First Contact
Jan 6, 2012 4:51:07 GMT -5
Post by The Rogue on Jan 6, 2012 4:51:07 GMT -5
The warm fragrance of coffee meets my nose with a mixture of pleasure and nausea. The pain shooting through my head is like nothing I have felt before. My eyes argue with the light sneaking through the gap in the curtains. My stomach turns. I can’t say I fully understand this last lesson. What has a night of heavy drinking got to do with being a professional wrestler? Still, I can’t argue. I’m the rookie here. I’m the one who said I could use his tutorage. I have seen his tapes. Followed his career. It was a blessing when Jessica revealed to me that he was her Uncle and would be glad to assist me. Tim took me under his wing, what seems like a lifetime ago. Helped me tune my abilities to coincide with the wrestling ring. Taught me to adapt. Be the best that I could be. Now he says, having learned the last lesson he could teach before I make my American debut, “I am ready.” But what does that mean? I’m only vaguely aware of Stevey waving his camera around at me. He’s the guy that Timmy hired to follow us around, something about a comeback DVD. I was barely listening.
Tim: Ah! So you’re up then?
I try to turn around to face him but instantly feel my whole world shake. My head just doesn’t cooperate with me. My stomach groans in defiance. No. Stay as you are. Wait for this feeling to subside.
Mike: Jessica woke me. Said coffee and something fried and greasy will make me feel better.
I hear the old boy laugh. His chesty empty laugh. It seems put on; fake. I can’t really explain it. It’s the sound of someone who has lost all but his soul. Empty. The laugh of someone who has forgotten what it is like to actually feel anything human. What also strikes me is that now, in my weakened state the realization dawns on me that the only time he laughs is when I suffer or fail.
Tim: Feeling a little rough then?
State the obvious. I’d like to say something sarcastic. Though I don’t know if it is nerves or respect that stops me. Who am I to argue?
Mike: Yeah. My head feels like Hiroshima.
Tim: Was that your first time of experiencing a real night out?
Mike: It was the first time I’ve had more than one drink. I’ve always concentrated on my training. Never really thought about getting drunk.
Tim: Ah well, get used to it. You’ll never be one of the boys if you can’t hold your alcohol.
Mike: Why is that?
Tim: Wrestling is a man’s game. Men drink.
Mike: That’s it?
Tim: Pretty much. We used to drink all night after a show and then sweat it off in the gym the next day. So, are you up for it?
Mike: Are you serious?
Tim: About what?
His tone has taken on a darker state. I have offended him. Either he feels I am questioning his word or refusing to do as he asks. I think fast, looking for the best way to go around this. I come up empty. The hangover I am obviously feeling has made my brain function slower than I am used to. Lost for words, I try to explain.
Mike: I feel rotten. If I move, my head feels like it will fall off. I think I am glued to the spot.
Tim: Man up. I just got an email from the new company. You’re on the card for next week which means you need to prepare.
Mike: I have a match already?
A mixture or nerves and excitement rush through me. Finally, it begins. But am I ready? In a cage or on the street I could definitely handle myself against most people. I have proved that throughout my teens. But a wrestling ring is a different environment. I’m not a kid anymore. I will be fighting men. Some twice my size. Take Timmy for example. The guy was a technical wrestler who kept being dragged into various barbaric matches that took him out of his comfort zone. Never once did he turn down a challenge. And never once does he let me forget this. “Wrestling is a dangerous game,” he says. As if I didn’t know. From the experiences I have had, I have had my ass handed to me enough times. I have held my own quite well, but England is a lot different to the States. Timmy told me about that, too. He went from being an undefeated star to being stuck in the mid-cards for years.
Tim: You could say that, yeah.
Mike: Who against? Someone off the tapes or someone new?
Tim: That part doesn’t matter, does it? Even if it’s against a 5 year old kid, if you’re not man enough to get your ass up and get to the gym in the next half an hour, you’re not going to win. You won’t make a good first impression and despite the fact I’m with you, they’ll send you home in no time. You can only ride on my coat tails for so long, kid. And if you dare disappoint me after I have given the last few years of my life to help you. There’s nothing in this for me. I’m just doing Jessica a favor. And if you fail, then that was for nothing.
I know that nothing I say will pull him out of this one. He is after one thing, and it doesn’t come in anything I can vocalize. Regrettably, fighting every aching muscle and the growing sickness that threatens to overcome me at any given moment, I rise to my feet. I stand still for a moment, with my eyes closed, trying desperately to get some sense. Mistake. Before I know what’s happened I feel my legs hurtling me towards the bathroom. Down the narrow corridor, kick the door on the right open to see Jessica sitting on the bowl, not looking much brighter than me. Not knowing what else to do, I lean over the basic white bath and my stomach empties. Nice. I’m sure Jessica took great pleasure in her front row seat to that. In the distance I hear that empty chesty laugh of my mentor.
Tim: Clean that up, will you, Jess. We’re off to the gym.
Jessica looks at me with disbelief. Her beautiful face is white, having lost all color. Trying to show something apologetic in my appearance, all I manage is a simple shrug, before I turn to leave.
Jess: You’re not actually going to the gym like that?
Her words seem sympathetic, despite what I have just subjected her to.
Mike: Have to. Captain’s orders.
Jess: But you’re suffering a major hangover. That can’t be healthy to go the gym like that!
Mike: He said I have to. Said I need to get ready for my match next week.
Jess: You have a match? Oh, that’s good. Who are you fighting?
Mike: It doesn’t matter. If I can’t get to the gym and man up I wouldn’t beat a five year old.
Jess: Did he say that?
Mike: It doesn’t matter, Jess. He’s right. I will come up against a lot worse things than a hangover when I start wrestling these guys. I have watched all of the tapes they have produced so far. All of the guys are rough, tough, mean bastards and they’d all kill me if they had their chance. I need to do everything I can to get ready.
Jess: You’ve been getting ready for years, Mikey. You are ready. You’re no push over. You know that, right?
Mike: I know. I’m glad you believe in me. I really am. But I’d be a fool not to listen to Tim. He’s walked the walk. He’s done it all. If I want to accomplish half of what he has, then I need to follow him and do as he says.
Jess: I understand, Mikey. But you’re your own man. Don’t forget that.
Mike: What’s that supposed to mean?
Jess: You better go. I imagine you don’t want to keep him waiting.
Mike: Yeah. Oh, and Jess?
Jess: Yes, baby?
Mike: Next time you’re on the toilet, don’t spark up a conversation with me.
I turn to leave, feeling slightly better largely due to the cheeky smile spread halfway across my face. As I walk back up the corridor, I swear I hear her say “you cunt.” But I laugh to myself, feeling brighter already. As I enter the lounge area, I see Tim standing by the table wearing black shorts and a grey vest top, with his old worn out gym bag in hand. Something I was unable to properly visualize minutes ago.
Tim: Feeling better then?
He sounded almost cheery. It was weird. I guess it was either because I had just thrown up or because I wound up his niece. I’d put money on both. Though Jessica is family to him, I knew he didn’t think too highly of her. Possibly that was because of his past relationship, the famous Grace Adams. She was sister to Jessica’s mum, so he wasn’t her Uncle by blood. That didn’t stop her thinking highly of him. Having grown up through the break down of their marriage, and also because of knowing what her late Uncle Marvin meant to Tim, she always had a soft spot for him, despite the man he had become. I respected him. It was hard not to, again, despite the guy I now knew.
Mike: Sort of. I need a mint or something, I can’t go out with that taste lurking in my mouth.
Tim: You can and you will, kid. That’ll teach you to control your stomach next time. I can’t have you being like that every time we go on a bender. Especially when I’m not your only drinking buddy.
Mike: When I’m 43, I will probably have a higher tolerance for it.
I knew this was out of line, having failed to hide the sarcasm from my voice. Though looking at him, I would have suggested it might have bounced off of him. He seemed content in the fact that I looked ready to go and at least now had a cheerier disposition. I made a move towards the door where my gym bag was, prepped with a clean towel and fresh gym clothes. I was glad I has Jessica to sort these things out for me.
Tim: Off we go then. We’ll do 45 minutes on the tread mill to sweat out any remaining alcohol. Trust me, that’ll be good. It’s a trick that Duality taught me back in ASW after I earned his respect after our little feud. You’ll thank me later. Never met anyone with endurance like that guy. Last I heard he’s still going, and he’s got to be 50. Not many of the older boys can say that.
Mike: Cool. If I survive today, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.
Tim: Watch yourself, kid. Or I’ll make you go an hour.
Mike: Sorry.
Tim: After that, we’re hitting the weights hard. Mostly back and legs. You’ll need as much lower body strength as you can get in order to counter everything I have taught you. When you’re only 225lbs it definitely helps to be an escape artist.
Mike: Yeah.
Tim: When I say hitting them hard, I mean we are pushing your limits. It’s about time we added 10lbs to everything.
Mike: Alright.
I didn’t meet this news with much enthusiasm. He’d been pushing me a lot harder since we moved to America. It seemed every time I reached a comfortable feeling with the weight I was on he upped it by another kg. 10lbs was going to kill. I thought over what I said when I jibed about surviving today. I mean I really thought about it.
--------------------------------
In the shower, I felt the well earned sweat drip off of me and felt like sinking down the drain with the waste water. Never in my life had I felt so exhausted after a day in the gym. He told me it was partially to do with the alcohol and partly to do with the fact he was pushing me so hard, but either way I’d eventually get used to both. Right now I didn’t feel all too convinced but I knew I had to keep going. Keep pushing. No matter what. As I revered in the warm refreshing water dripping from my head, I heard the footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around to see who was there, I felt myself forced against the wall of the shower room. My head hit, but not so hard as to concuss me. Instinctively I threw out and elbow and turned, ignoring the fact that I was naked, to see Tim holding his jaw. He looked at me, his face hard to read aside from the obvious pain.
Mike: What was that for?
As I spoke, I wiped across my head where a single spec of blood had mixed with the water and, for a moment, seemed a lot worse. I ignored it, and tried to read his face.
Tim: In wrestling, people will attack you when you are unsuspecting, or vulnerable. Expect the unexpected at all times from here on out. I wasn’t trying to hurt you so you got off light.
Mike: My forehead says different!
Tim: Well you’re lucky I didn’t slam you full force into the wall. You would have been knocked out cold. If it was anyone else…
Mike: In our private gym, Tim? How paranoid are you?
Tim: Cut the back talk you ungrateful piece of shit! You think I’m kidding? Do you seriously think that when I was in my prime I didn’t get attacked outside of the arenas? Plague attended Marvin’s funeral!
Though I knew the whole story behind that one incident, I decided to drop it. I could see in his eyes he was serious. It wasn’t right to push him. Especially when I was naked and in a shower. Whether or not he was being sincere, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was. He had several charges against his name for violent conduct, and that was before he became a bitter, abusive man with a possible drinking problem. So one could safely bet a lot of this was down to fighting outside of the arenas. Again, whether or not this was an annoyed fan or something other than a wrestler was another question. One I would be wise to ignore.
Mike: Fair point, Tim. I understand.
Tim: Like hell you do. Not yet. But you will. I am sure if you piss off Scott Reave enough…
Mike: Scott Reave? I’m fighting Scott Reave?
Tim: That’s what I said, wasn’t it?
Mike: I don’t understand. It’s my first match, that’s like jumping to the top of the freaking totem poll!
Tim: Guilty by association, I guess. You’re with me. I have forever told you what a good thing that is. The perks are that my name has value in all of these small time places. I’m a former Canadian Heavyweight Champion. A former Tag Champion. Hell. 14 Titles in my career. And I’m only semi retired. I could still go a few rounds. I am what got you straight in to this company. I’m the reason you are being taken seriously. No try out. Not dark match. Straight in against probably the best guy in the company.
I listened to him talk but I swear I didn’t hear a single word. Scott Reave. The guy is well known amongst tape traders. Identical to me in size, but with so much more. I have seen him fight. Seen the punishment he has dished out. Witnessed his capabilities, things a lot of veterans couldn’t do. My mind was going at a mile a minute. What would my game plan be against someone like Reave? How could I even imagine that I could do this? Here I am, a lifetime in training for this very moment, and the name on the card has already got me reconsidering.
Tim: Hey, kid! You seem to have disappeared on me. Snap out of it will you? I have this covered, don’t worry. We’ll go back to mine and you will cut a promo. Try to get in his head. Show him that you’re not intimidated and then we’ll go about tactics. With me in your corner, you can’t lose. It’s a no brainer. I will make damn sure you win.
Mike: Wait? What? You can’t be suggesting.
Tim: If you want to reach the big leagues, you got to win at all costs.
Mike: Cheat?!
Tim: It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught. Cheaters get disqualified.
Mike: No.
Tim: What do you mean? “No.”
Mike: I mean, no. Tim, look. I can do this. I know I can. Scott Reave is an amazing opponent. One who will do everything in his power to put me down. And yet, I think I have what it takes to defeat him. But when I do it; it’ll be my way. I will win. You have my word.
----------------
In a colorful room, with a blurred out OWF symbol backdrop, Mike Tomkins stands, wearing a denim short sleeved shirt and a pair of black jeans, and white and black high top Nikes. He stands tall, his shoulders held high and his chest slightly inflated. A cheeky, confident smile lights up his youthful face.
Mike: Debut. Scott Reave. Next Wednesday. Have to say; I am really looking forward to this one. You don’t know me, Scott. I’m the new guy. In England, they called me the Rogue. In time, that will become clear. There’s no point me trying to explain it right now. I don’t really want to go off on a tangent. I want to stick to the subject. We’ve both got something to work for this week. Both looking for a notch in the win column so that we’ll be strong candidates for the FGA Heavyweight Title. That’s a given. You’ve been here since the beginning so you have a head start. Momentum. I, on the other hand, start a fresh with a clean slate. So I guess this win might seem more important to me. Regardless, that doesn’t matter. I’m winning. I haven’t come here to play games. I haven’t come here to make false promises. I just want to say it as it is. Come Wednesday you’ll meet Michael Tomkins face to face for the first time in that ring, and you’ll look him up and down and say, “this will be over in five minutes.” Then the opening bell will sound and we’ll circle each other, you’ll rush at me and I’ll put my karate training, my mixed martial arts training and my wrestling training all in a bag. I’ll shake that bag up, stick my hand in and see what I pull out. The element of surprise is in my favor. You may think that’s the only thing I have going for me. Perhaps you’re right. But do you really think that the legend that is “The Electric” Timmy Brown will have invested so much of his time and effort in a lost cause?
Though Michael is the only person visible on the camera, another voice is heard from somewhere behind it.
Tim: You’re damn right, I wouldn’t!
Mike: I’m 20 years old. Seriously lacking in experience, especially in American professional wrestling. But every great career starts somewhere, Scott. So when we meet, and I give you the single greatest match you’ve ever had, don’t be too taken back. You’ll know that you’ve witnessed the start of something special. I’d go as far to say you might get a taste of greatness.
Tim: Now say it! Say the line I gave you.
Mike: What? Now?
Tim: Oh, for crying out loud. If you say it now, after saying, “What? Now?” It will lose all effect. Just go with something else until you feel the time is right, kid.
Mike: Orright… Yeah… Scott. I expect I will hear from you soon, telling me how you’re going to put me in my place. You’ll say I lack respect for undermining you. You’ll tell me I stand no chance. And hell, I know that you will threaten to break my arm. Snap it clean off. Cause irreparable damage on my debut here in the FGA. But at the end of it all, when I beat you, you will not be able to say that I didn’t warn you.
Tim: Mike.
Mike: Gotcha! Scott. When you’re dazed and confused, out on your back, staring up at the lights. You’ll be hearing the fans of the Monroe Sports Center cheering, though it will sound faint and disorientating to you. Through blurry eyes you’ll see an FGA official holding my hand in the air, signifying my first victory in this company. And right then and there, you will learn the simple fact. It takes three seconds to win a match… Just three. And Scotty? Those three seconds belong to me. They will always belong to me.
Tim: Now say something bad about his sister!
Mike: What?! I’m not saying something about his sister!
Tim: Awww, come on, Mike. Say she’s a slut or something.
Mike: I don’t even know if he has a sister? And even if he did… I think we’re getting off topic here.
Tim: Right… You were saying something about his mother.
Mike: No… I wasn’t.
Tim: Then you were saying something about his…
Mike: Scott. Don’t think for a second I don’t know who you are. I’ve watched you. I know you’re good. In fact I’d go as far as saying that you were the best guy in this company…. Until now. This is our first match together, but people will always remember it. And believe me, it won’t be our last. The two top guys will inevitably be contending against each other for the top prize. Sooner or later it will be in one of our hands. This much is true. And if I’m going to be honest, I would much prefer the gold to be resting on my shoulder than yours. So that’s my statement. Not empty words. Believe me. I will work my ass off, as I have been doing for years. I will throw everything I have at you on Wednesday and it will be enough. Like I said, I don’t underrate you. I will have to put everything into this match, and only that will give me the victory I so crave. Anything short of 100% and you will have my number. I know that.
Tim: And his mum…
Mike: Fine. Scott.... Your mother.
-----------------------------
Tim: Ah! So you’re up then?
I try to turn around to face him but instantly feel my whole world shake. My head just doesn’t cooperate with me. My stomach groans in defiance. No. Stay as you are. Wait for this feeling to subside.
Mike: Jessica woke me. Said coffee and something fried and greasy will make me feel better.
I hear the old boy laugh. His chesty empty laugh. It seems put on; fake. I can’t really explain it. It’s the sound of someone who has lost all but his soul. Empty. The laugh of someone who has forgotten what it is like to actually feel anything human. What also strikes me is that now, in my weakened state the realization dawns on me that the only time he laughs is when I suffer or fail.
Tim: Feeling a little rough then?
State the obvious. I’d like to say something sarcastic. Though I don’t know if it is nerves or respect that stops me. Who am I to argue?
Mike: Yeah. My head feels like Hiroshima.
Tim: Was that your first time of experiencing a real night out?
Mike: It was the first time I’ve had more than one drink. I’ve always concentrated on my training. Never really thought about getting drunk.
Tim: Ah well, get used to it. You’ll never be one of the boys if you can’t hold your alcohol.
Mike: Why is that?
Tim: Wrestling is a man’s game. Men drink.
Mike: That’s it?
Tim: Pretty much. We used to drink all night after a show and then sweat it off in the gym the next day. So, are you up for it?
Mike: Are you serious?
Tim: About what?
His tone has taken on a darker state. I have offended him. Either he feels I am questioning his word or refusing to do as he asks. I think fast, looking for the best way to go around this. I come up empty. The hangover I am obviously feeling has made my brain function slower than I am used to. Lost for words, I try to explain.
Mike: I feel rotten. If I move, my head feels like it will fall off. I think I am glued to the spot.
Tim: Man up. I just got an email from the new company. You’re on the card for next week which means you need to prepare.
Mike: I have a match already?
A mixture or nerves and excitement rush through me. Finally, it begins. But am I ready? In a cage or on the street I could definitely handle myself against most people. I have proved that throughout my teens. But a wrestling ring is a different environment. I’m not a kid anymore. I will be fighting men. Some twice my size. Take Timmy for example. The guy was a technical wrestler who kept being dragged into various barbaric matches that took him out of his comfort zone. Never once did he turn down a challenge. And never once does he let me forget this. “Wrestling is a dangerous game,” he says. As if I didn’t know. From the experiences I have had, I have had my ass handed to me enough times. I have held my own quite well, but England is a lot different to the States. Timmy told me about that, too. He went from being an undefeated star to being stuck in the mid-cards for years.
Tim: You could say that, yeah.
Mike: Who against? Someone off the tapes or someone new?
Tim: That part doesn’t matter, does it? Even if it’s against a 5 year old kid, if you’re not man enough to get your ass up and get to the gym in the next half an hour, you’re not going to win. You won’t make a good first impression and despite the fact I’m with you, they’ll send you home in no time. You can only ride on my coat tails for so long, kid. And if you dare disappoint me after I have given the last few years of my life to help you. There’s nothing in this for me. I’m just doing Jessica a favor. And if you fail, then that was for nothing.
I know that nothing I say will pull him out of this one. He is after one thing, and it doesn’t come in anything I can vocalize. Regrettably, fighting every aching muscle and the growing sickness that threatens to overcome me at any given moment, I rise to my feet. I stand still for a moment, with my eyes closed, trying desperately to get some sense. Mistake. Before I know what’s happened I feel my legs hurtling me towards the bathroom. Down the narrow corridor, kick the door on the right open to see Jessica sitting on the bowl, not looking much brighter than me. Not knowing what else to do, I lean over the basic white bath and my stomach empties. Nice. I’m sure Jessica took great pleasure in her front row seat to that. In the distance I hear that empty chesty laugh of my mentor.
Tim: Clean that up, will you, Jess. We’re off to the gym.
Jessica looks at me with disbelief. Her beautiful face is white, having lost all color. Trying to show something apologetic in my appearance, all I manage is a simple shrug, before I turn to leave.
Jess: You’re not actually going to the gym like that?
Her words seem sympathetic, despite what I have just subjected her to.
Mike: Have to. Captain’s orders.
Jess: But you’re suffering a major hangover. That can’t be healthy to go the gym like that!
Mike: He said I have to. Said I need to get ready for my match next week.
Jess: You have a match? Oh, that’s good. Who are you fighting?
Mike: It doesn’t matter. If I can’t get to the gym and man up I wouldn’t beat a five year old.
Jess: Did he say that?
Mike: It doesn’t matter, Jess. He’s right. I will come up against a lot worse things than a hangover when I start wrestling these guys. I have watched all of the tapes they have produced so far. All of the guys are rough, tough, mean bastards and they’d all kill me if they had their chance. I need to do everything I can to get ready.
Jess: You’ve been getting ready for years, Mikey. You are ready. You’re no push over. You know that, right?
Mike: I know. I’m glad you believe in me. I really am. But I’d be a fool not to listen to Tim. He’s walked the walk. He’s done it all. If I want to accomplish half of what he has, then I need to follow him and do as he says.
Jess: I understand, Mikey. But you’re your own man. Don’t forget that.
Mike: What’s that supposed to mean?
Jess: You better go. I imagine you don’t want to keep him waiting.
Mike: Yeah. Oh, and Jess?
Jess: Yes, baby?
Mike: Next time you’re on the toilet, don’t spark up a conversation with me.
I turn to leave, feeling slightly better largely due to the cheeky smile spread halfway across my face. As I walk back up the corridor, I swear I hear her say “you cunt.” But I laugh to myself, feeling brighter already. As I enter the lounge area, I see Tim standing by the table wearing black shorts and a grey vest top, with his old worn out gym bag in hand. Something I was unable to properly visualize minutes ago.
Tim: Feeling better then?
He sounded almost cheery. It was weird. I guess it was either because I had just thrown up or because I wound up his niece. I’d put money on both. Though Jessica is family to him, I knew he didn’t think too highly of her. Possibly that was because of his past relationship, the famous Grace Adams. She was sister to Jessica’s mum, so he wasn’t her Uncle by blood. That didn’t stop her thinking highly of him. Having grown up through the break down of their marriage, and also because of knowing what her late Uncle Marvin meant to Tim, she always had a soft spot for him, despite the man he had become. I respected him. It was hard not to, again, despite the guy I now knew.
Mike: Sort of. I need a mint or something, I can’t go out with that taste lurking in my mouth.
Tim: You can and you will, kid. That’ll teach you to control your stomach next time. I can’t have you being like that every time we go on a bender. Especially when I’m not your only drinking buddy.
Mike: When I’m 43, I will probably have a higher tolerance for it.
I knew this was out of line, having failed to hide the sarcasm from my voice. Though looking at him, I would have suggested it might have bounced off of him. He seemed content in the fact that I looked ready to go and at least now had a cheerier disposition. I made a move towards the door where my gym bag was, prepped with a clean towel and fresh gym clothes. I was glad I has Jessica to sort these things out for me.
Tim: Off we go then. We’ll do 45 minutes on the tread mill to sweat out any remaining alcohol. Trust me, that’ll be good. It’s a trick that Duality taught me back in ASW after I earned his respect after our little feud. You’ll thank me later. Never met anyone with endurance like that guy. Last I heard he’s still going, and he’s got to be 50. Not many of the older boys can say that.
Mike: Cool. If I survive today, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.
Tim: Watch yourself, kid. Or I’ll make you go an hour.
Mike: Sorry.
Tim: After that, we’re hitting the weights hard. Mostly back and legs. You’ll need as much lower body strength as you can get in order to counter everything I have taught you. When you’re only 225lbs it definitely helps to be an escape artist.
Mike: Yeah.
Tim: When I say hitting them hard, I mean we are pushing your limits. It’s about time we added 10lbs to everything.
Mike: Alright.
I didn’t meet this news with much enthusiasm. He’d been pushing me a lot harder since we moved to America. It seemed every time I reached a comfortable feeling with the weight I was on he upped it by another kg. 10lbs was going to kill. I thought over what I said when I jibed about surviving today. I mean I really thought about it.
--------------------------------
In the shower, I felt the well earned sweat drip off of me and felt like sinking down the drain with the waste water. Never in my life had I felt so exhausted after a day in the gym. He told me it was partially to do with the alcohol and partly to do with the fact he was pushing me so hard, but either way I’d eventually get used to both. Right now I didn’t feel all too convinced but I knew I had to keep going. Keep pushing. No matter what. As I revered in the warm refreshing water dripping from my head, I heard the footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around to see who was there, I felt myself forced against the wall of the shower room. My head hit, but not so hard as to concuss me. Instinctively I threw out and elbow and turned, ignoring the fact that I was naked, to see Tim holding his jaw. He looked at me, his face hard to read aside from the obvious pain.
Mike: What was that for?
As I spoke, I wiped across my head where a single spec of blood had mixed with the water and, for a moment, seemed a lot worse. I ignored it, and tried to read his face.
Tim: In wrestling, people will attack you when you are unsuspecting, or vulnerable. Expect the unexpected at all times from here on out. I wasn’t trying to hurt you so you got off light.
Mike: My forehead says different!
Tim: Well you’re lucky I didn’t slam you full force into the wall. You would have been knocked out cold. If it was anyone else…
Mike: In our private gym, Tim? How paranoid are you?
Tim: Cut the back talk you ungrateful piece of shit! You think I’m kidding? Do you seriously think that when I was in my prime I didn’t get attacked outside of the arenas? Plague attended Marvin’s funeral!
Though I knew the whole story behind that one incident, I decided to drop it. I could see in his eyes he was serious. It wasn’t right to push him. Especially when I was naked and in a shower. Whether or not he was being sincere, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was. He had several charges against his name for violent conduct, and that was before he became a bitter, abusive man with a possible drinking problem. So one could safely bet a lot of this was down to fighting outside of the arenas. Again, whether or not this was an annoyed fan or something other than a wrestler was another question. One I would be wise to ignore.
Mike: Fair point, Tim. I understand.
Tim: Like hell you do. Not yet. But you will. I am sure if you piss off Scott Reave enough…
Mike: Scott Reave? I’m fighting Scott Reave?
Tim: That’s what I said, wasn’t it?
Mike: I don’t understand. It’s my first match, that’s like jumping to the top of the freaking totem poll!
Tim: Guilty by association, I guess. You’re with me. I have forever told you what a good thing that is. The perks are that my name has value in all of these small time places. I’m a former Canadian Heavyweight Champion. A former Tag Champion. Hell. 14 Titles in my career. And I’m only semi retired. I could still go a few rounds. I am what got you straight in to this company. I’m the reason you are being taken seriously. No try out. Not dark match. Straight in against probably the best guy in the company.
I listened to him talk but I swear I didn’t hear a single word. Scott Reave. The guy is well known amongst tape traders. Identical to me in size, but with so much more. I have seen him fight. Seen the punishment he has dished out. Witnessed his capabilities, things a lot of veterans couldn’t do. My mind was going at a mile a minute. What would my game plan be against someone like Reave? How could I even imagine that I could do this? Here I am, a lifetime in training for this very moment, and the name on the card has already got me reconsidering.
Tim: Hey, kid! You seem to have disappeared on me. Snap out of it will you? I have this covered, don’t worry. We’ll go back to mine and you will cut a promo. Try to get in his head. Show him that you’re not intimidated and then we’ll go about tactics. With me in your corner, you can’t lose. It’s a no brainer. I will make damn sure you win.
Mike: Wait? What? You can’t be suggesting.
Tim: If you want to reach the big leagues, you got to win at all costs.
Mike: Cheat?!
Tim: It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught. Cheaters get disqualified.
Mike: No.
Tim: What do you mean? “No.”
Mike: I mean, no. Tim, look. I can do this. I know I can. Scott Reave is an amazing opponent. One who will do everything in his power to put me down. And yet, I think I have what it takes to defeat him. But when I do it; it’ll be my way. I will win. You have my word.
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In a colorful room, with a blurred out OWF symbol backdrop, Mike Tomkins stands, wearing a denim short sleeved shirt and a pair of black jeans, and white and black high top Nikes. He stands tall, his shoulders held high and his chest slightly inflated. A cheeky, confident smile lights up his youthful face.
Mike: Debut. Scott Reave. Next Wednesday. Have to say; I am really looking forward to this one. You don’t know me, Scott. I’m the new guy. In England, they called me the Rogue. In time, that will become clear. There’s no point me trying to explain it right now. I don’t really want to go off on a tangent. I want to stick to the subject. We’ve both got something to work for this week. Both looking for a notch in the win column so that we’ll be strong candidates for the FGA Heavyweight Title. That’s a given. You’ve been here since the beginning so you have a head start. Momentum. I, on the other hand, start a fresh with a clean slate. So I guess this win might seem more important to me. Regardless, that doesn’t matter. I’m winning. I haven’t come here to play games. I haven’t come here to make false promises. I just want to say it as it is. Come Wednesday you’ll meet Michael Tomkins face to face for the first time in that ring, and you’ll look him up and down and say, “this will be over in five minutes.” Then the opening bell will sound and we’ll circle each other, you’ll rush at me and I’ll put my karate training, my mixed martial arts training and my wrestling training all in a bag. I’ll shake that bag up, stick my hand in and see what I pull out. The element of surprise is in my favor. You may think that’s the only thing I have going for me. Perhaps you’re right. But do you really think that the legend that is “The Electric” Timmy Brown will have invested so much of his time and effort in a lost cause?
Though Michael is the only person visible on the camera, another voice is heard from somewhere behind it.
Tim: You’re damn right, I wouldn’t!
Mike: I’m 20 years old. Seriously lacking in experience, especially in American professional wrestling. But every great career starts somewhere, Scott. So when we meet, and I give you the single greatest match you’ve ever had, don’t be too taken back. You’ll know that you’ve witnessed the start of something special. I’d go as far to say you might get a taste of greatness.
Tim: Now say it! Say the line I gave you.
Mike: What? Now?
Tim: Oh, for crying out loud. If you say it now, after saying, “What? Now?” It will lose all effect. Just go with something else until you feel the time is right, kid.
Mike: Orright… Yeah… Scott. I expect I will hear from you soon, telling me how you’re going to put me in my place. You’ll say I lack respect for undermining you. You’ll tell me I stand no chance. And hell, I know that you will threaten to break my arm. Snap it clean off. Cause irreparable damage on my debut here in the FGA. But at the end of it all, when I beat you, you will not be able to say that I didn’t warn you.
Tim: Mike.
Mike: Gotcha! Scott. When you’re dazed and confused, out on your back, staring up at the lights. You’ll be hearing the fans of the Monroe Sports Center cheering, though it will sound faint and disorientating to you. Through blurry eyes you’ll see an FGA official holding my hand in the air, signifying my first victory in this company. And right then and there, you will learn the simple fact. It takes three seconds to win a match… Just three. And Scotty? Those three seconds belong to me. They will always belong to me.
Tim: Now say something bad about his sister!
Mike: What?! I’m not saying something about his sister!
Tim: Awww, come on, Mike. Say she’s a slut or something.
Mike: I don’t even know if he has a sister? And even if he did… I think we’re getting off topic here.
Tim: Right… You were saying something about his mother.
Mike: No… I wasn’t.
Tim: Then you were saying something about his…
Mike: Scott. Don’t think for a second I don’t know who you are. I’ve watched you. I know you’re good. In fact I’d go as far as saying that you were the best guy in this company…. Until now. This is our first match together, but people will always remember it. And believe me, it won’t be our last. The two top guys will inevitably be contending against each other for the top prize. Sooner or later it will be in one of our hands. This much is true. And if I’m going to be honest, I would much prefer the gold to be resting on my shoulder than yours. So that’s my statement. Not empty words. Believe me. I will work my ass off, as I have been doing for years. I will throw everything I have at you on Wednesday and it will be enough. Like I said, I don’t underrate you. I will have to put everything into this match, and only that will give me the victory I so crave. Anything short of 100% and you will have my number. I know that.
Tim: And his mum…
Mike: Fine. Scott.... Your mother.
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