Round one: Fight.

Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin…

"Has-been" is already nipping at my heels. It keeps me up at night. It sets reminders at the gym. Managing me despite my desperate desire to step back into the ring. It is why I accepted my newest job as a general manager. It’ll make me sound ungrateful but it reminds me of my old gym teacher. How he'd preach about his time in the leagues and how they were cut short. His love of the sport shackled him to that old saying: those who cannot do. Teach."

Man, that scares the hell out of me. Fear is the real reason why I'm joining a tournament. If I lose then it'll be a relief to my loved ones. If I win then it shackles to the ring again. A welcomed obligation so that I may join the "good fight". Truth be told, I hung up with my newest employer unsure if I wanted to cry or scream. Sure. The gig is good. Being involved in the sport I love is more than enough.

Only sometimes though.

I wanted to fight, overcome, and continue. As I had always done. My toughest battles never slowed me down. Not until they did.

There are moments we relive. We remember them in HD, and stereo sound. They are a source of motivation.

Heh.

I don’t remember one of the most important moments of my life. The moment I landed on the mat. Echoes of the crowd vanished into a void. Try as I might there are gaps in my memory I can never get back. I can watch them on the screen, but that J.D being carried away might as well be another person. I woke up groggy from the medication with the doctor explaining what someone took from me. Without an ounce of regret, someone took my entire life in their hands and then crushed it. I forgave them; for myself, and for my recovery. Forgetting will never be on the table. What happened created a divide that’ll never be closed…

I put in the work to learn how to walk, run, and fight. The weakness lingered. The fear did too. Every time I landed wrong, every time someone dropped me down, my entire body would relive what I couldn’t remember. Only creating a bigger vacuum of fear. So, I hung it up for my health. At the request of my loved ones, I walked away even if I hated it. My choices were to quit or risk my health further. Shit.

I'm healthy. I still run. I've learned yoga. I got a job at a local gym teaching people to box, but it is not enough. It isn't what I love to do. That is the God-honest truth as to why I messaged Pro Wrestling Excellence. I still have choices. For now, I choose this opportunity. Either it's going to be another night that I can flourish in the roars of the audience, breath in adrenaline, leave everything I have on the mat, and stand in the center with my hand raised in victory– Or… it'll be a final stage.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Remi keeps scrubbing. The plate couldn't be cleaner. He is hunched over the kitchen sink and his body is stiff.

"You're worried." I finally broke the silence between us.

"Yes." Remi leaves it at that. He is stubborn in that way.

This tension is my fault. I drew out an explanation over dinner of how it was only going to be this one tournament. It was slim that I’d even win it. I’m rusty as sin after all. Remi caught me though, and shamed me when he questioned the validity of that statement. Would this one tournament be enough? I told him “yes” at that moment but we both knew how shaky my words were.

“I’m going to be careful, mon coeur.” I promise. As careful as someone can be. Unexpected accidents happen. Unexpected bad intentions even more.

He drops the plate splashing soapy water on the counter. Remi faces me with visible concern etched through his furrowed brow. He sighs while stripping off the rubber gloves, “It isn’t you I’m worried about. What about your opponent, Jesse?”

I hate when he says my name like that. Suddenly the conversation is teetering between civil and an argument. “I can’t control what my opponent does, only how I react. I doubt… a man like Glum is going to be concerned with health concerns–”

“So why risk it!?” His voice trembles between anger and despair. “He is a drunkard who couldn’t give a shit about anything or anyone! He’s dangerous with how recklessly he wrestles! I can’t believe he is even allowed in the ring in the first place! Can barely stand, and I doubt he can even form a proper sentence!”

I retrieve the gloves from his hands to set down then raise his left hand to my cheek. He’s shaking. “Isn’t any less dangerous than a sober son-of-a-bitch who wants to break me for fun. The difference is that bar fights are sometimes way easier to navigate when the other person can’t see straight. All I need to do is be smarter and let him make the mistakes.” I smile.

He lowers his head. “This could make your injury worse… What if he… what if he does something that paralyzes you? What if–” he can’t continue but we both know the fear. The single thing that really kept me from wrestling. What if I died? One wrong move could be it for me.

“Hey.” I lift his chin so I can see his eyes, all glossy, “Hey, we were both at the doctor's office when he cleared me. I’m doing alright enough to wrestle. So long as I don’t take any nasty falls directly on my neck, we have nothing to be afraid of. Have some faith in me, okay?”

“I do have faith in you. It’s Glum, I don’t.”

“Let me worry about him.”

Remi sighs. “Alright… I wish you wouldn’t go back to wrestling. Look at what it has done!” He pulls free from my hands.

This time I slip them into my pockets. I’m not ready for this conversation again. I didn't respond this time and let him vent. My eyes shut.

“It brought back Prince… It obviously did something to warp Tara. It nearly killed you. It took you months to be able to walk! All it does is take, and take, and take! Doesn’t give a shit what it kills in the process. I don’t understand why you want to go back to it, Jesse.” His jaw tenses.

Childishly I imagine both hands cupping over my ears. “Remi.  I just...” I feel like I’m chewing over the words before I can spit them out. “Everything is going to be okay, mon coeur. I’m going to walk out of that match.”

Remi nods but our conversation ends in a long stretch of mournful silence.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

What don’t I have? A husband that loves me, a roof over my head, a job, a family that supports me, and friends?

That is where it begins to trickle off… My friends, who had started when I did, were making incredible strides in wrestling; holding their own championships. They far suppressed where I ever was! Taking companies by storm, finding new challenges, and setting new standards. I’m proud of them.

I’m envious.

Even the reason I can’t be in that ring is doing stuff... Damn it. I forgive it all, a long time ago, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t do its damage. I’m reminded every single time I push just a little too hard. While I’m content with how peaceful my life is, it doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to my restlessness; To my sorrows that it all went away too quickly. That’s the cruel reality though. Things are never in our control, not really, but when do we have the chance to be? Better seize it. Life isn’t fair and doesn’t always offer unlimited doors.

I can’t help but wonder if my opponent understands what it's like to have absolutely everything ripped away. He is a nameless, drunk clown so I feel like there is a story there. Can’t be a happy one, in the least. So maybe he can relate. Does he relive shit as I do? Happens in a matter of seconds. I could hear things end, at least. Sometimes the absence of sound wakes me up and all I hear is the endless stream of deafening silence. Only not quite, because there is a weird ringing that happens. When I’m not careful the return of that noise comes back with vengeance. Weirdly enough the after-effects never deterred me but fueled spite. A hot poker in the back. My condition inspires me the way a dog inspires a rabbit...

If I submit just a little bit then rage is an easy step. No one would fault me for it. People have excused beating someone from an inch of death for a lot less. Nah. Feeding my rage isn’t why I want to return. Even if I tried I’m not sure I could ever reach that point again. Forgiveness does a wonderful job of muffling things. Not even if Glum pulls the same stunts he does Tokyo Metropolitan Wrestling would actually get such a rise out of me. Though that’s one nasty mother fucker to fart on people. I’d love to see what some people in PWE would think of this clown. He’s legitimately shameless with no boundaries. Anyone who rides someone like a pony to piss them off earns a little bit of my respect. You really have to not care what happens to you bodily to act like an old drunk dude at a bar that can’t take a hint. Guess if I took myself too seriously he might rub me the wrong way too.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

I've fought a lot of eccentric people, plenty who talk through radios, dress up in all sorts of costumes, even a guy who claims to be the devil, but a clown like Glum is a brand new animal.

Even covering the bases doesn’t properly fit. People's preconceptions of clowns, make it easy to screw with people. Wearing outlandish things, speaking in certain matters, and playing to a trope often aids in giving that person a leg up. All you need to do is clear the noise. Remain focused on what that person is trying to distract from.

Is that why Glum dresses up? Has to be a little bit of strategy in there, right? I kept going over… your reasoning for being here, and even why you choose to wrestle in the first place. I'm sure shows similar to Jack Ass would hire you on the spot. Some people find individuals like yourself to be the high of entertainment. The total lack of shame is empowering for a lot of folks. Yet you choose this tournament, you choose wrestling, and I can come to the conclusion that I don't need to fully understand. The desire to do something can be as random as a fortune cookie. This sport apparently just calls to you the same way it does most of us here. A cheap way to get some thrills. All it takes is the will to step into the ring and just an inkling of how to make it work. In that, it's both confounding and bizarrely inspirational.

That being said… There is one thing about men like you that can not be taken out of consideration. You’re reckless and that liquor is taking most of the hits for you. That’s more dangerous than a serial planner. Let’s be real, even someone with a reason has the experience, has the desire– can be foiled by someone like you, Glum. It’s why this match is perfect for me. An unbiased way to test my skills in the ring. Perhaps the kick in my teeth to truly welcome me back or convince me otherwise.

Personal uncertainty aside, I just can’t let you beat me. Can’t let it lay, or rest, because that isn’t in my nature. Even if there is no other motivation other than that. I’ll throw absolutely everything I have in order to make sure I’m the one with my hand raised at the end. Everyone needs proof, right? I’ll happily show you some scars… and I don’t mind showing more when we meet in that ring. That is if you can even count how many fingers I’m holding up.

I don’t think you’ll pay attention. You don’t strike me as the kind of man that gives a shit about who is standing across from them. When you’re up against ‘monsters’ of this sport, does it give you an edge? Blind courage to take on any son-of-a-bitch that willingly offers themselves. That must work at least a quarter of the time right? Look, Glum… That just isn’t gonna cut it here. Uhh, let me sum it up this way by quoting a wise man: “Please, this isn’t some bar fight.”

You aren’t stepping into that ring with a bright-eyed rookie, and certainly not some pompous veteran that won’t take your threats seriously. “Give everyone their due and never be surprised again.” Now that is a quote from the woman who trained me. It’s words to live by, Glum. You threw me off at first and I’ll be honest, I wrote off an easy win. Thankfully, I have people watching out for me. With a closer look, I noticed the ‘red flags’. That could be said for a mistake easily made in PWE though. Time after time in that company, being too ahead of yourself gets your sorry self embarrassed. Tons of people belittled the wrong people– champions– and found themselves with their tails tucked between their legs. People who face off against the current Excellence Champion, Allen, are amazing examples. Take one look at him and think nothing of him. That’s where they get embarrassed. Hell, I like Damian, but he didn’t take Vhodka seriously, and she was the first defeat he saw. Even people like “J Mont” surprise people if they aren’t expecting it which is why he was the Impulse Champion for a stint. If I want to be able to bat against the roster in that place then I better get my head out of my ass.

I was finally cleared to wrestle again and I sure as shit aren’t letting the opportunity slip through my fingers a second time. Even if I have to keep knocking you down until you can’t get back up. I’ll do it. You aren’t going to be my first and only opponent, Glum. I didn’t work as hard as I did, and put as many hours in, just to be stopped at the gate. Doesn’t even matter if it is by the drunkest clown at the party. All those bells and whistles, don’t distract me, sir. In the end, it really doesn’t matter what you wear. The amount you’ve had to drink on the other hand? Watch how much or I might not even have an opponent to face. Drowning in that shit will get you killed even without the lunatics running around this sport demanding blood.

Do me a favor and drink some water, okay?

All of this won’t even penetrate simply due to the fact you don’t give a shit what I got to say though. I could’ve come up with some eloquent statements but I’d be wasting our time, right?

It comes down to this: You are in my way and I’m going to move you. Just try to not get any vomit on my boots when I do it, huh?