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[London, Ontario, Canada]
[2017]
The crisp December air felt predatory, even on a sunny Canadian afternoon. 2017 had brought with it a dreadful winter wrought. With his jacket partially shielding his face from the windy onslaught, Ethan begrudgingly trudged forward. Each step steeped him further into the otherwise undisturbed snow that had banked high along the sidewalk. His entire journey was slowed to a miserable pace, one that even the snails would match with ease. Through grunts and groans, Ethan would persevere. A simple glance forward leading him to his destination. The wave of relief felt bathing as it washed over him.
“Warmth! Finally”,
he murmured to himself in some act of personal reassurance. These days “personal reassurance” was all that he had. Not a lot of people held much interest in dating, let alone befriending the guy who spent all day training, watching and discussing professional wrestling. Well, bare the other wrestlers. Still, that brought no warming comfort during these cold winter months. Not when those friends were also your competition. Hell, with money spread so far and thin around the Canadian independent scene, Ethan felt everlasting gratefulness towards Arthur and his promotion for training and employing him during such trying times.
With little hesitation, Ethan barged through the back doors of the small local hockey arena. At least it was a hockey arena, prior to it being purchased and repurposed as one of the few wrestling schools in London, Onatrio.
“Arthur? Where are ya’?” touted Ethan, voice raised, echoing through the relatively empty hallways of the building.
With joyous haste, Ethan scurried down the buildings bending corridors, continually shouting for Arthur, as he made his way to the main office. Ethan would receive an echo of violent coughs in lieu of a proper response.
“Guess he’s hear” Ethan said aloud, peering his head around the frame of Arthurs office door.
“Yeah yeah, I’m hear kid - Cough cough cough - get yer ass in hear already” spoke Arthur, in his peculiar Italian-Canadian hybrid accent.
With a single hand clutching the door frame, Ethan swung himself into the confines of the office. The lingering scent of stale smoke was prolific. The once white, now yellow stained walls seemed to be in agreement. Those same four walls seemed so foreboding over a year and a half ago, when he first began training. Today however, those walls would be anything but. The delight etched along Ethans face was palpable.
“Ethan, you’ve been a friggin’ great hand here this last year” the scratchy boom of Arthurs low voice rumbled. Not quite sickly, but not quite healthy.
“I mean, I just appreciate all you’ve done for me”.
After fulfilling his training regiment, Ethan would go on to become a local staple in the small London native scene. Of course almost all of his bookings happened with the London Pro promotion that trained him. And though the financial upside was minimal, it kept some food on the table and, occasionally, lights on at night.
“Heh, you’ve certainly earned it. I mean, with some help from yours truly of course” jested Arthur.
The prospect of competing for a more major company was always just a faraway daydream. Disillusionment maybe. Gold at the end of a rainbow. Not many made it from a small scene to the big leagues. Not often at least.
“So uh, where’s Josh at, eh Arty?” inquired Ethan.
“Thought I told you not to call me that, Kid” rebutted Arthur before continuing.
“Look, there’s some news I’ve got for you”
“Heh, figures he’d be late again” Ethan would quip.
He had hoped that his friend (or more professionally, his manager) would be on time for once. The days of deciding between a proper meal or a roof over their heads were soon to be behind them both. Project: Honor had sent a scout to watch a few of the last London Pro events. Events where Ethan and Joshua had been prominent figures throughout.
“Well shit, Kid. Uhh, Joshua aint coming in today. Those suits at Project Honor got a hold of me. They uh, they aint much interested ya see.” “What? Is this a god damn joke?!”
Ethan, mimicking his voice, raised from his seat. There was a real air of concern being breathed in. Rent was coming up, and Ethan was entirely dependent on that signing bonus to come through. It was an immeasurably dreary winter already. Being homeless wasn’t an acceptable destination.
“Art, I need that money. I-”
“Ehh, realx. They’re still interested in you. They like that whole pure schtick you got goin’ on’s. But uh, Joshy is staying with me. I mean...”
He could feel his heart flutter as he rested back in his seat, slack jawed.
“We could still use ya hear, ya know? You and Josh are already putting butts in seats. To be honest Kid, with things spread so friggin’ thin around here lately, I was getting pretty nervous about losing yas. This could be a real blessing in disguise-”
“-Im still going”
“You’re gonna leave? Leave me and Josh?”
“Can you match that signing bonus? I need that money Art”
“Uhh, no Kid. No I can’t. Ya knows this, yeah? But maybe we coul-”
“I’m signing with them”.
An uncomfortable atmosphere suddenly seemed to flood the room, sinking the conversation. A few moments felt like an eternity frozen in place. Arthur looked like he was drowning, a pale complexion washed over him completely. Slumped forward in defeat.
“Aha, uh, yeah. Course Kid. Course.” he responds, reaching into a desk drawer, retrieving a small plastic container in a ziplocked bag, tossing it over to Ethan.
“Piss test, ya know how it goes”.
Ethan arose from his seat, an apologetic look obscuring his longed face.
“Sorry Arthur”
With a hint of detachment and no words to say, Arthur waved Ethan out. His only verbal response another of his frequent coughing fits, courtesy of that stale, lingering smoke.
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[Manchester, England]
[December 24th, 2021]
“A satire of a satire is tiring.”
“Scotty would you just…. Just. You know?”
Scotty Adams stood adjacent to Ethan, camcorder clasped loosely in his hand. Ethan had procured the assistance of his Summit stable mate, Scotty Adams, in lieu of events that had transpired a few days prior with Attwood up in Canada. The two men partook in conversation in a small parking lot. It was a particularly breezy Manchester mid-afternoon, though the sun stood tall and glistened. Some form of making up for the temperature.
“It’s your promo, do what you want, but I don’t know how gripping a parody is going to b-”
Before Mr. Silver Bullet could finish his statement, Ethans attention was entirely diverted as he witnessed a young boy stroll by, an ice cream cone clutched firmly in hand. Like howling wolves amid a full moon cycle, the full attention of Ethan overtaken.
“Hey kid!”
The young boy glanced over in the two mens direction.
“Where’d you get that ice cream?”
Confused and nervous, the boy was hesitant to respond immediately, though he would ultimately relent.
“Uhm, my dad”
“Teddy Shaw! Did you hear that Scotty? Quick start filming, go go go!”
With a flint of derision, Scotty rolled his eyes, though he would comply with his stable mates request. Ethan had re-positioned himself closer to the young child, allowing room for both to be in frame. As Ethan began to speak, a fabricated southern drawl weighed heavily on his cadence and inflection, no doubt in some satired mockery of Shaw.
“Tell ya h’what, kid...I’ll buy you a bicycle if you can tell me one reason Teddy Shaw don’t stand a chance against “The Pinnacle” at Ice Crown"
“...I’m 9 and have no idea who either of those people are, sir”
A gawky, muted gaucheness lingered. A momentary lapse of all sound swept through. Ethan merely blinked, not expecting the response.
“Gimmie that!” he shouted, stealing the ice cream cone from the small child. The boys eyes wilted up and tears cascaded down his cheeks as the boy began running away.
“Daaad!”
Ethan smirked, turning to face the camera that Scotty was operating. His eyes spread wide, pretending he was non-the-wiser to the rolling camera.
“Oh my! Didn’t see you there” he stated, the psuedo-southern accent fully gone from his voice now. Scotty simply sighed, shaking his head from side to side.
“Teddy Bear, I saw you ascending a very, very small plot of snow recently. You worry me. I sincerely hope that didn’t totally exhaust you, or heaven forbid, “hurt your back again”. We all know that huffing and puffing you did wasn’t an exaggeration. A man in your advanced age shouldn’t be exerting so much energy. Especially when you’re meant to be standing across from a young whipper snapper like moi. But hey, I get it, now you’ll have an excuse. Not a viable one mind you. But an excuse, nonetheless.”
“You’ve certainly sung a song of swindling sarcasm with sensational suspicion though. Such swaggering bravado from you, muchacho. Very impressive. You may not be able to run, but it’s good to see you’re still capable of running your mouth. Sure, you sound 57. but hey. It’s the little victories. And I have seen you claim many-a-little-victory in the past few decades. Maaaybe that’s why you’ve slumped your ancient corpse from Texas to Manchester. For that big victory. Because a win over “The Pinnacle” Ethan Rivers would certainly take you from the footnotes of history, and wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, place you right at the pinnacle of history itself. I get it. You call yourself The Big Draw, but haven’t drew a crowd in ages. Meeeanwhile, I’m a huge draw, and that must at you from the inside out. Am I hitting close to home yet Amigo?”
“Ya know, it’s actually funny. You said I must not have paid close enough attention to you when I was younger. But from where I was sitting, I saw you win a title annnd lose it. Sure, you’d get “right back to climbin’ and winning” again buuut then you’d turn around and lose... Win, lose, win, lose, win, lose. Wow, stellar record amigo. What was my-OH, that’s right. 100 percent win rate. 2021 Newcomer of the Year. This Rivers making waves while you can barely stay afloat. You said I don’t know the first thing about losin’ and, damn teddy-gram, that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said to me. I know nothing about losing. That’s the difference between us sugar-plumb. You justify your loses by saying that over the course of 16 years, you’re bound to lose. But that’s your reality. Not mine bub. You learned losing was the best teacher? What the hell are those illegal-prescription-pain-meds doing to your brain function? Losing might humble you, but teach you? That sounds like something LOSERS say. You want me to stop lecturing you about ”wins and loses” yet defeat is your teacher? Sound, solid mindset, compadre. But hey, that explains a lot.”
“You’re right, I’m not desperate. I have no reason to ever be. But hungry? No no no Mister Shaw. I’m absolutely starving. I want a championship. I want my main event spot. I want my tournament win. See Teddy, theres a bit of a plague spreading around. And no, I don’t mean Covid. When I gaze all along the precipice of IIW, I see a multitude of gluttony. Champions that are only champions by luck and ass kissing. Alleged ‘legends’ coming out of retirement to line their fat pockets with more green. Idiots spouting off nonsense left, right and center. It’s spitting in the face of both the IIW and this business as a whole. But more importantly, it's spitting in MY face. That’s why I started The Summit. Thats why the new Television Champion Scotty Adams is at my side, and wouldn’t you just know it, he’s ascending the ranks of this forsaken promotion in record times. And I have a little treat for you. At the next Mayhem, January 15th, the newest member of The Summit will be making his grand entrance. Erick Arc Elliott.” “I’m a smart man. A wise man. I keep my eyes peeled wide. A Clockwork Orange. I scouted out Erick from smaller promotions. I’m giving him the prospect he so desires and he has so earned. SO. Teddy, let me put ya on the ol’ back burner me amigo. John Cavanagh is someone I need to address. Hi there buddy.”
Ethan raised his hand, waving. A childish grin scribbled on his face.
“Enjoying that International Title reign you’ve been so tenuously grasping? Greeeat. I saw what you did at Red Alert. Ouuuf, how ferocious. The ferocity was telling. Impressed? Indeed. But see here’s the thing Papa Johns; you faced Fred Debonair. Illustrious career? Ehh, sure. Tippy top of the food chain? Nah. Not quite friend. Sorry Freddy, I’m just a fact making machine. See at Red Alert, I also won my match; by the way, thanks for the congratulations I’m still waiting for… Anyway, I won my 6 way ladder match. And do you recall the stipulation that literally hung in the balance of that contest? Allow me to jog your memory. The winner, me, gets a shot at any title they want. That is to say, aside from the World. Count your lucky stars Jonny C. But what’s the next best thing? Why its YOUR International Championship Papa John. I announced it on IIWs main website, and then again during the end of the year podcast, but I take it a man like you isn’t so technologically inclined, yeah? So allow me to fully address this. At KEYS 2 SUCCESS, liiiiive, on pay per view, The Pinnacle Ethan Rivers decimates the old guard and attains his first ever championship in professional wrestling. Now THAT is going to put some butts in seats. Me and Scotty are going to win those tag titles, I’m going to take your International title, Scotty already has the Television. Maybe we’ll send Erick after that UK belt. All the gold for The Summit seems awwwwfully befitting, wouldn’t you all agree?”
“Maybe you don’t believe me though. Hey, that’s understandable. I’m only the 2021 newcomer of the year. So why don’t you have a little taste? You’re set to go one on one with MY newest prospect Erick Arc Elliott. I think that Brandon Hendrix guy is also in the dance, so hey! Bully for you. I little three way to warm you up. I can promise though, Elliott will be the absolute toughest opponent you’ve ever faced, and yeah yeah, I’m aware of your careers longevity. So take that to heart. It’ll be interesting what you have to say to me after a member of The Summit dismantles you. Further more, Teddy Shaw... You said that getting back in the ring was a Christmas miracle, but the only Christmas miracle will be if you can walk back out it after I-”
“-Thats him dad!”
With the pretense of courteous nature thrown to the wind like caution, Ethan is unceremoniously interrupted. The young child, who’s ice cream he stole, had returned, his father, a much bigger and stalkier man than Ethan even. Scotty turned the camera off, picking up the tripod.
“Yeah, uh, I’m going to head out” spoke Scotty.
“Hey fuckhead, you think stealing ice cream from little boys is funny huh?”
“I uhm, uh”
Momentarily frozen, the child and his father approach. A stark anger resonating in his words. Snapping out his stupor, Ethan scrambled and ran, a superb haste and fear in his everystep.
“Get the fuck back here!” shouts the father, as a chase ensues.
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[London, Ontario, Canada]
[December, 2017]
“What do you mean?”
“He said he was still going to go. Don’t care about you, don’t care about me”
Joshua could feel the beat of his heart still. For the decades he had spent in the business, to be rejected by Project Honor was one thing. But to be left behind in the proverbial dust by someone he helped train. Someone he took under his wing. By a friend. Financial dire straits weren’t an exclusive issue to Ethan. It was widespread concern, worrisome to the entire underside of the industry.
Joshuas grip on his cellphone tightened drastically. His voice following suit.
“That ungrateful little fuck”
“Heh, yous telling me Joshy.”
“We trained him. Gave him a place to call home. Took him under our wings. Gave him work. Helped him make a name. And that’s the god damn repayment? Huh? A quick see ya, and he’s fucking off to Project Honor, leaving us behind? He’s a greenhorn!”,
spouted Joshua, enraged at the turn of events. Just a few short hours ago life had been lit by greener pastures dancing on the horizons precipice. Now a feeling of abandonment had begun setting in. Callous and cold by nature.
“He’s got no respect. Thats what this shit is Joshy. No respect for his elders. Little fucka”.
Arthur would proceed to drone on, his words becoming a miss-mesh of inaudible condescension, only momentarily being broken up by a stray cough. His thick accent made it difficult to discern his words. In stark polar contrast, Joshua had fallen silent. His mind racing, utterly perplexed.
“Why I outta-” continued Arthur before being hastily interrupted by Joshua.
“No. I’m not letting him use me-I mean ‘us’, like that. The only reason those jackoffs at Honor even heard about him was because of the notoriety “I” brought him and the platform “you” gave him!” “Yeah… he did use us”
Regardless of what was truth and what was fiction, Arthur and Joshua had spun this as a betrayal. Moral error perpetrated by Ethan. Feigning friendship and gratefulness for leverage in the business.
“Art, whens his contract finalized, you know?” inquired Joshua. A hint of devious intent seemed unavoidable by the cadence of his questioning.
“Contract? Heh, I still have to send his piss test back”
In that instance, a sudden surge of brilliance almost levitated Josh from where he stood.
“We’re keeping him right here. That bastard isn’t going to Project Honor and tanking us.” Joshua sputtered, a firm matter-of-factness stilted his every word. Some odd confidence draped in garments of ill intent perpetuated in his voice.
“I’m all ears Joshy”.
“Art, do you still get into the nose treats?” “Huh?” “The winter fun?” “Come again?” “Snow.” “Its Canada. Its snowing erryday” “Jesus Christ Arthur. Cocaine. Do you still do cocaine!” shouted Joshua, some anger pent up by Arthurs inability to distinguish what he was asking.
“Shuuuush it Joshy!”
“Send in your piss instead” said Joshua with a subtle stillness.
“Huh?”
“Send in. Your own.”
“Hmm? I- Oh- Ohhh, heh heh - coughcoughcough -” the realization of what Joshua was implicating had finally dawned upon Arthur.
“I keep my client. You keep a top guy... He wants to stab us in the back? Lets see how he likes the way that blade feels”.