Post by King Richius on May 23, 2016 10:15:51 GMT -5
Notes on formatting:
Frank: Spoken words by the person in bold
Narrative or descriptive text
Frank’s inner thoughts
The street fight at Black Hole Sun is over. Frank Lynn got his arm raised in victory but both men walked out winners. At least that’s how Frank Lynn sees it. The match wasn’t just about winning or losing, it was about showing that both men had the skill and the heart to succeed in the WFWF. Lynn and Jette put on a hell of a fight and sent a very clear message to the entire locker room: We may be rookies but you will take us seriously!
Frank has spent the last twenty minutes in the medical area being treated by one of the paramedics staffing the event. The paramedic knew he had a long night ahead of him so he worked with quiet efficiency to get the first of what was sure to be many casualties taken care of. Mike Jette was also being treated but Frank didn’t see him. Management was smart enough to treat opponents in separate areas to avoid any post-match altercations.
Frank hurt all over. The skin on his head was held together by stitches and wrapped in a bandage, some blood still managing to seep through slowly turning it from white to pink to blood red. He wondered if the other wrestlers would see it as badge of honor or a sign of stupidity. He has already forgotten how many stitches it took to close the cut on his head but it doesn’t matter. When you have to be stitched back together after a match, that tells enough of the story. The exact number is an unnecessary flourish that only a trivia geek needs to know.
After finishing with his head, the paramedic took care of the damage to Frank’s back caused by Jette’s kendo stick assault and being suplexed through a table. His back was a bloody criss cross pattern of bruises and welts that had to be cleaned and bandaged. The paramedic made the bandage tight so that it wouldn’t shift when he moved, so tight that Frank had to strain to take a breath. He really wanted to take a deep breath since he was still riding an adrenaline high and needed to relax. It proved not to be a problem though as the last thing the paramedic did was give him a foil packet containing two pills.
paramedic: Take one now and another in 4 hours for the pain, no driving and NO ALCOHOL.
The paramedic must have worked a WFWF show before and knew about their wild side if he felt the need to stress the NO ALCOHOL part so strongly. The paramedic kept talking.
paramedic: You should get some x-rays tomorrow. I don’t think you broke any ribs but get them checked anyway. For now, you’re good to go.
Frank gets up and makes his way slowly back to his locker to change out of his wrestling gear. He’d like to go faster so he can catch the rest of the show but his body won’t let him. He rounds a corner and runs right into Samael Ahriman. Frank immediately tries to hide, wishing he could turn invisible but that is impossible so he just looks down avoiding direct eye contact and mumbles.
Frank: Excuse me, sorry, I should watch where I’m going.
At first Samael looks indifferently at Frank but then recognizes him and smiles. Frank’s posture immediately changes as his initial embarrassment morphs into pride that a major WFWF star knows who he is.
Samael: You’re Frank Lynn, right? Nice match you had tonight. It takes some big brass balls to go into a street fight in your first match. You look like hell, but you pulled it off. Congrats on the win. If you don’t let this place f*ck with your head you could go far.
Frank: Thanks! Good luck in your match.
Samael: Thanks. I hope I don’t need it.
Samael walks away apparently satisfied that he has said all he needs to the rookie. Frank knows that was an insignificant encounter for Samael but for Frank it was much, much more. His decision to come to the WFWF was the right one if someone like Samael thought well of him.
By the time he got changed the painkiller had kicked in and the adrenaline had worn off. He fell asleep in front of his locker. He didn’t get to see any of the matches that night, a lost opportunity to see first hand what the future might have in store for him. He would have to watch the event on a PPV replay tomorrow.
Frank Lynn is getting dressed in a generic exam room having just gone through a thorough check-up by the WFWF staff doctor. The doctor is sitting at a small table in the corner of the room checking off a few items on some paperwork.
Doctor: Congratulations, Mr. Lynn. You have some bruises and a few stitches but other than that you are okay. I find that surprising considering the extremely physical nature of your match with Mr. Jette. At the very least I expected a concussion from the blows to the head but that was not the case. You must have a very hard head.
Frank: I’ve heard that before but probably not in the way you meant it. Either that or you have the most deadpan delivery of any comedian alive.
Doctor: Your health, like that of every wrestler in the WFWF, is my business and I don’t joke about it. The last thing we need is one of you showing up on the news suffering brain damage. It’s bad enough that most of you will have permanent scars from all the times you get lacerated.
He pauses to take a final look at Frank’s chart and sign it. He tears off a page and hands it to Frank.
Doctor: Give that to Ms. Sleater so she will know you have been cleared for competition. You can go now. I’ve got other victims… I mean patients to see.
Frank: Thanks doc. Don’t take it personal but I hope I don’t see you soon.
Frank leaves the medical offices and strolls through the hallways of the WFWF building. He checks his watch. He has plenty of time before his meeting with Lila Sleater. He takes his time walking around trying to collect himself. Physically he is beat up and wants nothing more than to take it easy with a cold drink and a good movie. Emotionally he has been and is still on an incredible high ever since his match at Black Hole Sun. He wants to get back in the ring immediately to recapture the moment. Mentally he knows he needs to ignore the pain and the adrenaline high so they don’t influence his behavior in the meeting. Being this mixed up is not how he would prefer to go into a meeting to discuss a contract but there was nothing he could do about it now.
He wanders around the hallways looking at posters of wrestlers past and present wondering how they felt after their first match. Did they get the same rush from the crowd? Was that what drove them to keep going despite the aches and pains? Would they do it all again if given the chance? Frank knew that right now his answers were hell yes, it was worth every bit of pain for that rush. It wasn’t better than sex, but it came in a very close second.
Frank checks his watch again and sees that it is almost time for his meeting so he steps up his pace until he gets to Lila Sleater’s office. Her assistant tells Frank to go right in, Lila is ready.
Lila: Hello Frank, come in and have a seat. Would you like some water?
Frank: Yes, thank you, Ms. Sleater.
Lila: No reason to be so formal. You can call me Lila.
She hands Frank a bottled water and sits down behind her desk. Frank hands her the medical release which Lila glances at quickly before she adds it to a mess of papers she is organizing into neat piles on her desk. Lila takes a minute before turning her attention to Frank.
Lila: So how do you feel after your match with Mike Jette?
Frank: I ache but it’s no worse than how I felt after most of my MMA fights. It was a hard fight but I got the win. Overall, I was very happy with how things turned out and I am ready for more.
Lila: At the end you went full blown psycho on Jette.
She is right about that. I was in trouble until I saw Hansen threatening my mother. Jette might have pinned me if not for Hansen pissing me off so much that I forgot the pain and fatigue. I didn’t even know about the brass knuckles until after the match but that would have pissed me off even more.
Frank: Yeah, I lost it after Hansen got involved. I really wanted to hurt someone and Jette was a convenient target. I kept my focus but that anger helped me switch to a higher gear so I could get the win. I don’t feel bad about it. Jette asked for the street fight stipulation so he knew what he was getting into. The crowd seemed to enjoy it and I fed off them throughout the match, particularly at the end.
Lila: That’s something I hear a lot. It doesn’t matter whether they are cheering or booing, the crowd reaction is like a drug to most wrestlers. Is it like that in MMA?
Frank: The MMA fans cheer or boo, but its not the same. MMA fans seem to cheer for the fight rather than for the fighters. You can put any two warm bodies in the octagon and get the same reaction out of the crowd - cheers for a good fight, boos for a bad or boring one. There are a few exceptions but for most fighters you never get that kind of reaction directed at you. Hearing those WFWF fans cheering for me at the Garden… that was something special. I don’t care if it was because I am from Boston, it felt good. I liked it and I want more.
Lila: That’s good. If you want to be a successful wrestler you better be able to get a reaction from the fans. (brief pause while she glances at her notes) Tell me more about your time in MMA, specifically why you quit.
Frank: I had just cracked the top 15 for the light heavyweights. Several experts predicted I would be champion within a few years. But I wasn’t very happy with a lot of my fights. I thought when I went from amateur wrestling to MMA, it would mean more exciting fights. I wanted to have stand up brawls with highlight reel knockout finishes that got the crowd fired up and get me the fight of the night bonus. Too often I found myself rolling around on the mat with another sweaty guy trying to get or avoid a submission hold. Those are the fights that can be boring to watch and the crowd will let you know it. And don’t get me started on the judges. I would rather keep fighting until someone wins than go to the judges. Complaints over questionable split decisions are going to kill the sport if they aren’t careful. Anyway, I decided it was time to move on.
Lila: I’ve seen the video where you said that. Is that really the reason you left? A lot of people don’t enjoy their work but they keep on doing it because they are good at it. You were very good at MMA, could have had a long successful career and become a champion. I sense something else behind your career change but I can’t put my finger on it. Why did you get into MMA in the first place?
Frank: My trainer Paulie got me into it after I graduated college. He’s been training me in various martial arts and combat sports since I was kid. He helped me through out my high school and college wrestling career. When I graduated from college he had my MMA career all planned out for me. He introduced me to the right people, got me the best matches, trained me, managed me… he did it all.
Lila: Hold on, clear something up for me. Did you want to be an MMA fighter or did Paulie want you to be one? Did you even want to wrestle in high school or college or was that also Paulie?
Frank is struck silent by the question. Lila notices the delay in Frank’s response and his discomfort. She had touched a nerve which is exactly what she wanted and now she waits to see how he will respond.
I never gave it any thought before. I don’t actually remember a moment where I said “I am going to be an MMA fighter.” It just sort of happened. Maybe she is onto something but why does it matter to her anyway?
Frank: Well, when you put it like that… I don’t know. I always thought it was my decision but Paulie had a lot to do with it. At the time it felt like I was doing what I wanted but maybe not. He put so much effort into my MMA career that I never considered doing anything else.
Lila: I know from your bio that you never met your father. Was Paulie your father figure and could that be why you followed this path he set out for you?
What is she digging for? Sure, Paulie had a lot of influence on me. Mom was never shy about that fact that she thought being around him was good for me. Did he have my best interest in mind or was he trying to use me to live out some unfulfilled dream of his own? And what the hell does any of this have to do with getting a WFWF contract?
Frank: Anything’s possible. The more I think about it, the more possible it seems. But what’s wrong with that? Plenty of sons follow in their father’s footsteps. I didn’t have a father so I picked the next best man, Paulie.
Careful…don’t get too defensive. She might not like that.
Lila: Think about it, Frank. There is nothing wrong with following in a parent’s footsteps but it isn’t a requirement in life. What I am trying to get at is what is the real reason why you quit MMA. Did you find it unsatisfying because of the reason you have been publicly giving, which seems rather superficial to me? Or is it that you realized you didn’t choose it but that someone else chose it for you?
Frank is squirming in his seat. He stalls by taking several small sips of water. Lila is stoic, refusing to show any reaction while she observes his behavior and awaits his answer.
Frank: In retrospect, it doesn’t make sense to just quit when people are telling you that you are a future champion but that is exactly what I did. You’ve got me thinking that there is something deeper. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to leave MMA so I could do something I wanted instead of something others wanted for me. I never thought about father figures or role models having so much influence on me but it has some merit. I can’t give a better answer than that.
Lila: Relax, Frank. I’m not here to psycho-analyze you. I’m just asking questions so I can make an informed decision.
Oh crap. Am I f*cking this up? Why is she asking me all these questions that I can’t give a straight answer to? And why can’t I come up with a straight answer? I always thought I was in control of my life but she has me doubting that.
Frank: Informed decision? About what?
Lila: Whether or not to offer you a full-time contract. We brought you in for the PPV to see how you would do. You had a good performance. We see potential but that is not enough. We also need commitment. I don’t want to sign you to a contract only to have you quit a short time later. So let’s assume you left MMA because it wasn’t the path you would have chosen for yourself. Is the WFWF something you are choosing for yourself or is it another case of following a path someone else picked for you? You did say something about your mother’s influence on your decision in your YouTube video.
Damn you Ricky, why did you have to post the entire unedited footage? I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass but I didn’t think it would be from Lila. Maybe Brennan or Jette but not Lila. At least this time I do have a straight answer. I am not confused about why I came to the WFWF. I remember the exact moment I made that decision with perfect clarity.
I was home alone watching the WFWF DVD Mom gave me for my birthday. It was a section highlighting the first generation of high flyers. They were always my favorites. I loved the way they threw caution to the wind. Not only did they want to win, but they wanted to do it in the flashiest way possible to send the fans into a frenzy. Something just clicked and I KNEW that was what I wanted to do. That was the exact moment I decided, all by myself with no influence from anybody else.
Frank: Well, yeah. In a roundabout way she sort of suggested it. But this is different. We shared a love of wrestling when I was younger. I drifted away from it for a while. All my Mom did was remind me how much I enjoyed pro wrestling and how my wrestling and martial arts training made it something I could possibly do. The decision to pursue a pro wrestling career was all mine. Definitely all mine.
Lila: When I asked you about the match at Black Hole Sun, you said that you were happy with the match. Happier than you were after your MMA fights?
Frank: Much happier. All I felt after a fight was tired and beat up. It would take a week or two before I would even think about my next fight. After Black Hole Sun, I was thinking about my next match as soon as I got into the locker room. It’s like you said earlier. Being in the ring going for broke in front of a rabid crowd is like a drug. I need another fix.
Lila finally shows a reaction. She leans back in her chair and smiles. It took a while for her questioning to get to this point, but Frank finally gave the answer she needed to hear if she was going to offer him a contract.
Lila: That settles it for me. I am satisfied that being a WFWF wrestler is something you really want and you aren’t going to flake out on us. This is a 3 year contract our legal department prepared for you. Its standard stuff about number of appearances, merchandise, video rights, royalties, etc. Go ahead and read it. I’ll wait and answer any questions you may have.
Lila slides some papers towards Frank along with a pen. Frank skims through the contract. It looks straight forward enough so he wastes no time in signing it. It would have been smarter to have a lawyer glance over it, but there is something about Lila that makes him trust her.
I’m so glad that is over. The contract is signed and nobody can take this away from me. I wonder if everybody else knows how formidable this woman really is? She saw things in me that I didn’t. Now I have a lot to think about and a few conversations to have with Paulie and Mom.
Lila: I’m sorry if it seemed like I was coming down hard on you. It’s just that the WFWF isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t fully committed. I’m sure by now you’ve seen enough to know this. It can get very rough here. There will be hard times ahead if you want to be successful.
Frank: Yeah, I am a little worried. In MMA you didn’t have other fighters jumping you from behind in the middle of a fight. Chairs were for sitting on, tables for eating off of, and ladders were used to change light bulbs in high places. The fights were always one on one and may the better man win. Here you need eyes in the back of your head because you never know what’s coming but you can be damn sure something is coming. At the PPV I missed those brass knuckles Hansen tossed to Jette but I got lucky when Jette wouldn’t use them. I doubt someone like Brennan, Crowe, Trace, or Drakz would do the same.
Lila: This place does seem to run on chaos. I try to impose some sense of order but I can only do so much. Its really up to all of you, the wrestlers, to make your own order out of it.
Frank: I’d prefer to keep my matches one on one and prove I am the better man. If I can’t, I hope I make more friends than enemies.
Lila: That’s a good attitude to have. I really hope you do well. We could use more wrestlers like you.
Frank: Thanks. Ms. Sleater…err, Lila. So what’s next for me?
Lila: I have an idea. Hear me out because this might sound a little crazy. We need more tag teams in WFWF. I’m tired of throwing two random wrestlers together in the hopes that they click well enough to challenge our current tag champs. (Her voice takes on a much colder tone when she says "current tag champs".) It looked like you and Mike Jette bonded after your street fight. You have similar attitudes, styles, and both showed a lot of heart. I think you could be a good tag team. I know you two just had a brutal match but please consider it. The tag team division is wide open and in need of a real team. Would you be up for forming a tag team with Mike Jette?
What? We almost killed each other! His manager threatened my mother. She is crazy to suggest this.
Or is she crazy like a fox? I watched the match and Jette didn’t do anything too bad considering it was a street fight, certainly nothing any worse than what I did to him. He even threw away the spiked brass knuckles instead of breaking my skull open. I appreciate him not wanting to spill my brains all over the ring. I don’t think I’d enjoy being dead. I was the one who lost control after my mother was threatened by that Hansen douchebag. Jette did what he had to do…and nothing more. That’s why I shook his hand after the match. We fought hard and the better man won. I don’t know if I like him but I have to respect him, he earned that. I have no doubts that he could hold up his end of a team. I’ve seen first hand what he can do in the ring. Together we could be very good. But Hank Hansen is a problem.
Lila: Earth to Frank? Are you there? It’s just an idea. You can say no and I’ll get you a singles match for New Nebula. I hear Samael Ahriman is looking for an opponent and would love to take a rookie to school.
He could try. I might surprise him. But he doesn’t have a belt and that’s what I want. There will be a time and place for Samael Ahriman later.
Frank: I’ll tell you what, you ask Jette the same question. No Hank Hansen though, not after what he did at the PPV. Mike Jette earned my respect at Black Hole Sun; his manager did not. Winning the tag belts could be the quickest way to get a title so if Mike says yes then I’m willing to give it a try.
Lila: Good enough. I’ll give Mr. Jette a call and get back to you.
The meeting ends rather abruptly as Lila’s assistant lets Lila know Trace Demon is on the phone and wants to talk to her right away. She rolls her eyes and signals that Frank should leave so she can take care of whatever business Trace wants to discuss. Frank leaves happy that he has a signed contract, not sure if he should be happy that he also has a lot to think about. The issue of why he left MMA and came to the WFWF may be over for Lila, but for Frank it opened a large barrel of emotional monkeys that he will have to deal with.
———
The Third Part
wherein we meet the man of Frank’s dreams
Excerpt from Frank Lynn’s dream journal:
I am standing alone and naked in the middle of a vast desert. The air is filled with fine grains of sand blown off the dunes by a wind that comes from every direction at once. The sand rubs my bare skin raw like sandpaper. Tiny droplets of blood appear here and there mixing with the sweat already pouring out of me. I can feel the harsh rays of a cruel sun burning me yet when I look to the sky I there is no sun anywhere, just an endless sky of angry red instead of the comforting blue we are all used to. I am thirsty. I am hungry. I am lost.
I pick a direction at random and start walking. The sand burns the soles of my feet but I ignore it and trudge on, up a dune and down the other side over and over again. The sun that isn’t in the sky above continues to beat down on me sapping my strength and my will. Time has no meaning as one dune replaces another and I continue my relentless march to nowhere underneath the blood red skies. Behind me, the tracks of my passing are quickly hidden by the ever-shifting sands. I want to lay down and rest but I know that if I do that will be the end of me. The sun will bake my flesh, the windblown sand will blast the baked flesh off my bones, and my bones will sink into the dunes leaving no evidence that I was ever here. I don’t want to fade away like that so I march on.
Eventually, exactly how long being both immeasurable and irrelevant, I see rocks in the distance. Their outlines shimmer in the heat such that it is impossible to distinguish their true shape. I march on, my strength somewhat restored by the hope that my endless journey through this desert has some point to it, some destination that will make this endless torment worth it.
I approach the first pile of rocks. They are not natural. I can see that they were once part of a single form, a carefully crafted statue created by some unknown artist long ago. I pick up a piece and examine it closely. Once I brush off the sand, I can see it is the head of a crow. I move to another cluster of rocks. I find a stone with letters “DR” on it. Nearby is another stone that fits to the first one like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. It has the letters “AKZ” on it. I continue my search. I find more pieces of names like “SAM”, “MALA”, “SHUA”, and “ENNA”. I fumble around with several pieces until they fit together to form a demon’s head. There are too many piles for me to search and identify each one. I give up trying; I have the feeling I have been missing the forest because of the trees.
I have an epiphany. I am surrounded by what was once a shrine or temple dedicated to warriors who entered into battle with a savage beast and lost. The beast chewed them up beyond recognition and spit them out just like the debris of the once great statues scattered in the sand around me. These warriors either became the beasts servant or victim. The people who worshipped the warriors and built the temple in their honor have abandoned it, no longer interested in making the effort to maintain or repair the temple. They lost hope and moved on, looking for new heroes somewhere else. This temple is now nothing more than a memorial to the fallen; a cruel reminder that we live in a reality that crushes dreams.
I come upon a pedestal that remains almost whole and undamaged, pristine and new in its appearance. There is no name carved into it. A few yards beyond it is another pristine artifact, a black onyx doorway standing free of any structure as if it was too good to be part of any mere building. It sends shivers down my spine as I approach it. Logically, opening the door should just reveal the desert on the other side but I am afraid to open it anyway. My hand is trembling as I reach out to it, looking for a knob or switch to open the door. I find a depression that is a perfect match to my hand. I place my hand in the depression and push.
The door doesn’t open. Instead, it fades out of existence. As I feared, it does not reveal the desert beyond. It is a portal, black with splashes of silver swirling around in chaotic patterns. My fear increases. That is not someplace I want to go, not now or ever. I step back and walk around to the other side. I see the same silvery blackness when viewed from the opposite side of the onyx frame, offering no further clues as to where it leads. I keep circling until I am back where I started.
The silvery swirls coalesce into the shape of a man shrouded in a large black robe, his face completely hidden in the shadows of the hood. The man steps out of the door but retains that ethereal quality of the portal. I have seen this man before. He has haunted my dreams since I was a child. He never reveals himself nor does he speak or make any other signs. He only observes. I’ve long since stopped fearing his presence but he remains a mystery I am unable to solve. That is why what happens next is so shocking.
The man in the flowing robe steps towards me, stopping inches short of touching me. I reach up to pull back the hood so I can see his face and put an end to the mystery. My hand passes through him. Like the dream itself, he is both here and not here, real and not real. The mystery remains to be solved another day.
He points to the empty pedestal behind me, then points at me. I know what he wants. Do I dare step onto the pedestal, let my name be carved into it, and battle with the dread beast that has defeated so many before me? If I do, there is no backing out. I do not know how I know this; I just do. The observer has apparently observed long enough and decided this is the time for me to choose. Do I commit to the battle in the hopes that I am a true warrior or do I run away in the hopes that the meek really do inherit the Earth? Am I a leader or follower? A wolf or sheep? Which will it be?
For the first time ever, I can see eyes under his dark hood, tiny twinkling stars set against the utter blackness that still hides the rest of his face. He raises his hands and a sword appears. He thrusts the sword into the sand in front of me and takes a few steps back towards the onyx doorway. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in me. I can sense his growing impatience as if all this time spent watching me was for nought. The wind of the desert whispers to me: choose… choose… choose… It keeps repeating like a drumbeat that I either dance to or run away from. Another epiphany: I’m done with running. I’ve run too often and too far in the past. I know what I must do. I will not be a sheep. I will be the wolf.
I reach out to grasp the sword by the hilt and pull it out of the sand. I slowly step onto the pedestal. The robed man nods his head in what I hope is approval and steps back into the onyx portal to fade away. I look down to see that my name now appears on the pedestal. The debris of the other statues have been replaced by ghostly images of their once glorious forms. They look at me with various emotions clearly evident in their expressions ranging from respect to fear, from love to hate, from hope to desperation. I hold the sword above my head and see that is glowing. The glow from the sword spreads to my hand down my arm and keeps on spreading until it envelops my entire body. It keeps increasing in intensity as I float up into the sky.
I was lost but no more. I am the sun that burns brightly in the sky and brings order to the long dark night, a night ruled by the beast whose name is Chaos. I am still thirsty but it is not a thirst that can be quenched by a glass of water. It is a thirst for victory over the beast and all those who choose to serve him. I shall defeat his servants and in doing so restore hope to his victims. I shall do this because I must. To do any less is to become yet another victim of the beast.
———
The Fourth Part
wherein a pair of shoes and a potted plant have a pleasant conversation
A few days after his meeting with Lila, Frank and Ricky are out for a run through the streets of Boston. Winter has given way to spring so the snow has finally melted away. It is a very pleasant day and Frank is enjoying the freedom of running outside. During the cold and snowy Boston winters running meant hundreds of laps around Paulie’s small gym because he is too cheap to get a treadmill.
Halfway through their run, they stop at a park bench and drink some water. Pigeons stroll nonchalantly around their feet, cooing for crumbs, then cooing in disgust that they aren’t getting any. Or maybe they’re just cooing because they are pigeons and thats what pigeons do. Whatever the reason, they annoy Ricky so he shoos them away.
Ricky: Are you feeling better? You didn’t look so good after the match at Black Hole Sun.
Frank: I am feeling better. The doc cleared me to wrestle and I will be able to do full contact training starting tomorrow.
Ricky: So what’s next for fearless Frank Lynn, undefeated WFWF superstar?
Frank: Wait, what what what? Undefeated? I’ve only had one match!
Ricky: Did you win?
Frank: You know I won. You were there.
Ricky: Then you are undefeated. Wrestling 101: If you’ve got it, flaunt it. So what is next for the undefeated fearless Frank Lynn?
Frank: You won’t believe it. Lila suggested I form a tag team with Mike Jette.
Ricky is stunned by Frank’s statement and has nothing to say, something that rarely happens to the man who usually has a smartass reply for anything. He shakes his head dramatically and pretends to clean his ears with his pinkies before replying. Frank revels in this rare moment where he has one upped his best friend.
Ricky: Are you sure you didn’t hurt your head? I thought I heard you say you would be in a tag team with a guy who just beat the hell out of you.
Frank: You heard right. Mike isn’t as bad as you think he is. We’ve talked on the phone. He’s actually a nice guy. We have a lot in common. I can’t stand his manager though so he has to go.
Ricky: Hank Hansen? What an *sshole. But you think Jette is okay and want to tag with him?
Frank: I do. Think about the upside. Forming a tag team is good for my career. The line for the tag team championships is a lot shorter than for either of the singles titles. It is the quickest path to the top. Mike even came up with a pretty cool name for the team: the Thunderbirds!
Ricky: Is that after the car, the cheap wine, or the old TV show? Cool name or not, it seems a little crazy to partner up with someone you just had a street fight against. So who are you two going up against? Drakz and Dean?
Frank: Not yet but hopefully soon. For now we have to prove ourselves by taking on Wilbur Richardson and Dr. Mantis Tobbogan. They were randomly paired for Black Hole Sun and didn’t do too well. Looks like they are getting a second chance to prove they can work together.
Ricky: The midget quack and the Grizzly Adams wannabe? They got picked apart and put down hard. Zero chemistry. The only thing they had going for them was the hookers but even that was messed up. When I think of hookers, a lot of things come to mind but donkeys and chickens are not one of them. What a whack job.
Frank: I can’t say you are wrong but they are WFWF wrestlers so I have to take them seriously no matter how hard that may be. If Jette and I can get enough training together to be a cohesive team we should have an easy time of it. I just hope the two of us can handle all the rule breaking crap they may try.
Ricky: I saw a lot of that at the PPV. Are you sure you can handle this on your own? Maybe you should bring some backup?
Frank: I told Lila I’d prefer to do it on my own but you have a point. As much as I’d like to grow eyes in the back of my head, that isn’t going to happen.
Ricky: You may not be able to grow eyes in the back of your head, but you could bring another set of eyes.
Frank: What do you mean?
Ricky: I thought it was obvious. You still have a lot to learn about professional wrestling. What I’m saying is you need a manager!
Frank: A manager? I suppose you have somebody in mind?
Frank points at Ricky indicating he knows exactly who Ricky has in mind.
Ricky: You aren’t completely slow on the uptake. Yes, I mean me. I can watch your back. I can be your mouthpiece since I have the gift of gab and you don’t. Imagine it: Fearless Frank Lynn accompanied to the ring by his crafty manager Tricky Ricky Mendosa.
Ricky wants to be my manager? I could do worse. He has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I trust him with my life but do I trust him with my career? With his lack of control he is a wildcard, a ticking time bomb. He might get me into as much trouble as he gets me out of. I wouldn’t say no to Ricky as my manager but I’m not ready to say yes either. I need to stall.
Frank: You aren’t a trained wrestler and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. If you joined me in my training and got your skills to a point where you can at least defend yourself until help arrives, I’ll consider it.
Ricky: I guess that will do for now. I bet you change your mind the first time you get jumped from behind or kicked in the balls or pin an opponent but there is no ref to make the count. Some people just need to learn the hard way. Shall we head back now?
Frank: Sounds good.
Frank and Ricky continue their run. Twenty minutes later, they are at the door to Frank’s apartment building. Ricky gets to the door first and rings the bell.
Frank: Seriously dude? I’m right here. Who do you think is going to answer the doorbell?
Ricky: Meh, force of habit. See doorbell, ring doorbell. If I had a bag full of dog sh*t I’d light it on fire and run away.
Frank: Ha ha ha. I’d expect nothing less of you.
Frank opens the door and they head up the stairs to Frank’s apartment. Frank opens the apartment door and flicks on the lights to a large crowd of people shouting “Surprise!” They are all there to celebrate his win at Black Hole Sun and signing his WFWF contract. His mother (Laura), Becky, Ricky, Jimmy, and Paulie lead the partygoers in singing “For he’s a jolly good fellow” which mercifully ends after just one verse. Frank’s friends would never win any karaoke contests so they switched to something they could do well: get drunk!
Ricky plays a video of the match and everyone finds somewhere to sit so they can watch. Ricky comes up with a drinking game: whenever Frank gets knocked on his ass, everyone has to drink. Frank stays in the back preferring to watch the reactions of this small crowd than the match itself which he has already watched several times studying what he did right and wrong. The oohs and ahs of his friends gives him the same kind of rush that the live crowd did the night of the PPV. By the time the match is over, everyone has a good buzz going. Frank mingles for a while accepting the congratulations and well wishes from everyone until he notices his drink is empty. He goes into his kitchen to get a refill and sees his mother sitting at the table eating some cake, so he grabs a slice and joins her.
Laura: How’s my asskicking mute son? Are you okay? Something about you seems off tonight.
Frank: I’m okay but I do have something on my mind. You know I had that meeting with Lila Sleater. She asked some questions that got me to thinking… mostly about you, Paulie, and my father. She was asking about why I quit MMA which led to why did I start MMA which led to questions about Paulie and my father.
Laura: What did she ask you?
Frank: Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it led me down a rabbit hole straight into a question I couldn’t answer for myself.
Laura: Oh. What question was that?
Frank: What kind of person was my father? You’ve never told me very much and what you have told me is always good, almost too good to be true. I have this image in my head of my father that is impossibly perfect. I didn’t realize it or maybe I just chose to ignore it, but I’ve been trying to live up to a perfect father all my life. It’s always been there in the back of my head influencing every decision I have ever made.
Laura: Oh son, I was always afraid this would be a problem. I tried my best but there are circumstances that make it very difficult for me to tell you about your father.
Frank: At least now that I’ve realized what I was doing, I can change it. I already have by quitting MMA to go into the WFWF. It may be the first major decision I’ve made that wasn’t done to please this perfect father image.
I *have* been in denial all my life. I created an idealized father image in my head that I have been subconsciously trying to please all my life. It has been holding me back. I’m sorry dad but I have to let go.
Laura: I’m happy for you. Every son has to step out of their father’s shadow so they can become their own man. You’re doing that. Do I sense a “but”?
Frank: You do. But… I’d still like to know more about my father. I’ve been patient but I don’t know how much longer I can do that. I need to fill in some of the blanks.
Laura’s usual laid back demeanor changes. Her smile becomes more of a frown and there is a tinge of sadness in her eyes. She takes a moment to brush her hair back out of her eyes. She looks into her son’s eyes with a little dread as for what seems like the millionth time she has to decide if today is the day she breaks her silence. She sees her son sitting there waiting for some revelation about his father and realizes that she must tell him something but how much can she reveal? Can she tell him without telling him? When she does speak, it is in short bursts with long thoughtful pauses in between.
Laura: It’s never been easy for me. I’ve never told you much about your father because it could hurt you. (Frank looks puzzled) I may not have said anything bad about him, but believe me when I say your father had his faults. I guess it is time I told you a little more to put your mind at ease. I’m sorry this is going to be vague but I really can’t give you details. We were young, in love, and ready to spend the rest of our lives together. Then some bad people asked him to do something. He had to choose between doing the right thing which could hurt everyone he loved or doing the wrong thing and living happily ever after. He chose to do the right thing. It cost him his life. (Laura wipes a tear from her eye.) He didn’t know I was pregnant when it happened so neither did those bad people. If they ever find out that he and I were lovers and you are his son, they would come after the two of us. They believe that what one person does, their entire family must answer for. I don’t want to think what they would do to us if the truth came out. I couldn’t bear to lose you like that. (She wipes more tears from her eyes.) Please don’t ask me to say more because I won’t. I can’t. No matter how much it hurts you to not know, knowing could hurt you more.
This is more than she has ever revealed before but here comes the crying. This always happens whenever I ask about my father. She tosses me a little tidbit and then starts to cry. I hate to see her cry. I’d rather not know if this is the price.
Frank: Please Mom, stop. Don’t cry. I don’t need to know any more, really I don’t.
Laura: You deserve to know more. You deserve to know everything about your father but I can’t tell you. Please understand one thing. Your father would be proud of you no matter what you did. He would be tickled pink that you have found something that makes you happy. If you become the best wrestler you can, he will be watching you and smiling, probably grabbing anyone nearby to watch with him while he brags “That’s my boy!”
Frank: That sounds nice. I like that image better than him looking down in stern disapproval.
Laura: He really would be proud. You’re a good son.
She pauses as if considering whether or not to say more. They sit in silence. Frank is stuck between the rock of wanting more information about his father and the hard place of making his mother cry again. Laura is caught in a catch 22, hating that she has to cause her son emotional pain in order to save him from a worse physical pain. Laura finally breaks the silence the only way possible, by changing the subject.
Laura: You left your dream journal out. I read the latest entries. I hope you don’t mind.
Frank: I don’t mind, it was your idea in the first place to keep a dream journal. It helps to have someone else read them and give me their opinion.
Laura: The man in black is taking an active role in your dreams now?
Frank: Yep, the man in black actually interacted with me. He made me choose…or perhaps just reinforced the choice I already made.
Laura: Do you still think that the man in black is a subconscious vision of your father?
Frank: Yes. It seems so obvious now. He was always a silent observer until now. I think my subconscious was one step ahead of me in realizing it was time to let go so I could live my own life. The decision to wrestle in the WFWF, the meeting with Lila, the dream…they were all steps in a major turning point for me. I had to put my father image in the rearview mirror so the rest of my life would be wide open ahead of me. I don’t think the man in black will be in my dreams anymore.
Laura: Perhaps. It makes sense. But I wouldn’t rule out other possibilities. Dreams can be tricky sometimes.
She pauses again considering whether to say more, but they are interrupted by Paulie. Paulie came into the kitchen to say his goodbyes, or as he puts it “Time to get my old ass home and let these kids have their fun.” Laura agrees with Paulie and asks if he could give her a ride home. Before they leave, she makes a point of wrapping up some extra cake and giving it to Paulie to take with him. Frank wanders around and mingles but his mind is elsewhere. He tries to make small talk for a while but gives up and goes out to the balcony to be alone.
Well Lila, are you happy? You asked the questions and I answered them. I am in the WFWF because it is where I want to be. That’s right, I as in me, not a father who only exists in my head, not Paulie or my Mother or Ricky or the Easter Bunny or anyone else. I am doing this for me.
Tonight, I found out that my father faced some chaos in his life. He chose the way of right and paid a heavy price for it. I will never get to know him but I can still learn from him. I’m sure I will have to make some hard choices in WFWF. Just like my father I will choose right over wrong but I’ll make sure someone else pays the price…not me. I’m going to be around for a long time. There is too much chaos in WFWF. It is time for some order. It is what my father would have wanted. More importantly, it is what I want!
Frank’s inner monologue is interrupted as another person comes out to the balcony. It is Becky, looking damn good as her bright red hair flows around her slightly freckled face down to her shoulders where it meets up with her little black cocktail dress. She is smiling and not quite walking straight on bare feet as she approaches Frank, showing the effects of one too many drinks. If you asked her, she would tell you that walking in high heels was too much work after a few drinks so her shoes are currently enjoying a pleasant conversation with Frank’s one and only potted plant near the front door.
Becky: Hey stranger! Why is the guest of honor hiding from his own party?
Frank: Lot on my mind. Just trying to sort through stuff.
Becky: I guessed as much. I saw you in the kitchen with your mother. It looked like a deep moment. What kind of heavy trip did you drop on her?
Frank: I’ve been thinking about my father, or lack thereof, and how it has affected me.
Becky: So, how has it affected you?
Frank: I’ve come to the conclusion that I have spent my whole life trying to live up to an imaginary perfect father and until now either I didn’t realize it or I wouldn’t admit it. I believe that is called denial. It is time to stop that. My father wasn’t perfect and I don’t have to live up to some unreachable standard. In fact, I don’t have to live up to anybody else’s standards, just my own. I am going forward doing the things I want to do and have fun while doing them.
Becky: That’s good, real good. I never said anything but you were always a little uptight. You need to lighten up a little, smile more. You have a nice smile.
She stresses the point by poking her index fingers into the corners of his mouth and pushing them up into a smile.
Becky: See? Nice smile. It sounds like you are ready to break out of your shell. Life is meant to be enjoyed so enjoy it.
Becky moves in close to Frank, putting an arm around him and laying her head on his shoulder.
Becky is right. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me and I can finally start living.
Becky: So if tonight is the night for soul searching I have one more suggestion for you.
Frank: Oh you do, do you? What else about me needs to be fixed?
Becky: Your eyes, silly boy. For years I’ve been right here in front of you and yet you don’t see me, not the real me. I know it’s not another girl because you hardly ever date. You’re not gay or Jimmy would have found a way to jump your bones a long time ago. So what is it?
Becky emphasizes her point by doing a not so perfect pirouette and hair flip that almost causes her to fall down. She stops her fall by throwing her arms around Frank’s neck. As for Frank, he is caught completely by surprise and stammers out the first thing he can think of, which in hindsight may have been the worst thing he could have said.
Frank: You’ve always been one of the boys. We all hang out together, do something crazy like jump out of a plane, then drink lots of beer and laugh about it later. I never even thought about you in any other way.
A sober Becky might have walked away after hearing that. Good thing for Frank, this was a drunk Becky. She removes her hands from around Frank’s neck and steps back, placing them on her hips in an aggressive stance. She gives Frank a stern look much like a librarian would make while shushing a noisy patron.
Becky: Well, start thinking about it. If you get to change your life tonight, I want to change mine too. I’m tired of waiting for you to see what is right in front of you. Frank, I don't want to be one of the boys like Jimmy or Ricky. I want out of the friends zone. Tonight. Now.
Holy sh*t, did she really just say that? Why haven’t I asked her out? She is intelligent, funny, beautiful, and just a little bit crazy. I won’t find a better woman. Am I really so self-absorbed that I didn’t see this until she hit me over the head with a brick? I should be grateful she isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. Or grateful that she has drunk enough alcohol to destroy her inhibitions. So stop standing here looking stupid and say something before she changes her mind!
Frank: I’m an idiot. If I had known you felt this way I would have asked a long time ago. Why don’t you hang around after everybody else leaves?
Becky: I thought you’d never ask.
Frank and Becky lean in close and kiss, awkwardly at first but it becomes quite passionate after a few seconds. After the kiss, they lean against the balcony railing with their arms around each other and watch the stars for a while, impatiently waiting for everyone else to leave.
I’ve been thinking about so much the past few days but it all came together for me tonight. I feel like a new person. The whole world is out there just waiting for me. Coming to the WFWF was the best thing I have ever done. Fame, fortune, and championship glory…the proverbial brass ring is mine for the taking.
It has been a very good day. With Becky here it will be an even better night.
Indeed it was an even better night for Frank and Becky. Becky’s shoes and Frank’s potted plant also had a good time but that is a story for another day.
———
The Fifth Part
wherein the Thunderbirds are go!
It is morning of the day before New Nebula. Frank and Ricky are at Paulie’s gym getting a last workout in. Frank is showing Ricky some basic techniques. Paulie watches from the other side of the gym, content to let Frank handle the easy stuff. He’ll take over later when they get to more advanced maneuvers.
Ricky is trying his best to keep up with Frank but it is clear that he has a long way to go. An hour into the workout, Frank has barely broken a sweat but Ricky looks like something Dr. Moreau created in his infamous island laboratory: a mutant combination of Ricky, a drowned rat, and a panting dog. The good news is he can’t talk as much as usual if he’s too busy trying to catch his breath. Frank decides it is time have a little mercy on his friend. He calls for a break.
Ricky half sits, half collapses onto a bench. Frank grabs a bottle of water and a towel for Ricky. Frank isn’t feeling the burn yet, so he picks up a rope and starts jumping to the rhythm of the music Paulie always plays in the gym. Today it is Monster Magnet, which suits Frank just fine. The fast and furious stoner rock songs help him set a good pace on the jump rope.
Ricky: I never realized what a beast you are. I’m done. I have nothing left in the tank while you are barely getting started. I think I hate you. I’m too tired to be sure. Ask me again later if I hate you so I can be sure.
Good. I don’t know if I want you as my manager but I don’t have it in me to say no to you. It would be so much easier if you just gave up on the idea.
Frank: Don’t worry about it, endurance will come with work. I’ve been doing this since I was 12 years old. I better be good at it or I’ve wasted a lot of time in the gym. Besides, I don’t expect you to reach the level I’m at. I just want you good enough to defend yourself. You wont ever have to go 30 minutes in a match like me. At the most, you might have to go at it for a minute or two.
Ricky: I’m not sure you fully get the concept of a manager. They don’t actually wrestle you know. They talk for you, warn of you any danger, get the crowd pumped up, and sometimes provide a distraction.
Frank: I know what a manager does. I also know you. I fully expect that if you come to the ring with me for a match, you will end up getting physically involved. Once you start talking, someone is going to punch you in the mouth just to shut you up. I don’t want you getting hurt so its a no go until you master the basics.
Ricky: Enough, I get it. Right now I don’t like it, but I get it. I’ll put in the work. You watch, it won’t be long before Tricky Ricky is joining you in the WFWF.
Tricky Ricky? Exactly what I’m worried about. A name like that is a giant flashing neon sign that you are looking for trouble and I will have to fight my way out of it.
Frank: I don’t doubt it, not for a second. So as my potential manager, talk to me about Mike Jette. Now that you’ve met him and seen us working together, what do you think?
Ricky: You were right. He’s a good guy. I read him wrong. Can’t say the same about Hank Hansen. What a douchebag.
Frank: Grrr…I didn’t like him the moment he tried to hit my mother at Black Hole Sun. I made it a condition of our tag team that Hank stays far away so I hope Mike drops him. Hank is bad news and he will get Mike into trouble. Can you believe he thought those spiked brass knuckles were a good idea? What an *sshole. If Mike had used them he could have killed me! For real dead…six feet under pushing up mother f*cking daisies.
Ricky: Posdef bud, posdef. I thought Paulie was a crazy old bastard but compared to Hansen, Paulie is a Care Bear.
Posdef? POSDEF? What the f*ck Ricky, are you reading crappy sci-fi again? Sounds like one of those stupid cyber-slang terms William Gibson would come up with to hide the fact that he can’t write for sh*t. I really have to get you some Heinlein and Asimov.
Ricky: Some of those moves you and Mike worked on were nice. Double super kicks, double dropkicks, the doomsday device, total elimination, heart attack…they all looked good.
Frank: How about that special finisher Mike came up with, the one where he does his airplane spin into a fireman’s carry slam while I come over the top off the ropes with my five star frog splash?
Ricky: It looked pretty f*cking sweet once you got the timing down. Looked like sh*t when you took off too early or too late. You gonna use it tomorrow?
Frank: Oh hell yeah. We’re gonna call it “dropping the bomb” or the “Thunderbomb” or something like that. As long as it has “bomb” in the name I’m happy. I’m trying to keep to a theme with my B-52 intro, tights design, and the team name. The Thunderbirds! I was drawing a complete blank for a team name but Mike hit it out of the park on his first try.
Ricky: It has that old school feel. So what’s your plan for the match?
Frank: There’s the obvious stuff: work as a team, frequent tags, combo moves for greater impact, etc. If we can get things going our way, we are going to isolate Toboggan and work him over. He is definitely the weaker of the two due to his size and age. The less opportunities Richardson has to land a haymaker, the better.
Ricky: So thats the genius plan you and Mike came up with? Beat up the old short fat guy?
Frank: Mock us all you want. Its a simple plan for a simple match. I really don’t see Mantis and Wilbur as a big threat as long as Mike and I work together. This match will be a glorified sparring match for the Thunderbirds, a stepping stone to bigger and better matches.
Ricky: You seem like a completely different person since Black Hole Sun. You were so nervous that you were gonna fall flat on your face then but not any more. Confidence is oozing out of you.
Frank: I worked out some personal issues. I’m ready to take the WFWF by storm. I can’t wait for you to hear my promo for this match. I channeled my inner Ricky and totally cut loose. Probably gonna piss off a lot of people, but that’s okay. People who go into a match fueled by emotions don’t think straight. They make mistakes. I can take advantage of those mistakes to get some big wins.
Ricky: Channeled your inner Ricky? That sounds disgusting.
Frank: You have a way of getting under people’s skin. In fact, trying to think like you gave me an idea for New Nebula that should really burn Drakz and Dean.
Ricky: Now you’re starting to scare me. If you become more like me, does that mean I have to insert a stick up my butt to be more like you? I’m telling you right now that ain’t gonna happen.
Frank doesn’t react to Ricky’s jibe, partially because he is used to Ricky poking fun at him and partially because it is true. Becky pointed it out at the party too. Frank was working on getting that stick out of his butt.
Ricky takes one last long gulp from the near empty water bottle and wipes the sweat off his face with the towel. He tosses both aside and stands to face Frank.
Ricky: Enough talking sensei, lets get back to work.
They get back into the training ring. Paulie make his way over and helps them work on more advanced moves. Well, to be honest he instructs Frank. He doesn’t see a lot of potential in Ricky. In fact he thinks Ricky is an irresponsible smartass not worth his time. He mostly has Ricky serve as a punching bag and tackling dummy for Frank. By the end of the workout, Paulie has to admit one thing about Ricky, he was a trooper who took it all without complaining. Maybe he was good for something other than joking and drinking.
———
The Sixth Part
wherein Frank tells us about the word of the day
Listen up neanderthals, it’s time for a vocabulary lesson. The word of the day is respect, R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Webster defines respect as a feeling or understanding that someone or something is important, serious, etc., and should be treated in an appropriate way. You should be writing this down morons, you will be tested on it later.
At Black Hole Sun, Mike Jette and I had a street fight. It was a brutal, ugly, blood soaked affair between two men without the usual grudge that precedes such an extreme match. So why did we try to kill each other? Respect.
There is something the definition of respect doesn’t make clear. Some of you need to pay extra special attention to this part so I’ll say it slowly: You. Have. To. Earn. Respect. It is not given out like candy at Halloween. You can’t knock on a door, recite a silly rhyme, and have it handed to you. You have to earn it. We earned respect by showing all of you the kind of punishment each of us is capable of giving and taking. You want to come at us with a chair or a kendo stick or put us through a table? Been there, done that. What else ya’ got?
After the street fight was over we were two warriors bonded by blood. We had earned each others respect and now it has grown into a partnership: the Thunderbirds. Remember that name. Write it down. Get it tattooed on your forehead so it is right there staring back you every time you look in a mirror. Don’t worry, it won’t look half as stupid as that “No Regerts” tattoo on your left butt cheek. What did you say? Your butt tattoo is Pikachu sitting on a mushroom smoking a joint? Good for you, but it is still stupider than “Thunderbirds” in big bold letters on your forehead.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the tag team! Jette and I won’t stop until we are the best tag team in WFWF history. We are going to earn the respect of every wrestler in the locker room and every fan sitting in the arena or watching at home. How? By beating any team that gets in our way including the current tag team champions, Drakz and Joshua Dean. Oh yeah, I went there. I’m calling out the biggest dogs in the yard. You’ve been bad doggies and somebody needs to rub your ugly dog faces in that pile of sh*t you made on the carpet. Why not the Thunderbirds?
At New Nebula, The Thunderbirds take our first steps towards the tag champs when we face Dr. Mantis Toboggan and Wilbur Richardson. I have to call it like I see it: I don’t respect either of them. Wilbur is a reject from a Discovery Channel special on inbred hillbilly hermits who live off of squirrels, mushrooms, and their own toenail clippings. Wilbur should get himself a smartphone and google “Asskicking” because that is what we have in store for him. Mantis is a straight up nutcase who thinks hookers riding donkeys is a good idea. Think about it people! Hookers. Riding. Donkeys. That is wrong on so many levels. All I have to say to Mantis is “physician, heal thyself” because after this match you will be in a world of pain. At New Nebula, Mike and I will finish the job that Vass and Quenton started at Black Hole Sun.
The only reason we even care about this match is that you are in our way. Move or get run over. Either way, we plan to put you in our rearview mirror so we can set our sites on the tag champs. Shine those belts up boys, the Thunderbirds are coming!
Frank: Spoken words by the person in bold
Narrative or descriptive text
Frank’s inner thoughts
New Nebula RP: Make It Rain
When the sins of my father
Weigh down in my soul
And the pain of my mother
Will not let me go
Well, I know there can come fire from the sky
To refine the purest of kings
And even though
I know this fire brings me pain
Even so
And just the same
Make it rain
“Make It Rain” - Ed Sheeran
———
The First Part
wherein Frank learns that being a wrestler hurts so good
When the sins of my father
Weigh down in my soul
And the pain of my mother
Will not let me go
Well, I know there can come fire from the sky
To refine the purest of kings
And even though
I know this fire brings me pain
Even so
And just the same
Make it rain
“Make It Rain” - Ed Sheeran
———
The First Part
wherein Frank learns that being a wrestler hurts so good
The street fight at Black Hole Sun is over. Frank Lynn got his arm raised in victory but both men walked out winners. At least that’s how Frank Lynn sees it. The match wasn’t just about winning or losing, it was about showing that both men had the skill and the heart to succeed in the WFWF. Lynn and Jette put on a hell of a fight and sent a very clear message to the entire locker room: We may be rookies but you will take us seriously!
Frank has spent the last twenty minutes in the medical area being treated by one of the paramedics staffing the event. The paramedic knew he had a long night ahead of him so he worked with quiet efficiency to get the first of what was sure to be many casualties taken care of. Mike Jette was also being treated but Frank didn’t see him. Management was smart enough to treat opponents in separate areas to avoid any post-match altercations.
Frank hurt all over. The skin on his head was held together by stitches and wrapped in a bandage, some blood still managing to seep through slowly turning it from white to pink to blood red. He wondered if the other wrestlers would see it as badge of honor or a sign of stupidity. He has already forgotten how many stitches it took to close the cut on his head but it doesn’t matter. When you have to be stitched back together after a match, that tells enough of the story. The exact number is an unnecessary flourish that only a trivia geek needs to know.
After finishing with his head, the paramedic took care of the damage to Frank’s back caused by Jette’s kendo stick assault and being suplexed through a table. His back was a bloody criss cross pattern of bruises and welts that had to be cleaned and bandaged. The paramedic made the bandage tight so that it wouldn’t shift when he moved, so tight that Frank had to strain to take a breath. He really wanted to take a deep breath since he was still riding an adrenaline high and needed to relax. It proved not to be a problem though as the last thing the paramedic did was give him a foil packet containing two pills.
paramedic: Take one now and another in 4 hours for the pain, no driving and NO ALCOHOL.
The paramedic must have worked a WFWF show before and knew about their wild side if he felt the need to stress the NO ALCOHOL part so strongly. The paramedic kept talking.
paramedic: You should get some x-rays tomorrow. I don’t think you broke any ribs but get them checked anyway. For now, you’re good to go.
Frank gets up and makes his way slowly back to his locker to change out of his wrestling gear. He’d like to go faster so he can catch the rest of the show but his body won’t let him. He rounds a corner and runs right into Samael Ahriman. Frank immediately tries to hide, wishing he could turn invisible but that is impossible so he just looks down avoiding direct eye contact and mumbles.
Frank: Excuse me, sorry, I should watch where I’m going.
At first Samael looks indifferently at Frank but then recognizes him and smiles. Frank’s posture immediately changes as his initial embarrassment morphs into pride that a major WFWF star knows who he is.
Samael: You’re Frank Lynn, right? Nice match you had tonight. It takes some big brass balls to go into a street fight in your first match. You look like hell, but you pulled it off. Congrats on the win. If you don’t let this place f*ck with your head you could go far.
Frank: Thanks! Good luck in your match.
Samael: Thanks. I hope I don’t need it.
Samael walks away apparently satisfied that he has said all he needs to the rookie. Frank knows that was an insignificant encounter for Samael but for Frank it was much, much more. His decision to come to the WFWF was the right one if someone like Samael thought well of him.
By the time he got changed the painkiller had kicked in and the adrenaline had worn off. He fell asleep in front of his locker. He didn’t get to see any of the matches that night, a lost opportunity to see first hand what the future might have in store for him. He would have to watch the event on a PPV replay tomorrow.
———
A voicemail on Frank’s phone left the day after the Black Hole Sun PPV:
“Hello Frank. This is Lila Sleater. Can you to come in for a post match physical with our doctor. After the physical, I’d like to meet with you to discuss your match and a full-time contract. Call my assistant to set up times for both.”
———
The Second Part
wherein Frank meets the boss and she f*cks with his head
A voicemail on Frank’s phone left the day after the Black Hole Sun PPV:
“Hello Frank. This is Lila Sleater. Can you to come in for a post match physical with our doctor. After the physical, I’d like to meet with you to discuss your match and a full-time contract. Call my assistant to set up times for both.”
———
The Second Part
wherein Frank meets the boss and she f*cks with his head
Frank Lynn is getting dressed in a generic exam room having just gone through a thorough check-up by the WFWF staff doctor. The doctor is sitting at a small table in the corner of the room checking off a few items on some paperwork.
Doctor: Congratulations, Mr. Lynn. You have some bruises and a few stitches but other than that you are okay. I find that surprising considering the extremely physical nature of your match with Mr. Jette. At the very least I expected a concussion from the blows to the head but that was not the case. You must have a very hard head.
Frank: I’ve heard that before but probably not in the way you meant it. Either that or you have the most deadpan delivery of any comedian alive.
Doctor: Your health, like that of every wrestler in the WFWF, is my business and I don’t joke about it. The last thing we need is one of you showing up on the news suffering brain damage. It’s bad enough that most of you will have permanent scars from all the times you get lacerated.
He pauses to take a final look at Frank’s chart and sign it. He tears off a page and hands it to Frank.
Doctor: Give that to Ms. Sleater so she will know you have been cleared for competition. You can go now. I’ve got other victims… I mean patients to see.
Frank: Thanks doc. Don’t take it personal but I hope I don’t see you soon.
Frank leaves the medical offices and strolls through the hallways of the WFWF building. He checks his watch. He has plenty of time before his meeting with Lila Sleater. He takes his time walking around trying to collect himself. Physically he is beat up and wants nothing more than to take it easy with a cold drink and a good movie. Emotionally he has been and is still on an incredible high ever since his match at Black Hole Sun. He wants to get back in the ring immediately to recapture the moment. Mentally he knows he needs to ignore the pain and the adrenaline high so they don’t influence his behavior in the meeting. Being this mixed up is not how he would prefer to go into a meeting to discuss a contract but there was nothing he could do about it now.
He wanders around the hallways looking at posters of wrestlers past and present wondering how they felt after their first match. Did they get the same rush from the crowd? Was that what drove them to keep going despite the aches and pains? Would they do it all again if given the chance? Frank knew that right now his answers were hell yes, it was worth every bit of pain for that rush. It wasn’t better than sex, but it came in a very close second.
Frank checks his watch again and sees that it is almost time for his meeting so he steps up his pace until he gets to Lila Sleater’s office. Her assistant tells Frank to go right in, Lila is ready.
Lila: Hello Frank, come in and have a seat. Would you like some water?
Frank: Yes, thank you, Ms. Sleater.
Lila: No reason to be so formal. You can call me Lila.
She hands Frank a bottled water and sits down behind her desk. Frank hands her the medical release which Lila glances at quickly before she adds it to a mess of papers she is organizing into neat piles on her desk. Lila takes a minute before turning her attention to Frank.
Lila: So how do you feel after your match with Mike Jette?
Frank: I ache but it’s no worse than how I felt after most of my MMA fights. It was a hard fight but I got the win. Overall, I was very happy with how things turned out and I am ready for more.
Lila: At the end you went full blown psycho on Jette.
She is right about that. I was in trouble until I saw Hansen threatening my mother. Jette might have pinned me if not for Hansen pissing me off so much that I forgot the pain and fatigue. I didn’t even know about the brass knuckles until after the match but that would have pissed me off even more.
Frank: Yeah, I lost it after Hansen got involved. I really wanted to hurt someone and Jette was a convenient target. I kept my focus but that anger helped me switch to a higher gear so I could get the win. I don’t feel bad about it. Jette asked for the street fight stipulation so he knew what he was getting into. The crowd seemed to enjoy it and I fed off them throughout the match, particularly at the end.
Lila: That’s something I hear a lot. It doesn’t matter whether they are cheering or booing, the crowd reaction is like a drug to most wrestlers. Is it like that in MMA?
Frank: The MMA fans cheer or boo, but its not the same. MMA fans seem to cheer for the fight rather than for the fighters. You can put any two warm bodies in the octagon and get the same reaction out of the crowd - cheers for a good fight, boos for a bad or boring one. There are a few exceptions but for most fighters you never get that kind of reaction directed at you. Hearing those WFWF fans cheering for me at the Garden… that was something special. I don’t care if it was because I am from Boston, it felt good. I liked it and I want more.
Lila: That’s good. If you want to be a successful wrestler you better be able to get a reaction from the fans. (brief pause while she glances at her notes) Tell me more about your time in MMA, specifically why you quit.
Frank: I had just cracked the top 15 for the light heavyweights. Several experts predicted I would be champion within a few years. But I wasn’t very happy with a lot of my fights. I thought when I went from amateur wrestling to MMA, it would mean more exciting fights. I wanted to have stand up brawls with highlight reel knockout finishes that got the crowd fired up and get me the fight of the night bonus. Too often I found myself rolling around on the mat with another sweaty guy trying to get or avoid a submission hold. Those are the fights that can be boring to watch and the crowd will let you know it. And don’t get me started on the judges. I would rather keep fighting until someone wins than go to the judges. Complaints over questionable split decisions are going to kill the sport if they aren’t careful. Anyway, I decided it was time to move on.
Lila: I’ve seen the video where you said that. Is that really the reason you left? A lot of people don’t enjoy their work but they keep on doing it because they are good at it. You were very good at MMA, could have had a long successful career and become a champion. I sense something else behind your career change but I can’t put my finger on it. Why did you get into MMA in the first place?
Frank: My trainer Paulie got me into it after I graduated college. He’s been training me in various martial arts and combat sports since I was kid. He helped me through out my high school and college wrestling career. When I graduated from college he had my MMA career all planned out for me. He introduced me to the right people, got me the best matches, trained me, managed me… he did it all.
Lila: Hold on, clear something up for me. Did you want to be an MMA fighter or did Paulie want you to be one? Did you even want to wrestle in high school or college or was that also Paulie?
Frank is struck silent by the question. Lila notices the delay in Frank’s response and his discomfort. She had touched a nerve which is exactly what she wanted and now she waits to see how he will respond.
I never gave it any thought before. I don’t actually remember a moment where I said “I am going to be an MMA fighter.” It just sort of happened. Maybe she is onto something but why does it matter to her anyway?
Frank: Well, when you put it like that… I don’t know. I always thought it was my decision but Paulie had a lot to do with it. At the time it felt like I was doing what I wanted but maybe not. He put so much effort into my MMA career that I never considered doing anything else.
Lila: I know from your bio that you never met your father. Was Paulie your father figure and could that be why you followed this path he set out for you?
What is she digging for? Sure, Paulie had a lot of influence on me. Mom was never shy about that fact that she thought being around him was good for me. Did he have my best interest in mind or was he trying to use me to live out some unfulfilled dream of his own? And what the hell does any of this have to do with getting a WFWF contract?
Frank: Anything’s possible. The more I think about it, the more possible it seems. But what’s wrong with that? Plenty of sons follow in their father’s footsteps. I didn’t have a father so I picked the next best man, Paulie.
Careful…don’t get too defensive. She might not like that.
Lila: Think about it, Frank. There is nothing wrong with following in a parent’s footsteps but it isn’t a requirement in life. What I am trying to get at is what is the real reason why you quit MMA. Did you find it unsatisfying because of the reason you have been publicly giving, which seems rather superficial to me? Or is it that you realized you didn’t choose it but that someone else chose it for you?
Frank is squirming in his seat. He stalls by taking several small sips of water. Lila is stoic, refusing to show any reaction while she observes his behavior and awaits his answer.
Frank: In retrospect, it doesn’t make sense to just quit when people are telling you that you are a future champion but that is exactly what I did. You’ve got me thinking that there is something deeper. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to leave MMA so I could do something I wanted instead of something others wanted for me. I never thought about father figures or role models having so much influence on me but it has some merit. I can’t give a better answer than that.
Lila: Relax, Frank. I’m not here to psycho-analyze you. I’m just asking questions so I can make an informed decision.
Oh crap. Am I f*cking this up? Why is she asking me all these questions that I can’t give a straight answer to? And why can’t I come up with a straight answer? I always thought I was in control of my life but she has me doubting that.
Frank: Informed decision? About what?
Lila: Whether or not to offer you a full-time contract. We brought you in for the PPV to see how you would do. You had a good performance. We see potential but that is not enough. We also need commitment. I don’t want to sign you to a contract only to have you quit a short time later. So let’s assume you left MMA because it wasn’t the path you would have chosen for yourself. Is the WFWF something you are choosing for yourself or is it another case of following a path someone else picked for you? You did say something about your mother’s influence on your decision in your YouTube video.
Damn you Ricky, why did you have to post the entire unedited footage? I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass but I didn’t think it would be from Lila. Maybe Brennan or Jette but not Lila. At least this time I do have a straight answer. I am not confused about why I came to the WFWF. I remember the exact moment I made that decision with perfect clarity.
I was home alone watching the WFWF DVD Mom gave me for my birthday. It was a section highlighting the first generation of high flyers. They were always my favorites. I loved the way they threw caution to the wind. Not only did they want to win, but they wanted to do it in the flashiest way possible to send the fans into a frenzy. Something just clicked and I KNEW that was what I wanted to do. That was the exact moment I decided, all by myself with no influence from anybody else.
Frank: Well, yeah. In a roundabout way she sort of suggested it. But this is different. We shared a love of wrestling when I was younger. I drifted away from it for a while. All my Mom did was remind me how much I enjoyed pro wrestling and how my wrestling and martial arts training made it something I could possibly do. The decision to pursue a pro wrestling career was all mine. Definitely all mine.
Lila: When I asked you about the match at Black Hole Sun, you said that you were happy with the match. Happier than you were after your MMA fights?
Frank: Much happier. All I felt after a fight was tired and beat up. It would take a week or two before I would even think about my next fight. After Black Hole Sun, I was thinking about my next match as soon as I got into the locker room. It’s like you said earlier. Being in the ring going for broke in front of a rabid crowd is like a drug. I need another fix.
Lila finally shows a reaction. She leans back in her chair and smiles. It took a while for her questioning to get to this point, but Frank finally gave the answer she needed to hear if she was going to offer him a contract.
Lila: That settles it for me. I am satisfied that being a WFWF wrestler is something you really want and you aren’t going to flake out on us. This is a 3 year contract our legal department prepared for you. Its standard stuff about number of appearances, merchandise, video rights, royalties, etc. Go ahead and read it. I’ll wait and answer any questions you may have.
Lila slides some papers towards Frank along with a pen. Frank skims through the contract. It looks straight forward enough so he wastes no time in signing it. It would have been smarter to have a lawyer glance over it, but there is something about Lila that makes him trust her.
I’m so glad that is over. The contract is signed and nobody can take this away from me. I wonder if everybody else knows how formidable this woman really is? She saw things in me that I didn’t. Now I have a lot to think about and a few conversations to have with Paulie and Mom.
Lila: I’m sorry if it seemed like I was coming down hard on you. It’s just that the WFWF isn’t a place for anyone who isn’t fully committed. I’m sure by now you’ve seen enough to know this. It can get very rough here. There will be hard times ahead if you want to be successful.
Frank: Yeah, I am a little worried. In MMA you didn’t have other fighters jumping you from behind in the middle of a fight. Chairs were for sitting on, tables for eating off of, and ladders were used to change light bulbs in high places. The fights were always one on one and may the better man win. Here you need eyes in the back of your head because you never know what’s coming but you can be damn sure something is coming. At the PPV I missed those brass knuckles Hansen tossed to Jette but I got lucky when Jette wouldn’t use them. I doubt someone like Brennan, Crowe, Trace, or Drakz would do the same.
Lila: This place does seem to run on chaos. I try to impose some sense of order but I can only do so much. Its really up to all of you, the wrestlers, to make your own order out of it.
Frank: I’d prefer to keep my matches one on one and prove I am the better man. If I can’t, I hope I make more friends than enemies.
Lila: That’s a good attitude to have. I really hope you do well. We could use more wrestlers like you.
Frank: Thanks. Ms. Sleater…err, Lila. So what’s next for me?
Lila: I have an idea. Hear me out because this might sound a little crazy. We need more tag teams in WFWF. I’m tired of throwing two random wrestlers together in the hopes that they click well enough to challenge our current tag champs. (Her voice takes on a much colder tone when she says "current tag champs".) It looked like you and Mike Jette bonded after your street fight. You have similar attitudes, styles, and both showed a lot of heart. I think you could be a good tag team. I know you two just had a brutal match but please consider it. The tag team division is wide open and in need of a real team. Would you be up for forming a tag team with Mike Jette?
What? We almost killed each other! His manager threatened my mother. She is crazy to suggest this.
Or is she crazy like a fox? I watched the match and Jette didn’t do anything too bad considering it was a street fight, certainly nothing any worse than what I did to him. He even threw away the spiked brass knuckles instead of breaking my skull open. I appreciate him not wanting to spill my brains all over the ring. I don’t think I’d enjoy being dead. I was the one who lost control after my mother was threatened by that Hansen douchebag. Jette did what he had to do…and nothing more. That’s why I shook his hand after the match. We fought hard and the better man won. I don’t know if I like him but I have to respect him, he earned that. I have no doubts that he could hold up his end of a team. I’ve seen first hand what he can do in the ring. Together we could be very good. But Hank Hansen is a problem.
Lila: Earth to Frank? Are you there? It’s just an idea. You can say no and I’ll get you a singles match for New Nebula. I hear Samael Ahriman is looking for an opponent and would love to take a rookie to school.
He could try. I might surprise him. But he doesn’t have a belt and that’s what I want. There will be a time and place for Samael Ahriman later.
Frank: I’ll tell you what, you ask Jette the same question. No Hank Hansen though, not after what he did at the PPV. Mike Jette earned my respect at Black Hole Sun; his manager did not. Winning the tag belts could be the quickest way to get a title so if Mike says yes then I’m willing to give it a try.
Lila: Good enough. I’ll give Mr. Jette a call and get back to you.
The meeting ends rather abruptly as Lila’s assistant lets Lila know Trace Demon is on the phone and wants to talk to her right away. She rolls her eyes and signals that Frank should leave so she can take care of whatever business Trace wants to discuss. Frank leaves happy that he has a signed contract, not sure if he should be happy that he also has a lot to think about. The issue of why he left MMA and came to the WFWF may be over for Lila, but for Frank it opened a large barrel of emotional monkeys that he will have to deal with.
———
The Third Part
wherein we meet the man of Frank’s dreams
Excerpt from Frank Lynn’s dream journal:
I am standing alone and naked in the middle of a vast desert. The air is filled with fine grains of sand blown off the dunes by a wind that comes from every direction at once. The sand rubs my bare skin raw like sandpaper. Tiny droplets of blood appear here and there mixing with the sweat already pouring out of me. I can feel the harsh rays of a cruel sun burning me yet when I look to the sky I there is no sun anywhere, just an endless sky of angry red instead of the comforting blue we are all used to. I am thirsty. I am hungry. I am lost.
I pick a direction at random and start walking. The sand burns the soles of my feet but I ignore it and trudge on, up a dune and down the other side over and over again. The sun that isn’t in the sky above continues to beat down on me sapping my strength and my will. Time has no meaning as one dune replaces another and I continue my relentless march to nowhere underneath the blood red skies. Behind me, the tracks of my passing are quickly hidden by the ever-shifting sands. I want to lay down and rest but I know that if I do that will be the end of me. The sun will bake my flesh, the windblown sand will blast the baked flesh off my bones, and my bones will sink into the dunes leaving no evidence that I was ever here. I don’t want to fade away like that so I march on.
Eventually, exactly how long being both immeasurable and irrelevant, I see rocks in the distance. Their outlines shimmer in the heat such that it is impossible to distinguish their true shape. I march on, my strength somewhat restored by the hope that my endless journey through this desert has some point to it, some destination that will make this endless torment worth it.
I approach the first pile of rocks. They are not natural. I can see that they were once part of a single form, a carefully crafted statue created by some unknown artist long ago. I pick up a piece and examine it closely. Once I brush off the sand, I can see it is the head of a crow. I move to another cluster of rocks. I find a stone with letters “DR” on it. Nearby is another stone that fits to the first one like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. It has the letters “AKZ” on it. I continue my search. I find more pieces of names like “SAM”, “MALA”, “SHUA”, and “ENNA”. I fumble around with several pieces until they fit together to form a demon’s head. There are too many piles for me to search and identify each one. I give up trying; I have the feeling I have been missing the forest because of the trees.
I have an epiphany. I am surrounded by what was once a shrine or temple dedicated to warriors who entered into battle with a savage beast and lost. The beast chewed them up beyond recognition and spit them out just like the debris of the once great statues scattered in the sand around me. These warriors either became the beasts servant or victim. The people who worshipped the warriors and built the temple in their honor have abandoned it, no longer interested in making the effort to maintain or repair the temple. They lost hope and moved on, looking for new heroes somewhere else. This temple is now nothing more than a memorial to the fallen; a cruel reminder that we live in a reality that crushes dreams.
I come upon a pedestal that remains almost whole and undamaged, pristine and new in its appearance. There is no name carved into it. A few yards beyond it is another pristine artifact, a black onyx doorway standing free of any structure as if it was too good to be part of any mere building. It sends shivers down my spine as I approach it. Logically, opening the door should just reveal the desert on the other side but I am afraid to open it anyway. My hand is trembling as I reach out to it, looking for a knob or switch to open the door. I find a depression that is a perfect match to my hand. I place my hand in the depression and push.
The door doesn’t open. Instead, it fades out of existence. As I feared, it does not reveal the desert beyond. It is a portal, black with splashes of silver swirling around in chaotic patterns. My fear increases. That is not someplace I want to go, not now or ever. I step back and walk around to the other side. I see the same silvery blackness when viewed from the opposite side of the onyx frame, offering no further clues as to where it leads. I keep circling until I am back where I started.
The silvery swirls coalesce into the shape of a man shrouded in a large black robe, his face completely hidden in the shadows of the hood. The man steps out of the door but retains that ethereal quality of the portal. I have seen this man before. He has haunted my dreams since I was a child. He never reveals himself nor does he speak or make any other signs. He only observes. I’ve long since stopped fearing his presence but he remains a mystery I am unable to solve. That is why what happens next is so shocking.
The man in the flowing robe steps towards me, stopping inches short of touching me. I reach up to pull back the hood so I can see his face and put an end to the mystery. My hand passes through him. Like the dream itself, he is both here and not here, real and not real. The mystery remains to be solved another day.
He points to the empty pedestal behind me, then points at me. I know what he wants. Do I dare step onto the pedestal, let my name be carved into it, and battle with the dread beast that has defeated so many before me? If I do, there is no backing out. I do not know how I know this; I just do. The observer has apparently observed long enough and decided this is the time for me to choose. Do I commit to the battle in the hopes that I am a true warrior or do I run away in the hopes that the meek really do inherit the Earth? Am I a leader or follower? A wolf or sheep? Which will it be?
For the first time ever, I can see eyes under his dark hood, tiny twinkling stars set against the utter blackness that still hides the rest of his face. He raises his hands and a sword appears. He thrusts the sword into the sand in front of me and takes a few steps back towards the onyx doorway. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in me. I can sense his growing impatience as if all this time spent watching me was for nought. The wind of the desert whispers to me: choose… choose… choose… It keeps repeating like a drumbeat that I either dance to or run away from. Another epiphany: I’m done with running. I’ve run too often and too far in the past. I know what I must do. I will not be a sheep. I will be the wolf.
I reach out to grasp the sword by the hilt and pull it out of the sand. I slowly step onto the pedestal. The robed man nods his head in what I hope is approval and steps back into the onyx portal to fade away. I look down to see that my name now appears on the pedestal. The debris of the other statues have been replaced by ghostly images of their once glorious forms. They look at me with various emotions clearly evident in their expressions ranging from respect to fear, from love to hate, from hope to desperation. I hold the sword above my head and see that is glowing. The glow from the sword spreads to my hand down my arm and keeps on spreading until it envelops my entire body. It keeps increasing in intensity as I float up into the sky.
I was lost but no more. I am the sun that burns brightly in the sky and brings order to the long dark night, a night ruled by the beast whose name is Chaos. I am still thirsty but it is not a thirst that can be quenched by a glass of water. It is a thirst for victory over the beast and all those who choose to serve him. I shall defeat his servants and in doing so restore hope to his victims. I shall do this because I must. To do any less is to become yet another victim of the beast.
———
The Fourth Part
wherein a pair of shoes and a potted plant have a pleasant conversation
A few days after his meeting with Lila, Frank and Ricky are out for a run through the streets of Boston. Winter has given way to spring so the snow has finally melted away. It is a very pleasant day and Frank is enjoying the freedom of running outside. During the cold and snowy Boston winters running meant hundreds of laps around Paulie’s small gym because he is too cheap to get a treadmill.
Halfway through their run, they stop at a park bench and drink some water. Pigeons stroll nonchalantly around their feet, cooing for crumbs, then cooing in disgust that they aren’t getting any. Or maybe they’re just cooing because they are pigeons and thats what pigeons do. Whatever the reason, they annoy Ricky so he shoos them away.
Ricky: Are you feeling better? You didn’t look so good after the match at Black Hole Sun.
Frank: I am feeling better. The doc cleared me to wrestle and I will be able to do full contact training starting tomorrow.
Ricky: So what’s next for fearless Frank Lynn, undefeated WFWF superstar?
Frank: Wait, what what what? Undefeated? I’ve only had one match!
Ricky: Did you win?
Frank: You know I won. You were there.
Ricky: Then you are undefeated. Wrestling 101: If you’ve got it, flaunt it. So what is next for the undefeated fearless Frank Lynn?
Frank: You won’t believe it. Lila suggested I form a tag team with Mike Jette.
Ricky is stunned by Frank’s statement and has nothing to say, something that rarely happens to the man who usually has a smartass reply for anything. He shakes his head dramatically and pretends to clean his ears with his pinkies before replying. Frank revels in this rare moment where he has one upped his best friend.
Ricky: Are you sure you didn’t hurt your head? I thought I heard you say you would be in a tag team with a guy who just beat the hell out of you.
Frank: You heard right. Mike isn’t as bad as you think he is. We’ve talked on the phone. He’s actually a nice guy. We have a lot in common. I can’t stand his manager though so he has to go.
Ricky: Hank Hansen? What an *sshole. But you think Jette is okay and want to tag with him?
Frank: I do. Think about the upside. Forming a tag team is good for my career. The line for the tag team championships is a lot shorter than for either of the singles titles. It is the quickest path to the top. Mike even came up with a pretty cool name for the team: the Thunderbirds!
Ricky: Is that after the car, the cheap wine, or the old TV show? Cool name or not, it seems a little crazy to partner up with someone you just had a street fight against. So who are you two going up against? Drakz and Dean?
Frank: Not yet but hopefully soon. For now we have to prove ourselves by taking on Wilbur Richardson and Dr. Mantis Tobbogan. They were randomly paired for Black Hole Sun and didn’t do too well. Looks like they are getting a second chance to prove they can work together.
Ricky: The midget quack and the Grizzly Adams wannabe? They got picked apart and put down hard. Zero chemistry. The only thing they had going for them was the hookers but even that was messed up. When I think of hookers, a lot of things come to mind but donkeys and chickens are not one of them. What a whack job.
Frank: I can’t say you are wrong but they are WFWF wrestlers so I have to take them seriously no matter how hard that may be. If Jette and I can get enough training together to be a cohesive team we should have an easy time of it. I just hope the two of us can handle all the rule breaking crap they may try.
Ricky: I saw a lot of that at the PPV. Are you sure you can handle this on your own? Maybe you should bring some backup?
Frank: I told Lila I’d prefer to do it on my own but you have a point. As much as I’d like to grow eyes in the back of my head, that isn’t going to happen.
Ricky: You may not be able to grow eyes in the back of your head, but you could bring another set of eyes.
Frank: What do you mean?
Ricky: I thought it was obvious. You still have a lot to learn about professional wrestling. What I’m saying is you need a manager!
Frank: A manager? I suppose you have somebody in mind?
Frank points at Ricky indicating he knows exactly who Ricky has in mind.
Ricky: You aren’t completely slow on the uptake. Yes, I mean me. I can watch your back. I can be your mouthpiece since I have the gift of gab and you don’t. Imagine it: Fearless Frank Lynn accompanied to the ring by his crafty manager Tricky Ricky Mendosa.
Ricky wants to be my manager? I could do worse. He has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I trust him with my life but do I trust him with my career? With his lack of control he is a wildcard, a ticking time bomb. He might get me into as much trouble as he gets me out of. I wouldn’t say no to Ricky as my manager but I’m not ready to say yes either. I need to stall.
Frank: You aren’t a trained wrestler and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. If you joined me in my training and got your skills to a point where you can at least defend yourself until help arrives, I’ll consider it.
Ricky: I guess that will do for now. I bet you change your mind the first time you get jumped from behind or kicked in the balls or pin an opponent but there is no ref to make the count. Some people just need to learn the hard way. Shall we head back now?
Frank: Sounds good.
Frank and Ricky continue their run. Twenty minutes later, they are at the door to Frank’s apartment building. Ricky gets to the door first and rings the bell.
Frank: Seriously dude? I’m right here. Who do you think is going to answer the doorbell?
Ricky: Meh, force of habit. See doorbell, ring doorbell. If I had a bag full of dog sh*t I’d light it on fire and run away.
Frank: Ha ha ha. I’d expect nothing less of you.
Frank opens the door and they head up the stairs to Frank’s apartment. Frank opens the apartment door and flicks on the lights to a large crowd of people shouting “Surprise!” They are all there to celebrate his win at Black Hole Sun and signing his WFWF contract. His mother (Laura), Becky, Ricky, Jimmy, and Paulie lead the partygoers in singing “For he’s a jolly good fellow” which mercifully ends after just one verse. Frank’s friends would never win any karaoke contests so they switched to something they could do well: get drunk!
Ricky plays a video of the match and everyone finds somewhere to sit so they can watch. Ricky comes up with a drinking game: whenever Frank gets knocked on his ass, everyone has to drink. Frank stays in the back preferring to watch the reactions of this small crowd than the match itself which he has already watched several times studying what he did right and wrong. The oohs and ahs of his friends gives him the same kind of rush that the live crowd did the night of the PPV. By the time the match is over, everyone has a good buzz going. Frank mingles for a while accepting the congratulations and well wishes from everyone until he notices his drink is empty. He goes into his kitchen to get a refill and sees his mother sitting at the table eating some cake, so he grabs a slice and joins her.
Laura: How’s my asskicking mute son? Are you okay? Something about you seems off tonight.
Frank: I’m okay but I do have something on my mind. You know I had that meeting with Lila Sleater. She asked some questions that got me to thinking… mostly about you, Paulie, and my father. She was asking about why I quit MMA which led to why did I start MMA which led to questions about Paulie and my father.
Laura: What did she ask you?
Frank: Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it led me down a rabbit hole straight into a question I couldn’t answer for myself.
Laura: Oh. What question was that?
Frank: What kind of person was my father? You’ve never told me very much and what you have told me is always good, almost too good to be true. I have this image in my head of my father that is impossibly perfect. I didn’t realize it or maybe I just chose to ignore it, but I’ve been trying to live up to a perfect father all my life. It’s always been there in the back of my head influencing every decision I have ever made.
Laura: Oh son, I was always afraid this would be a problem. I tried my best but there are circumstances that make it very difficult for me to tell you about your father.
Frank: At least now that I’ve realized what I was doing, I can change it. I already have by quitting MMA to go into the WFWF. It may be the first major decision I’ve made that wasn’t done to please this perfect father image.
I *have* been in denial all my life. I created an idealized father image in my head that I have been subconsciously trying to please all my life. It has been holding me back. I’m sorry dad but I have to let go.
Laura: I’m happy for you. Every son has to step out of their father’s shadow so they can become their own man. You’re doing that. Do I sense a “but”?
Frank: You do. But… I’d still like to know more about my father. I’ve been patient but I don’t know how much longer I can do that. I need to fill in some of the blanks.
Laura’s usual laid back demeanor changes. Her smile becomes more of a frown and there is a tinge of sadness in her eyes. She takes a moment to brush her hair back out of her eyes. She looks into her son’s eyes with a little dread as for what seems like the millionth time she has to decide if today is the day she breaks her silence. She sees her son sitting there waiting for some revelation about his father and realizes that she must tell him something but how much can she reveal? Can she tell him without telling him? When she does speak, it is in short bursts with long thoughtful pauses in between.
Laura: It’s never been easy for me. I’ve never told you much about your father because it could hurt you. (Frank looks puzzled) I may not have said anything bad about him, but believe me when I say your father had his faults. I guess it is time I told you a little more to put your mind at ease. I’m sorry this is going to be vague but I really can’t give you details. We were young, in love, and ready to spend the rest of our lives together. Then some bad people asked him to do something. He had to choose between doing the right thing which could hurt everyone he loved or doing the wrong thing and living happily ever after. He chose to do the right thing. It cost him his life. (Laura wipes a tear from her eye.) He didn’t know I was pregnant when it happened so neither did those bad people. If they ever find out that he and I were lovers and you are his son, they would come after the two of us. They believe that what one person does, their entire family must answer for. I don’t want to think what they would do to us if the truth came out. I couldn’t bear to lose you like that. (She wipes more tears from her eyes.) Please don’t ask me to say more because I won’t. I can’t. No matter how much it hurts you to not know, knowing could hurt you more.
This is more than she has ever revealed before but here comes the crying. This always happens whenever I ask about my father. She tosses me a little tidbit and then starts to cry. I hate to see her cry. I’d rather not know if this is the price.
Frank: Please Mom, stop. Don’t cry. I don’t need to know any more, really I don’t.
Laura: You deserve to know more. You deserve to know everything about your father but I can’t tell you. Please understand one thing. Your father would be proud of you no matter what you did. He would be tickled pink that you have found something that makes you happy. If you become the best wrestler you can, he will be watching you and smiling, probably grabbing anyone nearby to watch with him while he brags “That’s my boy!”
Frank: That sounds nice. I like that image better than him looking down in stern disapproval.
Laura: He really would be proud. You’re a good son.
She pauses as if considering whether or not to say more. They sit in silence. Frank is stuck between the rock of wanting more information about his father and the hard place of making his mother cry again. Laura is caught in a catch 22, hating that she has to cause her son emotional pain in order to save him from a worse physical pain. Laura finally breaks the silence the only way possible, by changing the subject.
Laura: You left your dream journal out. I read the latest entries. I hope you don’t mind.
Frank: I don’t mind, it was your idea in the first place to keep a dream journal. It helps to have someone else read them and give me their opinion.
Laura: The man in black is taking an active role in your dreams now?
Frank: Yep, the man in black actually interacted with me. He made me choose…or perhaps just reinforced the choice I already made.
Laura: Do you still think that the man in black is a subconscious vision of your father?
Frank: Yes. It seems so obvious now. He was always a silent observer until now. I think my subconscious was one step ahead of me in realizing it was time to let go so I could live my own life. The decision to wrestle in the WFWF, the meeting with Lila, the dream…they were all steps in a major turning point for me. I had to put my father image in the rearview mirror so the rest of my life would be wide open ahead of me. I don’t think the man in black will be in my dreams anymore.
Laura: Perhaps. It makes sense. But I wouldn’t rule out other possibilities. Dreams can be tricky sometimes.
She pauses again considering whether to say more, but they are interrupted by Paulie. Paulie came into the kitchen to say his goodbyes, or as he puts it “Time to get my old ass home and let these kids have their fun.” Laura agrees with Paulie and asks if he could give her a ride home. Before they leave, she makes a point of wrapping up some extra cake and giving it to Paulie to take with him. Frank wanders around and mingles but his mind is elsewhere. He tries to make small talk for a while but gives up and goes out to the balcony to be alone.
Well Lila, are you happy? You asked the questions and I answered them. I am in the WFWF because it is where I want to be. That’s right, I as in me, not a father who only exists in my head, not Paulie or my Mother or Ricky or the Easter Bunny or anyone else. I am doing this for me.
Tonight, I found out that my father faced some chaos in his life. He chose the way of right and paid a heavy price for it. I will never get to know him but I can still learn from him. I’m sure I will have to make some hard choices in WFWF. Just like my father I will choose right over wrong but I’ll make sure someone else pays the price…not me. I’m going to be around for a long time. There is too much chaos in WFWF. It is time for some order. It is what my father would have wanted. More importantly, it is what I want!
Frank’s inner monologue is interrupted as another person comes out to the balcony. It is Becky, looking damn good as her bright red hair flows around her slightly freckled face down to her shoulders where it meets up with her little black cocktail dress. She is smiling and not quite walking straight on bare feet as she approaches Frank, showing the effects of one too many drinks. If you asked her, she would tell you that walking in high heels was too much work after a few drinks so her shoes are currently enjoying a pleasant conversation with Frank’s one and only potted plant near the front door.
Becky: Hey stranger! Why is the guest of honor hiding from his own party?
Frank: Lot on my mind. Just trying to sort through stuff.
Becky: I guessed as much. I saw you in the kitchen with your mother. It looked like a deep moment. What kind of heavy trip did you drop on her?
Frank: I’ve been thinking about my father, or lack thereof, and how it has affected me.
Becky: So, how has it affected you?
Frank: I’ve come to the conclusion that I have spent my whole life trying to live up to an imaginary perfect father and until now either I didn’t realize it or I wouldn’t admit it. I believe that is called denial. It is time to stop that. My father wasn’t perfect and I don’t have to live up to some unreachable standard. In fact, I don’t have to live up to anybody else’s standards, just my own. I am going forward doing the things I want to do and have fun while doing them.
Becky: That’s good, real good. I never said anything but you were always a little uptight. You need to lighten up a little, smile more. You have a nice smile.
She stresses the point by poking her index fingers into the corners of his mouth and pushing them up into a smile.
Becky: See? Nice smile. It sounds like you are ready to break out of your shell. Life is meant to be enjoyed so enjoy it.
Becky moves in close to Frank, putting an arm around him and laying her head on his shoulder.
Becky is right. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me and I can finally start living.
Becky: So if tonight is the night for soul searching I have one more suggestion for you.
Frank: Oh you do, do you? What else about me needs to be fixed?
Becky: Your eyes, silly boy. For years I’ve been right here in front of you and yet you don’t see me, not the real me. I know it’s not another girl because you hardly ever date. You’re not gay or Jimmy would have found a way to jump your bones a long time ago. So what is it?
Becky emphasizes her point by doing a not so perfect pirouette and hair flip that almost causes her to fall down. She stops her fall by throwing her arms around Frank’s neck. As for Frank, he is caught completely by surprise and stammers out the first thing he can think of, which in hindsight may have been the worst thing he could have said.
Frank: You’ve always been one of the boys. We all hang out together, do something crazy like jump out of a plane, then drink lots of beer and laugh about it later. I never even thought about you in any other way.
A sober Becky might have walked away after hearing that. Good thing for Frank, this was a drunk Becky. She removes her hands from around Frank’s neck and steps back, placing them on her hips in an aggressive stance. She gives Frank a stern look much like a librarian would make while shushing a noisy patron.
Becky: Well, start thinking about it. If you get to change your life tonight, I want to change mine too. I’m tired of waiting for you to see what is right in front of you. Frank, I don't want to be one of the boys like Jimmy or Ricky. I want out of the friends zone. Tonight. Now.
Holy sh*t, did she really just say that? Why haven’t I asked her out? She is intelligent, funny, beautiful, and just a little bit crazy. I won’t find a better woman. Am I really so self-absorbed that I didn’t see this until she hit me over the head with a brick? I should be grateful she isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. Or grateful that she has drunk enough alcohol to destroy her inhibitions. So stop standing here looking stupid and say something before she changes her mind!
Frank: I’m an idiot. If I had known you felt this way I would have asked a long time ago. Why don’t you hang around after everybody else leaves?
Becky: I thought you’d never ask.
Frank and Becky lean in close and kiss, awkwardly at first but it becomes quite passionate after a few seconds. After the kiss, they lean against the balcony railing with their arms around each other and watch the stars for a while, impatiently waiting for everyone else to leave.
I’ve been thinking about so much the past few days but it all came together for me tonight. I feel like a new person. The whole world is out there just waiting for me. Coming to the WFWF was the best thing I have ever done. Fame, fortune, and championship glory…the proverbial brass ring is mine for the taking.
It has been a very good day. With Becky here it will be an even better night.
Indeed it was an even better night for Frank and Becky. Becky’s shoes and Frank’s potted plant also had a good time but that is a story for another day.
———
The Fifth Part
wherein the Thunderbirds are go!
It is morning of the day before New Nebula. Frank and Ricky are at Paulie’s gym getting a last workout in. Frank is showing Ricky some basic techniques. Paulie watches from the other side of the gym, content to let Frank handle the easy stuff. He’ll take over later when they get to more advanced maneuvers.
Ricky is trying his best to keep up with Frank but it is clear that he has a long way to go. An hour into the workout, Frank has barely broken a sweat but Ricky looks like something Dr. Moreau created in his infamous island laboratory: a mutant combination of Ricky, a drowned rat, and a panting dog. The good news is he can’t talk as much as usual if he’s too busy trying to catch his breath. Frank decides it is time have a little mercy on his friend. He calls for a break.
Ricky half sits, half collapses onto a bench. Frank grabs a bottle of water and a towel for Ricky. Frank isn’t feeling the burn yet, so he picks up a rope and starts jumping to the rhythm of the music Paulie always plays in the gym. Today it is Monster Magnet, which suits Frank just fine. The fast and furious stoner rock songs help him set a good pace on the jump rope.
Ricky: I never realized what a beast you are. I’m done. I have nothing left in the tank while you are barely getting started. I think I hate you. I’m too tired to be sure. Ask me again later if I hate you so I can be sure.
Good. I don’t know if I want you as my manager but I don’t have it in me to say no to you. It would be so much easier if you just gave up on the idea.
Frank: Don’t worry about it, endurance will come with work. I’ve been doing this since I was 12 years old. I better be good at it or I’ve wasted a lot of time in the gym. Besides, I don’t expect you to reach the level I’m at. I just want you good enough to defend yourself. You wont ever have to go 30 minutes in a match like me. At the most, you might have to go at it for a minute or two.
Ricky: I’m not sure you fully get the concept of a manager. They don’t actually wrestle you know. They talk for you, warn of you any danger, get the crowd pumped up, and sometimes provide a distraction.
Frank: I know what a manager does. I also know you. I fully expect that if you come to the ring with me for a match, you will end up getting physically involved. Once you start talking, someone is going to punch you in the mouth just to shut you up. I don’t want you getting hurt so its a no go until you master the basics.
Ricky: Enough, I get it. Right now I don’t like it, but I get it. I’ll put in the work. You watch, it won’t be long before Tricky Ricky is joining you in the WFWF.
Tricky Ricky? Exactly what I’m worried about. A name like that is a giant flashing neon sign that you are looking for trouble and I will have to fight my way out of it.
Frank: I don’t doubt it, not for a second. So as my potential manager, talk to me about Mike Jette. Now that you’ve met him and seen us working together, what do you think?
Ricky: You were right. He’s a good guy. I read him wrong. Can’t say the same about Hank Hansen. What a douchebag.
Frank: Grrr…I didn’t like him the moment he tried to hit my mother at Black Hole Sun. I made it a condition of our tag team that Hank stays far away so I hope Mike drops him. Hank is bad news and he will get Mike into trouble. Can you believe he thought those spiked brass knuckles were a good idea? What an *sshole. If Mike had used them he could have killed me! For real dead…six feet under pushing up mother f*cking daisies.
Ricky: Posdef bud, posdef. I thought Paulie was a crazy old bastard but compared to Hansen, Paulie is a Care Bear.
Posdef? POSDEF? What the f*ck Ricky, are you reading crappy sci-fi again? Sounds like one of those stupid cyber-slang terms William Gibson would come up with to hide the fact that he can’t write for sh*t. I really have to get you some Heinlein and Asimov.
Ricky: Some of those moves you and Mike worked on were nice. Double super kicks, double dropkicks, the doomsday device, total elimination, heart attack…they all looked good.
Frank: How about that special finisher Mike came up with, the one where he does his airplane spin into a fireman’s carry slam while I come over the top off the ropes with my five star frog splash?
Ricky: It looked pretty f*cking sweet once you got the timing down. Looked like sh*t when you took off too early or too late. You gonna use it tomorrow?
Frank: Oh hell yeah. We’re gonna call it “dropping the bomb” or the “Thunderbomb” or something like that. As long as it has “bomb” in the name I’m happy. I’m trying to keep to a theme with my B-52 intro, tights design, and the team name. The Thunderbirds! I was drawing a complete blank for a team name but Mike hit it out of the park on his first try.
Ricky: It has that old school feel. So what’s your plan for the match?
Frank: There’s the obvious stuff: work as a team, frequent tags, combo moves for greater impact, etc. If we can get things going our way, we are going to isolate Toboggan and work him over. He is definitely the weaker of the two due to his size and age. The less opportunities Richardson has to land a haymaker, the better.
Ricky: So thats the genius plan you and Mike came up with? Beat up the old short fat guy?
Frank: Mock us all you want. Its a simple plan for a simple match. I really don’t see Mantis and Wilbur as a big threat as long as Mike and I work together. This match will be a glorified sparring match for the Thunderbirds, a stepping stone to bigger and better matches.
Ricky: You seem like a completely different person since Black Hole Sun. You were so nervous that you were gonna fall flat on your face then but not any more. Confidence is oozing out of you.
Frank: I worked out some personal issues. I’m ready to take the WFWF by storm. I can’t wait for you to hear my promo for this match. I channeled my inner Ricky and totally cut loose. Probably gonna piss off a lot of people, but that’s okay. People who go into a match fueled by emotions don’t think straight. They make mistakes. I can take advantage of those mistakes to get some big wins.
Ricky: Channeled your inner Ricky? That sounds disgusting.
Frank: You have a way of getting under people’s skin. In fact, trying to think like you gave me an idea for New Nebula that should really burn Drakz and Dean.
Ricky: Now you’re starting to scare me. If you become more like me, does that mean I have to insert a stick up my butt to be more like you? I’m telling you right now that ain’t gonna happen.
Frank doesn’t react to Ricky’s jibe, partially because he is used to Ricky poking fun at him and partially because it is true. Becky pointed it out at the party too. Frank was working on getting that stick out of his butt.
Ricky takes one last long gulp from the near empty water bottle and wipes the sweat off his face with the towel. He tosses both aside and stands to face Frank.
Ricky: Enough talking sensei, lets get back to work.
They get back into the training ring. Paulie make his way over and helps them work on more advanced moves. Well, to be honest he instructs Frank. He doesn’t see a lot of potential in Ricky. In fact he thinks Ricky is an irresponsible smartass not worth his time. He mostly has Ricky serve as a punching bag and tackling dummy for Frank. By the end of the workout, Paulie has to admit one thing about Ricky, he was a trooper who took it all without complaining. Maybe he was good for something other than joking and drinking.
———
The Sixth Part
wherein Frank tells us about the word of the day
Listen up neanderthals, it’s time for a vocabulary lesson. The word of the day is respect, R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Webster defines respect as a feeling or understanding that someone or something is important, serious, etc., and should be treated in an appropriate way. You should be writing this down morons, you will be tested on it later.
At Black Hole Sun, Mike Jette and I had a street fight. It was a brutal, ugly, blood soaked affair between two men without the usual grudge that precedes such an extreme match. So why did we try to kill each other? Respect.
There is something the definition of respect doesn’t make clear. Some of you need to pay extra special attention to this part so I’ll say it slowly: You. Have. To. Earn. Respect. It is not given out like candy at Halloween. You can’t knock on a door, recite a silly rhyme, and have it handed to you. You have to earn it. We earned respect by showing all of you the kind of punishment each of us is capable of giving and taking. You want to come at us with a chair or a kendo stick or put us through a table? Been there, done that. What else ya’ got?
After the street fight was over we were two warriors bonded by blood. We had earned each others respect and now it has grown into a partnership: the Thunderbirds. Remember that name. Write it down. Get it tattooed on your forehead so it is right there staring back you every time you look in a mirror. Don’t worry, it won’t look half as stupid as that “No Regerts” tattoo on your left butt cheek. What did you say? Your butt tattoo is Pikachu sitting on a mushroom smoking a joint? Good for you, but it is still stupider than “Thunderbirds” in big bold letters on your forehead.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the tag team! Jette and I won’t stop until we are the best tag team in WFWF history. We are going to earn the respect of every wrestler in the locker room and every fan sitting in the arena or watching at home. How? By beating any team that gets in our way including the current tag team champions, Drakz and Joshua Dean. Oh yeah, I went there. I’m calling out the biggest dogs in the yard. You’ve been bad doggies and somebody needs to rub your ugly dog faces in that pile of sh*t you made on the carpet. Why not the Thunderbirds?
At New Nebula, The Thunderbirds take our first steps towards the tag champs when we face Dr. Mantis Toboggan and Wilbur Richardson. I have to call it like I see it: I don’t respect either of them. Wilbur is a reject from a Discovery Channel special on inbred hillbilly hermits who live off of squirrels, mushrooms, and their own toenail clippings. Wilbur should get himself a smartphone and google “Asskicking” because that is what we have in store for him. Mantis is a straight up nutcase who thinks hookers riding donkeys is a good idea. Think about it people! Hookers. Riding. Donkeys. That is wrong on so many levels. All I have to say to Mantis is “physician, heal thyself” because after this match you will be in a world of pain. At New Nebula, Mike and I will finish the job that Vass and Quenton started at Black Hole Sun.
The only reason we even care about this match is that you are in our way. Move or get run over. Either way, we plan to put you in our rearview mirror so we can set our sites on the tag champs. Shine those belts up boys, the Thunderbirds are coming!