you could possibly know. I want MY shot at Drakz (or will it be Kyzer?) for the world title.
But Tugarin Zmey beat me… again.
Not a knock on Tugarin but his two victories over me are somewhat tarnished. First time around Whitner and Draven gave him the assist. Second time I was nursing bruised ribs.
Tugarin has his two wins over me and yet I still want to know what will happen when we meet with both of us at one hundred per cent and there’s no interference. One day we’ll find out but for now I didn’t get the job done. Tugarin Zmey got the title shot.
I can take solace that perhaps it was a bit of karma. Tugarin had his SuperBrawl world title match taken away from him for no reason other than Drakz is a whiny little bitch and Lila folds faster than a poker player holding two eight unsuited so this may be the universe’s way of saying sorry. I sincerely hope he makes the most of it.
Don’t think my loss to Zmey is a pre-cursor to a SuperBrawl loss for me. Let’s not forget that I did beat Tyler Draven and the Vanguard Champion Mesh with those very same bruised ribs. Even at less than my best I was more than good enough to get two wins in three matches during the gauntlet. That’s a solid nights work I can be proud of.
The ribs will be healed by the time we roll into Dallas. My resolve is as firm as ever.
Every wrestler in the WFWF has his ups and downs. I hit a low spot in Phoenix. I’m hitting a high spot in Dallas.
My journey also hit a low spot at the last SuperBrawl. I won’t let it happen again. Same ladder match, only two opponents instead of five this time. Two opponents I am quite familiar with. Two opponents I have beaten in the past. I know what needs to be done and how to do it.
And this time I’m not trying to claim a championship. I’m defending MY International Championship. That makes a huge difference. I will fight tooth and nail to my very last breath to defend what is mine.
Last SuperBrawl I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. This time I have everything to lose. Everything I’ve said and done over the past year is on the line. SuperBrawl X is where the “fighting champion” Frank Lynn puts up or shuts up.
Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven better be ready because neither one of them is Tugarin Zmey and recent history has shown that is who you have to be to beat me.
WFWF SuperBrawl X RP
In the Spotlight
featuring Frank Lynn
“Just give me the spotlight and I’m gonna’ seize it. Okay?” - Zach Stone
Framingham, MA : April 12, 2019
A Day of Rest and Relaxation
Doctor’s orders: no physical contact until the ribs are fully healed.
Puts a damper on my training for Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven but it’s not as bad as it could be. I just faced Tyler Draven and put him down. I’ve faced Ante Whitner so many times that I know all his tricks. The ladder match isn’t one I need to do as much prep for as I would if I was facing someone I’ve never been in the ring with before.
My preparation for the match boils down to making sure I’m in peak physical condition. Sure, I’ll watch some film and do some sparring sessions with Legacy guys who have a similar style to Ante and Tyler, but it’s just to remind me of what I already know.
I have plenty of time for that. For now, I’m following doctor’s orders. I’m taking a day off for some rest and relaxation.
The gym is empty. Usually, there are a few Legacy wrestler’s here training with me or on Saturdays a bunch of kids I work with and Daphne practically lives here but today I have the place to myself.
People often ask me how do I relax. I realize I can come off rather intense, someone who perhaps doesn’t know what fun is. Wouldn’t they be shocked to see me now?
I tune the strings on my guitar again. I bent the hell out of them while playing “Interstellar Overdrive” going for maximum distortion. Once the guitar is back in tune, I jump right into Beck’s “Motherf***er”, adding my own poorly sung vocals.
Hey you stupid @$$hole!
Everyone is out to get you mother f***er!
It’s a short song, over almost before it even starts, but it’s very therapeutic. It’s balls to the walls loud and the lyrics hit home. I am the International Champion and everyone is out to get me. The song fires me up, gets me in the mindset that this sh*t is mine and you can’t have it.
Up next, I make loud feedback driven noise with the guitar, making full use of my effects pedal. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s pure noise. You make of it whatever you want. For me, it’s a way to clear my head and let my thoughts wander.
And wander they do.
I close my eyes and I can see Ante Whitner standing on top of a ladder holding the Golden Opportunity briefcase.
Are you with me?
No, I’m not with you Ante. To borrow from you, I want redemption. I should have won. This time I will. I cannot live with the fact that Trevor Wolfe has more wins at SuperBrawl than I do. That’s f***ing embarrassing.
Keeping my eyes closed while the feedback washes over me, I see David Brennan in the corner of the ring, his face having been bashed in by a pipe. Daphne is screaming at me.
This is it Frank! This is your chance! Cash in and take his belt! No one can stop you!
It doesn’t feel right. Brennan is in no condition for a match. This is not how I want to become a champion. But Daphne keeps pushing. The crowd is cheering. Everybody wants this but me. I crack. For all my bravado, my greatest victory in the WFWF, if you can even call it that, is the result of a moment of weakness.
And the moment fades away, as it should. Some things are best forgotten. If only I could. If only Brennan had shown any interest at all in a proper rematch so I could know I really deserved the belt I so proudly carry around.
My trip down memory lane continues as I keep on punishing my guitar, producing pure chaotic noise. I go all the way back to my very first night in the WFWF. All the aches return from the street fight against Mike Jette. I won but I wasn’t sure if it was worth it. Then I ran into Samael Ahriman, who dropped these words of wisdom on me.
If you don’t let this place f*ck with your head you could go far.
Well I’ve gone far… all the way to the International Championship… but have I done it without letting this place f*** with my head?
Sometimes I feel like a thief in the night always looking over his shoulder for the police.
Sometimes I feel like the king of the world, unstoppable as I head towards my destiny to be a world champion, one of the greats in the history of the WFWF.
Sometimes I’m just confused. What’s more important? Image or results? Win at all costs or lose with honor? Be a champion or be a good man?
Is it possible to be both? It wasn’t for Joshua Dean, Joe Bishop, or Penny Shannon. Good men (and woman) who couldn’t be champion for very long. It isn’t possible for Drakz. A not so good man who almost always has a belt around his waist. Who am I to think I can do it better than any of them?
Almost unconsciously, my guitar noise has evolved into the opening chords of “Something” by the Butthole Surfers. I slide right into singing (actually more like screaming) the vocals.
Something she said to me last night,
Something she said to me,
She’s been talking behind my back again,
This time she’s gonna bleed.
And then right into one of my favorite epic guitar leads of all time. It’s not as smooth as Hendrix or as polished as Eddie Van Halen but nothing gets my blood pumping quite like Paul Leary’s guitar playing. My guitar playing is a poor man’s substitute but it works for me. The windows in the gym rattle as I beat the bloody hell out of my guitar and all thoughts of confusion and inadequacy are pummeled to the back of my mind.
Now this is rest and relaxation! Sweet pours out of me as I try to emulate every last screeching note of the guitar solo that goes on for almost ten minutes. No problem getting my cardio in today even on a day of supposed rest.
What the hell is that noise?
What was that? I was so into playing the song that I didn’t see Daphne entering the gym. I think she said something but I couldn’t hear. Her lips are moving but the guitar drowns out her words.
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE?!?!?
I heard her that time. It didn’t hurt that she climbed into the ring and got right in my face before shouting at the top of her lungs.
And how dare she. The Butthole Surfers are not noise. They are one of the most underrated great bands of all time. This is an affront I must address immediately.
I stop playing but leave the volume up on the guitar, lean it against the amp so the last note drags out in a feedback loop that keeps the sonic assault going.
That is the Butthole Surfers. They’re a great band. Show some respect.
That was garbage… pure unadulterated noise… I think my ears are bleeding.
She pokes a finger in her ear, then checks it for blood. Funny girl. Real funny.
Good. That means I was doing it right.
I know you can play guitar well when you want to. Why do you play that noise?
One man’s noise is another man’s masterpiece. The Butthole Surfers are awesome. Certainly better than that Despacito song you’re always listening to.
That remark earns me the evil eye. Then she starts to sing the song the accursed song and dance along. My turn for my ears to bleed.
Please stop before I have to gouge out both my ears and eyes.
Mercifully, she does, all smiles now.
There’s no accounting for taste, of which you clearly have none.
Says the girl who still has a Ricky Martin picture in her locker.
She punches me lightly in the ribs, then makes an “oops” face as I wince. The ribs are better but still need more time to heal.
Oh God, I’m sorry. Are you okay?
I’ll be fine. Just need a few more days to heal.
I won’t hit you again, I promise.
Her expression changes, becoming more serious. Play times over. She’s switching to manager mode.
I have to ask, even if you can’t do anything with physical contact, is this really a good alternate way to train?
I pick up the guitar, set the effects pedal to something mellow, and quietly play “Castles Made of Sand” before I answer.
There’s more to training than weights, cardio, and sparring. I need to get my head straight too. Playing guitar helps me do that.
Daphne is enjoying the Hendrix song much more than the Butthole Surfers, her toes tapping along as she sits on the top turnbuckle.
Is it working? Is your head on straight? Are you ready to go kick Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven to the curb?
Absolutely. I have to. This match is everything to me. It’s my chance to make up for the last ladder match. To make up for how I won the title in the first place. To step into the spotlight and say ‘Yes, I am that damn good.’
What if you lose? Ladder matches are unpredictable. The best man doesn’t always win.
This time the best man will win. Failure is not an option.
Daphne stares at me, making her assessment as I continue to play and her toes continue to tap.
It’s good to hear you say it. As your manager and friend, I can only tell you so many times that you are the best before it loses its impact. You have to believe it. I think you do and that means you’re ready to dominate.
It’s all or nothing for me. Win and be a worthy champion or lose and be a hypocrite who curtain jerks his way to a completely forgettable career of what could have been but never was.
Daphne jumps off the turnbuckle and kisses my cheek.
You are the best. You deserve the title and you deserve to win at SuperBrawl. Never stop believing in yourself.
She slides out of the ring and walks towards the door, then stops just short and turns back to me.
If playing that godawful noise helps, then by all means get back to it. I’ll be leaving now to reach a safe distance for my ears.
BEST BAND EVER! One day I’ll convert you.
Daphne walks out, closing the door behind her, and I quickly switch from “Castles Made of Sand” to “Goofy’s Concern”.
I don't give a f*** about the FBI!
I don't give a f*** about the CIA!
I don't give a f*** about the cash on the street!
I don't give a f*** about anything!
Another good song for motivation. I can’t give a f*** whether I deserve the title or not. It’s mine now. That’s all that matters. Cross, Whitner, and Draven all failed to take it from me. SuperBrawl X will be no different. They think they’re better than me. They’re wrong. I’m the f***ing champ.
I’m going to prove it one more time in the ladder match.
Framingham, MA : April 30, 2019
Off to War
It feels odd to pack a full suitcase for a show. I’m used to an overnight bag with a single change of clothes.
But “the show of shows” comes with a week of "WFWF All Access”, an assortment of public appearances, autograph/photo ops, and a whole lot of glad handing with people I don’t know who think they’re my best friend because they read some crap about me on the dirtsheets. I try not to be a cynic but it’s hard when a total stranger in a DB F’N WF t-shirt comes up to me claiming to be my biggest fan going all the way back to my college wrestling days.
I’ll have to grin and bare it because it is expected of every WFWF superstar. At least I’ll know that Drakz is suffering as much as I am, maybe even more given how little respect he has for… well anybody.
I count how many days I'll be in Dallas - eight it turns out - and start grabbing clothes when Sarah walks in.
Packing already? Your flight isn’t until noon tomorrow.
Have to make sure I pack enough for the whole week.
It can’t be that hard. All you own are t-shirts and jeans. Grab a stack of each, toss in some underwear and socks… bam… you’re done.
When you put it like that…
I throw a stack of t-shirts at her. While she’s blinded I jump the bed and trap her in a bear hug. She pulls the shirts off her head and we kiss.
Okay, now you’ve made a five minute task take ten minutes ‘cuz you’ll have to refold your shirts. Good job honey.
As you already pointed out, what does it matter how long it takes? I’ve got all day to get packed.
Maybe not all day given how we spend the next hour but that’s nobody’s business but our own. Afterwards, we lay on the bed amidst a pile of my clothes that now need to be washed before I can fold ‘em and cram ‘em into my suitcase.
Sarah decides now would be a good time for serious conversation. I’d like to roll over and catch a quick nap but that’s not an option for a happily married man... if he wants to stay a happily married.
I’ve never seen you so focused before. This match means a lot to you, doesn’t it?
Damn right it does. I hear the whispers in the locker room. I know what the dirt sheets are saying. Frank Lynn doesn’t deserve to be champion. He stole the international Championship from Brennan after he stole the Golden Opportunity from Whitner. He’s going to choke at SuperBrawl just like he did last time.
They’re just jealous. They see what you’ve done in the past year and they want some of it for themselves. If they can’t have it, then they’ll do whatever they can to tear you down.
Oh that’s some of it but there's also a nugget of truth in each criticism. I didn’t really beat David Brennan. I know it. That’s why I fight so hard to keep the International Championship. Every time I successfully defend it I make a better case that I am a deserving champion.
When you beat Whitner and Draven in the ladder match will that really change anyone’s opinion?
A question I’ve asked myself many times.
Probably not. People will always find something negative to say.
So why do you care what they think? Do your own thing and be happy that you get to come home to me and Laura. We’ll always love you no matter what.
There is one person who’s opinion I can change.
And who pray tell would that be?
Me.
Dramatic pause. Well, I’d like to think if this was a movie it would be a dramatic pause. Sarah looks at me like I’m wasting her time.
What I needed was a match with David Brennan, a real match, not some cash in on an injured Brennan. He’s gone now so it will never happen. I’ll never know if I could really beat him for the title I took from him.
So you punish yourself instead. You let the guilt eat away at you until you get yourself booked into a triple threat ladder match. Why not go the full monte and give yourself a dozen lashes every night before bed?
Hmmm, she has a point. I did contribute pretty heavily into my SuperBrawl match, what with my bad refereeing in the number one contender match right up to demanding that Lila make it a ladder match. Maybe I am a masochist who would enjoy self-flagellation.
I’ll pass. I can handle Ante and Tyler in a ladder match. It won’t be easy but I’ll get it done. It should erase a few of my sins and I’ll feel better about myself afterwards.
I hope so. You haven’t done anything to feel guilty about. You should be happy. You deserve it.
Having made her point, Sarah gives me a peck on the cheek, gets up, throws some clothes on, and heads downstairs to make dinner. I gather up my clothes, throw them in the laundry basket, and it's off to the laundry room.
* * *
10 am the next day and I’m packed and ready to head off to Logan for my flight to Dallas. Sarah joins me on the drive so she can take the car back home. No way am I leaving the Impala in long term parking and I refuse to leave for a show in any other vehicle.
The Impala is my good luck charm. The Winchester’s always take their Impala when they go off to fight monsters, demons, and not so angelic angels. I take mine when I’m off to battle the Whitners and Dravens of the WFWF. One of my silly superstitions, right along with always putting on my right boot first and taping my left wrist first.
As we approach the airport drop off, we go though our typical “goodbye have a good match see you soon” talk.
I wish I could go with you. We haven’t had a real vacation in forever.
I wish you could too. You could hold my hand through all the meet and greets.
You’ll be fine. You’re more of a people person than you think. Besides, I’ll be there for the weekend after my parents arrive to take care of Laura. I have to keep watch over the Legacy wrestlers participating in the inter indy fed super show the day before SuperBrawl.
I’m not sure why she's reminding me about it. I used my newfound influence over Lila to get permission to attend the indy super show instead of the WFWF pre-show party. Daphne gets her chance to regain the Legacy Women’s Championship. No way am I gonna’ miss it.
Aren’t you the lucky one? The Dixons are on the card, right? You’ll have your hands full with them good ole boys.
No worse than you’ll have it with Whitner and Draven. I don't want you having too much fun this week. Stay focused. I’ll be somewhere in the crowd cheering you on so you better win.
That is the plan.
Before I get out of the car, she takes my hands and stares into my eyes.
You can do it. Let go of the guilt and believe in yourself. You can beat Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven.
I can do it.
You will win.
I will win.
Good. Now kiss me goodbye and get out before you miss your flight.
I don’t miss my flight but I do miss my wife and my daughter. Life of a wrestler. It’s not all wine and roses. Winning makes it worth it. Being a champion makes it worth it.
Dallas, TX : May 3, 2019
Giving Back
Day 2 of my WFWF All Access adventures. I’m visiting the Dallas Medical Center to spread some good will to sick children. It’s a lot harder than it sounds.
The nurse who accompanies me on my tour gives me the rundown on each kid. Thanks so very f***ing much for that. I just love knowing which ones are going to live and which ones are going to die BEFORE I see them. Don’t tell me that sh*t until AFTER I see them. How the hell am I supposed to cheer them up when I’m getting more depressed by the minute?
Halfway through the tour I’m wishing I was Drakz. I know that callous MFer wouldn’t care, could brush it all off with a fake smile and meaningless platitudes. He’d probably tell the terminal ones to ask for the good drugs and raise some hell before they go.
That’s not me. I can’t help but care when I see them, so tiny and frail yet full of hope. I want to help them. The only way I can help is to put on my happy face and provide a five to ten minute distraction from whatever it is that ails them.
I feel dirty.
I enter a room where there are two patients: Ricky and Lucy. I’m told that boys and girls don’t usually room together but they are brother and sister with the same cancer going through the same treatments. More information I didn’t really need to know before my visit. Their parents must be emotional wrecks.
As soon as I enter, Ricky’s eyes light up like Times Square on New Years Eve.
Hey champ, how ya’ doin’?
Holy sh*t! You’re Frank Lynn!
The nurse takes it upon herself to act like his mother and admonish him for his language.
Language Ricky. Show your visitor some respect.
Aw hell, Frank don’t mind, do you? You say worse on the TV all the f***ing time
I shrug and make a guilty smile at the nurse. The kid has a point.
RICKY! Language!
He’s not wrong. You know what Ricky? I can tell just from the way you talk. You’re a fighter, aren’t you?
Sure am. I’m on the wrestling team. Well, I was before…
I don’t let him finish that sentence. I’m here to cheer him up and that is not a cheery thought.
And you will be again after you beat this, won’t you?
Hell yes! I want to be just like you.
RICKY! Do I have to wash your mouth out with soap?
From the tone of her voice I believe she might actually do it but I say cut him some slack. He’s been through hell from the looks of it.
I give the nurse a sympathetic look and nod towards the door. She takes the hint.
Okay, I can’t hear any more of this so I’m just going to wait in the hallway.
You really should listen to the nurses. They’re the ones who take care of you in the hospital. All the doctors are good for is giving orders. You don’t want to piss off somebody who may give you an IV later.
I wink at Ricky and he winks back, a knowing exchange between two people who have had more than their fair share of IVs and know the pain that comes when the nurse misses the vein. Ever want to know what a pin cushion feels like?
I can’t believe you’re here. You’re my favorite wrestler in the WHOLE WORLD!
I’ve heard that several times on my tour but this is the first time I actually believe it. Ricky is too enthusiastic to be faking.
We spend the next few minutes going over every big match I’ve had, the good and the bad. Ricky is a virtual encyclopedia of Frank Lynn knowledge, knowing minor details that even I forgot. He isn’t even bothered by my cash in win over Brennan. As he put it “Them’s the breaks. Sucks to be him.”
Our time together passes quickly. I give him some swag: T-shirt, hat, kid’s replica International Championship belt - all signed. Unlike some of the other kids, I’m positive these aren’t gonna’ end up on the Bay in a week.
Then I ask him the same dreaded question I’ve asked every kid before him.
Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?
Can you cure cancer?
Ouch. The kid doesn’t pull his punches.
Sorry Ricky, that’s a big fat no from me. I’m a wrestler, not a doctor.
I hope that didn’t come off too callous. I’ll have to make a fat donation to the American Cancer Society.
I’m pullin’ your leg. You should have seen your face. You turned white as ghost. Hahaha.
His laughter turns to a coughing fit. I start to get worried but he gets control back, sips some water, and appears perfectly fine again.
Can I get a picture with you?
Now that is a request I can grant. It’s all about realistic expectations kid.
My phone is over there, next to that pile of books.
I find his phone and approach the bed so we can get in frame together.
Say cheese.
Oh hell no. I’m not taking this picture lying down.
Ricky motions me back from the bed, presses the button to alert the nurse, and starts to get up. The nurse comes in and is shocked.
Ricky! What are you doing?
I’m taking a picture with Frank. I want to stand up for it. Here’s my phone. Can you take the picture?
The nurse looks at me, I shrug and mumble that it wasn’t my idea. She goes over to Ricky and helps him stand. I guess she’s dealt with him enough to know when he is serious about something and it is better to let him have his way.
I have to say, I’m impressed by Ricky. He doesn’t look like he can stand but with minimal help from the nurse, he manages it. Ricky is on wobbly legs with several tubes dangling everywhere being held up by first the nurse and then me, but he is standing. The ear to ear sh*t eating grin on his face tells me its all worth it to Ricky.
The nurse takes the picture as quickly as she can, but is careful to make sure she got a good pic before saying “Got it”.
Ricky almost folds up as I help him back into the bed.
Damn that kid has some inner strength. He puts most adults I know to shame.
Cool. I can’t wait to show Dad. He’s a fan too even though he’s too embarrassed to admit. He says wrestling is for kids.
For kids?!?!? Has his Dad ever seen the sh*t that goes on in the WFWF? I’m not letting Laura watch the WFWF until she leaves for college.
Then another high pitched voice from behind the curtain yells out.
Are you ever going to shut up so Frank can visit me?
The nurse pulls the curtain back and there is Lucy, a year younger than her brother with the same cancer. She has on a blue wig and an arm covered by dozens of Kandi bracelets (I think that’s what they’re called). I don’t have to ask to know which WFWF wrestler is her favorite.
You know Mesh, don’t you?
Of course I do. We work together.
You beat her in the gauntlet. That wasn’t nice.
It wasn’t personal. Mesh knows that. One of us had to win and one of us had to lose. It was my night to win.
Lucy is very unhappy with me. She gets red in the face and I’m scared for what may come next. I don’t need a sick child throwing a temper tantrum because I won a wrestling match.
Ricky comes to my defense, although perhaps not for the best.
Shut your mouth Lucy. Mesh is a silly girl. Frank beat her because he’s better.
Mesh is not a silly girl. She’s a champ!
Frank is the champ! Has been for over a year!
Mesh is the Vanguard Knight!
Frank is the Lethal Weapon!
You’re a poopy-face!
I’m rubber and you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!
The nurse steps in before I see enough to convince me that Laura will be an only child.
Ricky… Lucy… settle down.
You’re both right. Mesh is not a silly girl, she’s a damn good professional wrestler and a champion, just like me. I just happen to be a little bit better.
Ricky nods approvingly while Lucy takes some satisfaction that I said something nice about her hero Mesh. They stop yelling at each other so it’s definitely an improvement.
So is there anything I can do for either of you?
Beat Ante and Tyler! You have to kick their @$$es.
Watch Mesh’s back and make sure she don’t get hurt. You owe her.
Great, a sick kid trying to drop a guilt bomb on me for doing my job. If she was an adult I’d be all over her for “What exactly do I owe Mesh?” but that might not come off very well in this situation.
Well Ricky, I will do my best to win my match. I always do. Try my best that is.
You HAVE to win. Promise me. Promise you will win.
*sigh*
Okay Ricky, I promise. Just for you.
Lucy is pouting now, thinking I’ve ignored her request.
What about Mesh? Will you make sure Anna doesn’t hurt her.
Mesh is a big girl and can watch herself. But I’ll be there if things get out of hand, just for you.
Please don’t let things get out of hand. I don’t need to get any hate mail from Lucy or her parents when I don’t swoop down like some guardian angel if Mesh gets into serious trouble in her match.
Okay, I think this has gone on long enough. Mr. Lynn has more patients to visit and the two of you need your rest. Say goodbye.
You heard the nurse. Time for me to go.
I turn to the nurse as I reach into my swag bag.
But first, a few gifts for Lucy.
As I approach Lucy, laying in her bed with a slight pout still on her face I realize there is something I can give that isn’t in my swag bag that she will appreciate much much more than some free Frank Lynn merch. That may have been good enough for her brother Ricky but not for Lucy.
I see her phone on the table next to her and pick it up, open the camera app, sit down next to Lucy who sits up next to me. As I hold the camera up to snap a picture, she grunts in disapproval.
Wait… you have to put this on.
And then she reaches into a bag and hands me a bright blue wig, obviously a spare in case something happens to the one already on her head.
I make a goofy pouty face and in a mockingly whiny voice ask:
Do I have to?
YES! You hafta’!
So with as much exaggerated discomfort as I can muster for Lucy’s entertainment, I put the blue wig on, we hold up matching peace sign signs while sticking out our tongues, and I snap the pic. Then I send out the pic in a tweet from Lucy’s account, adding the text:
He’s not Mesh but I guess he’ll do! Gonna’ beat cancer just like Mesh’s gonna’ beat Anna Ahriman!
I hand the phone to Lucy so she can enjoy the pic, the tweet, and (fingers crossed) the reply from Mesh that is sure to come since she can’t stay away from social media. Twitter and Instagram are Mesh’s crack.
I turn to the nurse who has been waiting patiently, stifling laughter at the sight of the big bad Frank Lynn in a blue wig.
Now I can go.
As we leave the room I hear a squeal of delight from Lucy. Of course Mesh responded already. I swear she’s jacked into her phone like Neo to the Matrix.
I have to admit, Ricky and Lucy somehow managed to lift my spirits during what could be a very depressing hospital visit. They showed me something special, the ability to be dealt sh*t in life and turn it into a tasty sh*t sandwich.
It’s not about how long you’re a star in the sky, it’s how bright you shine while you’re there.
I could learn a thing or two from Ricky and Lucy. And Mesh too, whose star certainly shines really f*cking bright in the WFWF.
I want to be remembered as one of the brightest stars in the WFWF.
To do that I have to outshine Ante Whitner and Tyler Draven in our match at SuperBrawl X AND our match has to outshine all the other matches on the card.
In the Spotlight
Well boys, I hope you’re ready. The spotlight will never shine any brighter than it is about to in Dallas at SuperBrawl X. Frank Lynn vs Ante Whitner vs Tyler Draven for the International Championship… in a ladder match!
Lots of great matches on the card but for my money our ladder match is going to steal the show. You two have been hounding and harassing me for months. Now I finally get my chance. No more surprise sneak attacks, no coming at me after I’ve already taken a beating from my official opponent, no more games.
The bullsh*t is over. I know exactly when and where you are coming at me.
I’m ready.
Are you?
* * *
Tell me Ante, what crutch are you gonna’ be leaning on this time? Drugs, alcohol, God? Doesn’t matter which because no crutch will be enough to help you beat me. The fact that you are always looking for crutches tells me you aren’t ready. If you want to be a champion, you have to believe in yourself. I don’t think you do. Too many past failures have chipped away at your confidence. You’re a shadow of the man who was once the longest reigning National Champion.
I don’t need crutches. I rely on my talent and my experience. That’s all a good wrestler needs. My talent has been enough to beat you in the past and my experience, particularly against you, has taught me all I need to know to beat you again.
There was a time when you were the better man, like at the last SuperBrawl. That’s why I asked for a ladder match again. I want retribution. I want to be the one on top of the ladder asking “Are you with me?” I want to erase the memory of LeeRoy Jenkins costing me the Golden Opportunity. And yes, it was LeeRoy who beat me that night as much as it was you. LeeRoy is no where to be seen so that’s one less crutch for you to lean on.
Surely you’ve realized that this time I’m the favorite. I’ve caught up to and surpassed you. I am the better wrestler. I sent you packing to parts unknown where you found religion. Now you’re back for one more lesson from your new master. No crutch, not even God himself, is gonna’ be enough to get you back on top.
Don’t think I forgot about how you injured Joe Bishop and Daphne either. You have much to answer for and I find it annoying that all this time you’ve been on your quest for redemption not once have you asked for forgiveness from Joe or Daphne for what you did.
You want redemption? You don’t deserve it! You’re scum that I will take great pleasure in beating down one more time. That’s what you deserve.
The greatest rivalry of the past two years is about to come to an abrupt end. I want to put you down for retribution and closure. I want to beat you so bad you never bother me again. I want to be done with you. There are other wrestler’s more deserving of a shot at my title than you.
* * *
Tell me Tyler, can you do better in a ladder match with two opponents than you could in a one on one singles match in the gauntlet? You can’t beat me one one one, what makes you think you can beat both me and Ante Whitner at the same time?
Are you finally going to have moment big enough to make people forget that your only claim to fame is making like Negan with a baseball bat? I’m sure that’s what you want. You’ve been whining for months about the constant reminders of your assault on Trace Demon.
“Look at me! I’m not a criminal! I’m a wrestler! Waaaaaaahhhhh!”
Here’s some advice for you: do something to make us forget about it. I know that has to be high on your list of reasons for wanting to win this match. You need the International Championship so people will forget that you’re a piece of sh*t.
Pro tip: the people will never forget. Just look at Drakz. All those world title reigns and the popular opinion is still that he’s a piece of sh*t.
Need I remind you that you may get the credit for removing Trace Demon from the WFWF but I was the one who did all the hard work? I beat Trace inside the ring, put him to sleep. I broke his spirit. You came along and broke his body afterwards. You’re swimming in my sloppy seconds mate.
What’s your other motivation?
Money.
It doesn’t matter what the cause is that drives you to want more money, at its core it’s greed. Greed isn’t a very good motivation because if one get rich quick plan fails, there’s always another… and another… and another. That’s the way of greed.
If you lose at SuperBrawl there will always be another rainbow with a pot of gold at the end for you to chase, maybe a Vanguard title shot since you beat Mesh in the gauntlet. That way of thinking is gonna’ limit how far you’re willing to go, ‘specially in a ladder match. You’re going to find out that plan A is really f***ing dangerous and you’ll have thoughts of “This sh*t isn’t worth it. I should move on to plan B.”
Your greed is no match for my desire to be the best wrestler in the WFWF. I want greatness and there is no plan B for attaining it. I will win because I have to.
* * *
There’s a reason for all the annoying cliches that get used to refer to SuperBrawl. The shows of shows. The grandest stage of them all. And so on.
It’s because the spotlight never shines any brighter than it will in Dallas. Getting to the WFWF is just the first step in a WFWF career. Getting on the SuperBrawl card in a championship match is the real end goal for all of us.
I’ve been there and tasted defeat.
Not gonna’ lie, it sucked. Took me months to recover.
It’s not going to happen again.
This time I am the defending International Champion. Not only is my pride on the line, but so is MY title.
I am the one in this match with the most to lose and the least to gain. That’s why you’ll have to kill me to beat me. I didn't come this far to fail again at SuperBrawl.
Ante and Tyler aren’t the only ones fighting for redemption. So am I. I need to redeem myself too… for my loss at SuperBrawl IX… for my cash in title win over David Brennan… for the failure of the revolution.
SuperBrawl is the end of a three year journey for me.
All this time spent honing my skill so I can compete with the best in the world.
All this time spent telling everybody that all I crave is competition so I can test myself, prove that I belong.
All this time scratching and clawing my way to the top.
That time is past. I proved myself. Not only do I belong here, I’m on top now.
Ante and Tyler are chasing me.
They won’t catch me.
I’m not afraid of the spotlight. It will bring the best out of me as I once and for all get all the monkeys off my back. No more Ante Whitner. No more Tyler Draven. No more doubts of any kind.
I am the International Champion.
Have been for over 400 days. I’m going to win this ladder match and go on to become the longest reigning International Champion in WFWF history.
It’s my destiny.
Ante Whitner.
Tyler Draven.
You can’t stop destiny.
Get the f*** out of my way.