“That was the trouble with explaining with words. If you explained with gunpowder, people listened.” -Dean F. Wilson.
{UGWC Arena - Chicago, Illinois - “The next step”}
My father….he was a tyrant on a good day and one of the worst bastards in the wrestling business that ever lived. Not all of his lessons were lost on me though. Some of what he tried to teach me had merit. Keeping your circle small was one of those things, it was all about damage control when someone turned on you. The reasons didn’t matter, how you responded to that did. Developing a killer instinct was critical. Closing out matches emphatically was key to building your brand and your reputation in the industry. I had been very effective in doing that through the years, this match that I had coming up was a test. What I believed was one of the toughest of my career. I would be facing a man known as the “Face Of Fear” throughout the industry. I had watched many of his matches in person, as a spectator, you can learn a lot about people by doing that. I already knew what to expect from this man and I wondered if he had done the same with me? Sitting on a stool, dressed in blue jeans, black boots, and a purple UGWC t-shirt I got the signal from the production crew that they were recording.
“That moment when the face of fear goes against the new face of destruction. Let me say this, I have no beef with Deimos, quite the opposite actually. I have a ton of respect for this man and all he’s accomplished. A two-time world champion here and has countless accolades in other places. I feel like we are more alike than we are dissimilar. A man who has a real problem with the creeps, as do I. I came to this company for several reasons.”
I begin ticking them off on my right hand with my left hand.
“Competition
Titles
Family
The AstroCreeps”
As I ticked off the items, folding a finger down until the only one left is the middle finger for the creeps. Then I shrug, amused at myself more than anything.
“Not necessarily in that order but I’m sure you get the point. I realize that this promo is a bit more somber than you’ve become accustomed to from me and there’s a reason for that as well. People like Deimos and the Baltimore Elite should be aligned. We should be fighting towards a real goal. A goal like removing cancer from this roster.”
Lowering my hand, I continue.
“People like Ragdoll and Tempest should be number one with a bullet so to speak.”
Forming my hand to look like a gun, I point it at the audience and fake the recoil as if shooting.
“Not this week though, this week it’s you Phrixus Deimos. I’ll not allow my attention to be divided. You are a major player in this company, whether you currently have a title over your shoulder at the moment or not. “
Holstering my fake gun, I smile at the camera.
“People respect you for your past accomplishments and yes they fear you because of what you are capable of. I am not one of the ones who fear you. I want you to show me why I should fear you. Make it really clear to this old outlaw why you are feared."
My smile slides, replaced by an amusing thought. I recently had this “discussion” with Ragdoll on social media and it amused me.
“There’s that word again, Outlaw, for whatever reason Ragdoll thinks you have to be a gun-toting psycho in order to be an outlaw. Thing is, those who are cut from that cloth...we know that’s not the case. An outlaw is a man or woman who goes against the grain. People who do things their own way, consequences be damned. We’re the paint where there’s not supposed to be paint. We’re the outcasts of polite society, the people who aren’t supposed to succeed. That’s what a true outlaw is, some could argue that she qualifies but not in my opinion.”
Mouthing the words “No” I shake my head.
“It’s not about them though, it’s about you. Your history and legacy run deep in this company. You are an icon and legendary figure here. I don’t dispute that in the least. In another place and time, we could be friends. That might still happen but not before this match takes place. Once the bell rings, friend and foe disappear for me. All I see across the ring is someone who wants to take me out. That should be your goal, sir, you should be looking to put me on the shelf permanently. Whether anyone will admit it or not, I am a threat to every titleholder in this company. The lone exception there is the cooperative title unless my wife decides to come to the coalition to compete that is. The point to this is that once the match starts I’m all business. Many are out there trying to win a wrestling match. Me? Nah ah, no sir, I’m out there trying to win a fight.
Every punch I throw is thrown with the intention of knocking you out. Every move I execute is meant to end the match. It doesn’t matter if it’s a body slam, hip toss, or suplex. I execute them all with high velocity and torque. I hit harder than virtually anyone in this industry and I have no qualms about proving that to anyone with the testicular fortitude to step up and accept that challenge. Just know this, I respect the hell out of your body of work, but I’m coming to wreck your shit Phrixus Deimos. You’re the next step in my evolution.”
I smile as the recording stops and the reaction on the production crew’s faces lets me know that I at least gave some people some things to think about.
Fade.
{The L - Chicago, Illinois - “Outlaw Shit”}
I had been on the L many times throughout my career. I had come into town Friday morning, the day after Thanksgiving tended to be a good travel day with so many suckers partaking in Black Friday deals. I usually traveled in a suit and this trip was no different. My hair was slicked back and in a ponytail, sunglasses, and mask in place. I stood, resting my hand on one of the straps as people came in and got off from stop to stop. One thing I realized very early on is you never sit on this train. That is begging for trouble and an indefensible position. My eyes darted often to take in my surroundings, I noted three men, all caucasian and all stumbling drunk. I looked at my watch and it was eight in the morning. They were not my prey today however, no that would be the man who was trying his best to blend in with the crowd on the train and failing miserably.
I knew who he was, but he hadn’t seen me since I was twenty-two years old. This old guy had run unsanctioned and very illegal cage fights in the Southeast Texas, Southwest Lousianna region, over twenty years ago. I still had the business card from him, that I now gripped in my hand. The train stopped and several people got off, including the drunks. So, I grabbed my bag and went and set next to him. “Funny thing, Mr. Abner, I never forget a face.” He looked up at me and smiled. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he responded as nonchalantly as possible. I handed him the business card and he studied it for a moment. “Word is, that you still run the fights around Chicago.” He looked at me again, this time the color draining from his face. “I d..d...don…” he stuttered as he leaned back clutching his chest. I dug the heart medication out of his breast pocket, shoving a nitro pill in his mouth I said to him, “No, old man you don’t get to die today.” I patted his cheek as he swallowed it down, nodding through the pain he was experiencing. He slowly regained his composure. “Do I know you?”, he asked me, still in obvious pain.
“You do,” I said through gritted teeth. “You would likely remember my father, who put me in fights in your system in hopes that one of your fighters would kill me.” He shook his head, either trying to get the cobwebs out or because he was dismayed, I really wasn’t sure. “Your name?”, he asked me. “Bane,” I said to him again through gritted teeth. His eyes went wide, and then they lit with the dawning of recognition. “The Gentleman Wolf,” he said in shock. “I never thought I’d see your likes again, well I was hoping, anyway.” He said it almost as emphatically as a religious zealot high on the faith of their god. This caused me to smile, “I don’t know why, I made you and the old man a lot of money.” He nodded his head at first and then catching his mistake he tried to backpedal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” He stood up as we approached the next stop. I laughed as he attempted to flee, “This isn’t your stop, Jonathan Montague Abner.” He froze in his tracks, “I know more about you than you know about yourself.” I finished the statement and he turned around. “I have contacts here in Chicago, I want to fight. Don’t you want to be rolling in it again?” He slowly came back and sat down once again where he had been. “You don’t understand what these fights are anymore. The people who really run the show are so fucking bloodthirsty...it’s even more than I can stand most nights.” I nodded and handed him another business card. “Book my first match as a debut, my stage name will be Lobo. My contact number is there, call me when it’s set.” We sat in silence for a while and then my stop came up.
“Do it, Jon,” was all I said as I exited the train.
Fade.
{Unnamed bar in downtown Chicago - “Lobo”}
I had my first “match” as it were that night. They booked me against another masked wrestler who called himself the American Dragon. His skills were good but it didn’t take long to figure out how to derail this kid. I told him to change his name to goat boy after the match. Whether he would remember anything at all was still yet to be determined. He was still unconscious in the middle of the cage, laying in a pool of his own blood. It had felt good, all of it. I knew it shouldn’t but damn, doing this made me feel alive. I didn’t feel the burdens that came with everyday life. Like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I went back to the locker room to shower and clean up. I found an envelope taped to my locker. My pay for the evening. I went through the envelope and discovered this was not what we agreed to.
I quickly showered and dressed before making my way to the back offices. With the envelope in hand, I started shaking it at Jonathan like an angry person shakes their finger at someone. “Ya know, Chief, this envelope feels a little lite. About a thousand dollars light actually,” I said with no mistaking or misunderstanding, my tone was decidedly unfriendly. He looked up from his money counting and smiled, “I told you, the bonus would be if you finished your opponent.” In response, I glared at him and the two goons that flanked him. “Not like that kid got up and had a beer,” I said defiantly and with enough venom behind it to get the attention of everyone. “He survived though,” was all he said in response. He shrugged and went back to counting his money. A young man in a checkered sports coat and black slacks bent down low and whispered something in his ear and Jon smiled. It was an evil smile, no doubt about that. Jon stood up and grabbed a stack of bills. He walked across the room and placed them in my hands. I looked over his shoulder at the young man who only nodded. “Looks like you get a bonus after all,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’d suggest you not to do that in the future, the gentleman who runs this is not as lenient or forgiving as I am.” He then stepped back and walked back to his counting table. I stuffed the wad of cash in my pocket as I exited the room.
Before I went back out in the general public, I stopped by a mirror in the hall. Light swelling below my left eye, where the kid landed a lucky counter strike. A smallish man appeared behind me, the same one who had said something to Jon inside the counting room. I estimated his country of origin was likely China. He bowed slightly, “A good fight.” I turned and faced the man, inclining my head slightly in return, “It was a joke, a debut, as long as it drew money it was a good fight.” He smiled, “We weren’t going to allow it at first, but once word got out that a legend was returning to the cage…” He spread his arms out, “It drew enough money to allow it to proceed.” I smiled, “A legend? I wasn’t aware that name had any drawing power anymore.” I smirked at the thought. “Indeed, a legend who has never suffered defeat in the cage. People came in from your home state, Louisiana, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. It was a good fight.” I got the point and without another word, he was gone. I shrugged and continued out into the bar. Taking a seat as the rest of the fights went on, a drink arrived for me without ordering one. I shot my right eyebrow up in question and the bartender told me who it came from. Looking down at the end of the bar was a woman I’d not seen since high school. She looked old then and now she just looked ancient.
Picking up the drink, I made my way down and started to say something but she cuts me off. “No names here, if you decide you need a manager for these fights, let me know.” Without another word she got up and left the bar. The woman was the wife of my old high school football coach. Kay Simmons was her name, she was an absolute cunt and I couldn’t stand her then, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to stand her now. The real question is why do this at my age? Why do this now? This was a young man’s game, these blood sport-style events. My opponent tonight, Brian whatever his name was, in his early twenties would be my guess. Probably half my age, I thought as I sipped the johnny walker black that had been bought for me. The offer from Kay was likely not to be the last, probably the first of many as people tried to get in on a share of what these fights made. “They all want their piece of the pie, don’t they?” That was the question asked by the gentleman seated next to me. I looked over and this guy could be a body double for Sam Elliot, white hair and all. “Yes sir, they certainly do.”
Fade
