What People Say I Am That's What I'm Not

[The Last Real Man]

April 3rd, 2016
Essington, Pennsylvania

”Wasn’t the way we drew it up, but I’ll take it,” Goodrich said, before digging into a plate full of eggs and pancakes, courtesy of Denny's. Not my favorite eatery, but it was convenient given the time.

“I’m just glad to be back in the win column. The streak was starting to weigh on my mind,” I said to him, holding my coffee in my hand. It was getting cold, and I hadn't even touched it. “I was starting to doubt myself more and more. I needed that win.”

“And now that your mind is clear again, and you’ve got your swagger back, let’s push ahead to the Rumble,” he urged, between stuffing his face, “that’s where your focus needs to be.”

I didn’t pay Goodrich much attention. My thoughts were somewhere else. I merely stared down into the cup of black, skim milk and three sugars.

“You know I didn’t forget either,” he said, peeling me from my trance. “Still feels like yesterday I was stopping you two from killing each other. It’s already been a year since he passed. Fucking crazy just thinking about it.”

“I try not to.” I said briskly, breaching the very subject made me uncomfortable. Quinn could tell. He could always tell when I was feeling down, but that never stopped him from prying. He made it his personal mission to uncover the layers to my soul. “It’s not important anyway, like you said, I need to get ready for the Rumble.”

“Yeah but this is different. This isn't some girl distracting you. It's your father’s birthday coming up. I still can’t believe he’s not here. I miss that old bastard. He was like a father to me too, you know?” Quinn's dad died when we were young. His old man was a regular at my dad’s bar, and a family friend. It was only right we took him in. He loved Goodrich like a son, sometimes I thought more than his own.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” I said, leaning back in the booth as my phone started to light up. Perfect timing. “That’s Tony right now. He’s still ticked. Wants to get an early start at things this week, talk strategy and what have you.”

“I still don’t trust him, Johnny. He’s a snake. You better watch your back. He’ll stab you in it before you even know what hit you.” He spat, pointing his fork at me.

“Carmine is the least of my worries. Besides, we’re on the same page. I mean, it's not like we’re friends anyway. This is business, Quinn. We don't have to like each other, we just have to honor the agreement. He gave me his word and as a man I’ll take him on it.”

“Yeah, well I’ll still keep an eye on him, even if you won’t. The guy just gives me a bad vibe. He’s a shady something.”

“Man how can you tell me to clear my head one minute, then fill it with this dumbass nonsense the next,” I questioned, unable to hide my frustrations any longer. The outburst caught Quinn by surprise.

“I’m just saying, this is the Gold Rush Rumble, Johnny. You haven't been in a match like this. You've gotta have your head on a swivel out there. You can't trust anyone, not when you’re all vying for the same thing. This thing only comes once in year, and we’ve gotta seize this opportunity.”

I wasn’t in the mood to be coached up at the moment. I slid from the booth and threw a twenty on the table for the tip.

“Where are you going?” He asked, woofing down his egg whites to voice his concerns.

“I feel like taking a walk. I need to think some things over if you don't mind.”

“At 3 AM?” He retorted. “How the fuck are you getting back to the hotel?

“I’ll catch an Uber.”

*************************************************************************

April 7th, 2016
Los Angeles, California

”He’s getting so big John.” Kharissa said, watching as William crawled back and forth on her apartment floor. “I remember when I could fit him in my pocket.”

She didn't notice I wasn't listening, women tend to do that. Just run their choppers because they like the sound of their voices.

“John…”

I started to tune her out as I kneeled down on the floor, staring blankly as Will moved about without a care in the world. I envied that about him.

“Did you hear me…”

“Huh?” I said, finally acknowledging the incessant buzzing in my ear, noticing the fly had flown down to my level.

“I said is anybody home in there,” she joked, as she playfully knocked on my head.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot of gears moving in there. I tend to zone out from time to time.” I replied, finally climbing back to my feet.

“You know, I want to tell you I appreciate the effort you’ve been putting in recently,” she confessed, grabbing my hand as she continued to marvel at our little miracle. “He needs you in his life.”

“I need him in mine too,” I said, gently caressing her hand with my thumb. “Listen, if it's okay with you, I’d like to take him for a few days. Go out to London. Mum's been dying to see him.”

“That’s fine,” she smiled, “and maybe when you get back we can sit down and talk about things going forward. Talk about us.”

“Maybe…”

*************************************************************************

April 10th, 2016
North London, England

”He reminds me so much of your father.” My mum insisted, but I didn’t really see the resemblance.

“Yeah, just a little bit,” but knowing what she was dealing with my job was to go with the flow. “He’s got that strong Richards chin.”

“I just wish he could've been here to see him, to hold his grandson,” she said, damn near choked up as William slept in my old bassinet. “That’s the worst part of it.”

“I know,” I said, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her closer as I sensed her teetering on that emotional edge. I know.”

*************************************************************************

”I often think of our last moments together, especially around this time.”

“I suppress these feelings, and ignore these thoughts most of the year, but this is the time when they always rush to the surface, all at once too like some great big wave. And I'm just caught in it all. Water crashing down on me again and again, taking me under until I reach the ocean floor.”

“I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Quinn thinks it's because I haven't gotten any closure. Thinks my heart is filled with pain and regret about our estranged relationship.”

“But everybody blames me, they put the responsibility on me, as if you didn't play a part in it all.”

“As if you didn't say that I was a disgrace.”

“But I don't care what you think of me anymore, because I’m not the man you perceived me to be.”

What People Say I Am Thats What I’m Not

I stood at the feet of my old man’s grave. My body trembled as the cold night air passed through my frame.

“You told me that I’m not a man,” I said, pulling my whiskey flask from my coat pocket. “But I’m twice the man you ever were.” I unscrewed the cap, pouring my sorrows down my throat. My liver would hate me in the morning, but it would have to take a number.

“And I’ll be twice the father you ever were.”

I kneeled down, placing my hand on the gravestone, leaning forward like I was telling someone a secret. “I’ll do all the things for William, that you never did for me.”

I chugged some more Jim Beam, trying to hold back tears, but the damn was ready to give way.

“I’ll give him a father he can brag about to his friends. Give him a success story. Give him a champion,” I felt my eyes swelling, whilst my stomach burned from the hooch.

“Lord knows you were never any of those things, and you could've been. You should've been. WHY DIDNT YOU!” I shouted, doing my best to resurrect the dead.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU?” The tears came pouring out now. The pipes had burst and the flood was in full effect.

“Why didn't you love me…”

I fell to my knees, my tears painting the stone as I waited for a response.

I just needed an answer.

I needed it bad.

*************************************************************************

“This Saturday FGA holds its annual Gold Rush Rumble event, where competitors both in house, and those from around the world will compete for an opportunity to headline All-Star Showdown V. This is the biggest event of the year in many regards,” says Cannon as the feed begins, the scene opening up to a shot of the Brit pouring himself a glass of Dom Perignon as he sits in what appears to be his study.

“For a lot of us, there are far more important things at stake here than merely securing the top contendership to wrestling’s most prestigious championship - the FGA World Title,” he states, taking a long sip from his wine glass. “In fact, it’s bigger than that.”

“For some people this opportunity represents a chance at redemption.” Another sip.

“A chance to re-write history.” He finishes the glass, then quickly pours himself another drink, continuing his point without even looking into the camera.

“While for others, it’s simply their last chance to prove everyone wrong, and right the ship.”

“And over the next few days my opponents will be flooding the airwaves, talking your bloody ears off as they cite those reasons and others as their motivating factors for why they’ll win and overcome the odds, but I’m not going to waste your time with that cliched rubbish,” he says dismissively, before halting his spiel, and quickly guzzling his drink, afterwards which he gazes into the empty glass, “I’m here to tell you a story.”

“Once upon a time back in one of the lower middle class boroughs of North London, a washed up prize fighter, and an aspiring young actress found love amidst the constant struggle of crippling poverty, crime, and the ever changing social climate. Then, one night in October of 80’ they gave birth to their only child - a blue eyed, blond haired boy whose father promised he’d give the world to.”

“He raised him to have values, and taught him right from wrong, and to respect one’s fellow man, and accept the challenges life might bring him. He idolized his father in his adolescence; he’d stay up late past his bedtime to listen to the commentary on the radio, and when he got old enough to attend the festivities he’d sit front row for the fights with blind enthusiasm, cheering blindly for every punch thrown. He’d watch every bout, thinking “this will be the one…this will be the night Dad wins the big one,”, Cannon says candidly as he reminisces, “his father was his hero, and he wanted nothing more than to see his old man reach his potential.”

“But he never did.” Cannon says grimly and resentfully, holding his glass like it’s his last stand.

“He never amounted to anything. The family struggled due to his inability to consistently put food on the table. And the little bit of money he was able to obtain went to his tavern - a fucking hole in the wall that housed the city’s drunks on a nightly basis - as opposed to using his minimal earnings on our humble abode because for some bizarre reason he believed struggle built character.”

“And he was right,” Cannon claims, as his vision descends to his fancy wingtip shoes, “because from watching his mistakes, and watching him settle for mediocrity, that boy decided he didn’t want to be anything like his father.”

“He decided he didn’t want to be a disgrace.”

“He didn't want to be a failure.”

“He didn’t want to die a nobody.” Cannon says, gritting his teeth.

“Nobody knows who Jonathan Richards is because he doesn’t exist. He’s dead. Just another gravestone in a cemetery full of people who have been forgotten by society, forgotten by their loved ones, forgotten by this world because they did nothing worth remembering. They simply counted the days down until the shot clock ran out, never possessing the courage or developing the fortitude necessary to achieve greatness.”

“But EVERYONE knows who I am!” He shouts proudly, and with tremendous fervor.

“I’m the man who refuses to die nameless. Everything I’ve done in my life, every decision I’ve made I made it with that ideal in mind - a desire to carve my name out in history at all costs. While most of you live to be nothing but spokes on the wheel, I live to reinvent it. I live to transcend. I live to die a legend.” He proclaims.

“Or so I use to,” he murmurs, his enthusiasm dwindling into somber reflection. “But for the longest I’ve been living in a glass case of emotion, caught between doing what comes naturally, and doing what’s expected of me. Lately I've felt less like ‘The British Mamba’, and more like my black counterpart - broken down, beaten up, and defeated,” he explains. “I feel like a former shell of the man I used to be.”

“And I used to be a World Champion.”

Cannon stands up from his seat, Dom Perignon in hand as he waltzes over to a photo of him holding the now defunct EXODUS World Title back in 2014. “I used to be somebody. I used to be THE man, but now I’m JUST a man and it sickens me because I’m MORE than THAT,” he stresses, as he continues to look at the past through drunk eyes, “I’m one in a million and one of a kind, but the world treats me like just another guy in the lot and I’m sick of it because I’m not like ANY of you. I am the man I claim to be, and not the man people think I am. In fact, what people say I am is what I’m not!”

“And what I’m not is a fraud.”

“What I’m not is a has-been.”

“And what I'm not going to do is allow you people to continue to disrespect me.” He says menacingly as he drinks straight from the bottle before turning back to the camera. “You all talk down to me like I haven’t paid my dues, like I haven't sacrificed it all to get here. You judge me for wearing tailored suits, and shoes you couldn’t fit into, or walk a mile in because NONE of you could live with the pain and regrets that I cope with on a daily basis.”

“None of you have gone toe to toe with living legends like Andreas Lasiewicz and SLAIN them!”

“None of you have torn down the house with the likes of Chris Strike, Jimmy Riley, Magnus Gunner, Justin Brooks, Lexy Chapel and countless other legends, household names and future stars!”

“None of you have seen it all, and done it all.”

“But I have,” Cannon brags, taking another swig from his bottle before unraveling his tie. “I did ALL of that and you people pretend like it didn’t happen. I came to FGA and set this motherfucker on FIRE, and you people pretend like it didn’t happen and that pisses me off.”

“It pisses me off that I beat Zero McHannon in what was voted as one of the top ten matches in 2015, yet despite that HE was the one they gave that tournament bid to. I watched that wanker get handed an opportunity he didn't earn, and win a World Championship he didn't deserve!”

“It pisses me off that Cyncity was crowned the number one contender, not because she wasn't worthy of it, rather because she only got it after beating Dom Harter, a man who hasn't been worth mentioning since I was making direct to DVD action movies, and now she's the World Champion. Listen, I'm not jealous of her, I'm just irritated that I wasn’t even considered for that opportunity when I should've been!”

“I should’ve been given my shot because of what I’ve done, and what I did, and that’s best Johnny Karma, that’s beat Evangelista, that’s put Chris Bond on the shelf, that’s headline more episodes of Vertigo than ANYONE else, and that’s wrestle the best match on the card every single fucking show!” He professes, downright seething with rage now as he removes his blazer and throws it to his feet.

“But you people pretend like none of that MATTERS. You pretend like everything I’ve done equates to JACK SHIT. You constantly spit on my pride, drag my name through the mud, and belittle my accomplishments like they’re WORTHLESS. You dismiss my legacy like it means NOTHING, when it means EVERYTHING!” Cannon shouts, practically flying off the handle now as he swings his arm demonstratively, wine flying through the air haphazardly. “It means everything to me because I’ve shed BLOOD for it, I’ve shed TEARS for it, I’ve broken my BONES for it, lost FRIENDS for it, shaved years off my LIFE for it, because it’s EVERYTHING to me. It’s all that matters in this world. It's not about what you do while you're here, it's about what you leave behind when you’re gone.”

“That’s why Tony, Danny and myself have come together. It's because we're tired of being overlooked, tired of being told we're not good enough, and tired of watching court jesters take the things meant for kings.”

“But it's not just about me,” he explains. “It’s about him.. Damn it bring my fucking son over here Quinn,” Cannon demands as Goodrich walks into the shot, delivering the goods as Johnny holds his infant child in his arms. “I’ve been a shitty father. I’ve been an absent father,” he confesses, almost brought to tears as Cannon stares into his eyes. “I can't go back and make up for that lost time, but what I will do is make sure it’s worth it.” Cannon kisses his William on the forehead, before handing him back over to Quinn.

“This is about the future now. This is about giving him the life I never had as a child. He deserves to have everything he’ll ever need, a mansion in the hills, and doors opened for him on the strength of his last name alone, and the only way that can be done is by me taking care of business, by me doing what is necessary, by me becoming the man I came to FGA to be.” He declares, as he shakes his wine bottle, realizing it's empty. He cracks a wry smile at the revelation.

“I’ve run out of patience, and apparently I’ve run out of wine too. This Saturday, April 16th I’ll be running to the Giant Center in Hershey Pennsylvania. And I’ll be running through each and every one of you self-righteous sons-a-bitches until I’m the last man left because I refuse to be denied.”

“I refuse to be an afterthought.”

“The boy from that story, you’re looking at him. He’s become a man, the last real man in this sport,” he says, poking himself in the chest, “and this man is going to win the Gold Rush Rumble.”

Standing tall, with his white Oxford shirt soaked in sweat, and his tie hanging around his neck, the Brit stares into the camera.

“Or he’ll die trying.”

And we fade to black.