Post by Drakz on Apr 4, 2021 15:47:01 GMT -5
”Goodnight Mr Dean”
(A.K.A. A Sycophant, a Legacy and a Lady)
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Let me ask you a question.
When Superbrawl arrives, who will you be rooting for?
Who will you be behind?
Is it Drakz? The man painted as a villain, just for being an over achiever.
Or is it Joshua Dean? A man who has stolen, openly attacked his opponent on numerous occasions and indeed, even put his own family into the line of fire! A human shield, just so he could press the advantage.
And sure, maybe I roughed his kid up a little, but was I unprovoked? Did I do it out of malice? Or was it a reaction born out of trauma? And besides, it’s not even really his kid.
This whole good vs evil schtick isn’t so clean cut any more is it? It’s not like the good old days when you could just boo the goodies, and cheer the baddies. Wait……
No.
Josh and I are shades of grey, but the real question is, whose hue is darker?
It’s easy to see why Josh acts the way he does. He’s entitled. Thinks the world owes him something. Ever since his arrival in the WFWF he’s been that way. This isn’t some new persona, it’s just he’s not as good at hiding it now he’s desperate. I mean the guy literally called himself a ‘Saviour of Salvation’. A moniker that still doesn’t make a shred of sense. How does one save salvation? But let’s not get bogged down in semantics.
I have always just assumed Josh’s behaviour stemmed from his success elsewhere. He made a name for himself in another company, I’m sure he’ll tell you the name of it because I sure can’t, and has had a chip on his shoulder ever since. So disgruntled that his previous achievements haven’t translated so well to this grander stage. Now I don’t want to start throwing around all that macho, d*ck measuring bullsh*t, talking about big fish in small ponds, and ‘welcome to the big time’. That kind of verbiage is beneath me, and frankly I don’t need to level those words at Mr Dean. He already knows it. Josh’s awareness of that fact is manifest in his actions.
So what does he do in an attempt to disguise the gulf in our respective careers? He just claims things with no real grounds. He forever bangs on about how he bested me for the championship all those years ago, but when I check the title records, all I see is a ‘<1 day’ next to his entry. That doesn’t exactly read like the case notes of a grand victory. And then he’ll whine about how it was unfair, that I cheated him out of his moment. The felled champion is entitled to his rematch, and there’s nothing that rules out said rematch happening immediately after the fact, is there? As far as I see it, he just won the warm up round. A commendable feat given the calibre of his opponent, but like Cameron Stone before him, just pinning me isn’t enough to beat me. You have to pin me when it really counts.
But where was Josh’s rematch then, I hear you cry? Did we all just gloss over the Elimination Chamber at that year’s Superbrawl? Was Josh not in that match, along with every other cat hollering for a shot of their own? If I’d given them all the 1 on 1 treatment there wouldn’t have been an interesting, fresh challenger for years. We put them all in that chamber together for the sake of expedition. They all had the same opportunity to take me out, all with equal odds on picking up the W, and yet I still wound up closing the show as champion. Admittedly with no chance of facing those fresh opponents I longed for. Kyzer put paid to that. Thanks bud.
People have this idea that I don’t like defending my title, or that I’m always running from viable challengers, but is there really any evidence to back that up? Do my match records support this conspiracy? Of course not. Folks just like to talk sh*t. I’ve always given people their chance.
Granted, this current reign hasn’t quite had the blockbuster feel as THAT one, you know, the contentious 851 day one. But I’m fast coming up on that number again, and have defended this belt each time of asking.
Penny Shannon.
Michael Kyzer.
Tugarin Zmey.
Frank Lynn.
I even defended my International Championship against the janitor whilst Josh was jerking off onto my Heavyweight Championship nameplates. You see? I’m doing my best here. It can’t be helped if there’s not the same conveyor belt of top tier adversaries in the year of our lord 2021.
Are you starting to lean one way or the other yet? Josh or Drakz?
Let me ask you a different question then.
Who has entertained you more these last few years? Me? Or him? Who has put his broken back on the line, time and time again, making sure you get what you paid for? And then who has been off diversifying their portfolio, not giving 2 sh*ts about this place until he thought he could strong arm his way in to the main event right out the gate? So what if I’m a little naughty from time to time? You’ve cheered me for it before, why not now? You’ve seen me as THE bad guy, and there was a time when I was THE good guy. So what am I to you now? Are you going to cheer for me at Superbrawl, when I put it all on the line for you yet again? My title. My career.
Honestly. What am I to you?
I’m the f*cking champ. That’s who I am. And that’s all that matters.
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This office. I’m sick of the sight of this office as of late. It’s not even as though it’s the same room every time. We’re always on the move, but this man child has a habit of bringing his decor with him to every new locale, so it feels like stepping through a very boring looking-glass each time you walk in the door. All these repeat visits, just to have my arse buttered up in a vain attempt of coercion. You’d think I’d like that right? Everyone has this image that the omnipotent Drakz lives to be admired and complimented, and yet it actually just makes me f*cking ill.
I’m at a stage in my career, hell I’ve been here for years now, where I know how good I am. I know my worth, and not in some delusional “I’m the king of the world” way. We’ll get to that type of person in due course. No, I’m well aware of what I bring to the table. I can say that with confidence, and not have to call anyone’s bluff in stuff like contract negotiations. We’ve all seen it before. You remember Trace Demon’s “record breaking contract” that he announced all those years back? Did his past, present, or even future warrant that kind of fanfare? That kind of money? Of course not, and yet he had the audacity to bluff his way into it. He knew, deep down he knew, that he was pulling the heist of the century with that sh*t. He didn’t genuinely believe that his talents engendered such an astronomical figure, or f*ck it maybe he did? He always was a delusional punk. But in my situation, there is no doubt, there is no grandiose illusion. My resumé, my record and my staying power all speak for themselves, so much so that I don’t need to argue my case. I’ve got Kris Kash sucking my balls while he works the head 24/7, in hopes of my re-signing with his newly acquired asset.
How’s it going to look to his investors if he buys up an international, multi billion dollar company, only to promptly lose its biggest USP? That’s wanker talk for; juiciest pair of plums.
So what do you think? It’s a pretty big deal right? The biggest card this company has seen in years.
He’s pretty pleased with himself. His Superbrawl card has more than 4 matches on it. Can you imagine?
“I think you’re continuing your bad habits Kris. I think you’re still plugging the holes in the dam with your fingers instead of fixing the damn dam. The damn dam? F*ck it, you know what I mean.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I do? I’ve managed to bring DGX, Joe Bishop, Reverend Shadow and even Wayne McGurk back into the fold!”
“And that’s the problem darling. Who’s next? Alex Sean? Is this your way of bolstering the ranks around here? To hell with new, young, hungry talent. Let’s just pack the card out with old men. Let’s see if we can tempt the WFWF’s greatest has beens to go one more round! It’s not even like those names you mentioned are the minority. We’ve not even mentioned EBR, who let’s face it hasn’t exactly dazzled so far has he? And what now? He’s going to go 0 & 2 to spring chicken Penny Shannon?”
“Didn’t you recently lose to Penny?”
Hell of a negotiation tactic there buddy old pal. Show me a red rag and hope I charge right into a new contract?
“The f*ck has that got to do with anything? Look I’ll admit it, even your top champion, sorry, even your top two champions, that’s me on both counts in case you hadn’t been paying attention, is in the twilight of his active years. I’m old as f*ck. Just like the rest of your Superbrawl card. The difference is, I’ve not been coaxed back in for a payday. Do you know how embarrassing this show could turn out? A lot of those guys haven’t so much as seen a wrestling ring in the last few years, and you’re expecting them to turn back the clock and perform at an elite level? Sorry to be the one to tell you this mate, but what you’ve booked? It could end up as the worst Superbrawl in history. Top to bottom, just fat lads, way past their primes, getting out of breath making their ring walks.”
It’s not all bad. In his defence he does have a handful of saplings jerking the curtains, but is he selling the show based on them? They’re an afterthought to him. They’re just making up the numbers, which is f*cking sad.
“That’s an awfully big ‘maybe’ Drakz, and I’m willing to take that risk, as the marquee names I’ve pulled in for this Wembley show have gotten more eyes back on the WFWF than we’ve seen in years. When was the last time these fans got to see the Reverend Shadows and the Dave Dementos of the past?”
“You’re not really making much of a case for debate Kris.”
“The figures don’t lie Drakz. This is the most anticipated Pay Per View in as long as anyone can remember.”
“It’s a short term solution at best. Are any of this lot even sticking around after Superbrawl is done?”
There’s an uncomfortable silence that tells me everything I needed to know.
“I need more star power. This is how I’ve solved that problem, for now. If you’re going to up and retire when you lose…”
“IF I lose mate. If.
I could well be here for another 15 years as champion.”
His eyebrows twitch a little, not much, but just enough to give the game away. His c*ck is swelling in his grundies. Time to shut that down.
“On a rolling match by match basis.”
“Could you not just do me a solid and sign some kind of deal buddy?”
Buddy? Who the f*ck does he think I am? He rises from his seat and paces behind his desk, clearly at a bit of a loose end about all this. I feel like I’m trying to dump a girlfriend and she just won’t accept it.
“Just something in writing. Your signature alone would help bolster share prices. A symbol that the rats aren’t fleeing a sinking ship.”
First I’m his buddy, now I’m a rat. He’s really on a roll here.
“Listen, I have some other matters to discuss while I’m here. Your constant fingering in this contract wound is getting old. You’re like a dog…..”
Woof!
……with a bone. Just leave. Leave it. Leeeeeave. Sit. Good f*cking boy. Jesus.
He sits back down, looking a little defeated to be honest. What happened to all that spunk he was dripping with when he first called me in here? I guess my constant shutting down of his offers is taking its tole a little? Blue balled up the wazoo.
“I guess it kind of ties in with what it is you want from me, because at the end of the day what I want from you has failed to materialise. And how am I supposed to work for a boss who cant hold up their end of a deal?”
“I’m all ears.”
Just a stinking bag of severed ears.
“Okay. What the f*ck was that press conference about? I was attacked……AGAIN. How am I supposed to operate at the high level you all expect me to when I’m constantly nursing aggravated injuries? This line of work is dangerous, that’s no secret, and when you’ve been doing it as long as I have, racking up a a near endless number of trips to the doctor? It necessitates a certain amount of down time between matches, to rest up and heal. Not fully mind you. I don’t have time to get back to 100 percent, but at the very least recover enough to strap myself up and do my job.”
He nods, looking like he’s listening intently. Though he’s no doubt thinking on a new line of Kash BCAA infused condoms for kids, or something as equally problematic.
“And right now, that’s not happening. Let’s be honest that’s an issue I’ve struggled with for years. It comes with the territory of being the champ. You p*ss all over the place, mark your kingdom out, and other, weaker sacks of sh*t jump you from behind because it’s the only way they stand a chance. But like I already said, I’m getting on a bit mate. I need this recovery time now more than ever. My back’s been on the out for years now. It’s a miracle of modern medicine that I’ve gone on as long as I have after it broke, but I’m not the Six Million Dollar Man. I’ve not been rebuilt. I’ve just been lucky so far. I can’t go on having f*ck wits like Joshua Dean getting his digs in every damn week.
It’s f*cking bullsh*t Kris. I was PROMISED security, and so far it’s nowhere to be seen. And the worst part? Literally minutes before Josh drove me through that table, do you remember what you said? Because it’s going to leave you feeling awful f*cking red in the face. You said…..”I live up to my promises”. You said that. And yet having given me your word that I’d be better protected, in an almost tragically comedic fashion, I get the snot kicked out of me before I have chance to so much as raise my hands. So? What are you gonna do? And I don’t want to hear that p-word thrown around this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s it? Just sorry?”
“I’m sorry I let you down. I like to think I’m a man of my word. When I say something I want people to know that comes with a guarantee, and bro…”
This guy….
“…..I let ya down. But I prom…..I’ll make the arrangements to ensure it can’t happen again. Right after this very meeting, I’ll put the call in. Nobody f*cks with my champion.”
Evidently he watches too many hokey f*cking gangster films.
“I’d like to say those words have appeased me, but in all honesty your actions need to catch up with the rest of you, before I start believing a syllable of it.”
“I appreciate that Drakz, and I understand that right now the Kash guarantee has slipped a bit, but I’ll make it up to ya.”
Does he actually think this guarantee thing is a known commodity? Like people walk around talking about the Kash guarantee? He’s off his nut.
“Let me ask you something Christopher…..”
I make a point of saying it with a C………apparently this ball bag can tell the difference.
He winces. Such is his affinity with the letter K.
“……Seriously now. What’s your vision for this place 1 year from now? 5 years from now? Is this just another vanity project for you? Do a bit of house keeping to clean up the books, slap a few old names on your roster along with all the other quick fixes, and then you up and leave? Head held high, looking like you’ve turned the tide, as the WFWF sags under its own weight. Holding on just long enough for you to be out of the picture before it haemorrhages its guts all over the pavement?”
“You’ve got me all wrong my man. I’m not this shyster you seem to think I am. I’m an entrepreneur. A businessman who uses his reputation to take failing business and make them work. This arrangement with the WFWF is no different than any of my other ventures in that respect, only my heart is in wrestling, so I really want to make this work.”
Not the answer I’d expected if I’m honest. But he also sidestepped the real question of where it is we’re heading.
“That’s a shame.”
“What?”
“Well, I’d respect the man that managed to pull that off. I’d also hunt him down and beat the p*ss out of him, but I’d do it respectfully. You know, with the palm of my hand, instead of the back of it.”
He doesn’t know how to react to that.
Does it mean I don’t respect him?
I don’t.
Does it mean I’m on to him, and know that line he just fed me was a load of horse sh*t?
I am.
Might I slap the sh*t out of him right now just for the sake of it?
I might.
He just sort of nervously tries to laugh it off but I make sure to maintain a deadly serious composure, as much as I might want to laugh myself. He soon stops.
“So, back to this contract business. As you know I still haven’t signed a new one, and as you also know I’m fairly happy to be keeping everyone on tender hooks with this idea that I lose and I leave. But you should know, win, lose or draw at Superbrawl, there IS one more match I want.”
“And do you want it enough to stick around in the event that Josh beats you?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I want it, but we don’t always get what we want. Do we? Which is why I’ll fill you in on the details after I lift those titles to close out your Wembley show. I intend to win that main event, and I also intend to send Joshua Dean packing. Sorry. I know you’re looking to fill out your roster, not drain it, but I don’t think Josh is the kind of guy to take a loss of this magnitude too well. But, you never know, he could surprise us all. Don’t count on it though. Odds are on him taking his ball and f*cking off with it. For good this time.”
“So how does this all factor in to contractual arrangements? Drakz, honestly, what’s it going to take? Just name your price.”
It’s not money I’m after.
“It’s going to take more than throwing paper at me to commit. I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
I should really teach him not to say that word around me.
“I need you to give someone a job.”
“A job? Seriously? That’s it? Consider it done.”
It’s a convicted child sex trafficker. It’s not, but it bloody could be, and he’s just hired them.
“Brilliant. I’ll let her know right away.”
“Her?”
“Yeah, Lila. She’s going to be impressed you were able to be the bigger man, and welcome her back into the company.”
His mouth sits ajar, and now he feels like a f*cking idiot.
“Can we get that in writing before I leave? I’ve got a contract for her written up right here.”
To the surprise of just about everyone, including me, I muster up a little Kyzer magic in the form of said document and a real nice pen to boot.
“She’s going to need full health care, a company car, all the bells and whistles, and of course a nice 6 figure base salary. None of that’s going to be a problem is it?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Chris?”
Still nothing, and I’m moments from waving my hand in front of his face.
“You want me to give Lila Sleater back her job?”
“Nope. Not THAT job.”
I slide the paper across the desk toward him.
“Just read through it. It covers both her and my own agreement of employment. Obviously the bulk of this is with regards to me.”
I flick through the pages.
“She’s not that important, but there’s a few clauses to ensure she gets what she’s owed. One signature from you mate, and you’ve got your champ locked in. Hell, we can even do a little photo op for the website, if you think it’ll give your investors reason to flood their dicks with blood?
‘Drakz re-ups with the WFWF.’
A headline worthy of ALL their cum.”
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That stank of sweat, on top of sweat, on top of sweat. It starts to just smell of piss eventually, but equally you start not to notice it when you’re doused in it every day. Like all things, we adapt until not having that smell around seems sickeningly fresh. It’s a smell that will take anyone in my line of work back to their roots. All training gyms smell the same, whether you got stretched in Wigan or Wisconsin, Tijuana or Tokyo. They all stink like this one, though this one is better equipped than any I ever trained in.
The high ceilings do the kids a favour in that it’s not humid as a swamp in here, and boy is it ever well lit, not to mention the multiple training rings and even an MMA octagon. There all being put to good use as I take in the place. Well. I say good use. The kid to my 3 o’ clock can’t throw a forearm for sh*t, but I guess that’s why he’s here. Not everyone was born with the natural acumen I’ve been blessed with. Some poor f*cks have to work, and work, and work some more, and even then they’re only 1/4 of the way to finishing their polish.
The sound of these boys and girls grunting away ping pongs around the space until they’re all overlapped and slip into a pretty constant background hum. It sounds like a swimming bath, only with more meat being thrown about.
It’s not long before my presence becomes a distraction to those that should be eyes down, and like dominoes, once a few start to wind down from their training to stare, they all do. So here I am, walking toward the centre of a gym I’ve never set foot in before, with 20 some sets of rookie eyes following my every step. That hum I mentioned has died out, and I begin to scan those faces, one by one. They’re all so young and afraid. Afraid of what? Little old me? I guess that’s one thing their head trainer is getting right here.
“What are we all, on lunch break?”
A voice from the mezzanine shakes some life back into the place as everyone averts their eyes from the intruder and gets back to slogging it out. That voice is now followed by the metallic drums of measured footsteps as its owner slowly starts down the stairs. I glance up at him and see he’s struggling, leaning pretty heavily against the handrail and favouring the left leg.
“Stay there. I’ll come up.”
I shout up to him and can see he’s momentarily taken aback. What’s the big, bad wolf doing in his house, being courteous? Wether he thinks it’s a trick of sorts or not, his leg is obviously f*cked enough that he’d rather retread the 3 steps he’d already started down, than carry on all the way to my level. I weave my way through the melee of trainees, turning to offer some advice as I start up the stairs myself.
“Hey, pilgrim.”
The aforementioned sloppy forearm is quick to stop what he’s doing.
“You need to turn into it more. Don’t hit him in the face, aim for the f*cking wall 10 feet behind it.”
A little stunned at being offered any pointers by the WFWF International World Heavyweight Champion, he just nods, wide eyed, then gets back to it. I don’t stop to see if any of it’s been taken onboard, instead just making my way up into the rafters, and eventually the crows nest office of Mr Legacy himself. I don’t say that because I think he’s got a legacy to be proud of, or even much of a legacy full stop. More because he, himself, chose that name for his wrestling promotion and school. I might be all kinds of shades of grey these days, but I don’t just dish out casual compliments.
As I step into the office the most notable change in environment are the acoustics. That concert hall din of physical exertion quite suddenly pinched and muted, even more so when I close the door behind me, and look my scheduled appointment in the eyes. He’s still standing, though I can see in his eyes he’d rather sit down. His pride won’t let him sit before me though, regardless of how much it might hurt.
“Jesus.”
I look him up and down with an eyebrow raised. He just blinks, not rising to my blatant attempts at riling him. All in jest I might add, though I’m not sure he sees it that way.
“Frank. You look like sh*t buddy.”
I crack a smile, and do him the favour of taking a seat, allowing him to finally drop the act and sit himself. He still hasn’t said much though, and by much I mean anything.
“Did they graft your tongue onto that busted knee or something? That’s a pretty unorthodox procedure. Did I really beat you that badly?”
Aaaaaand…..
“I might remind you it was Daphne who did….this.”
He gestures to his strapped up leg, and he’s got a point.
“True. Is she around by the way? I still owe her my gratitude.”
I feign looking around the clearly Daphneless office.
“Not her finest managerial moment I must say.”
“Her heart was in the right place.”
How forgiving.
“By which you mean, it was me she was trying to injure?”
Now it’s Frank who can’t help but crack a smile, though I quickly put paid to that.
“It wasn’t Daphne who made you cry uncle though was it Frank?”
Back to his default stoicism. The boring stick in the mud.
“You been anywhere nice during your sick leave? I hear Texas is real nice this time of year.”
Just tighten the thumbscrews another half turn.
“You’re behind enemy lines here Drakz. It might be more in your best interests not to get so carried away with your jester act right now.”
He is right to be fair. I counted at least 2 dozen warm bodies down on the gym floor, though if they all throw rights like the one I gave pointers to I should still get out unscathed. He passes smiling duty back to me now.
“I’ve actually made a concerted effort of not trying to force my way under your skin Frank.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Always.
“I held off on wearing the International Championship to our little rendezvous.”
“And I suppose I should be thanking you for this little consideration?”
I’m looking around his office, taking in the photos on the wall, trying to play it cool, though it probably doesn’t come off as well as I’m imagining. I change the subject.
“How come you invited me here Frank?”
He looks indignant.
“I didn’t invite you to do sh*t. You were the one who arranged this little meeting.”
“Let me rephrase then. Why did you opt for the Legacy facility? I could have come to you mate. You didn’t have to drive out to work.”
“Are you honestly suggesting that we met at my home?”
“But I already know where you live mate. I could have just popped round……easily. I had to look this place up.”
Frank lets out a little laugh, but it strikes me as one of disbelief.
“You’re a trip, you know that?”
“You’re too kind.”
“If you ever so much as enter my family’s zipcode again, there’s a newly restored Impala that would love to pick you up.”
“You’d come and pick me up? That’s awfully kind of you mate.”
“I was thinking more, picked up onto the hood and rolled right over the roof.”
Well that’s not particularly welcoming.
“Point taken.”
You’ve got to let them get a couple in themselves, or else we’ll never get past the verbal sparring and onto the real meat and potatoes of the conversation.
“So, now the pleasantries are out of the way, I’m guessing you’re here to get my ten cents on Josh?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Why else would you be here talking to me? We’re hardly drinking buddies.“
“I don’t drink.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
I’m too immature. I can’t let this one go by.
“Speaking of irrelevant…….Frank. Is this what your life’s become? You’re happy to just retire from the world, into this sweaty warehouse?”
“You didn’t really leave me much choice in that matter……Isaac.”
People f*cking love dropping my government name these days don’t they?
“Besides, I’m more than happy passing on my knowledge to the next generation, in the hopes that they’ll surpass my attempts at greatness.”
Shouldn’t take too much.
“That’s the difference between you and me. One of many at least. You’re obsessed with holding on to your position at all costs. Up and comers be damned. Drakz HAS to stay on top. Am I right? I happen to get a real satisfaction training here. Teaching these kids, and letting them learn from my mistakes.”
“Now, you see Frank, THAT’S the real difference between you and me. I don’t have any mistakes to draw from. It’d be a bloody short night-class if folks came to learn from me. You on the other hand……..”
I make a point of looking directly at the walking stick he has propped in the corner of the room, well aware of the fact that he’s avoided using it in my presence. Why would he give me that satisfaction? Little does he know, watching him struggle around without it, when I know he needs it, is that much sweeter.
“And you don’t consider your choice of friends a mistake? After what happened between you and Kyzer?”
Touché.
“Water under the bridge at this point. It all worked out in the end right?
I won.
Besides, let’s not start pointing the sh*tty fingers at MY choice of associates. After all, you said it yourself, it was Daphne who did a number on that knee of yours, and don’t even get me started on Mr Dean. Have you seen that guy recently? He’s quite the social chameleon.”
“Not in person no, but I’ve heard things.”
“Well these ‘things’ are the difference between him and you Frank. We might as well carry on with this game.”
“Enlighten me.”
“To your detriment, you actually meant all the stuff you said. All your righteous candour was legitimate. You genuinely were a decent, straight up guy. Probably still are. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, so I can’t vouch for what you’ve been up to this last year. Whatever the case, look what it got you. Look where you’ve ended up. Look at everything that business took from you, and for what? Just because you showed a bit of common courtesy it chewed you up and spat you out. Hell, you know all of this. I know you do. This isn’t me ragging on you, trying to highlight your shortcomings. Quite the opposite. This is a comment on the industry and what it takes to survive there. What it takes to flourish there. Josh has seen that and I guess decided his ‘moral high ground’ wasn’t worth as much to him as we all thought.”
Frank sits there, quietly for a moment. Processing the fact that I’ve had positive things to say about him, taking his time to mull it over before issuing his response. It’s a nice break from his former impassioned, give no f*cks, attempts at conversation. Yet another person I’ve changed for the better. You’re welcome world.
“Of course, you’re right, I do know all of this. I never used to like admitting that truth, because if I admitted it then it meant I was screwed. If my wanting to be a good man meant I could only get so far in this industry, then what’s the point? If I admitted it then I’d have given up, but I don’t need to keep chasing it any more. I’ve made peace with that. Now however I get to watch from the sidelines, as the only other guy I thought was on my wavelength in this sport becomes just another villain in a long line of villains. Something this business seems impeccable at churning out.”
A factory line of moustache twiddlers.
“It is pretty good at creating b*stards, and I have that very special honour of being the King of them. What do you think? New nickname? The King of the B*stards!”
“I think you’ve got enough nicknames already.”
One can never have too many aliases.
“Though it strikes me that Josh might be giving me a run for my money on that front these days.”
“I can only guess he’d grown tired of always being undercut by the dirtier player?”
“And if you can’t beat em, join em?”
Frank shrugs, trying to hide it, but quite clearly disappointed and saddened at Josh’s fall from grace.
“He’s taking shortcuts. I suppose he knows he hasn’t got much time left, and he didn’t want to wait around, climbing the ladder toward Kong.”
Joshua Dean is Jumpman now?
“He probably feels like now is his best time to strike. If he wants to beat you, I’d say he needs to follow through if he’s confident in himself.”
“Are you trying to justify this sh*t-housery?”
“No. I don’t think there’s much justification for his behaviour, but I am trying to rationalise it. There has to be a reason for such a change in tact?”
“You want to know what I think? I think he’s finally come to the conclusion that he can’t beat me any other way. That’s what worries me. I’m happy to f*ck with people before and after we’re in that ring, but these days? Bell to bell, I’m just looking for someone who can beat me…..clean. And I’m afraid that’s not what I’m going to get at Superbrawl. I think Josh’s desperate, and is going to do something less in line with the Frank Lynn playbook and more in the style of a younger me.”
Am I a grown up?
W*nk paddle. Duck arse tit f*cker. Shady crape fart guzzler.
Okay, I’m all good. Just testing.
Not quite reached Joe Bishop levels of super serious just yet.
“This might come as a shock, but I actually agree with you.”
Well this is unexpected.
“I don’t think Josh gives a f*ck about doing the right thing anymore. He just wants to beat you. He just wants that title. Your last meeting really did a number on him, and I don’t think he’ll ever let go of it unless he puts his name in the record books as the guy to unseat you. And you know as well as I do, that it won’t say how he did it.”
“Are we actually on the same page for once?”
“Seems so.”
Vindication. Josh really IS a d*ck.
“Can I be totally honest with you?”
“Aren’t you always?”
“I want you to beat Josh.”
There we have it. Joshua Dean is that much of a d*ck that his fellow paragons are on my side.
“Why? What does it even matter to you?”
“Because at least you’ve always had the decency to admit you’re a piece of sh*t. Josh however seems blissfully ignorant of his own shortcomings.”
“What can I say, I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve.”
“And whilst I might not like you, I have to at least respect that you’ve also always been honest with me, and everyone else for that matter. For all the low opinions the world may have of Drakz, I don’t think dishonesty would show up in any of them. Have we ever seen Drakz betray his friends or partners? Have we ever seen Drakz go against his word to get what he wants? You’ve always called it like you see it, even if what you saw was a weakness waiting to be exploited by any means necessary. You’ve not shied away from advertising that fact.”
And now it’s me taken aback by this complimentary tone, coming from a man I know hates most of what I am. He might be right though. I’m no deceiver. I’m no snake. I’m a horrible piece of work when the moment calls for it, but I don’t do much lying.
“Which is why I want you to beat Josh. You might actually be the lesser of two evils at this point.”
“Which ever way you cut it, one of the bad guys is going to win mate. But like you say, at least I’m honestly a bad guy. I’ll dedicate my victory to you. How’s that?”
“Sounds like something you’d do.”
I rise up from my chair quite suddenly, and his muscles tense up. Ready to defend himself, even in his injured state.
“Well Frank, this has been lovely, but let’s never do it again.”
Seeing you like this is making me sad. It reminds me that I’m only one nasty tumble away from struggling to walk as well. One last go at the game? Sure, why not? The only difference between our respective forced retirements: is I’d never get up from my chair. So who cares if anyone else in the room is still standing?
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Josh.
A guy like you disappears for a few years and new kids on the block, like Mason, don’t even know who you are. Me? I could take a 20 year sabbatical and EVERYONE would still recognise me. Hell, they wouldn’t have finished talking about me yet.
And still, with that on the table as a plain and simple truth, you still talk as though you’re the final boss of this business. Some God, waiting to take his rightful place on the throne.
Well we don’t need more Gods. We don’t need another saviour. We don’t need another leader. But maybe this time around you’ve realised that? Because this time around your sole focus seems to be Joshua Dean, and I respect that. You’re not spouting any of your pseudo messiah bull sh*t for once. You’re not telling us all how you’re here to save this business, and be a voice for those who have been burned by it. Blah blah. The same old trite garbage we’ve heard from a million other stiff, comic book hero types. You’ve dropped all that this time, and it’s refreshing to see you letting your hair down, and speaking your truth. It’s about f*cking time mate. It’s about time everyone else got to see how much of a narcissist you’ve always been. I’ve always known it, of course I have, that’s why I’ve always ridden you so hard. But everyone else? The great unwashed? Apparently not. Maybe your masking technique was better than I gave you credit for. Or maybe I’m just more perceptive than I give myself credit for? Hard to believe, as I DO like to give myself an awful lot of credit.
So, maybe we should look at a few of things you’ve said since you poked your head back above ground? A little critical analysis perhaps?
“All I had to do was show my face again to make you obsolete.”
Now, we’re starting off with a doozy. A statement so confusing and smothered in delusion that we’re going to have to approach it from more than one angle.
I’d like to start by saying……..What the f*ck are you talking about?
Have I been made obsolete? Is this what obsolete feels like? It’s a strangely similar sensation to being the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion for over 2 years. Not quite though. What’s missing?
Ah yes.
This might sound like a very specific comparison, but it’s actually near identical to concurrently holding the International Championship alongside that 750+ day reign. Who’d have thunk it? Honestly obsoletion isn’t so bad. You should try it buddy.
But honestly Josh, there is quite literally nothing you could do to fulfil your statement. I’m not even being dramatic. You could beat me in 2 minutes at Superbrawl, clean as a whistle, and it still wouldn’t so much as put a dent in my legacy, or who I am. Besides, no one would be talking about how dominant you are. They’d be too busy talking about how I’d had an off night. And then what? Does that render you obsolete? When you’re able to take the grandest prize going, from the greatest wrestler of all time, and still the headlines aren’t about you? I’d hazard to say that’s a bit closer to the mark than whatever it is you think I am right now.
On to our next ‘Deanism’.
“The first match we had in 2014, he got the win. I won the rematch in 2016. That makes us tied at one apiece.”
And yet he fails to mention the 3rd in our series, or even the 4th. Josh is so convinced that he’s the hard done by party, that as far as he’s concerned after he pinned me for 3 seconds time stood still until now. He considers this Superbrawl main event the closing act of the trilogy, but Josh you are misinformed my friend. We had our 3rd match, moments after our 2nd, and I beat you……again. So, best of 3? Yep, I took it home. But wait, we’re still not done. You had another shot at me. I’ve already mentioned it, but were you or were you not involved in the Superbrawl 9 main event? Were you, or were you not given the exact same opportunity as Trace Demon, Yukio Blaze, Cameron Stone and Samael Ahriman? I can’t lie, I got knocked for a f*cking loop in that match, so I don’t remember much of anything, but I have it on good authority that you were present. Your face was on the damn poster.
One thing I do remember though is I started that match. Of 6 men, I was one of the first 2 out and yet the history books state that I also won the damn thing. I basically died, but victory was mine. Now I make that 3 - 1, so even if I give you best of 5 rules, I could be forgiven for thinking I’d closed the f*cking book on this thing.
This isn’t a trilogy ending affair Josh. This is you refusing to accept defeat, and somehow being granted a chance to shrink, but not remove my lead on points. How funny is that? Even if you win this match, you’re still down 3 wins to 2. Did that thought ever enter your head?
Or worse still…..for you at least, if I win? And I will.
4 - 1?
You’d best be off mate. I’m not sure even you could stand the embarrassment.
And finally, how about this one? A statement that goes beyond a simple uttered sentence. This next one is the f*cking life blood of Joshua Dean’s reemergence:
“I’m a main event star.”
This one is just pathetic. I’m sure in your head the delivery had you looking like a man confident in his own value, but instead you just come across as a petulant child, stomping his feet and screaming at the parents who told him no. Maybe if you shout it loud enough someone will believe you, right? I suppose you did manage to talk yourself into this main event, so who knows? If you keep running that mouth, maybe you’ll be able to main event the next Superbrawl without my name on the marquee?
Because Josh, like it or not, the only reason you’re talked about, the only reason anyone remembers you at all is because of me.
Just think about that for a second. Stings doesn’t it?
It doesn’t matter what you say in the lead up to this match, or after it for that matter, because that sole fact puts the brakes on this idea that you can surpass me……..make me obsolete.
Everyone’s top 10 Josh Dean moments all involve Drakz, and yet your entire WFWF career, this blood feud we’ve had for what is it? 6 years? It’s all just a side quest to my story. You’re just a f*cking dwarf in a tavern, offering me an extra 20 minutes of gameplay. I could have ignored you and the bulk of my arc would remain the same, but where’s the fun in that?
And so I bit.
I let you hitch your waggon to me and I dragged you to your first Superbrawl main event, via a record setting tag team title reign. All this, plus your whole return vendetta, yet you’re still just a part of my story that will be forgotten.
But me?
I AM your story.
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“So, what? You just flat out asked him?”
I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe? Not all of us have to cloak and dagger our way into beneficial situations.
“Yep, and he agreed. Well, it was more like he couldn’t afford to disagree, but the outcome is the same. You can sign the contract when we get to Wembley.”
She stops draining the beer bottle pressed to her lips and her face contorts. She’d probably have spat the contents over me if she didn’t know me so well. I would undoubtedly slap her in the f*cking face if she doused me with coors light, or whatever p*ss it is she’s pickling herself with.
“When WE go to Wembley?”
That’s what I said isn’t it?
“Yeah. As in you and me. There a problem?”
“You want me to fly to the UK just to sign a contract? Seems a bit……unnecessary don’t ya think?”
This broad.
“No, you’re going to be in my corner that night.”
Okay, this time she does empty her mouth, only she rather pathetically does it over herself and the floor. Have I made a terrible mistake here? I’ve already tried to get the best out of one alcoholic, should I really be trying with a second?
“What?! I don’t think it’s gonna set me in good stead with the boys if the booker is playing favourites on her first night back.”
“The booker? Heh. Seems you’ve not been paying attention Sleater.”
Like, at all.
“I haven’t gotten you your old job back. Why the f*ck would I do that? Tell me how that benefits me? Kash eats the dirt I’ve walked over. I’m not short on easily exploitable power bases. No, you’re going to be taking a bit more of a hands on approach this time lass.”
She proceeds to pop the top on yet another beer. It’s 10am……..
“Jesus. Will you give over?”
I snatch the bottle out of her hand and just empty it onto her carpet. F*cking ingrate.
“Hey!”
“Listen, I’ve had enough of the woe is me Lila. This whole half arsed David Brennan cosplay thing isn’t a good look for you. If you’re going to represent me, if you’re going to be a part of my show then you need to put your professional hat back on, because this…..”
I look her up and down a couple of times. Gross.
“….is f*cking pathetic.”
She doesn’t have much to say to that, and……oh here we go. A solitary tear introduces itself to the room, running down her face as more begin to well in her eyes.
“Oh come on. If you’re expecting an apology and a hug then you’re making deals with the wrong cat. You’re capable of this, we both know you are. You’ve just become happy to hide your self esteem in a pair of track pants and whatever that stain is on your shirt. This is a wake up call. Get your sh*t together, because you’re cornering me at Superbrawl. I don’t want Josh trying any dirty sh*t. He’s not the pillar of virtue you might remember. He wants to leave that stadium with my title, by any means possible.”
She sniffs.
“But, I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing out there.”
“By all accounts you didn’t know what the f*ck you were doing in the office either, but you managed to hold that position down for long enough. Besides this isn’t exactly going to be the most secure internship. It’s as temporary as my own career, and as flexible regarding the termination date. So? Make the most of it.”
1 night? 1 year? 10 years? It’ll be entertaining at least having someone walking the knife edge with me.
“And I’m supposed to what? Distract the referee? Grab Josh’s foot through the ropes? All that hokey managerial sh*t?”
“Nope. In fact if you so much as look at Josh a bit too intently I’ll kick you in the t*ts myself. This is me and him. No one else. Your only role is to make sure things stay that way, because I don’t trust the entire Dean family, or their entourage.”
He’s got a long list of folks on his agency books, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he used that leverage, as the master of their purse strings, to force them into acting out. Wether they liked it or not.
“This is the only way I’m going to shut him up for good. No excuses. No get out clause. This is it for us. This is the match that helps us decide who gets the house, the car and custody of the kids. No distractions.”
“And you don’t think my presence alone is distraction enough?”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s horrible of me, but I’m hardly known for my empathetic candour.
“Distraction for whom? Look at the state of you. This is what I’m talking about Lila, you need to get yourself cleaned up, and even then you might get a solo pop from the crowd when you first show your face, but after that? All eyes on us. Me and Josh. You just blend into the background and we’ll be gravy.”
Gravy? I think all these meetings with Kris Kash have got me turning into a douche bag via osmosis.
“Okay, so let’s say I am doing this.”
You are.
“You are.”
“For arguments sake, let’s say I am.”
But, you are.
“Then what? What if you win? You keep me around as your damn valet or something?”
“Sure. Why not? If only to p*ss directly into Kris’s face every time you’re on his TV show. I’ll even buy a funnel and a length of hose for you, so you can join in on the action.”
I see a little sparkle in her eyes. She hasn’t forgotten the way that Kash unceremoniously threw her out on her arse. Quite literally if memory serves.
“And if you lose?”
“I’m not going to lose. I don’t f*cking lose. At any rate, I’ve still got a couple more beatings to dish out before they send me to the knacker yard. I’m not quite ready to be turned into glue and dog food just yet.”
See how far I’ve come? I can say the word dog now without so much as a shudder. If my Mother taught me anything, it’s that throwing your fears from an 8th story balcony is quite the cathartic experience.
“I owe Shannon a receipt for one. That sh*t house stalled my momentum. I’d have already broken my own title reign record by now if it wasn’t for her and her psilocybin obsession. Sure I slapped the taste out of her mouth shortly after, but in everyone else’s eyes that just put us back to nil - nil.”
“Are her and Josh still tight?”
“F*ck knows. Thankfully she’ll have her hands full with EBR’s whimpering bollocks, so I don’t expect to see her so late on in the night. He has a habit of hitting people harder than he should.”
“You know, people always said he’s maybe the only one close to your equal.”
She says it as though I don’t hear every last thing people whisper about backstage.
“Well so far all he’s done is beat up a girl barely out of puberty and lose a match to Penny, so I’m failing to see where the credibility is in that?”
“Weren’t we just talking about the fact that Penny has beaten you as well?”
First Kash, now her. That was 2 years ago. Why are we all of a sudden bringing it up so much? Lila’s tears have dried though, and she’s clearly found her bite again.
“At least I had the good grace to clean up after myself. If E loses to her a second time? Pshhh. You watch, he’ll be back in Japan by the end of the month, drying his eyes with a pair of dirty panties in a cat cafe.”
“It would certainly make things interesting if he won though.”
“That it would. I can already smell a menage a trois on the cards.”
“You’re going to bang them both?”
“This is an LGBTQ+ safe space Sleater. I’d be happy to f*ck the pair of them. No holes barred.”
That’d put butts in seats. Forget this wrasslin’ business. People are more financially receptive to porn.
“Anyone else? Or is that the extent of your little black book of booty calls?”
I’m starting to think maybe Lila would be one of the prospective customers, emptying her bank account to see the EBR/Drakz/Shannon fan fiction cum reality. She’s really perked up. I guess she’s not had any overnight visitors in a long while, looking at the mess this place is consistently in.
“Let me counter that question with one of my own. What do you make of all these ‘legends’ rearing their heads around this time of year? It strikes me that’s it’s Superbrawl season and the worms are rising through the top soil.”
“It makes sense doesn’t it? They see Kash writing out blank cheques so they come running. I know I would if I was in their position. Wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t know what their…..position….feels like. I’ve never been redundant. Not yet anyway”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“I can see that. Well if any of them decide to stick around after those Superbrawl cheques are Kash’d, I’ll be sure to knock them back into the waiting room. F*cking scabs.”
“Why do you even give a sh*t? You certainly never did when I was in charge.”
I don’t. Do I? Maybe I do? I dunno.
“I just don’t like sharing the spotlight, and the spotlight seems pretty fickle these days when it comes to folks making a grand return. That’s just another reason I have to beat Josh, and keep on winning. To prove a point.
Consistency breeds quality.”
“How many reasons is that now?”
“Enough.”
“I wonder how many he thinks he’s got?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell us. He’s gotten awful good at that. Telling us what he’s going to do. I’m yet to see how capable he still is though. He’s had one tune up match before stepping into the ring with The King of the B*stards, and still he has the cheek to make demands of me?”
I’m starting to rant, but Lila doesn’t seem to mind.
“Josh wants me at my best? He missed that boat by a little way. Now I’m the first to admit that I’m a beaten up old dog, but the best I’ve still got is STILL better than he’ll ever f*cking be.”
I’ve riled myself up here, and I realise it’s time to go. I get up and want to make sure Lila does the same. No more slouching on her sofa with a half eaten pizza and unshaven minge.
“You. Get the f*ck up. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back before we fly to my sh*thole country in a few days, and I want this place cleaned up. I want you cleaned up. Get your game face on, because you only get one chance with me. If you mess this up I’ll drive you down much deeper than whatever this is. Make it work though? I’ll have you flying again in no time.
You’ve got another chance Lila Sleater. This is it.
Let them know that Mummy’s home.”
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So this is where it ends Josh.
This is where, one way or another, I manage to rid myself of the tag partner that just couldn’t let go of the past. Is that really what this all stems from? You just want one more run with the belts? I’m afraid to say buddy that the WFWF Team Team Championships are long since dead and buried. At least we’ll always have the memories right?
Aside from that fact, I just don’t really have enough time left on my sun dial to be wasting precious moments propping you up again. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m more of a singles star these days.
Like you Josh, I’m not getting any younger, and the sun is setting on my career. I’ve openly admitted that. I’m in no denial about the state I’m in. I’ve gone so far as to publicly place a fatwa on myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over and die. Men and women alike have already stepped up to the plate to try and be the one……the one to earn that title, of Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer. Heh. It’s starting to turn into quite the mouthful isn’t it?
S-D4? How’s that?
Regardless, none have managed it yet, and my dreams of a quiet retirement before 40 aren’t looking particularly promising. Isn’t it funny that at age 39 I feel as though I should have quit this life a few years ago? The longer I stay in now, the less chance there is of me being able to walk past middle age, and yet here I still am. 39 years young. Feeling like I’ve seen and felt enough for double that.
How about you buddy? How are you feeling? You reckon you’re in ring shape? You think your little exhibition with Mason was enough to lock that muscle memory back in? Or did the bumps you took leave you wondering if you really should have come back at all? Because all through this I’ve been the one on the receiving end, the one taking the kickings, but I’ve got the benefit of never forgetting what that felt like. You? Sure, you took a bit of what Johnny was selling, but it’s been a long, long time since you took a real beating. You think you’re still up to that? Do you think you can swallow a good 30 minutes of punishment and still stand by the end of it? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see won’t we? Speculation only gets us so far. Though while we’re speculating, I’d like to be the one to tell you that there’s not a chance I’m losing to someone like you. I won’t lose, because you don’t deserve to be the one.
You don’t deserve it because you’re entirely reliant on the past to validate your present. The past is easy mate. I say this not without respect for that past, but the present is something else entirely. The past has hindsight. The past? The past is something you’ve already survived and learned from. But the here and now? That’s a very different beast. That’s a time in which you remember what it feels like to be in the moment. Your heart pounding. Nerves fraying at the idea that perhaps you’re not as ready for this as you thought. Muscles cramping from the blunt force trauma sustained in the moments preceding that very present you’re in. At Superbrawl Josh, you’re going to be up to your neck in the present, and I hope it smothers you. It’s going to be fun watching that confidence quickly drain from your eyes and turn to panic. Turn to fear. Not a fear of me. You’re too stupid to fear me. But scared that your own body isn’t capable of what you’ve promised these people. Scared of finally having the curtain whipped away, and the world finding out how big a fraud you really are.
You’ve got an awfully high opinion of yourself Josh. You consider yourself to be have been criminally under utilised and under appreciated, but the truth is you’ve not really done all that much of note to warrant more than your current market share. You’re a solid hand. For sure. No one’s denying that, not even me. You’re a great talent to have around, bolstering the mid card, but can be relied on to step up into the main event when the current champion needs a believable challenger. But then your purpose is served, and you slip back down to your spot until next time. And truly mate, there’s nothing wrong with that. I wish you’d make peace with it, because the business needs people like you to survive, but it strikes me that you really resent that idea. This idea that you serve a purpose. A pre-ordained place in the pecking order. But maybe, deep down inside you know that anger is misplaced. I think if you were really, truly honest with yourself about it……that resentment emanates from a few degrees east.
You really resent the fact that your ceiling isn’t unjust, or handed down out of spite. There is no evil boss to rally against, fighting for your rightful spot. That ceiling is self imposed…….by your lack of talent. Not a complete absence of it, even I’m not going to say that. You’re decent enough.
But that’s the problem mate. You’ve just not……quite….got it.
You’re close. Hell if you were 10 years younger I’d be calling you “one to watch”…….”a hot prospect”…….but at age 35, you’ve peaked. You’ve peaked, and you’ve fallen a fair way short of your target. That’s what you truly resent.
It’s not me.
It’s not Drakz.
I’m not your villain.
I’m just serving as a scapegoat for your own shortcomings, and I understand that. I’d be p*ssed off too. We’ve all got dreams of being the best, but alas there’s only room for so many of those, and right now? Well, for these last 10 years in fact, there’s only been space for one. Maybe if you’d been born at a different time, so our timelines didn’t run so parallel, you’d have stood a greater chance. The bar might not have been set quite so high, and today’s good may have been considered greatness. But unfortunately you’re right here with me, in the present, and I’m the measuring stick for greatness. Looking down at the top of your head, admiring your persistence at the very least, but ultimately getting bored of you and your ever more churlish behaviour.
You’re acting out Josh. You’re being a mean spirited little sh*t. Stealing from me, getting your digs in when there’s no chance of reparations. Crying when you don’t get what you want. You’ve shown yourself an infant, not a man.
A child.
A boy.
And as such……much the same as Drake before you…….I will punish you as a boy.
(A.K.A. A Sycophant, a Legacy and a Lady)
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Let me ask you a question.
When Superbrawl arrives, who will you be rooting for?
Who will you be behind?
Is it Drakz? The man painted as a villain, just for being an over achiever.
Or is it Joshua Dean? A man who has stolen, openly attacked his opponent on numerous occasions and indeed, even put his own family into the line of fire! A human shield, just so he could press the advantage.
And sure, maybe I roughed his kid up a little, but was I unprovoked? Did I do it out of malice? Or was it a reaction born out of trauma? And besides, it’s not even really his kid.
This whole good vs evil schtick isn’t so clean cut any more is it? It’s not like the good old days when you could just boo the goodies, and cheer the baddies. Wait……
No.
Josh and I are shades of grey, but the real question is, whose hue is darker?
It’s easy to see why Josh acts the way he does. He’s entitled. Thinks the world owes him something. Ever since his arrival in the WFWF he’s been that way. This isn’t some new persona, it’s just he’s not as good at hiding it now he’s desperate. I mean the guy literally called himself a ‘Saviour of Salvation’. A moniker that still doesn’t make a shred of sense. How does one save salvation? But let’s not get bogged down in semantics.
I have always just assumed Josh’s behaviour stemmed from his success elsewhere. He made a name for himself in another company, I’m sure he’ll tell you the name of it because I sure can’t, and has had a chip on his shoulder ever since. So disgruntled that his previous achievements haven’t translated so well to this grander stage. Now I don’t want to start throwing around all that macho, d*ck measuring bullsh*t, talking about big fish in small ponds, and ‘welcome to the big time’. That kind of verbiage is beneath me, and frankly I don’t need to level those words at Mr Dean. He already knows it. Josh’s awareness of that fact is manifest in his actions.
So what does he do in an attempt to disguise the gulf in our respective careers? He just claims things with no real grounds. He forever bangs on about how he bested me for the championship all those years ago, but when I check the title records, all I see is a ‘<1 day’ next to his entry. That doesn’t exactly read like the case notes of a grand victory. And then he’ll whine about how it was unfair, that I cheated him out of his moment. The felled champion is entitled to his rematch, and there’s nothing that rules out said rematch happening immediately after the fact, is there? As far as I see it, he just won the warm up round. A commendable feat given the calibre of his opponent, but like Cameron Stone before him, just pinning me isn’t enough to beat me. You have to pin me when it really counts.
But where was Josh’s rematch then, I hear you cry? Did we all just gloss over the Elimination Chamber at that year’s Superbrawl? Was Josh not in that match, along with every other cat hollering for a shot of their own? If I’d given them all the 1 on 1 treatment there wouldn’t have been an interesting, fresh challenger for years. We put them all in that chamber together for the sake of expedition. They all had the same opportunity to take me out, all with equal odds on picking up the W, and yet I still wound up closing the show as champion. Admittedly with no chance of facing those fresh opponents I longed for. Kyzer put paid to that. Thanks bud.
People have this idea that I don’t like defending my title, or that I’m always running from viable challengers, but is there really any evidence to back that up? Do my match records support this conspiracy? Of course not. Folks just like to talk sh*t. I’ve always given people their chance.
Granted, this current reign hasn’t quite had the blockbuster feel as THAT one, you know, the contentious 851 day one. But I’m fast coming up on that number again, and have defended this belt each time of asking.
Penny Shannon.
Michael Kyzer.
Tugarin Zmey.
Frank Lynn.
I even defended my International Championship against the janitor whilst Josh was jerking off onto my Heavyweight Championship nameplates. You see? I’m doing my best here. It can’t be helped if there’s not the same conveyor belt of top tier adversaries in the year of our lord 2021.
Are you starting to lean one way or the other yet? Josh or Drakz?
Let me ask you a different question then.
Who has entertained you more these last few years? Me? Or him? Who has put his broken back on the line, time and time again, making sure you get what you paid for? And then who has been off diversifying their portfolio, not giving 2 sh*ts about this place until he thought he could strong arm his way in to the main event right out the gate? So what if I’m a little naughty from time to time? You’ve cheered me for it before, why not now? You’ve seen me as THE bad guy, and there was a time when I was THE good guy. So what am I to you now? Are you going to cheer for me at Superbrawl, when I put it all on the line for you yet again? My title. My career.
Honestly. What am I to you?
I’m the f*cking champ. That’s who I am. And that’s all that matters.
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This office. I’m sick of the sight of this office as of late. It’s not even as though it’s the same room every time. We’re always on the move, but this man child has a habit of bringing his decor with him to every new locale, so it feels like stepping through a very boring looking-glass each time you walk in the door. All these repeat visits, just to have my arse buttered up in a vain attempt of coercion. You’d think I’d like that right? Everyone has this image that the omnipotent Drakz lives to be admired and complimented, and yet it actually just makes me f*cking ill.
I’m at a stage in my career, hell I’ve been here for years now, where I know how good I am. I know my worth, and not in some delusional “I’m the king of the world” way. We’ll get to that type of person in due course. No, I’m well aware of what I bring to the table. I can say that with confidence, and not have to call anyone’s bluff in stuff like contract negotiations. We’ve all seen it before. You remember Trace Demon’s “record breaking contract” that he announced all those years back? Did his past, present, or even future warrant that kind of fanfare? That kind of money? Of course not, and yet he had the audacity to bluff his way into it. He knew, deep down he knew, that he was pulling the heist of the century with that sh*t. He didn’t genuinely believe that his talents engendered such an astronomical figure, or f*ck it maybe he did? He always was a delusional punk. But in my situation, there is no doubt, there is no grandiose illusion. My resumé, my record and my staying power all speak for themselves, so much so that I don’t need to argue my case. I’ve got Kris Kash sucking my balls while he works the head 24/7, in hopes of my re-signing with his newly acquired asset.
How’s it going to look to his investors if he buys up an international, multi billion dollar company, only to promptly lose its biggest USP? That’s wanker talk for; juiciest pair of plums.
So what do you think? It’s a pretty big deal right? The biggest card this company has seen in years.
He’s pretty pleased with himself. His Superbrawl card has more than 4 matches on it. Can you imagine?
“I think you’re continuing your bad habits Kris. I think you’re still plugging the holes in the dam with your fingers instead of fixing the damn dam. The damn dam? F*ck it, you know what I mean.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I do? I’ve managed to bring DGX, Joe Bishop, Reverend Shadow and even Wayne McGurk back into the fold!”
“And that’s the problem darling. Who’s next? Alex Sean? Is this your way of bolstering the ranks around here? To hell with new, young, hungry talent. Let’s just pack the card out with old men. Let’s see if we can tempt the WFWF’s greatest has beens to go one more round! It’s not even like those names you mentioned are the minority. We’ve not even mentioned EBR, who let’s face it hasn’t exactly dazzled so far has he? And what now? He’s going to go 0 & 2 to spring chicken Penny Shannon?”
“Didn’t you recently lose to Penny?”
Hell of a negotiation tactic there buddy old pal. Show me a red rag and hope I charge right into a new contract?
“The f*ck has that got to do with anything? Look I’ll admit it, even your top champion, sorry, even your top two champions, that’s me on both counts in case you hadn’t been paying attention, is in the twilight of his active years. I’m old as f*ck. Just like the rest of your Superbrawl card. The difference is, I’ve not been coaxed back in for a payday. Do you know how embarrassing this show could turn out? A lot of those guys haven’t so much as seen a wrestling ring in the last few years, and you’re expecting them to turn back the clock and perform at an elite level? Sorry to be the one to tell you this mate, but what you’ve booked? It could end up as the worst Superbrawl in history. Top to bottom, just fat lads, way past their primes, getting out of breath making their ring walks.”
It’s not all bad. In his defence he does have a handful of saplings jerking the curtains, but is he selling the show based on them? They’re an afterthought to him. They’re just making up the numbers, which is f*cking sad.
“That’s an awfully big ‘maybe’ Drakz, and I’m willing to take that risk, as the marquee names I’ve pulled in for this Wembley show have gotten more eyes back on the WFWF than we’ve seen in years. When was the last time these fans got to see the Reverend Shadows and the Dave Dementos of the past?”
“You’re not really making much of a case for debate Kris.”
“The figures don’t lie Drakz. This is the most anticipated Pay Per View in as long as anyone can remember.”
“It’s a short term solution at best. Are any of this lot even sticking around after Superbrawl is done?”
There’s an uncomfortable silence that tells me everything I needed to know.
“I need more star power. This is how I’ve solved that problem, for now. If you’re going to up and retire when you lose…”
“IF I lose mate. If.
I could well be here for another 15 years as champion.”
His eyebrows twitch a little, not much, but just enough to give the game away. His c*ck is swelling in his grundies. Time to shut that down.
“On a rolling match by match basis.”
“Could you not just do me a solid and sign some kind of deal buddy?”
Buddy? Who the f*ck does he think I am? He rises from his seat and paces behind his desk, clearly at a bit of a loose end about all this. I feel like I’m trying to dump a girlfriend and she just won’t accept it.
“Just something in writing. Your signature alone would help bolster share prices. A symbol that the rats aren’t fleeing a sinking ship.”
First I’m his buddy, now I’m a rat. He’s really on a roll here.
“Listen, I have some other matters to discuss while I’m here. Your constant fingering in this contract wound is getting old. You’re like a dog…..”
Woof!
……with a bone. Just leave. Leave it. Leeeeeave. Sit. Good f*cking boy. Jesus.
He sits back down, looking a little defeated to be honest. What happened to all that spunk he was dripping with when he first called me in here? I guess my constant shutting down of his offers is taking its tole a little? Blue balled up the wazoo.
“I guess it kind of ties in with what it is you want from me, because at the end of the day what I want from you has failed to materialise. And how am I supposed to work for a boss who cant hold up their end of a deal?”
“I’m all ears.”
Just a stinking bag of severed ears.
“Okay. What the f*ck was that press conference about? I was attacked……AGAIN. How am I supposed to operate at the high level you all expect me to when I’m constantly nursing aggravated injuries? This line of work is dangerous, that’s no secret, and when you’ve been doing it as long as I have, racking up a a near endless number of trips to the doctor? It necessitates a certain amount of down time between matches, to rest up and heal. Not fully mind you. I don’t have time to get back to 100 percent, but at the very least recover enough to strap myself up and do my job.”
He nods, looking like he’s listening intently. Though he’s no doubt thinking on a new line of Kash BCAA infused condoms for kids, or something as equally problematic.
“And right now, that’s not happening. Let’s be honest that’s an issue I’ve struggled with for years. It comes with the territory of being the champ. You p*ss all over the place, mark your kingdom out, and other, weaker sacks of sh*t jump you from behind because it’s the only way they stand a chance. But like I already said, I’m getting on a bit mate. I need this recovery time now more than ever. My back’s been on the out for years now. It’s a miracle of modern medicine that I’ve gone on as long as I have after it broke, but I’m not the Six Million Dollar Man. I’ve not been rebuilt. I’ve just been lucky so far. I can’t go on having f*ck wits like Joshua Dean getting his digs in every damn week.
It’s f*cking bullsh*t Kris. I was PROMISED security, and so far it’s nowhere to be seen. And the worst part? Literally minutes before Josh drove me through that table, do you remember what you said? Because it’s going to leave you feeling awful f*cking red in the face. You said…..”I live up to my promises”. You said that. And yet having given me your word that I’d be better protected, in an almost tragically comedic fashion, I get the snot kicked out of me before I have chance to so much as raise my hands. So? What are you gonna do? And I don’t want to hear that p-word thrown around this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s it? Just sorry?”
“I’m sorry I let you down. I like to think I’m a man of my word. When I say something I want people to know that comes with a guarantee, and bro…”
This guy….
“…..I let ya down. But I prom…..I’ll make the arrangements to ensure it can’t happen again. Right after this very meeting, I’ll put the call in. Nobody f*cks with my champion.”
Evidently he watches too many hokey f*cking gangster films.
“I’d like to say those words have appeased me, but in all honesty your actions need to catch up with the rest of you, before I start believing a syllable of it.”
“I appreciate that Drakz, and I understand that right now the Kash guarantee has slipped a bit, but I’ll make it up to ya.”
Does he actually think this guarantee thing is a known commodity? Like people walk around talking about the Kash guarantee? He’s off his nut.
“Let me ask you something Christopher…..”
I make a point of saying it with a C………apparently this ball bag can tell the difference.
He winces. Such is his affinity with the letter K.
“……Seriously now. What’s your vision for this place 1 year from now? 5 years from now? Is this just another vanity project for you? Do a bit of house keeping to clean up the books, slap a few old names on your roster along with all the other quick fixes, and then you up and leave? Head held high, looking like you’ve turned the tide, as the WFWF sags under its own weight. Holding on just long enough for you to be out of the picture before it haemorrhages its guts all over the pavement?”
“You’ve got me all wrong my man. I’m not this shyster you seem to think I am. I’m an entrepreneur. A businessman who uses his reputation to take failing business and make them work. This arrangement with the WFWF is no different than any of my other ventures in that respect, only my heart is in wrestling, so I really want to make this work.”
Not the answer I’d expected if I’m honest. But he also sidestepped the real question of where it is we’re heading.
“That’s a shame.”
“What?”
“Well, I’d respect the man that managed to pull that off. I’d also hunt him down and beat the p*ss out of him, but I’d do it respectfully. You know, with the palm of my hand, instead of the back of it.”
He doesn’t know how to react to that.
Does it mean I don’t respect him?
I don’t.
Does it mean I’m on to him, and know that line he just fed me was a load of horse sh*t?
I am.
Might I slap the sh*t out of him right now just for the sake of it?
I might.
He just sort of nervously tries to laugh it off but I make sure to maintain a deadly serious composure, as much as I might want to laugh myself. He soon stops.
“So, back to this contract business. As you know I still haven’t signed a new one, and as you also know I’m fairly happy to be keeping everyone on tender hooks with this idea that I lose and I leave. But you should know, win, lose or draw at Superbrawl, there IS one more match I want.”
“And do you want it enough to stick around in the event that Josh beats you?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I want it, but we don’t always get what we want. Do we? Which is why I’ll fill you in on the details after I lift those titles to close out your Wembley show. I intend to win that main event, and I also intend to send Joshua Dean packing. Sorry. I know you’re looking to fill out your roster, not drain it, but I don’t think Josh is the kind of guy to take a loss of this magnitude too well. But, you never know, he could surprise us all. Don’t count on it though. Odds are on him taking his ball and f*cking off with it. For good this time.”
“So how does this all factor in to contractual arrangements? Drakz, honestly, what’s it going to take? Just name your price.”
It’s not money I’m after.
“It’s going to take more than throwing paper at me to commit. I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
I should really teach him not to say that word around me.
“I need you to give someone a job.”
“A job? Seriously? That’s it? Consider it done.”
It’s a convicted child sex trafficker. It’s not, but it bloody could be, and he’s just hired them.
“Brilliant. I’ll let her know right away.”
“Her?”
“Yeah, Lila. She’s going to be impressed you were able to be the bigger man, and welcome her back into the company.”
His mouth sits ajar, and now he feels like a f*cking idiot.
“Can we get that in writing before I leave? I’ve got a contract for her written up right here.”
To the surprise of just about everyone, including me, I muster up a little Kyzer magic in the form of said document and a real nice pen to boot.
“She’s going to need full health care, a company car, all the bells and whistles, and of course a nice 6 figure base salary. None of that’s going to be a problem is it?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Chris?”
Still nothing, and I’m moments from waving my hand in front of his face.
“You want me to give Lila Sleater back her job?”
“Nope. Not THAT job.”
I slide the paper across the desk toward him.
“Just read through it. It covers both her and my own agreement of employment. Obviously the bulk of this is with regards to me.”
I flick through the pages.
“She’s not that important, but there’s a few clauses to ensure she gets what she’s owed. One signature from you mate, and you’ve got your champ locked in. Hell, we can even do a little photo op for the website, if you think it’ll give your investors reason to flood their dicks with blood?
‘Drakz re-ups with the WFWF.’
A headline worthy of ALL their cum.”
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That stank of sweat, on top of sweat, on top of sweat. It starts to just smell of piss eventually, but equally you start not to notice it when you’re doused in it every day. Like all things, we adapt until not having that smell around seems sickeningly fresh. It’s a smell that will take anyone in my line of work back to their roots. All training gyms smell the same, whether you got stretched in Wigan or Wisconsin, Tijuana or Tokyo. They all stink like this one, though this one is better equipped than any I ever trained in.
The high ceilings do the kids a favour in that it’s not humid as a swamp in here, and boy is it ever well lit, not to mention the multiple training rings and even an MMA octagon. There all being put to good use as I take in the place. Well. I say good use. The kid to my 3 o’ clock can’t throw a forearm for sh*t, but I guess that’s why he’s here. Not everyone was born with the natural acumen I’ve been blessed with. Some poor f*cks have to work, and work, and work some more, and even then they’re only 1/4 of the way to finishing their polish.
The sound of these boys and girls grunting away ping pongs around the space until they’re all overlapped and slip into a pretty constant background hum. It sounds like a swimming bath, only with more meat being thrown about.
It’s not long before my presence becomes a distraction to those that should be eyes down, and like dominoes, once a few start to wind down from their training to stare, they all do. So here I am, walking toward the centre of a gym I’ve never set foot in before, with 20 some sets of rookie eyes following my every step. That hum I mentioned has died out, and I begin to scan those faces, one by one. They’re all so young and afraid. Afraid of what? Little old me? I guess that’s one thing their head trainer is getting right here.
“What are we all, on lunch break?”
A voice from the mezzanine shakes some life back into the place as everyone averts their eyes from the intruder and gets back to slogging it out. That voice is now followed by the metallic drums of measured footsteps as its owner slowly starts down the stairs. I glance up at him and see he’s struggling, leaning pretty heavily against the handrail and favouring the left leg.
“Stay there. I’ll come up.”
I shout up to him and can see he’s momentarily taken aback. What’s the big, bad wolf doing in his house, being courteous? Wether he thinks it’s a trick of sorts or not, his leg is obviously f*cked enough that he’d rather retread the 3 steps he’d already started down, than carry on all the way to my level. I weave my way through the melee of trainees, turning to offer some advice as I start up the stairs myself.
“Hey, pilgrim.”
The aforementioned sloppy forearm is quick to stop what he’s doing.
“You need to turn into it more. Don’t hit him in the face, aim for the f*cking wall 10 feet behind it.”
A little stunned at being offered any pointers by the WFWF International World Heavyweight Champion, he just nods, wide eyed, then gets back to it. I don’t stop to see if any of it’s been taken onboard, instead just making my way up into the rafters, and eventually the crows nest office of Mr Legacy himself. I don’t say that because I think he’s got a legacy to be proud of, or even much of a legacy full stop. More because he, himself, chose that name for his wrestling promotion and school. I might be all kinds of shades of grey these days, but I don’t just dish out casual compliments.
As I step into the office the most notable change in environment are the acoustics. That concert hall din of physical exertion quite suddenly pinched and muted, even more so when I close the door behind me, and look my scheduled appointment in the eyes. He’s still standing, though I can see in his eyes he’d rather sit down. His pride won’t let him sit before me though, regardless of how much it might hurt.
“Jesus.”
I look him up and down with an eyebrow raised. He just blinks, not rising to my blatant attempts at riling him. All in jest I might add, though I’m not sure he sees it that way.
“Frank. You look like sh*t buddy.”
I crack a smile, and do him the favour of taking a seat, allowing him to finally drop the act and sit himself. He still hasn’t said much though, and by much I mean anything.
“Did they graft your tongue onto that busted knee or something? That’s a pretty unorthodox procedure. Did I really beat you that badly?”
Aaaaaand…..
“I might remind you it was Daphne who did….this.”
He gestures to his strapped up leg, and he’s got a point.
“True. Is she around by the way? I still owe her my gratitude.”
I feign looking around the clearly Daphneless office.
“Not her finest managerial moment I must say.”
“Her heart was in the right place.”
How forgiving.
“By which you mean, it was me she was trying to injure?”
Now it’s Frank who can’t help but crack a smile, though I quickly put paid to that.
“It wasn’t Daphne who made you cry uncle though was it Frank?”
Back to his default stoicism. The boring stick in the mud.
“You been anywhere nice during your sick leave? I hear Texas is real nice this time of year.”
Just tighten the thumbscrews another half turn.
“You’re behind enemy lines here Drakz. It might be more in your best interests not to get so carried away with your jester act right now.”
He is right to be fair. I counted at least 2 dozen warm bodies down on the gym floor, though if they all throw rights like the one I gave pointers to I should still get out unscathed. He passes smiling duty back to me now.
“I’ve actually made a concerted effort of not trying to force my way under your skin Frank.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Always.
“I held off on wearing the International Championship to our little rendezvous.”
“And I suppose I should be thanking you for this little consideration?”
I’m looking around his office, taking in the photos on the wall, trying to play it cool, though it probably doesn’t come off as well as I’m imagining. I change the subject.
“How come you invited me here Frank?”
He looks indignant.
“I didn’t invite you to do sh*t. You were the one who arranged this little meeting.”
“Let me rephrase then. Why did you opt for the Legacy facility? I could have come to you mate. You didn’t have to drive out to work.”
“Are you honestly suggesting that we met at my home?”
“But I already know where you live mate. I could have just popped round……easily. I had to look this place up.”
Frank lets out a little laugh, but it strikes me as one of disbelief.
“You’re a trip, you know that?”
“You’re too kind.”
“If you ever so much as enter my family’s zipcode again, there’s a newly restored Impala that would love to pick you up.”
“You’d come and pick me up? That’s awfully kind of you mate.”
“I was thinking more, picked up onto the hood and rolled right over the roof.”
Well that’s not particularly welcoming.
“Point taken.”
You’ve got to let them get a couple in themselves, or else we’ll never get past the verbal sparring and onto the real meat and potatoes of the conversation.
“So, now the pleasantries are out of the way, I’m guessing you’re here to get my ten cents on Josh?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Why else would you be here talking to me? We’re hardly drinking buddies.“
“I don’t drink.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
I’m too immature. I can’t let this one go by.
“Speaking of irrelevant…….Frank. Is this what your life’s become? You’re happy to just retire from the world, into this sweaty warehouse?”
“You didn’t really leave me much choice in that matter……Isaac.”
People f*cking love dropping my government name these days don’t they?
“Besides, I’m more than happy passing on my knowledge to the next generation, in the hopes that they’ll surpass my attempts at greatness.”
Shouldn’t take too much.
“That’s the difference between you and me. One of many at least. You’re obsessed with holding on to your position at all costs. Up and comers be damned. Drakz HAS to stay on top. Am I right? I happen to get a real satisfaction training here. Teaching these kids, and letting them learn from my mistakes.”
“Now, you see Frank, THAT’S the real difference between you and me. I don’t have any mistakes to draw from. It’d be a bloody short night-class if folks came to learn from me. You on the other hand……..”
I make a point of looking directly at the walking stick he has propped in the corner of the room, well aware of the fact that he’s avoided using it in my presence. Why would he give me that satisfaction? Little does he know, watching him struggle around without it, when I know he needs it, is that much sweeter.
“And you don’t consider your choice of friends a mistake? After what happened between you and Kyzer?”
Touché.
“Water under the bridge at this point. It all worked out in the end right?
I won.
Besides, let’s not start pointing the sh*tty fingers at MY choice of associates. After all, you said it yourself, it was Daphne who did a number on that knee of yours, and don’t even get me started on Mr Dean. Have you seen that guy recently? He’s quite the social chameleon.”
“Not in person no, but I’ve heard things.”
“Well these ‘things’ are the difference between him and you Frank. We might as well carry on with this game.”
“Enlighten me.”
“To your detriment, you actually meant all the stuff you said. All your righteous candour was legitimate. You genuinely were a decent, straight up guy. Probably still are. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, so I can’t vouch for what you’ve been up to this last year. Whatever the case, look what it got you. Look where you’ve ended up. Look at everything that business took from you, and for what? Just because you showed a bit of common courtesy it chewed you up and spat you out. Hell, you know all of this. I know you do. This isn’t me ragging on you, trying to highlight your shortcomings. Quite the opposite. This is a comment on the industry and what it takes to survive there. What it takes to flourish there. Josh has seen that and I guess decided his ‘moral high ground’ wasn’t worth as much to him as we all thought.”
Frank sits there, quietly for a moment. Processing the fact that I’ve had positive things to say about him, taking his time to mull it over before issuing his response. It’s a nice break from his former impassioned, give no f*cks, attempts at conversation. Yet another person I’ve changed for the better. You’re welcome world.
“Of course, you’re right, I do know all of this. I never used to like admitting that truth, because if I admitted it then it meant I was screwed. If my wanting to be a good man meant I could only get so far in this industry, then what’s the point? If I admitted it then I’d have given up, but I don’t need to keep chasing it any more. I’ve made peace with that. Now however I get to watch from the sidelines, as the only other guy I thought was on my wavelength in this sport becomes just another villain in a long line of villains. Something this business seems impeccable at churning out.”
A factory line of moustache twiddlers.
“It is pretty good at creating b*stards, and I have that very special honour of being the King of them. What do you think? New nickname? The King of the B*stards!”
“I think you’ve got enough nicknames already.”
One can never have too many aliases.
“Though it strikes me that Josh might be giving me a run for my money on that front these days.”
“I can only guess he’d grown tired of always being undercut by the dirtier player?”
“And if you can’t beat em, join em?”
Frank shrugs, trying to hide it, but quite clearly disappointed and saddened at Josh’s fall from grace.
“He’s taking shortcuts. I suppose he knows he hasn’t got much time left, and he didn’t want to wait around, climbing the ladder toward Kong.”
Joshua Dean is Jumpman now?
“He probably feels like now is his best time to strike. If he wants to beat you, I’d say he needs to follow through if he’s confident in himself.”
“Are you trying to justify this sh*t-housery?”
“No. I don’t think there’s much justification for his behaviour, but I am trying to rationalise it. There has to be a reason for such a change in tact?”
“You want to know what I think? I think he’s finally come to the conclusion that he can’t beat me any other way. That’s what worries me. I’m happy to f*ck with people before and after we’re in that ring, but these days? Bell to bell, I’m just looking for someone who can beat me…..clean. And I’m afraid that’s not what I’m going to get at Superbrawl. I think Josh’s desperate, and is going to do something less in line with the Frank Lynn playbook and more in the style of a younger me.”
Am I a grown up?
W*nk paddle. Duck arse tit f*cker. Shady crape fart guzzler.
Okay, I’m all good. Just testing.
Not quite reached Joe Bishop levels of super serious just yet.
“This might come as a shock, but I actually agree with you.”
Well this is unexpected.
“I don’t think Josh gives a f*ck about doing the right thing anymore. He just wants to beat you. He just wants that title. Your last meeting really did a number on him, and I don’t think he’ll ever let go of it unless he puts his name in the record books as the guy to unseat you. And you know as well as I do, that it won’t say how he did it.”
“Are we actually on the same page for once?”
“Seems so.”
Vindication. Josh really IS a d*ck.
“Can I be totally honest with you?”
“Aren’t you always?”
“I want you to beat Josh.”
There we have it. Joshua Dean is that much of a d*ck that his fellow paragons are on my side.
“Why? What does it even matter to you?”
“Because at least you’ve always had the decency to admit you’re a piece of sh*t. Josh however seems blissfully ignorant of his own shortcomings.”
“What can I say, I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve.”
“And whilst I might not like you, I have to at least respect that you’ve also always been honest with me, and everyone else for that matter. For all the low opinions the world may have of Drakz, I don’t think dishonesty would show up in any of them. Have we ever seen Drakz betray his friends or partners? Have we ever seen Drakz go against his word to get what he wants? You’ve always called it like you see it, even if what you saw was a weakness waiting to be exploited by any means necessary. You’ve not shied away from advertising that fact.”
And now it’s me taken aback by this complimentary tone, coming from a man I know hates most of what I am. He might be right though. I’m no deceiver. I’m no snake. I’m a horrible piece of work when the moment calls for it, but I don’t do much lying.
“Which is why I want you to beat Josh. You might actually be the lesser of two evils at this point.”
“Which ever way you cut it, one of the bad guys is going to win mate. But like you say, at least I’m honestly a bad guy. I’ll dedicate my victory to you. How’s that?”
“Sounds like something you’d do.”
I rise up from my chair quite suddenly, and his muscles tense up. Ready to defend himself, even in his injured state.
“Well Frank, this has been lovely, but let’s never do it again.”
Seeing you like this is making me sad. It reminds me that I’m only one nasty tumble away from struggling to walk as well. One last go at the game? Sure, why not? The only difference between our respective forced retirements: is I’d never get up from my chair. So who cares if anyone else in the room is still standing?
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Josh.
A guy like you disappears for a few years and new kids on the block, like Mason, don’t even know who you are. Me? I could take a 20 year sabbatical and EVERYONE would still recognise me. Hell, they wouldn’t have finished talking about me yet.
And still, with that on the table as a plain and simple truth, you still talk as though you’re the final boss of this business. Some God, waiting to take his rightful place on the throne.
Well we don’t need more Gods. We don’t need another saviour. We don’t need another leader. But maybe this time around you’ve realised that? Because this time around your sole focus seems to be Joshua Dean, and I respect that. You’re not spouting any of your pseudo messiah bull sh*t for once. You’re not telling us all how you’re here to save this business, and be a voice for those who have been burned by it. Blah blah. The same old trite garbage we’ve heard from a million other stiff, comic book hero types. You’ve dropped all that this time, and it’s refreshing to see you letting your hair down, and speaking your truth. It’s about f*cking time mate. It’s about time everyone else got to see how much of a narcissist you’ve always been. I’ve always known it, of course I have, that’s why I’ve always ridden you so hard. But everyone else? The great unwashed? Apparently not. Maybe your masking technique was better than I gave you credit for. Or maybe I’m just more perceptive than I give myself credit for? Hard to believe, as I DO like to give myself an awful lot of credit.
So, maybe we should look at a few of things you’ve said since you poked your head back above ground? A little critical analysis perhaps?
“All I had to do was show my face again to make you obsolete.”
Now, we’re starting off with a doozy. A statement so confusing and smothered in delusion that we’re going to have to approach it from more than one angle.
I’d like to start by saying……..What the f*ck are you talking about?
Have I been made obsolete? Is this what obsolete feels like? It’s a strangely similar sensation to being the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion for over 2 years. Not quite though. What’s missing?
Ah yes.
This might sound like a very specific comparison, but it’s actually near identical to concurrently holding the International Championship alongside that 750+ day reign. Who’d have thunk it? Honestly obsoletion isn’t so bad. You should try it buddy.
But honestly Josh, there is quite literally nothing you could do to fulfil your statement. I’m not even being dramatic. You could beat me in 2 minutes at Superbrawl, clean as a whistle, and it still wouldn’t so much as put a dent in my legacy, or who I am. Besides, no one would be talking about how dominant you are. They’d be too busy talking about how I’d had an off night. And then what? Does that render you obsolete? When you’re able to take the grandest prize going, from the greatest wrestler of all time, and still the headlines aren’t about you? I’d hazard to say that’s a bit closer to the mark than whatever it is you think I am right now.
On to our next ‘Deanism’.
“The first match we had in 2014, he got the win. I won the rematch in 2016. That makes us tied at one apiece.”
And yet he fails to mention the 3rd in our series, or even the 4th. Josh is so convinced that he’s the hard done by party, that as far as he’s concerned after he pinned me for 3 seconds time stood still until now. He considers this Superbrawl main event the closing act of the trilogy, but Josh you are misinformed my friend. We had our 3rd match, moments after our 2nd, and I beat you……again. So, best of 3? Yep, I took it home. But wait, we’re still not done. You had another shot at me. I’ve already mentioned it, but were you or were you not involved in the Superbrawl 9 main event? Were you, or were you not given the exact same opportunity as Trace Demon, Yukio Blaze, Cameron Stone and Samael Ahriman? I can’t lie, I got knocked for a f*cking loop in that match, so I don’t remember much of anything, but I have it on good authority that you were present. Your face was on the damn poster.
One thing I do remember though is I started that match. Of 6 men, I was one of the first 2 out and yet the history books state that I also won the damn thing. I basically died, but victory was mine. Now I make that 3 - 1, so even if I give you best of 5 rules, I could be forgiven for thinking I’d closed the f*cking book on this thing.
This isn’t a trilogy ending affair Josh. This is you refusing to accept defeat, and somehow being granted a chance to shrink, but not remove my lead on points. How funny is that? Even if you win this match, you’re still down 3 wins to 2. Did that thought ever enter your head?
Or worse still…..for you at least, if I win? And I will.
4 - 1?
You’d best be off mate. I’m not sure even you could stand the embarrassment.
And finally, how about this one? A statement that goes beyond a simple uttered sentence. This next one is the f*cking life blood of Joshua Dean’s reemergence:
“I’m a main event star.”
This one is just pathetic. I’m sure in your head the delivery had you looking like a man confident in his own value, but instead you just come across as a petulant child, stomping his feet and screaming at the parents who told him no. Maybe if you shout it loud enough someone will believe you, right? I suppose you did manage to talk yourself into this main event, so who knows? If you keep running that mouth, maybe you’ll be able to main event the next Superbrawl without my name on the marquee?
Because Josh, like it or not, the only reason you’re talked about, the only reason anyone remembers you at all is because of me.
Just think about that for a second. Stings doesn’t it?
It doesn’t matter what you say in the lead up to this match, or after it for that matter, because that sole fact puts the brakes on this idea that you can surpass me……..make me obsolete.
Everyone’s top 10 Josh Dean moments all involve Drakz, and yet your entire WFWF career, this blood feud we’ve had for what is it? 6 years? It’s all just a side quest to my story. You’re just a f*cking dwarf in a tavern, offering me an extra 20 minutes of gameplay. I could have ignored you and the bulk of my arc would remain the same, but where’s the fun in that?
And so I bit.
I let you hitch your waggon to me and I dragged you to your first Superbrawl main event, via a record setting tag team title reign. All this, plus your whole return vendetta, yet you’re still just a part of my story that will be forgotten.
But me?
I AM your story.
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“So, what? You just flat out asked him?”
I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe? Not all of us have to cloak and dagger our way into beneficial situations.
“Yep, and he agreed. Well, it was more like he couldn’t afford to disagree, but the outcome is the same. You can sign the contract when we get to Wembley.”
She stops draining the beer bottle pressed to her lips and her face contorts. She’d probably have spat the contents over me if she didn’t know me so well. I would undoubtedly slap her in the f*cking face if she doused me with coors light, or whatever p*ss it is she’s pickling herself with.
“When WE go to Wembley?”
That’s what I said isn’t it?
“Yeah. As in you and me. There a problem?”
“You want me to fly to the UK just to sign a contract? Seems a bit……unnecessary don’t ya think?”
This broad.
“No, you’re going to be in my corner that night.”
Okay, this time she does empty her mouth, only she rather pathetically does it over herself and the floor. Have I made a terrible mistake here? I’ve already tried to get the best out of one alcoholic, should I really be trying with a second?
“What?! I don’t think it’s gonna set me in good stead with the boys if the booker is playing favourites on her first night back.”
“The booker? Heh. Seems you’ve not been paying attention Sleater.”
Like, at all.
“I haven’t gotten you your old job back. Why the f*ck would I do that? Tell me how that benefits me? Kash eats the dirt I’ve walked over. I’m not short on easily exploitable power bases. No, you’re going to be taking a bit more of a hands on approach this time lass.”
She proceeds to pop the top on yet another beer. It’s 10am……..
“Jesus. Will you give over?”
I snatch the bottle out of her hand and just empty it onto her carpet. F*cking ingrate.
“Hey!”
“Listen, I’ve had enough of the woe is me Lila. This whole half arsed David Brennan cosplay thing isn’t a good look for you. If you’re going to represent me, if you’re going to be a part of my show then you need to put your professional hat back on, because this…..”
I look her up and down a couple of times. Gross.
“….is f*cking pathetic.”
She doesn’t have much to say to that, and……oh here we go. A solitary tear introduces itself to the room, running down her face as more begin to well in her eyes.
“Oh come on. If you’re expecting an apology and a hug then you’re making deals with the wrong cat. You’re capable of this, we both know you are. You’ve just become happy to hide your self esteem in a pair of track pants and whatever that stain is on your shirt. This is a wake up call. Get your sh*t together, because you’re cornering me at Superbrawl. I don’t want Josh trying any dirty sh*t. He’s not the pillar of virtue you might remember. He wants to leave that stadium with my title, by any means possible.”
She sniffs.
“But, I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing out there.”
“By all accounts you didn’t know what the f*ck you were doing in the office either, but you managed to hold that position down for long enough. Besides this isn’t exactly going to be the most secure internship. It’s as temporary as my own career, and as flexible regarding the termination date. So? Make the most of it.”
1 night? 1 year? 10 years? It’ll be entertaining at least having someone walking the knife edge with me.
“And I’m supposed to what? Distract the referee? Grab Josh’s foot through the ropes? All that hokey managerial sh*t?”
“Nope. In fact if you so much as look at Josh a bit too intently I’ll kick you in the t*ts myself. This is me and him. No one else. Your only role is to make sure things stay that way, because I don’t trust the entire Dean family, or their entourage.”
He’s got a long list of folks on his agency books, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he used that leverage, as the master of their purse strings, to force them into acting out. Wether they liked it or not.
“This is the only way I’m going to shut him up for good. No excuses. No get out clause. This is it for us. This is the match that helps us decide who gets the house, the car and custody of the kids. No distractions.”
“And you don’t think my presence alone is distraction enough?”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s horrible of me, but I’m hardly known for my empathetic candour.
“Distraction for whom? Look at the state of you. This is what I’m talking about Lila, you need to get yourself cleaned up, and even then you might get a solo pop from the crowd when you first show your face, but after that? All eyes on us. Me and Josh. You just blend into the background and we’ll be gravy.”
Gravy? I think all these meetings with Kris Kash have got me turning into a douche bag via osmosis.
“Okay, so let’s say I am doing this.”
You are.
“You are.”
“For arguments sake, let’s say I am.”
But, you are.
“Then what? What if you win? You keep me around as your damn valet or something?”
“Sure. Why not? If only to p*ss directly into Kris’s face every time you’re on his TV show. I’ll even buy a funnel and a length of hose for you, so you can join in on the action.”
I see a little sparkle in her eyes. She hasn’t forgotten the way that Kash unceremoniously threw her out on her arse. Quite literally if memory serves.
“And if you lose?”
“I’m not going to lose. I don’t f*cking lose. At any rate, I’ve still got a couple more beatings to dish out before they send me to the knacker yard. I’m not quite ready to be turned into glue and dog food just yet.”
See how far I’ve come? I can say the word dog now without so much as a shudder. If my Mother taught me anything, it’s that throwing your fears from an 8th story balcony is quite the cathartic experience.
“I owe Shannon a receipt for one. That sh*t house stalled my momentum. I’d have already broken my own title reign record by now if it wasn’t for her and her psilocybin obsession. Sure I slapped the taste out of her mouth shortly after, but in everyone else’s eyes that just put us back to nil - nil.”
“Are her and Josh still tight?”
“F*ck knows. Thankfully she’ll have her hands full with EBR’s whimpering bollocks, so I don’t expect to see her so late on in the night. He has a habit of hitting people harder than he should.”
“You know, people always said he’s maybe the only one close to your equal.”
She says it as though I don’t hear every last thing people whisper about backstage.
“Well so far all he’s done is beat up a girl barely out of puberty and lose a match to Penny, so I’m failing to see where the credibility is in that?”
“Weren’t we just talking about the fact that Penny has beaten you as well?”
First Kash, now her. That was 2 years ago. Why are we all of a sudden bringing it up so much? Lila’s tears have dried though, and she’s clearly found her bite again.
“At least I had the good grace to clean up after myself. If E loses to her a second time? Pshhh. You watch, he’ll be back in Japan by the end of the month, drying his eyes with a pair of dirty panties in a cat cafe.”
“It would certainly make things interesting if he won though.”
“That it would. I can already smell a menage a trois on the cards.”
“You’re going to bang them both?”
“This is an LGBTQ+ safe space Sleater. I’d be happy to f*ck the pair of them. No holes barred.”
That’d put butts in seats. Forget this wrasslin’ business. People are more financially receptive to porn.
“Anyone else? Or is that the extent of your little black book of booty calls?”
I’m starting to think maybe Lila would be one of the prospective customers, emptying her bank account to see the EBR/Drakz/Shannon fan fiction cum reality. She’s really perked up. I guess she’s not had any overnight visitors in a long while, looking at the mess this place is consistently in.
“Let me counter that question with one of my own. What do you make of all these ‘legends’ rearing their heads around this time of year? It strikes me that’s it’s Superbrawl season and the worms are rising through the top soil.”
“It makes sense doesn’t it? They see Kash writing out blank cheques so they come running. I know I would if I was in their position. Wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t know what their…..position….feels like. I’ve never been redundant. Not yet anyway”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“I can see that. Well if any of them decide to stick around after those Superbrawl cheques are Kash’d, I’ll be sure to knock them back into the waiting room. F*cking scabs.”
“Why do you even give a sh*t? You certainly never did when I was in charge.”
I don’t. Do I? Maybe I do? I dunno.
“I just don’t like sharing the spotlight, and the spotlight seems pretty fickle these days when it comes to folks making a grand return. That’s just another reason I have to beat Josh, and keep on winning. To prove a point.
Consistency breeds quality.”
“How many reasons is that now?”
“Enough.”
“I wonder how many he thinks he’s got?”
“I’m sure he’ll tell us. He’s gotten awful good at that. Telling us what he’s going to do. I’m yet to see how capable he still is though. He’s had one tune up match before stepping into the ring with The King of the B*stards, and still he has the cheek to make demands of me?”
I’m starting to rant, but Lila doesn’t seem to mind.
“Josh wants me at my best? He missed that boat by a little way. Now I’m the first to admit that I’m a beaten up old dog, but the best I’ve still got is STILL better than he’ll ever f*cking be.”
I’ve riled myself up here, and I realise it’s time to go. I get up and want to make sure Lila does the same. No more slouching on her sofa with a half eaten pizza and unshaven minge.
“You. Get the f*ck up. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back before we fly to my sh*thole country in a few days, and I want this place cleaned up. I want you cleaned up. Get your game face on, because you only get one chance with me. If you mess this up I’ll drive you down much deeper than whatever this is. Make it work though? I’ll have you flying again in no time.
You’ve got another chance Lila Sleater. This is it.
Let them know that Mummy’s home.”
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So this is where it ends Josh.
This is where, one way or another, I manage to rid myself of the tag partner that just couldn’t let go of the past. Is that really what this all stems from? You just want one more run with the belts? I’m afraid to say buddy that the WFWF Team Team Championships are long since dead and buried. At least we’ll always have the memories right?
Aside from that fact, I just don’t really have enough time left on my sun dial to be wasting precious moments propping you up again. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m more of a singles star these days.
Like you Josh, I’m not getting any younger, and the sun is setting on my career. I’ve openly admitted that. I’m in no denial about the state I’m in. I’ve gone so far as to publicly place a fatwa on myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over and die. Men and women alike have already stepped up to the plate to try and be the one……the one to earn that title, of Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer. Heh. It’s starting to turn into quite the mouthful isn’t it?
S-D4? How’s that?
Regardless, none have managed it yet, and my dreams of a quiet retirement before 40 aren’t looking particularly promising. Isn’t it funny that at age 39 I feel as though I should have quit this life a few years ago? The longer I stay in now, the less chance there is of me being able to walk past middle age, and yet here I still am. 39 years young. Feeling like I’ve seen and felt enough for double that.
How about you buddy? How are you feeling? You reckon you’re in ring shape? You think your little exhibition with Mason was enough to lock that muscle memory back in? Or did the bumps you took leave you wondering if you really should have come back at all? Because all through this I’ve been the one on the receiving end, the one taking the kickings, but I’ve got the benefit of never forgetting what that felt like. You? Sure, you took a bit of what Johnny was selling, but it’s been a long, long time since you took a real beating. You think you’re still up to that? Do you think you can swallow a good 30 minutes of punishment and still stand by the end of it? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see won’t we? Speculation only gets us so far. Though while we’re speculating, I’d like to be the one to tell you that there’s not a chance I’m losing to someone like you. I won’t lose, because you don’t deserve to be the one.
You don’t deserve it because you’re entirely reliant on the past to validate your present. The past is easy mate. I say this not without respect for that past, but the present is something else entirely. The past has hindsight. The past? The past is something you’ve already survived and learned from. But the here and now? That’s a very different beast. That’s a time in which you remember what it feels like to be in the moment. Your heart pounding. Nerves fraying at the idea that perhaps you’re not as ready for this as you thought. Muscles cramping from the blunt force trauma sustained in the moments preceding that very present you’re in. At Superbrawl Josh, you’re going to be up to your neck in the present, and I hope it smothers you. It’s going to be fun watching that confidence quickly drain from your eyes and turn to panic. Turn to fear. Not a fear of me. You’re too stupid to fear me. But scared that your own body isn’t capable of what you’ve promised these people. Scared of finally having the curtain whipped away, and the world finding out how big a fraud you really are.
You’ve got an awfully high opinion of yourself Josh. You consider yourself to be have been criminally under utilised and under appreciated, but the truth is you’ve not really done all that much of note to warrant more than your current market share. You’re a solid hand. For sure. No one’s denying that, not even me. You’re a great talent to have around, bolstering the mid card, but can be relied on to step up into the main event when the current champion needs a believable challenger. But then your purpose is served, and you slip back down to your spot until next time. And truly mate, there’s nothing wrong with that. I wish you’d make peace with it, because the business needs people like you to survive, but it strikes me that you really resent that idea. This idea that you serve a purpose. A pre-ordained place in the pecking order. But maybe, deep down inside you know that anger is misplaced. I think if you were really, truly honest with yourself about it……that resentment emanates from a few degrees east.
You really resent the fact that your ceiling isn’t unjust, or handed down out of spite. There is no evil boss to rally against, fighting for your rightful spot. That ceiling is self imposed…….by your lack of talent. Not a complete absence of it, even I’m not going to say that. You’re decent enough.
But that’s the problem mate. You’ve just not……quite….got it.
You’re close. Hell if you were 10 years younger I’d be calling you “one to watch”…….”a hot prospect”…….but at age 35, you’ve peaked. You’ve peaked, and you’ve fallen a fair way short of your target. That’s what you truly resent.
It’s not me.
It’s not Drakz.
I’m not your villain.
I’m just serving as a scapegoat for your own shortcomings, and I understand that. I’d be p*ssed off too. We’ve all got dreams of being the best, but alas there’s only room for so many of those, and right now? Well, for these last 10 years in fact, there’s only been space for one. Maybe if you’d been born at a different time, so our timelines didn’t run so parallel, you’d have stood a greater chance. The bar might not have been set quite so high, and today’s good may have been considered greatness. But unfortunately you’re right here with me, in the present, and I’m the measuring stick for greatness. Looking down at the top of your head, admiring your persistence at the very least, but ultimately getting bored of you and your ever more churlish behaviour.
You’re acting out Josh. You’re being a mean spirited little sh*t. Stealing from me, getting your digs in when there’s no chance of reparations. Crying when you don’t get what you want. You’ve shown yourself an infant, not a man.
A child.
A boy.
And as such……much the same as Drake before you…….I will punish you as a boy.
