▶#WinKrew
TWO WEEKS AGO…
Flight 33, Air France, nonstop to De Gaulle International Airport, Paris, France, now boarding at Gate E16. Flight 33, Air France, now boarding Gate E16.
I gather my meager possessions: backpack, coffee cup, phone charger, book. Most of my things are (hopefully) in baggage, and my carryon bag contains my wrestling boots, pads, and personal totems.
One of my dad’s biggest rules was, never check your gear. Take it with you, just in case. I can buy a new T-shirt and athletic pants if I need them; but these items are personalized.
I chuckle to myself… if I’d made one different choice, I would’ve been here already, flying out with Caledonia and enduring the jokes from Eris. But it didn’t really work out that way.
TWO DAYS AFTER WRESTLEFEST…
I was sitting on my front porch, drinking coffee and eating crepes, sore and bruised, but ecstatic that I’d managed to complete something that I’d left lingering, years ago. I sat, cuddled up with my partner, discussing the mundane things like class schedules, waiting tables, and plans for our next 40 years together.
I had no regrets. I’d had a great showing at Golden Intentions, a successful tag team match against the current - at the time - Champions - and a victory by the skin of my teeth against the single greatest wrestler I’ve ever been in the ring with. I never said I was finished with professional wrestling, but, if I could never step into the ring again, I ended on the highest possible note.
FOUR WEEKS AFTER WRESTLEFEST…
I was back to my day (night) job, waiting tables at Vinnie Van Gogh-Gogh, an outdoor pizzeria. The guys in the kitchen would always have professional wrestling playing on the screens at the bar; partly they were legitimately fans and would watch the promotion with available TV on any given night; partly they knew that my father and I had both had a measure of success in the ring, and they like to get my opinion.
This particular night, they asked me what I thought about the CWF’s plans to close down.
Excuse me?
With all due respect… that’s a conversation to have with my partner.
THE DAY AFTER INFERNALIA 11…
I’ve been sitting on the porch for the last hour, texting with my dad, weighing the pros and cons of going back to work. He’s been really helpful as it relates to the logical outcome of taking another semester off, but I know I’m just spinning my wheels here. As much as I love and appreciate my parents, this is a decision I need to make with my partner.
“Hey babe,” I hear, from a house length away. Kevin approaches on his bicycle, looking tired. Yes, we own a car, but downtown parking is iffy on a best day, so we typically walk or bike it.
“Babe,” I reply, sending my love to my dad and turning off the screen. I take a long suck of the straw sitting in my water cup, and step down to the sidewalk, watching the stones and bugs on my bare feet. We’re both sweaty and pungent so I don’t feel bad in the slightest giving him a hug and kiss while he’s still in his chef whites and I’m in my waitress outfit.
He sees me. He sees my state-of-not-being-clean-yet. “What’s wrong?”
I look him in the eye and take him by the hand. We sit on the bench outside the front door, and I lean my head against his shoulder. “The CWF is shutting operations at the end of the year,” I say.
I feel him tense, to match my tense. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I reply.
We sit for a moment.
“You know what you need to do,” he says.
I find myself nodding against his shoulder. “I just got home… and that’s going to push things back even more. I won’t be graduating in May, taking a semester off, which means another year of school and another year of waiting for this,” I say, holding up my left hand with the black silicon ring on my finger.”
He laughs. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve done much planning yet. And I know Caledonia was wearing you down when she was visiting and you were thinking about taking another short run next summer if you still felt the bubbles. Sounds like you’re out of time.”
“Yeah,” I repeat, “but is that fair to you?”
“Mariella.”
I pick my head up and look at him. I can probably count on one hand the number of times Kev has called me by my full name.
“I knew when we first got together, you didn’t come from a normal family with normal family complications,” he continues, “And we haven’t had a normal life, even when we’ve had a normal life. I think you need to do this for you.”
I stand up, and I take a deep breath. “I…”
Another breath.
“...really needed to hear you say that.”
I turn back towards him, lean down, and kiss him, hard on the mouth. “Fuck, I love you,” I say. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna go book a flight. I am going to make this up to you.”
As I move towards the door, Kev holds onto my hand. “Babe,” he says. “Make it up to me, by being a goddamn legend for the next three months.”
A goddamn legend.
It’s an impossible thing to plan.
Challenge accepted.
“Infernalia 13: OR… The Emancipation of Wade Moor.”
“Which is it?”
“I remember our first encounter, Wade… do you? What did I say to you? If you come into this match, thinking it’s going to be a warm up with a veteran whose career started before I was even born, do a cakewalk all over me, and pat me on the ass with a ‘Good job, kiddo… keep trying,’ then you’re gonna have a bad time.”
“We wrestled a good, strong, mostly clean match, and the way it ended was exactly as I predicted.”
“You’ve had a bad time, haven’t you?”
“Not just a bad time… but, statistically speaking, you’ve lost more championships than you’ve won. Who does that?”
“I’m sorry, that’s probably crossing a line. As a twenty year veteran of the sport, you deserve respect. Just like, as a nearly ten year veteran… so do I.”
“You didn’t give it, Wade, and you expected to receive it. Remember that. And remember what that ultimately did to you.”
“Sure. You beat Paul Freedom. But you were likely still in shock over the fact that this little girl pinned your shoulders to the mat. Once that fact sunk in?”
“Loss to the Regulators. Loss to Esmeralda Von Whocares. Loss to Caledonia. Loss to Fire and Ice. What happened, Wade? Stuck on the prospect that maybe the business passed you by?”
“BeachKrew was the Big Ol’ Hyped Tag Team of the moment… and other than the night you showed up and was handed the other tag team title belt… Y’all. Haven’t. Won. Dick.”
“I’d like to take credit for that, by the way.”
“It’s certainly in the realm of possibility that your fragile eggshell mind split into sixteen equal parts at the reality that two women - one of whom is - GASP - twenty three years old - got the better of you, and you simply haven’t been able to claw your way back to reality.”
“That’s what makes this a golden opportunity, Wade. You have the chance to right every wrong, upend every capsized ship, and other cliches that were probably witty repartee when you started your career: three seconds with my shoulders to the mat and Wade Moor becomes relevant again.”
“And how nice would it be to take that victory, and bring it to Crossed Lines against your very own partner, Peacock Jerry, who you know holds nothing but contempt for you at the moment?”
“How could he not? Caledonia and MJ Flair, Wade gets pinned. The Regulators, Wade gets pinned. Fire and Ice, Wade gets pinned.”
“Peacock Jerry was on top of the world here in the CWF, with nothing but sky above his head, until he brought you on to be his partner. All of a sudden, the floor became the ceiling. Try and convince me there’s no animosity there.”
“Better yet, try and convince yourself there’s no animosity there.”
“This is a lifeline, Wade. Additionally, with the CWF’s lifespan on a dwindling clock, this is your last chance to prove relevance in this company. And you can do it. Imagine the upside: you get to pin one of only three two-time CWF World Champions currently active in this company. You get to prove to Peacock Jerry that no, you’re not the anchor around the neck of #BeachKrew, and you get to hold a singles title with four shows left in the company’s history and go down in the record books as possibly The Last Paramount Champion.”
“Of course, that’s the upside. You could also lose and never be heard from again, except as the answer to a trivia question. ‘Who is the only member of the CWF roster to lose more titles than he won?’ But I believe in you, Florida Man. I think you could do it.”
“The only question is… do you believe in you?”
TWENTY MINUTES AFTER LEAVING THE RING AT INFERNALIA 12…
My foot is bouncing up and down as I sit in Jaiden’s makeshift office, waiting for pages to spit out of a printer. I’ve signed a few contracts in my day, but this is the first that I’m doing without a lawyer looking over my shoulder.
It’s just as well: this is the simplest one I’ve ever put my name on.
“All right,” says Jaiden’s assistant, whose name I’ve sadly forgotten. “Pretty cut and dried. You’re contracted for five televised dates between now and the end of the year, as well as media and promotional appearances as needed. We’ve accounted for the one day you need off, with possibility of a non-wrestling appearance at that time.”
I nod my head, and I look over the paperwork. Two pages. Modest money. A promise to be here when the lights switch off.
“All right, looks good to me,” I say, as I sign my name and add my initials to the bottom of the last page, “And I was honestly a hundred percent serious, all I want to do is contribute in these last few weeks. Thoughts on where you want me?”
He looks me in the eye. “Actually, yes. We’re going to put you in the ring against Wade Moor at 13, and the winner will get a shot at Jared Holmes’ Paramount Championship at the O2. How does that sound?”
Jared Holmes’ Paramount Championship… “Yeah,” I manage to stammer out, “Yeah, that sounds pretty good. I can work with that.”
Outside, I’m calm, cool, and collected. Inside, I’m turning cartwheels and doing the mental equivalent of ‘I’m so excited I don’t know what to do with my hands.’
In eighteen days, I could put gold around my waist for the first time in nearly four years.
In seventy two days, I could be The Forever Champion, along with Caledonia.
Tick Tock.