So it's been awhile since my last blog. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be awhile til my next one. Today though, I need to vent. Not anger or sadness or frustration; if anything, I'm sort of numb - it's surreal. I haven't blogged in sometime now because I haven't had anything to say. I'm not sure if I even do now, but I want to share a story with you.
It was just another wrestling event in Macclesfield. It was FutureShock Wrestling #25 (retro-actively named, as this was prior to us having numbers on the shows) and we were trying out a one time tournament concept: the FutureShock Lotto-Thunder! What a name. Essentially, it worked like this: there were eight wrestlers, there was to be a series of single elimination, one-on-one matches, and the winner of which was to become number one contender to the title. Doesn't sound too unique until you factor in that the tournament brackets would be drawn up at random, and on the spot. There was no magic trick to this. There was no plant in the crowd who knew what name to pick, or any other shenanigans. We were playing this one straight. Pieces of paper - each with a single name of a wrestler - were in a box, a fan would draw one name from this box, that wrestler would make his entrance, a second name would be drawn, that wrestler would make his entrance, and thus the match is made. Both the first and second rounds were done this way.
This was one of the first times I was put in a major(ish) singles match role. Previously all my work had been tag team orientated. However, in the lead up to the tournament, someone couldn't make it (I honestly don't even remember who now) and I was selected to fill in. This was like trial by fire: prove your worth without that tag partner carrying you with little to no time to prepare - shit.
The first match. I didn't envy those guys. The first two out in a brand new concept. They were litmus test for if this idea was going to work or not. A name is drawn - it's the champ, the former champ. He's just lost his title, he's just come off the longest multi-company winning streak (still to be matched) in British wrestling, and he's the first one out there. A pause - what're they waiting for? They're bloody faffing about with the box. Just pick a name!
"Jack Toxic!" -
Shit.
At FutureShock's training school I was trained by two people. I'm now looking at one of them from across the ring and the bell's about to sound. Neither of us are fan favourites; double thumb to the eye - we're both blind; chop exchange - he hits harder; forearm smashes - I'm actually seeing spots now; I'm on my back and he's punching me square in the face - alot; the bell sounds again; DQ'd for illegal strikes; I survive. I think I won too.
That's the only time I got to go one-on-one with the champ, the leader of the den. It wasn't an epic, it probably wasn't even that good, it was probably the closest I've come to leaving the ring with a black eye, and was the closest I've come to being knocked out. It's not a bad memory though.
It's weird how some people create this identity in your head and, no matter what changes, there's always this recurring idea of the who and what they are to you. Champs wear suits, announce when they leave & arrive, they take their god damn time on their entrance if they deem it so, and always have the choicest ring jackets.
I don't have anything else to say. No poignant sentences to wrap it all up nicely and leave you with a smile on your face. I'm sorry; I'm sorry about all of this. They're playing my music -
Shit.
