Duality- Ollie Invitational a.k.a. Finn Whelan Meet 'n Greet

2018
#5 Toronto Frost @ #2 Pensacola Chaos

The referee's whistle is ear-splittingly shrill, cutting through the dull roar of the crowd like a freshly sharpened chef's blade. Coaches scream from the sidelines and players relay instructions over her motionless body. She barely hears any of it over the ringing in her ears, a monotonous tone reverberating around the inside of her skull and echoing through her brain.

CAT CALLAHAN
Caity! Get up! It’s fourth down! CAITY!

Caity Dawson-Cruz lies limply on the field, her eyes wide open as she gazes up at the Florida sky. It’s beautiful. It’s clear. She was the only thing that was cloudy.

CAT CALLAHAN
Caity! MOVE IT! Get lined up before we get a penalty!

Cat peers at Caity through the bars of her face mask, sneaking a concerned glance to the Toronto Frost sideline. The coaches wave their arms frantically for the players on the field to get moving, but the team's doctors are preoccupied with another player that had been carted to the bench a few plays previous.

CAT CALLAHAN
Shit... Fuck... Alright Caity, let’s go…

Cat kneels down next to her teammate, grabbing Caity’s arm and draping it over her shoulder and around her neck. Gently and gingerly, Cat gets a grip on Caity’s hips and begins to pull her back up to her feet.

CAITY DAWSON-CRUZ
What’re you-...? What happen…?

Her voice is shaky, her words slurred and trailing off into faint whispers. For the life of her she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten to this point, but every fan in the stadium had seen it. They murmur amongst each other in concern. How was nobody helping her?

CAT CALLAHAN
You made the tackle. You made the stop. We just need to do it one more time, Caity, COME ON!

“Made the tackle” was an understatement. It had been like a car accident, a sickening ‘crack’ echoing through the entire lower bowl as Caity had thrown herself like a lawn dart at the legs of Pensacola’s starting Tight End and her longtime rival, Hannah Hartman. She had caught Hannah in the thigh, cutting off her stride and toppling her head over heels to the turf. Hannah had gotten up limping, but until Cat’s help Caity hadn’t gotten up at all.

BETSY GRANGER
Cat! Caity! LINE UP! We don’t have any timeouts left!

The team captain barks at them from her Free Safety spot, eyeing the play clock and sneaking a glance at the Pensacola players as they break their huddle and approach the line of scrimmage. Cat studies Caity closely, and realizes she’s not going to come around any time soon. Cat lets go of her, and points to the sideline.

CAT CALLAHAN
Get off the field, Caity! We can handle it!

Cat back steps, concern etched over her face as she retreats to her Defensive End position and puts her hand in the dirt. Caity takes an uneasy step, suddenly nauseous. She swallows hard and blinks furiously as she tries to steady herself to no avail.

BETSY GRANGER
CAITY! MOVE YOUR AS-

Pensacola snaps the ball and their receivers fire off the line and up the field, weaving in and out with a practiced ease. Caity whips her head around, wincing as her brain seems to throb violently in her skull. Her knees quiver and her body shakes.

But then she sees Hannah Hartman charging towards her, and years of animosity boil up inside her. For one precious moment her head clears. Her resolve sharpens. Her body hardens and instinct takes over.

Caity backpedals a few yards, careful to keep her upper body in front of her toes and her hips back for balance. She studies Hannah with hawk-like intensity, looking to pick up the subtlest of movements. Hartman has a tell; she’s always dipped her outside shoulder before running a double move. Caity had noticed it when they used to practice together, but it must have conveniently slipped her mind to ever point it out and help correct it.

Hannah dips to the outside, then pivots and bolts towards the middle of the field as fast as she can. She’s made the All-Pro team every season that she’s played, this move has burned the best of the best… but today Caity was with her step for step, stride for stride. Caity flipped her hips just a little bit quicker. She jumped to the inside just a little bit sharper.

Caity throws her hands up in front of her and the ball sticks to her gloves without the slightest bobble.

CAT CALLAHAN
Holy shit! Run! Run!

BETSY GRANGER
Caity ruuuuun!

Caity stands with the ball in her hand, oblivious as her teammate crushes Hannah Hartman with a black before she can tackle her nemesis. Caity stumbles a few yards, her body beginning to fail her after the exertion she just scraped from the bottom of the barrel. She eyes two Pensacola players closing in on her and watches as they’re both erased by a vicious chop block.

Open field.

Room to run.

Caity staggers forward, doing everything she can to stay on her feet and build momentum in the right direction. Another collision to her right as Cat Callahan pancakes another would-be-tackler to the grass. Caity crosses mid field, her vision swimming in front of her. Too many colours and too many blurs of movement. Too much screaming in the stands.

Sensory overload.

Her chest and shoulders heave as she runs, Bambi legs trying to spur her onward. She’s going to vomit. She feels like she’s going to die.

She crosses the thirty yard line.

One person left to beat, the Pensacola Quarterback dives for Caity’s feet and manages to hook her around the ankle. The slight drag is enough to derail Caity, and she begins shuffling her feet desperately and windmilling her non-ball carrying arm wildly to avoid plummeting face first onto the field.

The game clock hits 0. The game is over at the end of this play, and if she doesn’t get the ball across the goal line then it’s a Toronto loss.

She just doesn’t have anything left to give.

She reaches the fifteen yard line when her body finally gives up. Her brain shuts down, and the blurry edges of her vision begin to close in as her knees buckle. She’s sorry. She’s sorry to everyone, but she just can’t do it… and that's when she feels the supportive hand gripping underneath her shoulder pads. Her knees never hit the ground, and she never stops moving forward thanks to her guardian angel.

BETSY GRANGER
Don’t stop, Caity! We’re almost there!

The ten.

The five.

Touchdown.

Betsy practically hauls Caity over the goalline into the endzone, screaming with a raw excitement and pumping her fists in the air to celebrate. Caity falls in a heap at her feet as soon as she lets go.

The referee blasts his brain-splittingly shrill whistle.

The Florida crowd roars with vehement disapproval.

The Toronto players and coaches storm the field from the sidelines, leaping into the air in jubilation after pulling the stunning upset over one of the league's highest rated teams. They wave sarcastically at the Pensacola fans who exit the stadium, and chant Caity’s name to show their support and appreciation.

Cat Callahan dives on top of Caity and shakes her by the shoulders.

CAT CALLAHAN
You did it! OH MY GOD YOU FREAKING DID IT!

Caity shudders violently and rolls to her hands and knees, away from Cat. She heaves, and vomits all over the field and then passes out.

It should be noted that Caity Dawson-Cruz doesn’t remember any of this firsthand.

She’s just seen the clip on Youtube like everybody else.

---

People always underestimate a hoe.

Listen to all the giggling from the back of the class; “ooooh, she said hoe!” and “she admitted that she’s a slut!”. I’m cute, but I’m not stupid. I know the way I present myself, I’m the one doing it for fucks sake! I know how HARD I make it for some of you when I show off so much tan flesh under such frilly lace. I know how tough it is for some of you to focus on the TASK AT HAND when I post a new thirst trap on social media.

It’s difficult for you to believe there’s an athlete hidden somewhere deep underneath the tits ‘n tats, isn’t it? It’s a hard pill to swallow when you find out that I actually have goals and aspirations beyond looking pretty in lipstick and knowing how to suck a fucking cock. I never felt like I needed to choose success, or chase your approval, over owning my own sexuality and making your precious boyfriends sweat.

I am Caity Dawson-Cruz, and I am duality. I don’t care if you’re able to wrap your minds around it or not.

Sure, I'm the girl that was recruited to the LFL to look cute in a jersey and lingerie and sell tickets for a fledgling expansion team… but I’m also the girl that became the league's top slot receiver and lockdown cornerback. I led the league in interceptions, bitch! I made multiple pro-bowls at multiple positions and SHUT DOWN whatever insta-thot you were watching the game for while praying there was a wardrobe malfunction. I TOOK OVER the goddamn LFL. I ran Hannah Hartman out of Toronto. I secured the bag for my team and was rewarded with one of my own!

Sure, I’m the girl that was signed to Renegade Wrestling solely because Dom Harter and Annie Zellor had a thing for her… but I’m also the girl that wiped that fucking smirk off of Chris Constantines face and ran up a winning record with minimal training and rock bottom expectations. I was nearly undefeated! I had a fucking title shot when they padlocked the doors to the place! I was becoming the face of the promotion, and they pulled the rug out from underneath me!

Sure, I’m the girl that can disappear offline for six months at a time and not contribute anything of value to the business… but I’m also the girl that comes back with one bikini pic, a Supernova contract, and the Project Honor owner in her DM’s offering up his Lil Dickey and anything else she wants when you can’t even get him to send you feedback on your pay per view performances.

I am the center of attention whenever I choose to be.

I am the most dominant woman in any competetive setting whenever I choose to be.

I am the pretty face and the power punch, equally adept at wielding both. 

I am duality.

... and I'm just here to get into Finn Whelan's pants.

---

ONE WEEK AGO
KELOWNA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

CAT CALLAHAN
The what?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
The Ollie Invitational.

CAT CALLAHAN
... the what?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
I don't know. I think I have to fight a cat or something. I imagine a bunch of different people are going to show up from a bunch of different companies and we're all gonna have to catch and dropkick the cat out of the ring or something.

There's silence on the other end of the phone line as Caity lounges on her sofa and stares out the window. Cat stammers and false starts several times before she can finally form a sentence.

CAT CALLAHAN
There’s no way that’s what they’re going to ask you to do.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Well I don’t know, Cat! It’s an open invitational hosted by a fucking meow meow!

CAT CALLAHAN
… a what?

Caity sits up and hurls a throw pillow across the room out of frustration. She can hear Cat snickering on the other end of the line.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
I hate you.

CAT CALLAHAN
Well, the cat can’t actually be competing, Caity. That would be ridiculous.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Everything I’m hearing is that Ollie Dorito is a competitor. So, suck on that ridiculous you bitch. I’m sorry. That was harsh. They also said something about “selling your soul”.

Cat’s snickering breaks into a full cackle.

CAT CALLAHAN
Wouldn’t you have to have a soul to be eligible to enter then? HA!

Caity shakes her head in a silent rage.

CAT CALLAHAN
Well, it sounds like you’ve done plenty of research and have nothing to worry about. You don’t know any of the competitors or the rules, and you’re planning on punting a cat out of the ring. I don’t see how any of this could possibly go wrong.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Competitors and rules aren’t important details, I’m not going there to fucking win. Whoever else shows up can take it, I don’t give a shit.

Cat stops laughing.

CAT CALLAHAN
… huh? Then what are you doing? They can’t possibly be paying you more than you make whoring it up on instagram for whatever brand wants you to take a photo of their product next to your bare ass.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
I actually don’t even know if I’m getting paid. I’m going for my thin king.

CAT CALLAHAN
You’re fucking kidding me.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
I’m not. My fair skinned fantasy is at the commentary desk. My high cheekboned, thin waisted, leather clad legend is going to be ten feet away from the ring and I want to be there to give him something to keep his eyes on.

CAT CALLAHAN
Are you talking about Finn fucking Whelan?! The guy you basically stalked a couple of years ago until he gave you a pair of his jeans to get you to go away?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
We remember that differently, but essentially yes. Listen Cat, the denim has worn thin and the buttons are barely hanging on. The jeans are stained, and they’ve seen better days. He’s going to give me a new pair at the show.

CAT CALLAHAN
How did you stain them?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Can we focus on the important thing here? It’s different this time. He’s divorced.

Cat sighs across the phone line.

CAT CALLAHAN
Oh Christ, here we go.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
WOOOOOOW! I’m telling you this because I was hoping for a little bit of support from my best friend, but DAMN! I see how it is!

CAT CALLAHAN
Quit being dramatic. We both know you’re going to do whatever you want, and if that’s a wrestling career or some anorexic vampire's jeans you’ll probably make it happen. I just want you to be happy, and healthy. Did you see the doctors before you signed up for this?

Caity swallows hard.

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Mhm.

CAT CALLAHAN
Were they the same ones that screened you and told you that you’d be able to compete for Supernova? Or did you see someone different this time?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
Um. Someone different.

Cat pauses, listening to Caity’s abrupt responses carefully.

CAT CALLAHAN
Who did you see?

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
I don’t remember their names. It’s not important. So, with this match, do you think I should-

CAT CALLAHAN
Caity! Did you see a doctor before agreeing to do this?! Your brain got SCRAMBLED, Caity! You can’t mess around with this sort of stuff or else you could end up as a vegetab-

CAITY DAWSON CRUZ
LALALALALALALA I can’t hear you! Look. It’s fine, I’m fine. I know what I’m doing and I know that I’m feeling healthy. I don’t need you stressing out about things, OK? Besides, like I said, I’m not going to win. I’m going for Finn-daddy and I wont get myself hurt.

CAT CALLAHAN
… if you call him Finn-daddy again then I’LL have to hurt you. Caity, you need to see a doctor, just as a precaution. Just let them tell you it’s OK to compete, and I won’t worr-

Caity hangs up the phone, dropping it down on the couch cushion beside her and staring out the window once more. She didn’t need to see another doctor. She knew what they were going to tell her, and she knew what their recommendations would be.

She didn’t need that sort of negativity in her life right now.

Finn Whelan was divorced.

She was going to get in his pants.