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Yesterday Morning
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Life is a series of paradoxes. Success is how good you are at figuring them out.
“So when you clasp your hands together like this, it can be hard to hang onto that grip…”
The first day I rolled into Uncle Nathan’s ring, he beat the ever-loving shit out of me. He could have just let me watch him beat the shit out of somebody else, but it wouldn’t have taught me the most important lessons I needed to learn. You can watch somebody change a tire a hundred times and you’ll still feel lost when you get handed a tire iron. But if you just go out there and do it a couple times, you’ll be so much more comfortable with having to do it on the fly, under pressure when it matters most. So, now that we’ve established that you don’t learn how to wrestle by watching wrestling, it’s clear that the only alternative is wrestling somebody yourself.
“But if you try gripping like this…”
Which brings me to my current paradox: the person I am training, I don’t want to hurt. I don’t even want them to feel like they’re going to get hurt. I can’t put Chelsea in these holds for real, so she knows how they really feel. I can’t hurt her. I WON’T hurt her. I won’t let anybody else hurt her. So when she asked me to teach her how to do some of the holds and takedowns that I know, it was a no-brainer to me. But I didn’t stop and think about what that actually meant. And now, I have to teach her the secret to the bearhug...without breaking her floating ribs.
“Get the thumb of your dominant hand between the index and middle fingers of the other hand. Your wrist will turn automatically when you do that, and you’ll just turn it upwards. Feel how my forearms are right there under your ribcage?”
“Yeah. I can definitely feel that, Ross.”
“My hands won’t slip from being sweaty, and I don’t have to squeeze at all...just turn my wrists a little bit…” You remember Super Mario 64, when you had to tiptoe past those sleeping Piranha Plants or else they’d wake up and bite Mario’s dick off? Okay. The gentle and minute movements required to do that are like running dropkicks into drywall compared to how slowly I’m turning my hands on this bearhug right now.
“So, can I like...get out of this?”
“Absolutely!” Chelsea may have ridiculous flexibility, amazing agility, scorching speed and a great taste in music; but she doesn’t understand all of the small idiosyncrasies that go with mat wrestling. Things like the grips you use totally change a hold from painful to excruciating.
“Can you get one of your feet behind my leg?”“ Like this?” By breaking the basics down, and not by tossing your training partner on their head just because you can, the learning process becomes much more refined. Thus, even a rookie like Chelsea is easily able to pick up on things like trapping the opponent’s foot or ankle with your own when in a situation where you’re not able to use your hands to break free.
“Piece of cake…”
“Exactly like that.” Now in Los Angeles, it won’t be this easy. If Damien Ayla puts this bearhug on Chelsea, he’s going to twist it as far as he physically can. But if Chelsea is able to get the basics of positioning down, she’ll be able to embarrass his smug overconfident ass.
“Put your hands under my elbows, you’re going to need the leverage for this...now, really fast, you’ve got to get the other foot under the other leg, right below my knees where the calf muscles end...pop me in the back of the leg with that heel, and just fall forward…”
Chelsea was a world class gymnast...well, still is if you think about it. She has natural rubber-like flexibility. That’s what Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is.
“Nice!” Her knees went to my sides, above my hips, not allowing me any chance for half-guard. She was posted with her arms, but quickly sat up so I couldn’t reach her. This is what makes mount so dangerous: the person on top can hit the person on bottom almost at will, while the person on bottom isn’t going to be able to land anything beyond a short punch with nothing behind it.
“You just learned how to do a vertical body press into full mount. Good job, babe!”
“Thanks!” Chelsea flips some hair out of her face before looking down at me.
“Why do all these wrestling moves feel like sex positions?”I unconsciously relaxed for a moment, just letting my hands sit on her thighs. Shit, I would have just lost the match if I’d done that at Victory II.
“That’s a good question...maybe Adam and Eve had the first wrestling match.”“You better be careful, Adam. Your shoulders are down.” Thank God she’s paying attention, and thank God I know how to kick out at two from this predicament.
“Oh, I got something for that…” It’s time Chelsea learns how to slice the mount.
“You let me grab your arm, didn’t you?”“Uh-oh…” Chelsea looks down; where I indeed have my left behind her right elbow, with the right hand on that same wrist, held tight to my body.
“Wait...why can’t I move my legs?”“I also trapped your right foot by hooking it with my left.” Chelsea’s eyes are starting to grow, and my mouth is starting to smile.
“So all we gotta do now is just roll…” I turned Chelsea over with the technique I had used a thousand times. This does not hurt someone, and I don’t feel guilty exchanging positions with my girlfriend one bit. Of course, when you flip someone out of mount, you will land in their guard.
“Now, you’ve got me in guard, you can close your legs around my back, or you can leave them open and try to trap my thighs that way…”“Oh yeah, Adam and Eve definitely invented wrestling. There’s no way you can look down at me and tell me this isn’t hot.”
“RED RED WINE….GOES TO MY HEAD…”
Of course, my phone would ring while we’re rolling around on the living room floor. Chelsea opens her guard...excuse me, her legs...and I sit up on my knees so I can make my way to the end table we shoved all the way against the wall.
“Oh my God, THAT’S your ringtone? We have got to change that. Please tell me that mine isn’t that corny.”
“Honestly, babe, I haven’t figured out what your special ringtone is going to be yet. I just got this phone after I smashed my last one at the airport in Key West.”
“MAKES ME FORGET THAT I NEED HER….”
“Yo?” Might as well put it on speaker. Y’all probably know who that is at this point. Hey guys, is it supposed to feel this comforting when your girl leans on your back and puts her arms around you? She doesn’t know how to fully lock on a rear naked choke yet, so that’s not something I have to worry about. But it’s weird to have someone take my back, and me be totally comfortable with being totally in her control.
“Yo.” It looks like Ken and my son are having a good time. Ken took him out this morning, and said they’d be back. I didn’t question it because Ken is more mature than me and Mini-Human is probably better off with him anyway.
“HI DAD! HI CHELSEA!”
He loves Chelsea to death, I can tell.
“Hi Mini-Human!” She loves him back too, I can tell.
“What’s good, fam?”
“Uncle Leglock bought me a duck!” Mini-Human held up a stuffed white duck. Of course this is a video call, because that’s the best way I could come up with to add filler in my narration. I’m a dialogue heavy writer, if you haven’t noticed. What fourth wall? They know it’s fake.
I gave a tired nod.
“It’s a nice duck, son.” Chelsea kissed me on the cheek and mouthed
“water”. I nodded. As she went to the kitchen to fight with the mess that is my kitchen, I looked at Ken and we just knew that we’re both struggling to stay positive amongst a fucking hurricane of negative circumstances.
“You good, man? I know you’ve felt like crap lately….”
“I can’t possibly be feeling as bad as you, man.” Always look ‘em in the eye when you talk to them. That’s called respect.
“I’ll be fine, Ross. You and Chelsea have been a big help, not just letting me hang out there but letting me just be.”
“I didn’t wanna overload you, my dude. Your husband got committed to a hospital for a mental breakdown. You might have won your last GCC fight, but I’m sorry to say: you got rocked. You almost didn’t win.”
“Well, I’d already gotten rocked before I even got to Mexico City. Maybe getting punched in the face brought me back to earth. Either way, Ross...thank you.”
“Not a problem man, just trying to get you back for everything you and Graham have done for me.”
“It ain’t about getting us back, and you know that.”
“Well, Ken, I’m just an enhancement talent who lives off his mom’s money. Turns out, I didn’t even have to steal the fucking debit card. I’m listed as a power of attorney.”
“So it’s your money now. And you’re not enhancement talent. You’re just young and haven’t had enough time to figure out the differences between a cage and a ring.”
“I spent three years learning how to wrestle in a ring…”
Chelsea hands me a bottle of water. I think we both need it, we’ve been at it for a couple hours now without a break. I wanted to start with takedowns and basic wrestling positions, so Chelsea could hold Tara where she wanted her before she decided how she wanted to end her night.
“...thank you, honey.”
‘You’re welcome, dear.”
“...dude, I wrestled my debut match on 36 grit sandpaper. I went to Japan and let people hit me with shit that would get them put in prison if they did it here. I trained for years to be a wrestler. How the hell am I not able to even win a wrestling match?”
“It’s not like he’s the only rookie in this relationship.” Chelsea chimes in with a shrug before she flips some hair out of her face.
“Hell, this is my first full year as a wrestler and I still lasted longer than Ross in my Battle Royal…….” Chelsea trails off before she winces.
“Err, sorry Ross.” Chelsea apologizes with a wince as she turns to her boyfriend.
“It’s okay. I’m proud of you, even if you didn’t win. You did great.”
“We’ll talk more about it when we get back.”
“How far y’all out?”
“Not far. We have another surprise for you. Lil’ Man, be quiet and don’t tell your dad what we got him.”
“NO SPOILERS!”
Mini-Human put one of his mini-fingers to his mini-lips.
“He is such a good kid.”
“He really is.”
“He’s nothing like his dad.”
“Man, knock that shit off. We’re gonna hang up now. We’ll be there shortly.”
“Word. See you in a few minutes. Love you, Mini-Human.”
“LOVE YOU DAD!”
The call ends. Chelsea and I look at each other, since there’s nobody else for us to look at and we haven’t gotten around to adopting the dog that we talked about yet.
‘I gotta stop being all in my feelings about being a loser.”
“You’re not a loser, Ross.”
“I know. I just feel like one sometimes.”
Chelsea sighs as she folds her arms.
“We’ve got to work on your self confidence, that’s for sure.” Chelsea adds before shaking her head.
“I say as the woman who was diagnosed with depression after my brother’s death.” Chelsea mutters to herself before grinning.
“So, do you want to pick up where we left off? Or do you want to drop all pretenses and just take it to the bedroom?”I laughed to myself, and to her as well since I’m sure she heard it.
“That sounds fucking awesome, but I don’t think we have enough time before they get back…” I pointed over at all of the living room furniture stacked against the wall.
“Plus, we can’t just leave everything like that. Mini-Human will try to do a dive off of it. But there is one thing I wouldn’t mind asking you...” “Oh?” Chelsea asks with a playful grin as she looks at her boyfriend.
“And what’s that?”“How do you do it?” I’m a straight-shooter who doesn’t know shit about sugar coating stuff.
“I can’t even admit out loud what I’ve been through or how it affects me. You’ve been through Hell and you can smile when you talk about it. How did you get over it? How are you able to bounce back from adversity like I pretend that I can, but I obviously can’t?”Chelsea pauses for a moment before blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face.
“I’m not gonna lie and say it was easy, of course I had my sisters to support me and you met them the other week.” Chelsea states before she runs a hand through her hair.
“Everything about me, my sense of humour, my taste in music, even my sexuality to an extent? It was always there and even after all the crap I put up with from my parents because I dared to deviate from what they wanted me to be, I still endured because I thought that competing at the Olympics with Justin was my light at the end of the tunnel.”Chelsea lets out a deep breath.
“I don’t admit this publicly but I have serious doubts over whether I’ll ever get over Justin’s death, fuck it got to the point where i was ready to end it all but his memory keeps me going, even if my parents barred me from his funeral and continue to blame me for his death.”Chelsea shakes her head.
“And they acted shocked when i tried to kill myself, they were damn lucky that me and my sisters were in our twenties at that point because we’ve all stated that if i was any younger when Justin died and they still pulled that crap, my sisters would’ve called Child Survices on them in a fucking heartbeat.”“You do this for him, then? Like how I do this for my son? I mean...you’ve had your sisters...but growing up, I didn’t even have that. When I was like four or five, Mini’s age...that’s when my adoptive parents died. I went to the last surviving grandparent. When she died, I was eight. I got lost in the system. I bounced around between group homes, shelters...when I got old enough to be able to squat in abandoned houses, I did that for a while. I was raised by whoever was sleeping on the same corner as me that night.”This is the first time I’ve ever told anybody this stuff about me. Ever.
“Fifteen, I got approached by someone who claimed to be my blood aunt. They brought me to some wrestling school in the middle of the woods. That’s where my Uncle Nathan trained me. Most people know him now as Raging Dead. I stayed there for a while, trying to live a normal life as a normal person...but by that time, I’d gotten used to drinking to keep me warm on cold nights and at this point we’re talking a fifth a night drinking. Before I’m even old enough to get drafted into the military, I’m a full blown alcoholic that bench presses 400 pounds and is a natural at mat wrestling. I turn 18, Uncle Nathan ships me as far away as he possibly can. The only family I knew I had, and he doesn’t even want me either.”I kept going. I didn’t even stop to breathe. I just hope Chelsea was still listening.
“I go to Japan, get knocked around, come back here and I’m still drinking. I didn’t stop drinking until a few months ago, when I found out I had a son. You want to know why his mother’s not in the picture, Chelsea? She’s fucking dead, too. She never told me I was a father. She just sent the kid to show up on my doorstep...only she mixed something up, and the kid showed up at my dad’s house instead. He tried to hide it from me...but he couldn’t. In the end, Mini-Human is the reason I am cleaning myself up, getting my shit together, and trying to be a good person. Because I’ve failed everyone who ever stuck around long enough. And that’s why I feel like I’m the most useless sack of fucking excuse for a man that ever stood up and took a piss.” Chelsea is clearly taken aback by this as she runs a hand through her hair.
“Man, and here I thought that the most I’d have to worry about when I signed the dotted line with PWE was my fellow competition, then I started dating my fellow competition and, well, here we are.” Chelsea adds before shaking her head.
“As for Justin, yeah, that’s part of the reason why I wrestle, as a wrestler you’d be hard pressed to find anyone more passionate than me but there’s also riches, I don’t have any delusions that my parents will leave anything to me when they kick the bucket, it’s just a question of whether they disown me or i cut off contact with them.”“I’m surprised you haven’t dumped me for Klayton Kross yet.”
Chelsea shakes her head.
“Kross is a good looking guy, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t drool over every guy with a six pack and a chiseled chin that comes around! I also drool over any girl with big tits and a nice ass!” Chelsea jokes before shaking her head.
“You’ve seen those videos I made in Vegas with my friends, the guys I fucked ran the gambit from generic, muscle guys to “how the hell are we supposed to believe that a guy like him can get a girl like her to drop her panties” but even then, I’m not exactly picky about guys, and you were the one who offered to be my rent-a-boyfriend for that list and we all know how that ended, this is the first serious relationship I’ve been in with a guy and i’m looking to make this last as long as I can.”“Yeah, this is the one thing that’s going right for me. I don’t care how much people laugh or talk shit about us, I wouldn’t trade it for anything...”
Before Chelsea could reply, my front door flew open. In comes my boy holding his new duck, and Ken Felder.
“WE’RE HOME!”
“Ew. Straight people.”
“Sorry this isn’t the Saloon in Monroe. How was your trip?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
Chelsea and I look up to see not two, but THREE PEOPLE IN MY DOORWAY! HOLY FUCKING SHIT, IT’S HIM! IT’S REALLY HIM!
“Hey R0ss…”
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For the last few months, I’ve found myself being everyone else’s stepping stone. “Enhancement talent,” if you will. I've been a lackey for an XWF double agent in OCW, I've been the butt of a time traveler's jokes, and been dunked-on on Twitter by some Greek Ho too many times to count.
No, Atara Themis, I wasn't talking about you.
I couldn't even start dating somebody without no less than three of my coworkers including the one who takes credit for us dating to begin with giving me shit for it. No wonder your burger tasted so good when we all went out after the show Betsy, yours didn't have all the added salt in it.
I’ve been judged more harshly than Nelson Mandela without having to open my mouth, and I still don’t understand how that’s happening. I’ve been asked to, if not forced, to compromise my own personal morals on several different instances by playing up to my sense of loyalty, because nobody's ever been loyal to me and I have a deep yearning for acceptance.
If I was “Generic Nihilist #50,072” like Damien Ayla then I'd get it. If I hated myself as much as he did, it would make sense if everybody else hated me too. For some reason this business seems to attract people like him who despise it, but just couldn't land that sweet General Manager’s position at Hornor & Harrison.
It’s disgusting.
You act like you're above this business, but you're not above cashing the paychecks. Wrestling might just be how you're killing time until a guest spot on Law and Order: SVU as “Generic Dead Body #243” comes up, but it’s how I make my living. You, however, treat it almost as if it is a side-gig to you. Wrestling is what makes me a better man every day; it’s not just a part of me I despise. You’d rather sit on a slab looking like a freshly-procured corpse trying to see how long you can hold your breath before the director has to restart the shot.
As much as it may not seem to be, Wrestling is my life. And you, Damien? You aren't a real wrestler. You are an insufferable carbuncle full of rotten brownie batter and MRSA that needs lancing. You’re an over-glorified actor. You ACT like you deserved to win that championship you hold now, but you probably do like my Dad and use belts as your weed tray, right?
Unlike you I'll admit the facts. I'll admit that there's a pretty good chance I'll fuck up, and I'll put protecting Chelsea over winning the match. I'll probably fall for whatever trick you pull out of your urethra because they all fell out of your ass when you won the tournament at Victory I. I have a weakness that I can't cover: I care more about protecting the people I love than I do hurting the people I don’t.
I can assure you, you won't be doing a thing to look after Tara's well being. And she's not going to be looking out for yours, either. You remember the end of The Mummy Returns when Rick and Imhotep are falling into the pit of Hell? Rick tells Eevee to run but she saves him. Imhotep asks Anck-Su-Namn to save him and she runs.
I am Rick O Connell and you're just Imhotep. Keep that in mind when we're both hanging on for our lives and one of us has to count on our other's partner. Mine has the heart of a warrior. Yours is a female version of you. We are not the same.
You'd let me rip Tara's arm clean off if it meant you rolled Chelsea up for a three count - and you'd still try to grab her tights too. If that's what you think makes you a good wrestler, good on you. If you think that your willingness to break any rule or morals just to get to say you won a match is all that matters to you, bravo.
If all you care about is telling yourself that you beat Ross Hanson, and not HOW you beat Ross Hanson...I really hope you don't have to repeat it too many times before you convince yourself you're not full of shit. And after you just won that wonderful title around your waist, it would be a crying shame to see you lose to a guy who got his ass thrown out the ring not even sixty seconds into the damn match. Talk about a “Paper Champion”…
Figuratively and literally, because if you wound up losing to us; the whole narrative you've tried to sell us would go up in smoke.
This whole idea that you're better than everyone else without really trying? Good luck trying to make that work. This inexplicable main event tag team match booking might be a giant red flag that some bullshit is fixing to happen, but it's not just a warning to me. It's a warning to you. You can't keep this bullshit act up, and if it isn't me or Chelsea someone WILL forcefully remove you from the clouds and chain you to the cold-hard ground that is reality.
The reality is that there are a lot of people like me in this business who stay up until three in the morning taking apart a ring after wrestling in front of 30 people for barely enough gas money for all of us to pitch in on the same ride home, and a lot of them feel the same way about people like you.
Fuck you, Damien and Tara Ayla. Fuck you sideways. Fuck everything you pretend to stand for, and fuck whatever you really do stand for.
I’m tired of waiting to be recognized. The reality is that I’m taking my spot back. The reality is that a guy who acts like a wrestler isn’t a wrestler. And Champion, or not…
Someone like that doesn’t deserve to stand in my ring.
I'm finished being a pawn in other people's games. I'm done being the cherry-picked match for the person who thinks I'm the easy win. I'm tired of being expected to act like somebody I'm not in the name of loyalty when I'm honestly questioning when it's time for me to just be myself.
I'm tired of the Kayla Richards and La Andaluceras of the world who have no real relationships of their own, so they feel the need to interfere with mine.
I'm tired of even my friends in The Golden Age thinking I am nothing but a Goddamn underling.
I'm just tired.
Monday night, we’re putting some of this bullshit to rest.
