Falling from Grace?
Jan 10, 2012 18:16:09 GMT -5
Post by The Rogue on Jan 10, 2012 18:16:09 GMT -5
When Jess phoned me, it was met with mixed emotions. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t due to her. Nothing to do with her, in fact. Tim was the subject of conversation. He had crossed a line with me. Both personal and professional. He had not told me that anything other than my promotional video would surface on the FGA website. “It’s just for my comeback DVD” is what he had told me. What a lie! Now I found myself, in all my glory, for all to see. I guess I’m just lucky that Frontier Grappling Arts is just a small promotion walking on its baby legs or else I would have lost credibility the whole world over.
Mike: Hello?
Jess: Hi, Mike, it’s me.
Mike: What? Where are you?
I was confused as I didn’t recognize the number, where as usually she’d call me from her cell phone.
Jess: At the police station.
Mike: What?!! What’s happened?! Are you alright?!
Jess: Yes. Calm down, Mikey. I’m fine. I’m here because of Uncle Tim.
Mike: Oh… Well what’s happened to him? Is he in trouble for sending unlicensed indecent film clips onto family websites?
Jess: Oh, do shut up! This is serious.
Mike: I was being sincere.
Jess: No, you’re being childish. Now do you want to be of any help or not?
Mike: Why? Do they need me as a witness? Do they want me to make a statement and testify against him?
Jess: Grace called him!
Immediately, a shock passed through me as her shrill emotional voice met my ears. I was forced into a stunned silence. Though she too remained silent, I could tell that Jess was shaking. It was evident in her breathing. Both Jessica and Michelle, Jess’ mother, were distant with Grace after everything she had done. I knew this. Though Tim had never spoken to me about anything personal, like ever, Jess had filled me in on little bits. She had not gone into great depths, yet the picture she has painted explained everything. Still, I was a bit hotheaded. On the one hand I felt a great sympathy. How could I not? He’s put a lot of time and effort into making me ready for a wrestling ring. But on the other hand, I felt betrayed. And also, if he was in lock up, he must have acted rather brashly and done something incredibly stupid.
Jess: Can you please say something!
Mike: What’s he done?
Jess: He’s been in a bar fight, or started one or something. He had too much to drink and took offence in something someone had said.
Mike: Hmm, that sounds quite serious. So what? Are they going to charge him or…?
Jess: Yes. It looks like three counts of assault.
Mike: Three?!
Jess: Yeah, it seems that the first guy had friends.
At this point, I had to say I was more impressed than appalled. Originally, when she had expressed that it was a bar fight, I pictured one poor bastard bloodied up on the floor. I knew what Tim’s temper was like. Now, however, I imagined three people trying to get the jump on him, my mentor, and coming up short. I couldn’t help wondering how well I would have faired in that situation. None too good with the alcohol thrown in to the equation, I was sure.
Mike: So like, have they set up a bail or something? How do these things work?
Jess: Yeah. He said if you pay it, he’ll give you the money back.
Mike: Alright: I’ll be down in a bit. I’ve just got back from the gym so I’ve got to get changed.
Jess: That’s fine. I’m sure he’s not really going anywhere for the minute.
Mike: It’s a shame I don’t know where his camera drone is. I don’t know his number either. I would have liked to get a small measure of revenge by posting this scenario on the FGA site.
Jess: He’s already here. That’s who Uncle Tim rang when he was offered his phone call.
Mike: What?! Surely you a joking, right?
Jess: I wish. It seems they didn’t wait for him to sober up before they offered him his one phone call.
Mike: Weird. Is he in there with him now, then? Filming the ramblings of a sobered up inmate?
Jess: No. He’s currently got the camera on me for some reason.
Mike: What?!
-----------------
I didn’t quite know what to expect when I arrived at the police station. After Jessica and I had finished talking I felt the need to get there as soon as I possibly could. So I skipped the shower. I knew I must smell exceptionally raw after a good two hour session in the gym, but at this point that was of little concern. I just about gave myself time to coat myself in my Old Spice deodorant and change into a pair of Levi jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I must have looked like I was auditioning for a Diet Coke advertisement. As I parked my old Impala into the nearest space I could find, I simply sat for a moment. Tim, I understood, wasn’t the most together guy I knew. I got that. But why did she still have this effect on him after so long? And what was she even calling him for? I didn’t understand any of it. For all that I could tell, Tim was closer than ever to being his normal self. He now had motivation and goals. Something he had lacked for a long time before he met me. I knew that he was using me to grasp some form of return. But after all that he had done for me, I was glad that I could help him. We were both going somewhere. Both are. So why this, now? Did this moment mark the beginning of his demise? Or had that moment already happened ten years ago? To say that I was confused; well, that was an understatement. I needed some kind of answers, whether I liked them or not. My debut was just days away, so this predicament could not have possibly come at a worse time for me. For him, too. I owed him so much. Four years, that’s how long we’d known each other. After all this time and all this effort, he deserved to get back into it.
When my hand opened the door, and my left boot met with the asphalt of the car lot, it was as though I was outside of myself; watching. It was a surreal feeling. It felt like the beginning of the end, before it had even started. And that’s a weird feeling. To feel as if something has finished before it has begun. Like the big bang, with all that pent up energy, but it surmounts to nothing. The last thing I was even thinking about at this point was my opponent, Scott Reave. Slowly, my feet began to move towards the front door. I’d never been inside a police station before. Yet I couldn’t help feeling as though this wouldn’t be my last time in one. Things seemed chaotic as I stepped inside to be met with the air conditioned reception area. All the officers were preoccupied with things such as prisoners to book or phone calls to make or call outs. The radio was going off almost as soon as the last call in had finished. As I noticed Jessica, in the corner of the room, I dumbly stared at her. Amongst all this madness, she still seemed like a glamorous starlet. Even in her tight jeans, with her trendy worn looking boots and a black strapped top, she took the breath from my lungs. Though she was my muse, wrestling seemed to have escaped my brain completely. After a minute, or possibly more, of just standing like an idiot, goggling at her, an officer took me out of my daze… Sort of.
Officer: You need help?
Mike: Huh?
Officer: What seems to be the problem?
Luckily for me, Jess had noticed me and rushed over to save me from my confusion that was already irritating this obviously busy police officer. The officer was smaller than me, but he had a rough street worn look that demanded respect.
Jess: He’s here to see Tim Brown. He was brought in last night.
Officer: Check in at the desk, they’ll take you down to him.
At this point everything seemed to pass by in one big blur. I didn’t register any of the things Jessica said to me. I was pretty sure I managed to respond to a lot of it, but I had no clue what even I had said. Nor did I notice the camera that was following us down the numerous corridors to Timmy’s cell. It seemed darker than I had expected when we finally reached his holding cell. Though, I didn’t really expect anything. It seemed rather archaic. As if I had slipped back into an old gangster movie, expecting to be asked to roll over on my capo. Tim was a sight. Unshaven and unkempt, though that was the least of his problems. His right eye was bruised, and his cheek was possibly shattered. I couldn’t tell in the dark. Both his nostrils were clotted with blood, and his white “Rolling Stones” t-shirt was coated in so much blood that at first glimpse it didn’t appear white at all. He was sitting on the opposite side of the cell to the door, next to his upturned cot. He seemed to be lost in thought.
Officer: You should have seen the other guys.
Tim: Mike’s here?
Jess: Yeah.
Tim: Alright, Jess, you should go now.
Jess: What? Why? I’m…
Tim: Jess, fuck off! Just get the hell out of here. They won’t let me out just yet, and I’m sure Mike wants to have a word with me. So seriously, fuck off. Leave. Go back to that piece of shit flat that I pay for and wait for us. Fix us something nice for when we get home.
Mike: Seriously, Tim. Was that even necessary? She can stay, can’t she?
Tim: Mike.
He need not say anymore. Just the way he voiced my name was enough to tell me that he was serious. He must have had a reason for wanting her to go. I understood. Though at this point, I was dying to get the answers. I wanted to know so badly why this had happened and how it would affect us, as a unit. We were stuck together. Both of our futures seemed dependent on each other’s. So getting the facts and trying to sort this out before it consumed us was important.
Mike: Jess, go home.
Jess: Mike!
Mike: Jess, go home.
Jess: Oh, come off it, Mikey!
Mike: Jess, go fucking home, right now!
I regretted that the minute I said it. I didn’t turn to look at her, but I felt her eyes searing into my flesh before she turned on the spot and ran back up the corridor. I was out of line, but I had to know the truth.
Officer: You two really know how to talk to a lady.
Mike: Can you let me in?
Officer: You want to go in there?
Mike: I asked, didn’t I?
Officer: Alright, but I’ll have to lock the door behind you.
Mike: I understand.
Officer: You’re dumber than you look.
I ignored his comments, thinking it best not to get on the wrong side of a police officer. Tim laughed his hearty empty laugh, which made me cringe slightly as I stepped inside his cell. The Officer was quick to lock the door behind me. My eyes remained focused on Tim, who sat rather awkwardly, propped up against the wall.
Mike: So…
Tim: So, what?
Mike: Nice choice of accommodation for the night.
Tim: Mike, don’t try to be funny. It’s not the time, nor the place.
Mike: What’s gotten into you?
Tim: Jessica not tell you?
Mike: She said Grace called you.
Tim: She did, did she?
Mike: Yeah. So what gives?
Tim: What do you mean?
Mike: Why the sudden burst of rage? You clearly went out looking for a fight. Here you are, slightly beaten up with three counts of assault on your back. This isn’t the best decision you have made lately.
Tim: Oh, fuck you, Michael! You sit on your high horse with all your clean morals. But who are you? You’re still a fucking kid, man. You don’t know anything about life! Do you? Every time you think you have something worth holding on to, it slips through your fingers. There’s no silver lining. This isn’t Disney! It’s real life, and unfortunately reality has bitten me in the ass more times than I would have liked.
Mike: Nothing has gone wrong now. It was a phone call, that was it. You have something right now. Your career is back on track and now your putting it at risk.
Tim: You don’t understand!
Mike: Then tell me!
Tim: You love Jessica, right? You are in love with her. I assume you’re not just with her so you can get close to me.
Mike: Of course I love her. That’s a stupid question.
Tim: I’ll take your word for it then.
Mike: So you loved her.
Tim: Yeah. I did. I lived for her. And she left. So yeah. It hurts.
Mike: Yeah but that was like ten years…
Tim: I don’t need a fucking history lesson. I was there! I fucking lived it! So don’t try to give me any of that bull shit! Time doesn’t heal all wounds when they are all connected by the heart. Marvin was my best friend! He was my brother. My best man. We were inseparable.
There was a brief silence. For a moment I pictured the old Timmy Brown, the one from the old OWF and ASW posters. His cocky smile with a human look about his eyes. It was hard to look at this Timmy and put the two guys together. And what’s more, talking about human relationships. A best friend. A wife. When Jessica had explained it all to me, they were like characters in a story. An imaginary story that couldn’t have possibly existed. Even though I knew they did, it was hard to believe. The guy I knew was cold. Withdrawn. He didn’t seem capable of love.
Mike: Marvin. Jessica’s Uncle.
Tim: My best friend.
Mike: That wasn’t your fault.
Tim: He died because he got attacked by the goons of some crooked business men. Guys that were trying to get to me, but I was too high up. So they went after Marvin to send a message. He was pretty bloodied up, but seemed fine. Said he didn’t need to go to the hospital. After two weeks he seemed like his old self again. But that phone still rang…
Mike: The phone?
Tim: Michelle. She was crying. It didn’t hit me immediately, like I didn’t put two and two together. As soon as she said his name, I knew. You can’t imagine what that was like, kid. And I honestly prey you never do. A hole tore inside of my chest, my legs crumpled to the floor and…
I saw his eyes begin to water. Slowly, I sat down. It was horrible, seeing someone so tough and mean in this light. I couldn’t understand how I could have been so naive to think he couldn’t hurt. He was always hurting. This whole persona he had created was an escape. He’d given up on caring.
Mike: So then she left?
Tim: No. We stayed together for a couple of months, but she turned on me. She didn’t get that I was going through a hard time. I was taking pills, I was becoming an alcoholic. My left knee suffered because of it. I just about pulled myself together for my matches, but the rest of the time I was crazy. I was hallucinating, swearing that I was with him sometimes. He spoke to me in my dreams, trying to guide me. Even to this day I don’t know how much of that was just in my head. He was trying to lead me back to normality, but in the end I strayed way too far. And where was Grace in all of this? In Rob’s bed no doubt. That bastard took everything too far!
Mike: Wait, who was Rob?
Tim: You remember Plague, right?
Mike: Oh, yeah. I get you.
Tim: Do you?! I don’t think you do. That guy wanted to ruin me. Our rivalry in the ring was intense, but outside was worse. He tried to get in between the two of us, for ages to infuriate me. He befriended her so that she would think he’s not such a bad guy. Then, after Marvin died he tried to be her rock, and at the funeral he knew it was working when I lost control and punched him. She didn’t see it that way. She thought I was losing it and that I was being paranoid and insensitive. Then she walked out on me when I needed her the most. I was a broken man before she left. But after. I was nothing. I didn’t know how to cope with any of it. I had nothing left.
Mike: You still had the ring.
Tim: Do you hear yourself? The ring? Really? My leg was fucked at this point. Doctors were saying that even with rehab there was a chance that I wouldn’t be able to wrestle for years. That’s when OWF released me, saying I’d breached my contract and lied about my physical condition. They blamed it solely on the drug abuse after Marvin died. I had nothing.
Mike: Why didn’t you do the rehab then? You could have gone somewhere else. Slowly made your way back into the mainstream.
Tim: My wife had left me. Wrestling, my mistress, had given up on me and my best friend had died. My life consumed me.
Mike: So then what happened?
Tim: Nothing. That same broken down man is the same one in front of you. I was a fool to think I could make it back. I’m living in a fantasy world, trying to relive my best years or live vicariously through you.
Mike: I don’t buy that. You’ve taken a knock, but…
Tim: Fuck off!
Tim had sprung up to his feet before I had time to react, making me almost piss myself. I need not have worried, as he had already picked up the cot and lobbed it at the solid bars surrounding us. It crashed to the floor, with a thud. He had picked it up again within a second and threw it again. I reacted by now, climbing to my feet and laying my hand on his shoulder in the least threatening way that I could. Before I knew it, I was slammed against the wall, with his hand over my throat.
Tim: You know nothing, kid. Like I said, you haven’t lived. Life is suffering, and so is this business. If you think something great lies before you, then you have another thing coming. Yes, you are good and do have potential, but that doesn’t mean shit in this game. Politics come before potential. And even if you do become the FGA Heavyweight Champion, and go on somewhere else and become World Champion, do you think that will count for anything? No. The world will find a way to eat you up and swallow you whole regardless. And the amount of physical pain you will endure just to get there will take years off of your life. Like on Wednesday, do you really think you stand a chance against Scott Reave? The guy is a fucking nutcase. If he could get away with it, he’d drive a pick up truck into the ring and run you down just to get the pin fall. Though I think he’d rather rip your arm out of its socket. Even if you win, even if you amount to something, this business will enslave you. And the higher you climb, the harder the ground will hit you when you fall from grace… Arrrrgggghhhh!
I was thrown to the floor, as Tim proceeded to slam his fist against the metal. Though it must have hurt as the steel didn’t give to the force he applied, he showed no sign of physical distress. Only mental anguish was displayed.
Tim: Why must she torment me! Why! She’s everywhere! Mocking me. Scorning me.
Mike: Don’t let her beat you then.
I picked myself up from the ground, trying to ignore any pain I felt when I landed in an unceremonious heap on the concrete.
Tim: What the fuck…
Mike: You’re a fighter, did you know that?
Tim: You don’t…
Mike: I don’t what? I don’t know what I’m talking about? No? I know you. I’ve known you for four years. When you first met me I was a 150lb 16 year old with all this fighting training but no wrestling brain. You took me in and made me into a man. You never gave up. You trained with me. Together we did a little stint in England. You proved that you still had it. You showed your home grown fans that their hero was still the same “Electric” Timmy Brown they all knew and loved. So don’t give me any of that shit! You’re better than you know! Despite everything that has hurt you, you have lived to tell it. No emotional or physical pain will ever hold you down! None of it! That’s why you’re my hero!
Tim: I’m… What?
He turned slowly, looking at me with another of his unreadable expressions. I held my gaze, staring him straight in the eyes.
Mike: You’re my idol. I always liked you when I was a kid.
Tim: You’re a flaming homosexual? I knew it!
Mike: What?! No, I mean.
He laughed. A genuine laugh. It was creepier than the empty hollow one that I swore was fake. But it was real. I felt my mouth spread into the widest smile I had ever experienced in the company of Tim. I had reached into the man.
Tim: Go give that officer a shout, Mike. He’ll let you out. If I have damaged anything in here, then I’ll pay you back for that as well. We’ve still got to finish getting you ready for your match, so the sooner we get home, the better.
Mike: Oh, that reminds me. Scott finally had something to say to me.
Tim: Yeah? Well I guess you should say something back. Like I said it’s always good to get into someone’s head.
Mike: Yeah well, I had an idea about that actually.
---------------------
In a familiar looking colorful room, with a newly designed Frontier Grappling Arts symbol backdrop, the camera fades in to an empty space. A shadow looms over the backdrop. The camera comes out of focus, and falls to view the ground as a pair of black kick pads step into the shot. As the camera slowly pans up the body we see kneepads, and black trunks, and then a black t-shirt with “Street Spirit” printed in white on the front. And then, looking cocky and arrogant we finally are exposed to Michael Tomkins youthful face.
Mike: See here, kid. You English guys fall into certain stereotypes, right? I mean, you all drink tea and eat scones, love fish and chips and none of you seem to know what a tooth brush is. How am I doing so far? You’re delusional, thinking just because you are perhaps the most highly trained wrestler in multiple forms of combat. Just because you are trained by a legend in wrestling. Just because you are tough as nails and have an iron will and a never say die attitude, that you can possibly beat me! I mean, come on! I was once a smash hit amongst Indy wrestling fans. Tape traders the world over know me. And like I have said; like you know… Everyone that has tried to build themselves up and envisioned themselves as some form of unstoppable force or immovable object, I have shown them for what they are. You’re no different, even if you are the best looking guy on the roster. Even if you ooze skill and grit and pride, you’re no different. Wait. What am I saying? Of course you’re different, Rogue. You’re different because unlike those other puppets that I have fought, you might actually be the genuine article. Kid, I have been around the block and seen a lot of phonies but I know the real deal exists because I exist. That’s right, me. Scott Reave. The big bad wolf. Your own personal villain. Ready to huff and puff on all the blow I can find. Wait, why am I saying that? Maybe because I must be high to think that just because you come out spouting self confident lines, that you might be just like all the unworthy cockroaches that I have knocked off of their perches. Perhaps I was wrong to scoff in derision? Time will tell. But like I said, your story needs a villain and I will oblige and play the part myself.
Mike pulls off the Scott Reave shirt and tosses it aside.
Mike: Sorry, Scotty boy. You start talking about stories and fairy tales, and wolves and such. Well seeing as Christmas is not long past, you got me thinking of pantomimes. So I figured I’d be a little imposter and play dress up. I hope you don’t mind too much. I have been told it’s a good idea to try and get inside your head, but I figured I could do one better and just be you for a minute or two. How did I do? Not too bad I hope. Ah well, I guess that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that while admittedly this is real life, the demons in mine get conquered. So if you are happy to play the big bad wolf, I will be happy to play the woodsman who cuts him down for little Red Riding Hood. Because having competed virtually my whole life in various forms of combat, I’ve always had people telling me I run my mouth too much or that I talk a big game that I can’t possibly live up to. And then, do you have any idea what happens? I live up to it.
Michael smiles, pausing for effect, seeming to hope that his words sink in before he continues.
Mike: But forget all that crap you were laying on me about building myself up, so the fans can see me knocked down. I am not 12 feet tall. I’m not some Yen master who will meditate for several days and all of a sudden master the art of Kung Fu and create tornados with my hair. I’m just me. That kid from London, England. And forgetting my karate background, forgetting my mixed martial arts background, hell even forgetting me wrestling background; I’m English. Like I said. Now, English people are stereotyped throughout the States for all the wrong reasons. You see, I drink coffee. I don’t get on too well with any form of cake, especially scones. My dentist loves me because I look after my teeth and they look good.
Mike flashes a toothy smile, to prove his point.
Mike: But the stereotypes that are true. Well. English people can drive stick, something the majority of Americans can’t. We’re not phased by roundabouts. We don’t like tipping. The majority of us like a good drink, though that’s another one I’m not too good with. And then, the final one. Most of us are tough thugs that you really don’t want to mess with. I will leave that one with you, because I’m sure it’ll confuse you. But my growing up in East London, Upton Park to be more precise, believe me I know how to handle myself. I bleed claret and blue. And though England’s full of tough guys, Barking Road and Green Street are the elite in tough Brits. But I digress. That has nothing to do with me either. I’m just divulging possibly misleading facts to you. Why? Ah it’s a mystery. I guess you know I can fight. You know I have heart, or at least you know that I think I have. And you know that I have confidence. Well, that should be enough. I know who you are, Scott. And unfortunately, I am not intimidated. So you can play your little games and swear to me that it’s all over before it has begun but believe me, today has taught me that nothing is ever over. If I fall down I will get back up. I will fight and fight until everything is in my reach. Some things are worth fighting for. Believe me. I know what’s important. I do. And this Wednesday, winning is important. So I will throw everything at you, and like I said I will beat you. As far as all your past experiences compare, for you, I’m the raise-the-bar superstar. I’m the new stick that you’ll measure with. But I will let you see that for yourself come Wednesday.
The FGA logo appears on the screen, but the picture doesn’t fully fade.
Mike: Just remember, Scott. You can kick my ass all over Jersey, but I’m only going to need three seconds. And those seconds have been booked, paid for and delivered, so I already know they belong to me. I’ve got the credit statement to prove it.
The screen fades to black.
Mike: Hello?
Jess: Hi, Mike, it’s me.
Mike: What? Where are you?
I was confused as I didn’t recognize the number, where as usually she’d call me from her cell phone.
Jess: At the police station.
Mike: What?!! What’s happened?! Are you alright?!
Jess: Yes. Calm down, Mikey. I’m fine. I’m here because of Uncle Tim.
Mike: Oh… Well what’s happened to him? Is he in trouble for sending unlicensed indecent film clips onto family websites?
Jess: Oh, do shut up! This is serious.
Mike: I was being sincere.
Jess: No, you’re being childish. Now do you want to be of any help or not?
Mike: Why? Do they need me as a witness? Do they want me to make a statement and testify against him?
Jess: Grace called him!
Immediately, a shock passed through me as her shrill emotional voice met my ears. I was forced into a stunned silence. Though she too remained silent, I could tell that Jess was shaking. It was evident in her breathing. Both Jessica and Michelle, Jess’ mother, were distant with Grace after everything she had done. I knew this. Though Tim had never spoken to me about anything personal, like ever, Jess had filled me in on little bits. She had not gone into great depths, yet the picture she has painted explained everything. Still, I was a bit hotheaded. On the one hand I felt a great sympathy. How could I not? He’s put a lot of time and effort into making me ready for a wrestling ring. But on the other hand, I felt betrayed. And also, if he was in lock up, he must have acted rather brashly and done something incredibly stupid.
Jess: Can you please say something!
Mike: What’s he done?
Jess: He’s been in a bar fight, or started one or something. He had too much to drink and took offence in something someone had said.
Mike: Hmm, that sounds quite serious. So what? Are they going to charge him or…?
Jess: Yes. It looks like three counts of assault.
Mike: Three?!
Jess: Yeah, it seems that the first guy had friends.
At this point, I had to say I was more impressed than appalled. Originally, when she had expressed that it was a bar fight, I pictured one poor bastard bloodied up on the floor. I knew what Tim’s temper was like. Now, however, I imagined three people trying to get the jump on him, my mentor, and coming up short. I couldn’t help wondering how well I would have faired in that situation. None too good with the alcohol thrown in to the equation, I was sure.
Mike: So like, have they set up a bail or something? How do these things work?
Jess: Yeah. He said if you pay it, he’ll give you the money back.
Mike: Alright: I’ll be down in a bit. I’ve just got back from the gym so I’ve got to get changed.
Jess: That’s fine. I’m sure he’s not really going anywhere for the minute.
Mike: It’s a shame I don’t know where his camera drone is. I don’t know his number either. I would have liked to get a small measure of revenge by posting this scenario on the FGA site.
Jess: He’s already here. That’s who Uncle Tim rang when he was offered his phone call.
Mike: What?! Surely you a joking, right?
Jess: I wish. It seems they didn’t wait for him to sober up before they offered him his one phone call.
Mike: Weird. Is he in there with him now, then? Filming the ramblings of a sobered up inmate?
Jess: No. He’s currently got the camera on me for some reason.
Mike: What?!
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I didn’t quite know what to expect when I arrived at the police station. After Jessica and I had finished talking I felt the need to get there as soon as I possibly could. So I skipped the shower. I knew I must smell exceptionally raw after a good two hour session in the gym, but at this point that was of little concern. I just about gave myself time to coat myself in my Old Spice deodorant and change into a pair of Levi jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I must have looked like I was auditioning for a Diet Coke advertisement. As I parked my old Impala into the nearest space I could find, I simply sat for a moment. Tim, I understood, wasn’t the most together guy I knew. I got that. But why did she still have this effect on him after so long? And what was she even calling him for? I didn’t understand any of it. For all that I could tell, Tim was closer than ever to being his normal self. He now had motivation and goals. Something he had lacked for a long time before he met me. I knew that he was using me to grasp some form of return. But after all that he had done for me, I was glad that I could help him. We were both going somewhere. Both are. So why this, now? Did this moment mark the beginning of his demise? Or had that moment already happened ten years ago? To say that I was confused; well, that was an understatement. I needed some kind of answers, whether I liked them or not. My debut was just days away, so this predicament could not have possibly come at a worse time for me. For him, too. I owed him so much. Four years, that’s how long we’d known each other. After all this time and all this effort, he deserved to get back into it.
When my hand opened the door, and my left boot met with the asphalt of the car lot, it was as though I was outside of myself; watching. It was a surreal feeling. It felt like the beginning of the end, before it had even started. And that’s a weird feeling. To feel as if something has finished before it has begun. Like the big bang, with all that pent up energy, but it surmounts to nothing. The last thing I was even thinking about at this point was my opponent, Scott Reave. Slowly, my feet began to move towards the front door. I’d never been inside a police station before. Yet I couldn’t help feeling as though this wouldn’t be my last time in one. Things seemed chaotic as I stepped inside to be met with the air conditioned reception area. All the officers were preoccupied with things such as prisoners to book or phone calls to make or call outs. The radio was going off almost as soon as the last call in had finished. As I noticed Jessica, in the corner of the room, I dumbly stared at her. Amongst all this madness, she still seemed like a glamorous starlet. Even in her tight jeans, with her trendy worn looking boots and a black strapped top, she took the breath from my lungs. Though she was my muse, wrestling seemed to have escaped my brain completely. After a minute, or possibly more, of just standing like an idiot, goggling at her, an officer took me out of my daze… Sort of.
Officer: You need help?
Mike: Huh?
Officer: What seems to be the problem?
Luckily for me, Jess had noticed me and rushed over to save me from my confusion that was already irritating this obviously busy police officer. The officer was smaller than me, but he had a rough street worn look that demanded respect.
Jess: He’s here to see Tim Brown. He was brought in last night.
Officer: Check in at the desk, they’ll take you down to him.
At this point everything seemed to pass by in one big blur. I didn’t register any of the things Jessica said to me. I was pretty sure I managed to respond to a lot of it, but I had no clue what even I had said. Nor did I notice the camera that was following us down the numerous corridors to Timmy’s cell. It seemed darker than I had expected when we finally reached his holding cell. Though, I didn’t really expect anything. It seemed rather archaic. As if I had slipped back into an old gangster movie, expecting to be asked to roll over on my capo. Tim was a sight. Unshaven and unkempt, though that was the least of his problems. His right eye was bruised, and his cheek was possibly shattered. I couldn’t tell in the dark. Both his nostrils were clotted with blood, and his white “Rolling Stones” t-shirt was coated in so much blood that at first glimpse it didn’t appear white at all. He was sitting on the opposite side of the cell to the door, next to his upturned cot. He seemed to be lost in thought.
Officer: You should have seen the other guys.
Tim: Mike’s here?
Jess: Yeah.
Tim: Alright, Jess, you should go now.
Jess: What? Why? I’m…
Tim: Jess, fuck off! Just get the hell out of here. They won’t let me out just yet, and I’m sure Mike wants to have a word with me. So seriously, fuck off. Leave. Go back to that piece of shit flat that I pay for and wait for us. Fix us something nice for when we get home.
Mike: Seriously, Tim. Was that even necessary? She can stay, can’t she?
Tim: Mike.
He need not say anymore. Just the way he voiced my name was enough to tell me that he was serious. He must have had a reason for wanting her to go. I understood. Though at this point, I was dying to get the answers. I wanted to know so badly why this had happened and how it would affect us, as a unit. We were stuck together. Both of our futures seemed dependent on each other’s. So getting the facts and trying to sort this out before it consumed us was important.
Mike: Jess, go home.
Jess: Mike!
Mike: Jess, go home.
Jess: Oh, come off it, Mikey!
Mike: Jess, go fucking home, right now!
I regretted that the minute I said it. I didn’t turn to look at her, but I felt her eyes searing into my flesh before she turned on the spot and ran back up the corridor. I was out of line, but I had to know the truth.
Officer: You two really know how to talk to a lady.
Mike: Can you let me in?
Officer: You want to go in there?
Mike: I asked, didn’t I?
Officer: Alright, but I’ll have to lock the door behind you.
Mike: I understand.
Officer: You’re dumber than you look.
I ignored his comments, thinking it best not to get on the wrong side of a police officer. Tim laughed his hearty empty laugh, which made me cringe slightly as I stepped inside his cell. The Officer was quick to lock the door behind me. My eyes remained focused on Tim, who sat rather awkwardly, propped up against the wall.
Mike: So…
Tim: So, what?
Mike: Nice choice of accommodation for the night.
Tim: Mike, don’t try to be funny. It’s not the time, nor the place.
Mike: What’s gotten into you?
Tim: Jessica not tell you?
Mike: She said Grace called you.
Tim: She did, did she?
Mike: Yeah. So what gives?
Tim: What do you mean?
Mike: Why the sudden burst of rage? You clearly went out looking for a fight. Here you are, slightly beaten up with three counts of assault on your back. This isn’t the best decision you have made lately.
Tim: Oh, fuck you, Michael! You sit on your high horse with all your clean morals. But who are you? You’re still a fucking kid, man. You don’t know anything about life! Do you? Every time you think you have something worth holding on to, it slips through your fingers. There’s no silver lining. This isn’t Disney! It’s real life, and unfortunately reality has bitten me in the ass more times than I would have liked.
Mike: Nothing has gone wrong now. It was a phone call, that was it. You have something right now. Your career is back on track and now your putting it at risk.
Tim: You don’t understand!
Mike: Then tell me!
Tim: You love Jessica, right? You are in love with her. I assume you’re not just with her so you can get close to me.
Mike: Of course I love her. That’s a stupid question.
Tim: I’ll take your word for it then.
Mike: So you loved her.
Tim: Yeah. I did. I lived for her. And she left. So yeah. It hurts.
Mike: Yeah but that was like ten years…
Tim: I don’t need a fucking history lesson. I was there! I fucking lived it! So don’t try to give me any of that bull shit! Time doesn’t heal all wounds when they are all connected by the heart. Marvin was my best friend! He was my brother. My best man. We were inseparable.
There was a brief silence. For a moment I pictured the old Timmy Brown, the one from the old OWF and ASW posters. His cocky smile with a human look about his eyes. It was hard to look at this Timmy and put the two guys together. And what’s more, talking about human relationships. A best friend. A wife. When Jessica had explained it all to me, they were like characters in a story. An imaginary story that couldn’t have possibly existed. Even though I knew they did, it was hard to believe. The guy I knew was cold. Withdrawn. He didn’t seem capable of love.
Mike: Marvin. Jessica’s Uncle.
Tim: My best friend.
Mike: That wasn’t your fault.
Tim: He died because he got attacked by the goons of some crooked business men. Guys that were trying to get to me, but I was too high up. So they went after Marvin to send a message. He was pretty bloodied up, but seemed fine. Said he didn’t need to go to the hospital. After two weeks he seemed like his old self again. But that phone still rang…
Mike: The phone?
Tim: Michelle. She was crying. It didn’t hit me immediately, like I didn’t put two and two together. As soon as she said his name, I knew. You can’t imagine what that was like, kid. And I honestly prey you never do. A hole tore inside of my chest, my legs crumpled to the floor and…
I saw his eyes begin to water. Slowly, I sat down. It was horrible, seeing someone so tough and mean in this light. I couldn’t understand how I could have been so naive to think he couldn’t hurt. He was always hurting. This whole persona he had created was an escape. He’d given up on caring.
Mike: So then she left?
Tim: No. We stayed together for a couple of months, but she turned on me. She didn’t get that I was going through a hard time. I was taking pills, I was becoming an alcoholic. My left knee suffered because of it. I just about pulled myself together for my matches, but the rest of the time I was crazy. I was hallucinating, swearing that I was with him sometimes. He spoke to me in my dreams, trying to guide me. Even to this day I don’t know how much of that was just in my head. He was trying to lead me back to normality, but in the end I strayed way too far. And where was Grace in all of this? In Rob’s bed no doubt. That bastard took everything too far!
Mike: Wait, who was Rob?
Tim: You remember Plague, right?
Mike: Oh, yeah. I get you.
Tim: Do you?! I don’t think you do. That guy wanted to ruin me. Our rivalry in the ring was intense, but outside was worse. He tried to get in between the two of us, for ages to infuriate me. He befriended her so that she would think he’s not such a bad guy. Then, after Marvin died he tried to be her rock, and at the funeral he knew it was working when I lost control and punched him. She didn’t see it that way. She thought I was losing it and that I was being paranoid and insensitive. Then she walked out on me when I needed her the most. I was a broken man before she left. But after. I was nothing. I didn’t know how to cope with any of it. I had nothing left.
Mike: You still had the ring.
Tim: Do you hear yourself? The ring? Really? My leg was fucked at this point. Doctors were saying that even with rehab there was a chance that I wouldn’t be able to wrestle for years. That’s when OWF released me, saying I’d breached my contract and lied about my physical condition. They blamed it solely on the drug abuse after Marvin died. I had nothing.
Mike: Why didn’t you do the rehab then? You could have gone somewhere else. Slowly made your way back into the mainstream.
Tim: My wife had left me. Wrestling, my mistress, had given up on me and my best friend had died. My life consumed me.
Mike: So then what happened?
Tim: Nothing. That same broken down man is the same one in front of you. I was a fool to think I could make it back. I’m living in a fantasy world, trying to relive my best years or live vicariously through you.
Mike: I don’t buy that. You’ve taken a knock, but…
Tim: Fuck off!
Tim had sprung up to his feet before I had time to react, making me almost piss myself. I need not have worried, as he had already picked up the cot and lobbed it at the solid bars surrounding us. It crashed to the floor, with a thud. He had picked it up again within a second and threw it again. I reacted by now, climbing to my feet and laying my hand on his shoulder in the least threatening way that I could. Before I knew it, I was slammed against the wall, with his hand over my throat.
Tim: You know nothing, kid. Like I said, you haven’t lived. Life is suffering, and so is this business. If you think something great lies before you, then you have another thing coming. Yes, you are good and do have potential, but that doesn’t mean shit in this game. Politics come before potential. And even if you do become the FGA Heavyweight Champion, and go on somewhere else and become World Champion, do you think that will count for anything? No. The world will find a way to eat you up and swallow you whole regardless. And the amount of physical pain you will endure just to get there will take years off of your life. Like on Wednesday, do you really think you stand a chance against Scott Reave? The guy is a fucking nutcase. If he could get away with it, he’d drive a pick up truck into the ring and run you down just to get the pin fall. Though I think he’d rather rip your arm out of its socket. Even if you win, even if you amount to something, this business will enslave you. And the higher you climb, the harder the ground will hit you when you fall from grace… Arrrrgggghhhh!
I was thrown to the floor, as Tim proceeded to slam his fist against the metal. Though it must have hurt as the steel didn’t give to the force he applied, he showed no sign of physical distress. Only mental anguish was displayed.
Tim: Why must she torment me! Why! She’s everywhere! Mocking me. Scorning me.
Mike: Don’t let her beat you then.
I picked myself up from the ground, trying to ignore any pain I felt when I landed in an unceremonious heap on the concrete.
Tim: What the fuck…
Mike: You’re a fighter, did you know that?
Tim: You don’t…
Mike: I don’t what? I don’t know what I’m talking about? No? I know you. I’ve known you for four years. When you first met me I was a 150lb 16 year old with all this fighting training but no wrestling brain. You took me in and made me into a man. You never gave up. You trained with me. Together we did a little stint in England. You proved that you still had it. You showed your home grown fans that their hero was still the same “Electric” Timmy Brown they all knew and loved. So don’t give me any of that shit! You’re better than you know! Despite everything that has hurt you, you have lived to tell it. No emotional or physical pain will ever hold you down! None of it! That’s why you’re my hero!
Tim: I’m… What?
He turned slowly, looking at me with another of his unreadable expressions. I held my gaze, staring him straight in the eyes.
Mike: You’re my idol. I always liked you when I was a kid.
Tim: You’re a flaming homosexual? I knew it!
Mike: What?! No, I mean.
He laughed. A genuine laugh. It was creepier than the empty hollow one that I swore was fake. But it was real. I felt my mouth spread into the widest smile I had ever experienced in the company of Tim. I had reached into the man.
Tim: Go give that officer a shout, Mike. He’ll let you out. If I have damaged anything in here, then I’ll pay you back for that as well. We’ve still got to finish getting you ready for your match, so the sooner we get home, the better.
Mike: Oh, that reminds me. Scott finally had something to say to me.
Tim: Yeah? Well I guess you should say something back. Like I said it’s always good to get into someone’s head.
Mike: Yeah well, I had an idea about that actually.
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In a familiar looking colorful room, with a newly designed Frontier Grappling Arts symbol backdrop, the camera fades in to an empty space. A shadow looms over the backdrop. The camera comes out of focus, and falls to view the ground as a pair of black kick pads step into the shot. As the camera slowly pans up the body we see kneepads, and black trunks, and then a black t-shirt with “Street Spirit” printed in white on the front. And then, looking cocky and arrogant we finally are exposed to Michael Tomkins youthful face.
Mike: See here, kid. You English guys fall into certain stereotypes, right? I mean, you all drink tea and eat scones, love fish and chips and none of you seem to know what a tooth brush is. How am I doing so far? You’re delusional, thinking just because you are perhaps the most highly trained wrestler in multiple forms of combat. Just because you are trained by a legend in wrestling. Just because you are tough as nails and have an iron will and a never say die attitude, that you can possibly beat me! I mean, come on! I was once a smash hit amongst Indy wrestling fans. Tape traders the world over know me. And like I have said; like you know… Everyone that has tried to build themselves up and envisioned themselves as some form of unstoppable force or immovable object, I have shown them for what they are. You’re no different, even if you are the best looking guy on the roster. Even if you ooze skill and grit and pride, you’re no different. Wait. What am I saying? Of course you’re different, Rogue. You’re different because unlike those other puppets that I have fought, you might actually be the genuine article. Kid, I have been around the block and seen a lot of phonies but I know the real deal exists because I exist. That’s right, me. Scott Reave. The big bad wolf. Your own personal villain. Ready to huff and puff on all the blow I can find. Wait, why am I saying that? Maybe because I must be high to think that just because you come out spouting self confident lines, that you might be just like all the unworthy cockroaches that I have knocked off of their perches. Perhaps I was wrong to scoff in derision? Time will tell. But like I said, your story needs a villain and I will oblige and play the part myself.
Mike pulls off the Scott Reave shirt and tosses it aside.
Mike: Sorry, Scotty boy. You start talking about stories and fairy tales, and wolves and such. Well seeing as Christmas is not long past, you got me thinking of pantomimes. So I figured I’d be a little imposter and play dress up. I hope you don’t mind too much. I have been told it’s a good idea to try and get inside your head, but I figured I could do one better and just be you for a minute or two. How did I do? Not too bad I hope. Ah well, I guess that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that while admittedly this is real life, the demons in mine get conquered. So if you are happy to play the big bad wolf, I will be happy to play the woodsman who cuts him down for little Red Riding Hood. Because having competed virtually my whole life in various forms of combat, I’ve always had people telling me I run my mouth too much or that I talk a big game that I can’t possibly live up to. And then, do you have any idea what happens? I live up to it.
Michael smiles, pausing for effect, seeming to hope that his words sink in before he continues.
Mike: But forget all that crap you were laying on me about building myself up, so the fans can see me knocked down. I am not 12 feet tall. I’m not some Yen master who will meditate for several days and all of a sudden master the art of Kung Fu and create tornados with my hair. I’m just me. That kid from London, England. And forgetting my karate background, forgetting my mixed martial arts background, hell even forgetting me wrestling background; I’m English. Like I said. Now, English people are stereotyped throughout the States for all the wrong reasons. You see, I drink coffee. I don’t get on too well with any form of cake, especially scones. My dentist loves me because I look after my teeth and they look good.
Mike flashes a toothy smile, to prove his point.
Mike: But the stereotypes that are true. Well. English people can drive stick, something the majority of Americans can’t. We’re not phased by roundabouts. We don’t like tipping. The majority of us like a good drink, though that’s another one I’m not too good with. And then, the final one. Most of us are tough thugs that you really don’t want to mess with. I will leave that one with you, because I’m sure it’ll confuse you. But my growing up in East London, Upton Park to be more precise, believe me I know how to handle myself. I bleed claret and blue. And though England’s full of tough guys, Barking Road and Green Street are the elite in tough Brits. But I digress. That has nothing to do with me either. I’m just divulging possibly misleading facts to you. Why? Ah it’s a mystery. I guess you know I can fight. You know I have heart, or at least you know that I think I have. And you know that I have confidence. Well, that should be enough. I know who you are, Scott. And unfortunately, I am not intimidated. So you can play your little games and swear to me that it’s all over before it has begun but believe me, today has taught me that nothing is ever over. If I fall down I will get back up. I will fight and fight until everything is in my reach. Some things are worth fighting for. Believe me. I know what’s important. I do. And this Wednesday, winning is important. So I will throw everything at you, and like I said I will beat you. As far as all your past experiences compare, for you, I’m the raise-the-bar superstar. I’m the new stick that you’ll measure with. But I will let you see that for yourself come Wednesday.
The FGA logo appears on the screen, but the picture doesn’t fully fade.
Mike: Just remember, Scott. You can kick my ass all over Jersey, but I’m only going to need three seconds. And those seconds have been booked, paid for and delivered, so I already know they belong to me. I’ve got the credit statement to prove it.
The screen fades to black.