Battle at the Garden RP: Old Friends

Pulitzi Household, East Yonkers, New York 

“HAAAPPPYYY BIRRRTHHDAYY ANNNNTTTEEEE!!!”


I rubbed the corners of my eyes to see Frankie and his mom, with smiles on their faces, handing me a beautiful, hand-crafted breakfast.


“Thank you guys. At least someone cares about me.”


“Oh, it’s ok dear. Now, rest a little and eat your breakfast. You deserve it on your special day.”


I thanked Frankie’s mom once again as she left the confines of Larry’s old bedroom. I’ve been living at Frankie’s house for a little while, ever since my dad left for w a new job one day and never returned. Same goes with Charlie, left for school one day and hasn’t been heard from since.


“Yo, eat your breakfast quickly. I gotta show you somethin’.”


“What is it?”


“A surprise. You’re gonna love it dude.”


Eager to know what this surprise is, I grabbed my fork and chowed down on the eggs and sausage Frankie’s mom had given me. The food itself wasn’t that tasty, but hey, at least it is the thought that counts. I turned off the mini-TV in the room and rushed downstairs. I had been watching re-runs of old school wrestling lately at Frankie’s house. It’s pretty interesting to see guys with problems like me turn into juggernauts of talent overnight.


“Where is it? What is it? Who is it?”


Rushing down the stairs, I had no idea what to expect. I mean, I’ve never been surprised in my life. 14 years of living on this planet, as of today of course, without any knowledge about surprises. Wow.


“I’m in the kitchen Ante!”


I turned into the corner of the kitchen and saw Frankie holding up two tickets. As I looked closer with my dwindling eyes, I read the text aloud.


“WFWF Presents: Battle at the Garden ’02!!??”


“You betcha!”


I sprint towards Frankie and hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe.


“Ya know, it’s something I meant to do with Larry years ago. But, now, I feel like you’re my real brother.”


His sentence stuck in my head for the following weeks to come. The event was scheduled for August 25th with the main event being The Shape versus Bomb in the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship tournament final. I was unbelievably excited to attend something that I’ve had interest in for the past year. When tapings occurred, I would ride my rusted bike to the nearest Internet café in Yonkers, sign on, and find the results of the show.


I thanked Frankie a million times over and asked him to hang out at my house. What I had and he didn’t was the WFWF Magazine. It was full of pictures, interviews, editorials and tips on how to be a wrestler, something Frankie has wanted to do ever since I met him in kindergarten. I told him to follow me down the block to my house and as we got in, I smelt something very strange. It wasn’t dad’s booze, it wasn’t gasoline. It was smoke.


“What in the hell are you doing here Ante?”


It was Charlie, holding a glass bong with suffocating smoke and a lighter.


“Um, Frankie and-“


“What the is Frankie doing here?”


Frankie looked at my brother with a blank stare. I don’t if he was as shocked as I was, but he kind of looked it.


“Get the out you two. Go prance around in underwear like your little wrestlers do.”


My bright blue eyes teared up as my eyebrows curved inwards. I rushed at Charlie and started to wail on his face. Being older and a little bit more developed, he shoved my frail body across the floor as he took his bong and whacked me in the face with it. By this time, Frankie had already booked out and left. It was just one on one for now.


“Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall…”


“DING, DING, DINNGGG!!!!”


With a bloody nose, I attacked Charlie with my dad’s folding chair.


“And a vicious shot by Ante Whitner with that steel chair. My god!”


Charlie, seeming to not be stunned by the chair took me by my throat and slammed me against the wall and landed some punches in my gut and face.


“And Charlie Whitner, absolutely doing anything not to lose here, goes after the face and gut of Ante!”


The rest of our fight was just pure punches by Charlie. His fists moved toward my face and gut as the speed of light. As my lifeless body fell to the floor, I turned my head to the doorway and saw someone walk in. It was my dad.



I smirked in victory as I entered the locker room following my debut match win over R.J Wilson and Gabriel Black.


“Hey good match kid! You’re really good.”


“Shut u- I mean thank you.”


The staff member looked at me with piercing eyes at that moment. I thought he was one of those demons sent down to finish me off.


I showered, got dressed and left before some of the matches began. I drove off to my hotel room and sat there staring at the blank TV screen. It wasn’t on, nor did I want to put it on. I stared and stared for hours until the maid interrupted, knocking on the door.


“Hello? Cleaning service!”


I opened the door with a stern, angry look on my face.


“WHAT DO YOU WANT!?”


“Sorry sir if I was interrupting you. I was asking if you needed-“


“Cleaning? Oh sure come in.”


The look on her face turned from bemused to confused. She entered the dimmed room to begin her cleaning process.


“This room is a disaster you know. I’m gonna go out for a little. Will this be done when I return?”


“Um, yes Mr. Whitner.”


“Good.”


I drove out to the nearest pharmacy to pick up my bipolar meds. I sometimes binge on what I’m supposed to take for my symptoms so I usually run out often.



“Holy crap man, this is awesome!”


“Hey no problem Ante. It’s your birthday present, so I’m here to celebrate it with you.”


I focused my attention back to the wrestlers in the ring. Our seats were almost at the top of the arena. Some of the people behind us had some nosebleeds because of it.


“1…2…3!!!”


“Oh my god! Frankie! Bomb won the champion!!!”


“Holy crap!!! I can’t believe it!!!”


It was a great show. I dreamed of being at the Garden once again, this time, I would be in the ring squaring off against a competitor. We returned to Penn Station to board the train back to Yonkers. I didn’t want to go home my brother’s smoke and my dad’s serious alcohol issues.


“Hey, Frankie. Why don’t we hang out a little longer and explore the city?”


“Um, I don’t know. It’s a pretty big city.”


“Come on. We’ll be fine dude.”


Frankie and his mom have been worried ever since 9/11. During those attacks, Larry, his brother was killed. He was a firefighter in the FDNY, but a bomb waiting to explode at home. Besides, MSG was nowhere near Ground Zero.


“Yo, follow me. This is the train to Hell’s Kitchen. Isn’t that where your mom works?”


“My mom is a stripper Ante. Do you really want to go there and see women like my mom dance around half-naked?”


We both laughed it off and wandered the streets of Manhattan. I saw those god damn rats from time to time but just avoided them as often as I could.


“Hey, you two.”


Some guy with a black hoodie walked out of a dark alley, approaching us


“Yeah?”


“Do you have any money? Phone? Beeper?”


“No.”


Frankie and I started walking a little bit faster, avoiding the man. As we came across another alley a couple of yards away from the first one, two other black hooded men came out and approached us.


“Where’s our money kids?”


“Yeah, where is it?”


“Umm…”


Three more guys came from across the street. I knew this was gonna get ugly anytime now.


“DING, DING, DING!!!!”


We stumbled back onto the train later on, covered in blood and bruises. Some woman offered to help us, but Frankie kindly said “no.”

Despite the beat down later on, that night was one of the best nights in my entire life. To see some of the greats battle each other at the Garden was just astounding.


“I’m home.”


“Well, look who decided to show up two hours late from his wrestling show.”


My dad stood up from his brown chair and stumbled a little to approach me. Well, another battle royal took place and that is all I’ll say from that.

Jersey City, New Jersey 

The WFWF gave me some crappy room in Jersey City to stay in until Battle at the Garden. They said I was booked for the show, but I had no clue who it could be.


“RING, RING, RING!!!”


I picked up my cell phone to see who was calling me. It was one of the bookers at WFWF.


“Hello?”


“Hey Ante. How are you?”


“Good. What’s going on?”


“I just got word that you are going to be in another triple threat match at Battle at the Garden. It will be against two rookies named Axel Thornstowe and Justin North. We’re not sure who is gonna win this match so keep in touch.”


“Alright, see you-“


“Wait, did I mention that whoever wins this match will fight the national champion at next month’s pay-per-view?”


“No. You did not mention that.”


“Alright, so, yeah. That’s the #1 contender match. Get to training and stuff Ante.”


“Ok, see you later.”


“Bye.”


Man, winning a big match against Gabriel Black and R.J Wilson isn’t enough to get me on the main card. Jeez, now, they put me against two new rookies to the business. Well, then again, I am not so much of a veteran myself.


Afterwards, the booker texted me back the numbers of both of my competitors. I shot a text at Thornstowe first.

"Hey Axel. Hope you are ready for Battle at the Garden. I know I am. I heard you come from a similar background like me. Mom died. Dad died. What else is there to accomplish? Surprised you were never able to kill yourself. What's holding you back man? Bipolar disorder? Schizophrenia? Cancer? I don't know what it is, but I'm pretty sure you won't stand a chance against me. Good luck. You're gonna need it. -AW"

I smiled with the same look I had after I won at Up the Garden Path. Then, I shot a text at North.

"Hello Justin. Heard you came from a wrestling family. Also heard you are more of a hardcore wrestler. What happened? Are you the ugly duckling of your wrestling family? Wow. You see, you want victory, so do I. You have physical scars, I have mental scars. What if I win at Battle at the Garden and get my shot at the national championship over you and Thornstowe? What, are we not gonna hear the end of it? Go ahead and be blunt and stubborn somewhere else. Because this match at Battle at the Garden will show you how great of a wrestler I am, winning two matches in a row and already being given a title shot. Have fun Justin, don't get any more scars on your chest. -AW"

I left the hotel room to the nearest gym in Jersey City. My body was in enough shape already. It’s just that you gotta put up a show for the fans and expect great feedback from them and those dirt sheet websites.


After a couple of hours of pumping iron at the gym, I drove back to Yonkers to see Frankie. I haven’t seen him in years, ever since I left for my first indie circuit show in 2009. I strolled down the block with my jet black Toyota Camry, passing by the old, yet familiar neighboring houses of my childhood. My left hand started twitching a little as I passed by the site of my house. The old grasses and weeds on the plot of where my house used to stand seemed to capture more light and hope than my house would in ten years.


I opened the door to Frankie’s house. It still looked the same it was thirteen years ago.


“Holy crap! Ante, is that you?


“Yeah, how are you man? It's been quite a while.”



(OOC: I know it's pretty early, but I started this after I completed my first piece. I added a few things here and there after more info became apparent so, overall, I think I did well for a second piece. I still feel I should build up the match more. Anyways, leave any feedback, positive or negative so I could improve. Thanks!)