Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2020 4:12:28 GMT -5
Unwinding (off-cam)
It was a few days before Revolution 3 and I figured I needed to get out of my hotel room and unwind a bit. I was coming down with severe symptoms of Cabin Fever, which wasn’t a good thing when you’re not in a good place mentally to begin with. So I went out and tried to find the lowest profile bar possible.
Why low profile? Because that's what I wanted to keep while going out and about. I didn’t want to get spotted or recognized. I valued my privacy after all. So after wandering the streets of Reno for a while I came across a place exactly like I was looking for. A seedy corner dump on the outskirts of the city proper.
Usually people avoid places like that, things tend to get out of hand inside and the selection of beverages wasn’t exactly of the highest, finest caliber. But I didn’t care. I could handle myself, my size usually kept the worst fuckers off my back and when I wanted to just go out for a few pints, I didn’t really care what it was as long as it had alcohol in it.
So I slipped inside. It was exactly as I expected. The air was thick with smoke, an old jukebox rattling out classic rock songs in the corner.
Tables filled with working class men drinking their sorrows away alone or in small groups. I walked up to the counter and ordered a few pints. The bartender looked at me and scanned me from head to toe.
“Huh. a new face. Did you get lost?” There was a hint of amusement in the barkeep's voice. He knew what kinda establishment he ran and seeing someone just walk in from the street alone wasn’t really a common sight.
But he did pour me the pints I asked for. “Nah. I wanted to find a place where I could just sit in the corner and drink without paying myself silly. Yours looked like just the place for that.”
The barkeep chuckled as I handed him the cash from the drinks. “Ain’t that right. Welcome to the Toasted Toro.”
I gave him a nod, picked my pints and headed to an empty table in the corner. It was just the kinda place I enjoyed. I lit up a cigarette and allowed myself to blend into the atmosphere. The jukebox was playing Black Sabbath, and i found myself nodding along to the riff as Ozzy Osbourne sang about generals gathered in their masses. The beer wasn’t great, I could taste the added water and the cheap hops used to brew it but I didn’t care. It had been a rough week and half to put it mildly.
I thought back to Revolution 1. How a quick decision in the heat of battle ended up costing me down the line. Well, not a decision to be fair. More like a reflex. I saw an opportunity and took it out of instinct. And now I was paying for it.
A triple threat was always a hard match to win. You could lose without being pinned or submitted. There were so many variables in a match like that, that not even the most experienced ring veteran could predict and prepare for them all. Not even me. Especially since Pinky was so unpredictable in the first place. Sure I had watched both her matches, but her style was so different, her strengths and weaknesses so unique that I found myself struggling to formulate a game plan. I probably have to improvise, think of my feet to put her down.
Then there is Flix. Fucking Flix. My shoulders tensed as I began to think about her. And that was exactly what I was coming here to get away from. So I forcibly pushed the thoughts out of my mind. I wouldn’t think of the match tonight. Not tonight. I downed the first pint and lit up another cigarette as the jukebox had switched to a new song. I listened for a while and smiled.
“I know I’m born to lose, and gamblings for fools but that’s the way I like it baby I don’t want to live forever…”
Motörhead. Lemmy’s voice was something that always got me in a good mood. The song itself, Ace of Spades had been one of my favorites since I was a young kid. The vibe of the song. “You win some you lose some it’s all the same to me” and “Playing for the high one, dancing with the devil, Going with the flow, it's all a game to me” both had always resonated with me. The devil may care attitude. Doing what you love and not giving a fuck.
“Cheers Lemmy. Miss ya”. I raised my pint and whispered under my breath. His death had hit me surprisingly hard. I had always thought he’d be like Keith Richards or Ozzy Osbourne. One of those guys who would just keep rocking till everyone else was dead. Just like I had thought that I’d always be able to keep going, outlasting those who came before and after. His death was a sort of a wake up call for me. We’re all mortal. And I’ve spent a decade playing with the dead mans hand.
Suddenly my introspection was interrupted as I saw some agitated movement from the corner of my eye. 4 guys were making their way towards a table in the opposite corner. Something about the whole scene caught my attention and I decided to make my way closer.
“Hey. Big Boy. We don’t take kindly to you people around here.” The guy who seemed to be the leader of the group slurred out. About 6’2, bulky but not built. Your typical working class hardass. The rest of his crew were pretty much the same. I found myself taking mental notes on them, the way they moved and the way they stood. Something in my gut told me this was gonna get nasty fast.
“HEY, I’m talking to you, ya brit bastard!” The ringleader’s voice had gotten agitated as apparently whoever he was talking to wasn’t responding. I couldn’t see their victim as the group stood between me and him. I moved in closer and finally heard a response, which caused my ears to perk up.
“My apologies. I did not think this place discriminated by country of birth. I stand corrected it seems” a deep voice speaking in a very recognizable british twang. I found myself wondering where I had heard it before. I didn’t get far in my ponderings though as the situation escalated.
“We kicked ya fuckers out of the country in 1776 for a reason! Get the fuck out of here or we gonna send you back to King George in a fucking bodybag.” The ringleader had leaned in close and I finally saw who he was talking to. And let out a sigh. It was the kid who had caught me in the diner a few weeks ago. And I began to question the intellect of the guys who were provoking him. No matter how drunk you are, no matter how many of you there are… Getting in the face of a 6’10’’ guy who clearly works out isn’t the smartest thing. And the kiddo didn’t look like he was backing down.
“First off dear sir, we have a Queen nowadays. Secondly, I do not wish to cause a ruckus here, but I was under the impression this was the land of the free, where a man can enjoy his beer in peace regardless of the establishment. Of course if you wish to press the issue, I’m afraid I must defend myself.” He spoke in a deceptively calm voice. A voice I had used myself often before in similar situations. He stood up from his table and stared down on the group. He was fucking huge. Not only was he tall as a fucking tree, but he was built like a treetrunk. And I think the group also realized this as I saw the two guys in the back reaching out for a pool cue and a bottle respectively.
“Yea, it’s the land of the free alright. Free of you lot! So piss off now if ya wanna keep those teeth of yers in ya mouth!” The ringleader wasn’t phased. Probably too drunk for it. But when the kiddo didn’t react to his threat, he wound up a haymaker aimed squarely at the kiddos face and I knew shit was about to go down. The kid blocked the punch like it was nothing, grabbed the ringleader by the collar and flinged him to the side with ease. Which caused the 3 other guys to bum rush him like it was a american football grid and he was the opposing quarterback.
That’s when I found myself moving. Normally I’d stay clear of any fight I myself didn’t start… But 4 on 1, especially when half the group was armed with blunt objects wasn’t my idea of a fair fight. As the kid absorbed a big hit to his ribs and winced, I came in with a sidekick to the back of the knee of the guy armed with a bottle. He dropped down to one knee and I followed up with a righthander to his jaw. The kid looked up to me, a look of recognition spread to his face and he smiled.
“Behind ya” I hollered and nodded over his shoulder, a fifth guy had seen the scuffle and was making a beeline for the kid. The kid turned around and in one fluid motion landed a big elbow to the charging guys jaw which send the guy flying backwards and crashing into a table. Which in turn caused the guys in that table to drop what they were doing and start throwing fists around. I grabbed a guy next to me by the scruff of the neck and yanked him to the ground, dropping the heel of my boot to his solar plexus. Wouldn’t kill him but wind him long enough to put him out of the fight.
I felt a sharp pain on my kidneys and turned around, a big fat trucker-looking fuck had taken a jab at me. Let out a small growl and dropped into a boxing stance. The trucker laughed incredulously. “Ooooh… tough guy”. He pulled a pair of brass knucks from his pocket and tried to take a swing at me. I switched my stance around from left foot forward to right foot forward and caught him with a lefthanded cross to the temple. Being a southpaw had its advantages.
I felt something lean on my back and was about to throw a backwards elbow when I heard the kids voice. “Back to back pops.”
I nodded and began scanning my surroundings. There was a bar-wide scrum going on. I knocked out a guy who was thrown my way and ducked a flying glass all in one smooth motion. And then the whole thing became a blur of fists and groans and kicks and blood and sweat.
Finally I saw an opening and began to drag the kid by the sleeve out of the bar. We made it to the outside and after running for a couple of blocks we both collapsed to the ground, laughing our asses off.
“Kiddo, that was one helluva mess you got yourself into. But you held up damn well. I’m impressed” I managed to squeeze out between the fits of laughter and trying to catch my breath. The kid looked at me and shrugged.
“Not the first barfight I’ve been in. Though it was the first time I started a fight simply by being british. Didn’t expect you of all people to come to my aid. What were YOU doing in that dump?” He managed to calm his breath already, he was clearly in a lot better physical shape than I was. Probably due to age and lack of smoking. He offered his hand and I grabbed it,I struggling up to my feet while feeling every single year I’ve lived as I did.
“Me? I needed to get away from everything for a night. Have a nice chill evening, downing a few drinks and listening to some good music. Normally I wouldn’tve interfered kiddo, but a good fight is the best way to blow off steam. Well, second best.” I chuckled and cracked my neck. “So, you’re still in town eh? Staying here for good?”
It was a natural question. I had seen him before and during Revolution 2 but wasn’t sure what his deal in town was. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Got myself a job as a trainer in one of the gyms. Figured I’d stick around since my favorite wrestler performer here biweekly. Besides, tonight exempted, I quite like Reno.”
“Can’t say I blame ya kid. I’ve seen every town in this country and Reno really ain’t that bad. Besides, good to know that I got atleast ONE fan in the crowd.”
“You know pops, I could help you stay in shape. I know you got your hands full in the ring for the foreseeable future, and having some extra conditioning probably wouldn’t hurt right?” The kid glanced me up and down, noticing how I was still a bit out of breath. I groaned at first but then his offer started to make sense. I HAD decided to REALLY start taking my career seriously.
“Sure kiddo. Why not. Can’t promise when i’ll show up but just gimme the address of the gym ya workin in and I’ll drop by. As long as you stop callin me pops. I don’t need to feel any older than I already do.”
The kid frowned for a second before smiling and nodding.He procured a businesscard from his pocket and handed it to me. “Sure thing old man. Here’s the address to the gym as well as my contact info. If I’m not there when you come around just call me and I’ll show up.”
I gave him a sideways glance at the “old man”-jab, but figured that he wouldn’t stop comin up with new nicknames so I just let it rest. I was older than him after all so fuck it. I grabbed the business card and shook his hand. “Thanks kiddo. Will I see you at Revo3?”
He nodded “Yeah. I’ll be there. Front row. Wearing the shirt you gave me on Revo2. My friends are jealous as fuck for that, especially since I got into the broadcast too. See you around Old man… This was fun!” He chuckled and turned around, waving to me as he did.
I stood there on the street corner for a second, then glancing down on the businesscard he handed me. The gym wasn’t too far from the new flat I had bought. That was good. And it had the kids name too. “Donald Mason”.
Something about the last name seemed familiar. I couldn’t place it for the life of me. But then again, I spent several years in the UK. Probably worked a match with someone called Mason or something. I pocketed the card and began making my way towards my hotel.
Been a helluva night.
It was a few days before Revolution 3 and I figured I needed to get out of my hotel room and unwind a bit. I was coming down with severe symptoms of Cabin Fever, which wasn’t a good thing when you’re not in a good place mentally to begin with. So I went out and tried to find the lowest profile bar possible.
Why low profile? Because that's what I wanted to keep while going out and about. I didn’t want to get spotted or recognized. I valued my privacy after all. So after wandering the streets of Reno for a while I came across a place exactly like I was looking for. A seedy corner dump on the outskirts of the city proper.
Usually people avoid places like that, things tend to get out of hand inside and the selection of beverages wasn’t exactly of the highest, finest caliber. But I didn’t care. I could handle myself, my size usually kept the worst fuckers off my back and when I wanted to just go out for a few pints, I didn’t really care what it was as long as it had alcohol in it.
So I slipped inside. It was exactly as I expected. The air was thick with smoke, an old jukebox rattling out classic rock songs in the corner.
Tables filled with working class men drinking their sorrows away alone or in small groups. I walked up to the counter and ordered a few pints. The bartender looked at me and scanned me from head to toe.
“Huh. a new face. Did you get lost?” There was a hint of amusement in the barkeep's voice. He knew what kinda establishment he ran and seeing someone just walk in from the street alone wasn’t really a common sight.
But he did pour me the pints I asked for. “Nah. I wanted to find a place where I could just sit in the corner and drink without paying myself silly. Yours looked like just the place for that.”
The barkeep chuckled as I handed him the cash from the drinks. “Ain’t that right. Welcome to the Toasted Toro.”
I gave him a nod, picked my pints and headed to an empty table in the corner. It was just the kinda place I enjoyed. I lit up a cigarette and allowed myself to blend into the atmosphere. The jukebox was playing Black Sabbath, and i found myself nodding along to the riff as Ozzy Osbourne sang about generals gathered in their masses. The beer wasn’t great, I could taste the added water and the cheap hops used to brew it but I didn’t care. It had been a rough week and half to put it mildly.
I thought back to Revolution 1. How a quick decision in the heat of battle ended up costing me down the line. Well, not a decision to be fair. More like a reflex. I saw an opportunity and took it out of instinct. And now I was paying for it.
A triple threat was always a hard match to win. You could lose without being pinned or submitted. There were so many variables in a match like that, that not even the most experienced ring veteran could predict and prepare for them all. Not even me. Especially since Pinky was so unpredictable in the first place. Sure I had watched both her matches, but her style was so different, her strengths and weaknesses so unique that I found myself struggling to formulate a game plan. I probably have to improvise, think of my feet to put her down.
Then there is Flix. Fucking Flix. My shoulders tensed as I began to think about her. And that was exactly what I was coming here to get away from. So I forcibly pushed the thoughts out of my mind. I wouldn’t think of the match tonight. Not tonight. I downed the first pint and lit up another cigarette as the jukebox had switched to a new song. I listened for a while and smiled.
“I know I’m born to lose, and gamblings for fools but that’s the way I like it baby I don’t want to live forever…”
Motörhead. Lemmy’s voice was something that always got me in a good mood. The song itself, Ace of Spades had been one of my favorites since I was a young kid. The vibe of the song. “You win some you lose some it’s all the same to me” and “Playing for the high one, dancing with the devil, Going with the flow, it's all a game to me” both had always resonated with me. The devil may care attitude. Doing what you love and not giving a fuck.
“Cheers Lemmy. Miss ya”. I raised my pint and whispered under my breath. His death had hit me surprisingly hard. I had always thought he’d be like Keith Richards or Ozzy Osbourne. One of those guys who would just keep rocking till everyone else was dead. Just like I had thought that I’d always be able to keep going, outlasting those who came before and after. His death was a sort of a wake up call for me. We’re all mortal. And I’ve spent a decade playing with the dead mans hand.
Suddenly my introspection was interrupted as I saw some agitated movement from the corner of my eye. 4 guys were making their way towards a table in the opposite corner. Something about the whole scene caught my attention and I decided to make my way closer.
“Hey. Big Boy. We don’t take kindly to you people around here.” The guy who seemed to be the leader of the group slurred out. About 6’2, bulky but not built. Your typical working class hardass. The rest of his crew were pretty much the same. I found myself taking mental notes on them, the way they moved and the way they stood. Something in my gut told me this was gonna get nasty fast.
“HEY, I’m talking to you, ya brit bastard!” The ringleader’s voice had gotten agitated as apparently whoever he was talking to wasn’t responding. I couldn’t see their victim as the group stood between me and him. I moved in closer and finally heard a response, which caused my ears to perk up.
“My apologies. I did not think this place discriminated by country of birth. I stand corrected it seems” a deep voice speaking in a very recognizable british twang. I found myself wondering where I had heard it before. I didn’t get far in my ponderings though as the situation escalated.
“We kicked ya fuckers out of the country in 1776 for a reason! Get the fuck out of here or we gonna send you back to King George in a fucking bodybag.” The ringleader had leaned in close and I finally saw who he was talking to. And let out a sigh. It was the kid who had caught me in the diner a few weeks ago. And I began to question the intellect of the guys who were provoking him. No matter how drunk you are, no matter how many of you there are… Getting in the face of a 6’10’’ guy who clearly works out isn’t the smartest thing. And the kiddo didn’t look like he was backing down.
“First off dear sir, we have a Queen nowadays. Secondly, I do not wish to cause a ruckus here, but I was under the impression this was the land of the free, where a man can enjoy his beer in peace regardless of the establishment. Of course if you wish to press the issue, I’m afraid I must defend myself.” He spoke in a deceptively calm voice. A voice I had used myself often before in similar situations. He stood up from his table and stared down on the group. He was fucking huge. Not only was he tall as a fucking tree, but he was built like a treetrunk. And I think the group also realized this as I saw the two guys in the back reaching out for a pool cue and a bottle respectively.
“Yea, it’s the land of the free alright. Free of you lot! So piss off now if ya wanna keep those teeth of yers in ya mouth!” The ringleader wasn’t phased. Probably too drunk for it. But when the kiddo didn’t react to his threat, he wound up a haymaker aimed squarely at the kiddos face and I knew shit was about to go down. The kid blocked the punch like it was nothing, grabbed the ringleader by the collar and flinged him to the side with ease. Which caused the 3 other guys to bum rush him like it was a american football grid and he was the opposing quarterback.
That’s when I found myself moving. Normally I’d stay clear of any fight I myself didn’t start… But 4 on 1, especially when half the group was armed with blunt objects wasn’t my idea of a fair fight. As the kid absorbed a big hit to his ribs and winced, I came in with a sidekick to the back of the knee of the guy armed with a bottle. He dropped down to one knee and I followed up with a righthander to his jaw. The kid looked up to me, a look of recognition spread to his face and he smiled.
“Behind ya” I hollered and nodded over his shoulder, a fifth guy had seen the scuffle and was making a beeline for the kid. The kid turned around and in one fluid motion landed a big elbow to the charging guys jaw which send the guy flying backwards and crashing into a table. Which in turn caused the guys in that table to drop what they were doing and start throwing fists around. I grabbed a guy next to me by the scruff of the neck and yanked him to the ground, dropping the heel of my boot to his solar plexus. Wouldn’t kill him but wind him long enough to put him out of the fight.
I felt a sharp pain on my kidneys and turned around, a big fat trucker-looking fuck had taken a jab at me. Let out a small growl and dropped into a boxing stance. The trucker laughed incredulously. “Ooooh… tough guy”. He pulled a pair of brass knucks from his pocket and tried to take a swing at me. I switched my stance around from left foot forward to right foot forward and caught him with a lefthanded cross to the temple. Being a southpaw had its advantages.
I felt something lean on my back and was about to throw a backwards elbow when I heard the kids voice. “Back to back pops.”
I nodded and began scanning my surroundings. There was a bar-wide scrum going on. I knocked out a guy who was thrown my way and ducked a flying glass all in one smooth motion. And then the whole thing became a blur of fists and groans and kicks and blood and sweat.
Finally I saw an opening and began to drag the kid by the sleeve out of the bar. We made it to the outside and after running for a couple of blocks we both collapsed to the ground, laughing our asses off.
“Kiddo, that was one helluva mess you got yourself into. But you held up damn well. I’m impressed” I managed to squeeze out between the fits of laughter and trying to catch my breath. The kid looked at me and shrugged.
“Not the first barfight I’ve been in. Though it was the first time I started a fight simply by being british. Didn’t expect you of all people to come to my aid. What were YOU doing in that dump?” He managed to calm his breath already, he was clearly in a lot better physical shape than I was. Probably due to age and lack of smoking. He offered his hand and I grabbed it,I struggling up to my feet while feeling every single year I’ve lived as I did.
“Me? I needed to get away from everything for a night. Have a nice chill evening, downing a few drinks and listening to some good music. Normally I wouldn’tve interfered kiddo, but a good fight is the best way to blow off steam. Well, second best.” I chuckled and cracked my neck. “So, you’re still in town eh? Staying here for good?”
It was a natural question. I had seen him before and during Revolution 2 but wasn’t sure what his deal in town was. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Got myself a job as a trainer in one of the gyms. Figured I’d stick around since my favorite wrestler performer here biweekly. Besides, tonight exempted, I quite like Reno.”
“Can’t say I blame ya kid. I’ve seen every town in this country and Reno really ain’t that bad. Besides, good to know that I got atleast ONE fan in the crowd.”
“You know pops, I could help you stay in shape. I know you got your hands full in the ring for the foreseeable future, and having some extra conditioning probably wouldn’t hurt right?” The kid glanced me up and down, noticing how I was still a bit out of breath. I groaned at first but then his offer started to make sense. I HAD decided to REALLY start taking my career seriously.
“Sure kiddo. Why not. Can’t promise when i’ll show up but just gimme the address of the gym ya workin in and I’ll drop by. As long as you stop callin me pops. I don’t need to feel any older than I already do.”
The kid frowned for a second before smiling and nodding.He procured a businesscard from his pocket and handed it to me. “Sure thing old man. Here’s the address to the gym as well as my contact info. If I’m not there when you come around just call me and I’ll show up.”
I gave him a sideways glance at the “old man”-jab, but figured that he wouldn’t stop comin up with new nicknames so I just let it rest. I was older than him after all so fuck it. I grabbed the business card and shook his hand. “Thanks kiddo. Will I see you at Revo3?”
He nodded “Yeah. I’ll be there. Front row. Wearing the shirt you gave me on Revo2. My friends are jealous as fuck for that, especially since I got into the broadcast too. See you around Old man… This was fun!” He chuckled and turned around, waving to me as he did.
I stood there on the street corner for a second, then glancing down on the businesscard he handed me. The gym wasn’t too far from the new flat I had bought. That was good. And it had the kids name too. “Donald Mason”.
Something about the last name seemed familiar. I couldn’t place it for the life of me. But then again, I spent several years in the UK. Probably worked a match with someone called Mason or something. I pocketed the card and began making my way towards my hotel.
Been a helluva night.