Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2021 18:35:53 GMT -5
It all came down to that simple, yet, very complex decision I had to make. This cat staring at me wasn't about someone wasting his time spreading kitty litter. Then again, I grew up watching this man take people to the scrapyard week after week, until he nearly ran off the road.
Okay, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. This shoot doesn't start sitting in the backyard of a combat sports legend's sipping Golden Yunnan and thinking of the future. No, it started with a talk with my Economics professor about my goals after university, concerning a boy who lived in a shitty flat in Whitehall and took the Tube everywhere I went. A boy just trying to make it, who had big dreams of getting out the East End. Maybe have a career in the fight game with a degree as a backup.
When she offered to take me to her house to "have a chat with somebody that could help" with that, I laughed at her. I mean, I liked my professor, but she always came off as a posh little git with a whole set of Sterling spoons in her throat. Feel like a prat for that in retrospect. So, let's channel our inner Guy Ritchie and rewind the footage. It started in front of a house I never imagined even being near, in a neighborhood that doesn't necessarily put down the welcome mat for Easties.
I was in one of the most expensive neighborhoods ON EARTH! Kensington, London. Where the U.K.'s biggest ballers lay their heads down to sleep. I Swear some of these houses are actually made out of quid notes for building material.
5:05 PM GMT. The Baker Manor. Well before signing day.
Aaryan, are you alright? You look out of sorts.
I feel out of my element here. Last time I came to this area, the Police Service gave us cross looks. Then again, I look like Hindi Kong about to scale the Barclay’s building.and swat helicopters down. But, I tend to hide my angst with a little humor.
“Oh, no, Professor Baker-Savage. Quite alright. I come this way all the time for meetings with MP’s and moguls. All the big muckers here know me! In fact, after this, Mick Jagger’s putting the kettle on for me when I stop by!”
“Unrepentant smart-ass. You’ll get along well with my hubby, I can tell.” She tells me in that posh and serene accent of her, giving me a wink. “Oh, please take your trainers (sneakers) off, please *points at his Jordans* We finally had the hardwood redone right.”
Inside’s just as lush as the outside. It’s a mixture of contemporary design blended with classic English craftsmanship. I can see why she didn’t want me tramping on the floors in my dirty kicks; the floors are English Oak. The bloody floor is worth as much as the flat I’m staying at, maybe more.
She leads me into the kitchen, then looks around. “Hmm. Must be in his study. I’ll give him a text. Help yourself to a drink if you want in the refrigerator, or if you want, I’ll have our house manager Malcolm get a (tea) service ready. I’ll give Anthony a text; get his silly ass out here to meet you.”
Cussing off the clock. I guess the Doctor’s human after all. Although she doesn’t act like it in class, all prim and slightly aloof. She is a gas on her BBC radio show about Economics in the Commonwealth every Sunday morning, but even then, there’s always that air of purposeful refinement.
“Shit!” She mutters. “I forgot my fucking laptop! Oh well; those pricks downtown can wait on that report.”
Wow! Bit of a sewer mouth behind the curtain. But even the Professor lets her hair down once a minute, it seems. I kind of like my teach in sweatpants and shit chatting mode.
“Tea sounds good, cheers, ma’am!”
“Please; Cassandra off the clock. Oh…” Her phone dings. She checks her DM’s.
“Oh, Anthony’s finishing up cleaning the basement. He’ll be up.”
Now, I didn't know much about her husband at that point. She seems to intentionally not talk about him in class or on air. But everybody except me knows who he is. I had just transfered from another professor to her course, and when I asked around, my mates just smirk and say “maybe one day, you’ll meet the infamous blonde fun-dum!” I always pegged “Cassandra” as being attached to some intellectual simp, or uptight wanker from the financial district that was so far up his ass, he wouldn’t drink his Earl from a Styrofoam cup.
Then from the other side of the house, I hear THIS…
“Is that the Queen of the manor I hear in the kitchen? Your king has successfully gotten that damn support beam….OWWW! FUCK! AH! *seethe* Goddamn it Robbie…the boy left his fucking scooter…ah, my shin! I told him stop leaving his toys all over the place!”
That voice: booming, bass rich, and VERY American! From the South, it sounded like. Grits and gravy, y’all! We going to the Kevin Gates concert! And it sounded very, VERY familiar. When I asked how could her husband help me in the fight game, all she’d say ways…”
“If he thinks you’re right for the game; he’ll get you in no fuss! Trust me.”
Then, HE came around the corner, and I damned near went spastic!
*kisses Cassandra deeply on the lips* Mmmm….Daddy needed some medicine.!”
Pfft. Mr. Come Fight Night, glass tubes and explosives, Mr. FUCKBITCHESUP being a wittle baby over whacking his shin!”
“Wait until I get the flu again; I’ma need a bottle and my nappy changed….oh, hey, my bad!*scans Aaryan’s huge frame* Whew, you a biggun’! Cass didn’t tell me she was bring home TWO people. I’m…”
“OHMYBLOODYFUCKINGGODYASSSSSS!” *footage stops*
Yeah, I kind of went fan-girl for a moment! I mean, look at that mug that’s frozen in time right now on your screen. I watched this man fight in Wembley with fucking Brett Daniels as his tag partner. Had to save up for those seats, too, and I saw him roll up in an Astin while I was outside on Instagram. I grew up watching him fight with and against cats like Mark Storm, the Constantine family, Amber Ryan. Shit, my favorite wrestler is Mel Aki. She’s a bloody British treasure, and come to find out on occasion they kick it to watch the Premiere league near the pitch! Tottenham Hotspurs versus Chelsea, always a great match-up.
He smiles, pulls his license and National Health Service card from his billfold (which has a brick thick stack of notes stuffed in it; looking like a Costanza wallet.) He looks at his cards.
Not quite; besides, they won’t let me change my name to that. Tony Savage will have to do.
My hand shot out like a cannon to touch his. Most of these big time grapplers wouldn’t even look at some low rent gym rat like me. One of the best to ever do it is having me for tea. Hold your shit together, Aaryan!
“Appreciate this, sir. This is a HUGE honor…”
*Waives his hand dismissively* Tony. Just Tony. Cass’s dad is the sir in the family. You hungry?
Pfft, mate, look at me! Being Kong takes bunches of bananas!
---------
I never had blue-fin tuna before I met Tony Savage. Nor ceviche. And I’m not much of a drinker; when I do, the priciest brand I permit myself is a Carlsberg. Tony fed me 3 pints of this trapist ale from Belgium. Some obscure monastery near the Dutch border. Costs like 20 quid a glass. Told me since he doesn’t drink anymore, take the keg home for my friends.
Not sure if I want to share this nectar with a pack of Tennants Super chugging knuckleheads. Piss on them; this gear goes to the family. My adopted dad would love this stuff.
The tour of the house had me knackered; just non-stop trophies and artifacts. They had a room devoted to art and curio. Professor Cass built a studio to record music with all the fixings. I like to make those grime beats for my boy Navi, but my gear’s a laptop and hand me down turn tables. They’ve got a studio good enough to form a record label.
Then his office…whew. Looks like a Hall of Fame trophy room. Title plaques on the walls, including those 4 World straps he loves to crow about. PPV posters, magazine articles, a picture upon picture of some of the greats in the sport…
He has a corner devoted to his main mate Griffin Hawkins!
He didn’t say all that much to me for much of the tour. Instead, he seemed to scan me. Analyze me. I’ve been in enough scraps in my life to know I’m being sized up. He wasn’t menacing about, just…
The man takes notes. An approving nod or a worried eyebrow raise.
Cass went to bed, but the boys stayed up. It was finally near midnight, and we’re in the backyard near the fire pit. I tell him my saga…
Dirt poor kid from Dharavi wading through waste for scraps a few rupies. Then adopted at 11 by a British family from North London, who moved to the East End. It was a much better life than India, but the East isn’t exactly posh. Multiple jobs, watching my folks break themselves to put food on the plates. Having to deal with Punjab jokes and Police Service looking at me cross eyed.
I can’t tell you how many times some geezer comes up and asks me if I work IT or had to marry somebody by decree. You’d think nowadays that shit would be gone, but, people stay people I guess.
The training I go through, those 18 hour days I run either in a gym or a studio or hitting the textbooks.
The fact I was still getting a degree from the University impressed him.
“Too many assholes in the game piss on knowledge, instead, substitute it with loud noise and basic ass feelings. Plus, it’s good to have a fall back plan. Trust me, I didn’t earn all this with the graps for cash.”
He fell silent for a moment, then…
Cut back to the beginning, he asks me that question that starts this little piece of mine.
Do you want the top or the bottom? Because that peak you go for; that climb is lethal. Aaryan, I'll tell you the truth about the industry...
90% of it is fucking bullshit! All that heart and grit and skill talk, all that shit you read on social media or see on T.V. is usually smokescreen. Wrestling is an amazing endeavor, but it's also a fucked up side-show. You'll see it all from drugs to infidelity to crooked ass promoters gassing you. There'll be times you'll get on such a slide, even your dearest friends might shit on you. Stupid gimmicks, skullduggery...
There's a good reason I ended up in rehab, and I don't want that shit to happen to you.
Trying to talk me out of this?
You need to know what kind of potholes you could fall in walking the path. There have been those with even more talent than me that fucked up and they're gone. Hell, I'm still recouping a bit. You do it wrong, it gets ugly.
Appreciate the warning, I do. I understand, but...
I lean forward, looking the man dead in his baby blues.
You are correct. 90% of the game is rubbish from what I see. I hate stupid costumes. I hate special needs kids' gimmickry. And I sure as bloody HELL I'm not about to let some waster in management fuck me out my hard-earned quid or shots. I don't need that shit. I came up from Dharavi, I busted my ass for everything I earned, and I didn't do it with shortcuts or bollocks. I don't need to put on a mask; too many cats are already out there playing Halloween tricks...
I wanna be the monster that laughs at those wasters while I eat their Cadbury bars, and do it with NO unnecessary shenanigans! Just, you know...the ones that are funny and push merch like a shovel!
Oh, that stern look he gives me makes me cringe. Did I just fuck up...
He smiles and pulls up a picture of me from the 'Gram at the gym. He shows it to me, pointing at the tattoo on my back.
Good art's always got a story behind it. What's the tale?
That's King Ravana, Hindu God of Demons and slaughter, and commander of all Rakshas. I'm not practicing myself, but many Hindis, regardless of faith, know him. He shakes the mountains, he breathes fire, he tramples anything in his path...
And only the most powerful can hope to stop him when he goes on the warpath.
Tony smiled: And you are that guy! At least you will be.
*takes off his glasses* You can crash here tonight. Work starts tomorrow, 6 A.M. Get used to it 5 days a week. Get with Cassandra about your schedule, as well as your job. You will stay on your coursework, you will go to work on time and do your job until the grappling is a secure gig, and you WILL do as I say in regards to wrestling. Especially when it comes to shit you shouldn't do.
He gets up, looking at his phone...
Well, that was surprisingly easy.
Don't get used to easy. You wanna be a demon in the ring, the Devil himself will show you. But take it from me...
I am taking your ass to hell, and for a good reason. *points around his estate* You'll make it to heaven if you survive.
You're in the show now, Aaryan....
Nah, he's right...Ravana does have a nice ring to it!