When I switch off, I don't like talking to people, I just find somewhere to myself, and do my thing. Sometimes I just put a towel on my head, other times I pace up and down, and every now and again I try listening to music.
Lately, I've been listening to music, and there's one track in particular, that's been on loop, these last few weeks: "Fucking in the Bushes" by Oasis. It's a quality song. If anything, most people associate it with Guy Ritchie's film, Snatch, but I don't.
***
Oasis starts shouting out the speakers and the lights start flashing in time with the beat. At this moment I'm fine; it's when I stop to stare at the entrance video that everything changes. It's highlights of all those matches I used to watch, and then, out he comes. Suddenly, I switch on.
"What the fuck am I doing here? Why is Nigel McGuinness walking to the ring?" I start thinking.
I'm here [at New Generation Wrestling, in Hull] because I'm their go-to, if they need someone to wrestle on the mat; Nigel McGuinness is walking to the ring, because I'm booked to face him. I'm having a surreal moment in the ring, to myself, where I feel completely out of place. I start trying to stare off into the middle distance and shut that voice off that's telling me to hop the railing and run. Fucking in the Bushes is playing, and to the ring, walks the man I will always associate with it.
***
In 2004, when I was at the tender age of fourteen, I discovered a company named "Ring of Honor" [sic]. I remember my overabundance of joy, at discovering a completely new roster of styles and characters to obsess over, and Nigel McGuinness was one of those guys. I remember the first match I saw him in: he was in blue trunks, with the Union Flag on the back, and he was facing off against a little wildman man named Jimmy Jacobs (in a weird twist of fate, I vaguely recall the commentators talking about the Wigan Snake Pit, during the match, too). I liked Nigel, because here was a British guy doing, a British-esque style - yes, the sharing of nationality was enough for me to like the guy. It didn't matter that he'd been trained by an American, damn it! He was British! (What a strange mentality I had.)
As time went on, I continued to watch, and eventually started to train. Nigel switched from blue to black, started flicking the V's, and became money with a microphone. Time continued to pass -
***
I'm stood in the ring and I've managed to shut the nagging little voice off, again. The lights are up and Nigel's in the opposite corner to me. This is the only chance I'll get to do this; this is all part of the McGuinness retirement tour. You want to come across as professional, but you want to tell this guy how much you enjoyed everything he's done. He stands in the middle of the ring, with his hand outstretched - that'll always be the "Code of Honor" handsake, to me. The audience doesn't think I'll shake it, but I do. There's this pause, where they don't know what to expect. I sneer and, as clearly as possible with a gumshield in, say "bye-bye Nigel". People actually get angry - this is too easy.
***
This post probably comes as a little late, but it's only recently that I actually knew how to say all this. Self expression is like most things: easy to do, just hard to do well. I've settled for saying this quite well: cheers Nigel, for everything.
(http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/307482471/the-last-of-mcguinness)
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