Old Friends

Nathan Dole: “CHARLIE MATTHEWS!”

Nathan grabs Chuck’s hand, shaking it vigorously, and slapping him hard on the back.

Nathan Dole: “How the fuck have you been, man?”

Chuck shakes Nate’s hand.

Chuck Matthews: “Pretty good. Yourself?”

Nathan Dole: “Same shit, different day. Good to see you, man!”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

Nathan Dole: “No shit. Come on, the rest are inside!”

He laughs loudly, grabbing Chuck’s shoulder and steering him through the double doors, into the restaurant they had decided to meet at. Chuck immediately spots them, a mass of people sitting at a table near the back.

Nathan Dole: “Look who finally decided to show!”

One of the guys stand up, shaking Chuck’s hand. He towers over Chuck, over seven feet tall.

Sean Jensen: “Charles, nice to see you man.”

Chuck Matthews: “Long time, no see.”

Nathan smirks, clasping Chuck’s shoulder again.

Nathan Dole: “So you remember Sean. This here’s uh…”

Sean sits next to a woman, putting his arm around her.

Sean Jensen: “My beautiful wife, Tarah Jensen.”

Chuck nods at her, smiling slightly. Chuck looks around the table. He nods at Cody Beltram, who sits, talking to a couple of kids. Cody stops his story to look at Chuck.

Cody Beltram: “Charlie.”

Chuck Matthews: “Cody.”

Nathan Dole: “Where did the rest of them go?”

Sean Jensen: “Lars and the girls went over to the bar.”

Nathan Dole: “Huh. Well, I’m sure they’ll be back soon. Hey, kids!”

THe two kids turn away from Cody, and look at Nate.

Dominic Dole: “Whoa!”

Tommy Dole: “Dad, you know who that is?”

Nathan Dole: “I want you guys to meet Mr. Matthews. He’s an old friend of mine. Charlie, I’d like you to meet my greatest accomplishments. This here’s Tommy and Dominic.”

Chuck smiles, kneeling down to look the kids in the eyes.

Dominic Dole: “You’re Chuck Matthews!”

Chuck smirks.

Chuck Matthews: “Your dad and I go way back, you know.”

Tommy Dole: “Is it true you ran into the goalpost during the big game?”

Chuck looks up at Nate, who smiles innocently.

Chuck Matthews: “Well, actually, that was the defender that your dad threw an interception to.”

Tommy Dole: “Ooooh, you’re a liar, dad!”

Nathan Dole: “I am no such thing!”

Tommy Dole: “That’s not what he says!”

Nathan Dole: “Mr. Beltram gave you money, didn’t he? Here’s another twenty. Why don’t you kids run off to the arcade or something?”

Dominic Dole: “Sweet!”

Tommy and Dominic slap high-five, and run off towards the arcade.

Nathan Dole: “Just get back before your mother notices you’re-“

The kids are already halfway across the restaurant. Nate shrugs, and takes a seat.

Nathan Dole: “Ah, fuck it. They’re good kids.”

Chuck Matthews: “Seems like it. Congrats.”

Nathan Dole: “Thank you.”

Nate watches his kids run off, and there’s silence for a moment.

Nathan Dole: “Well, go on! Have a seat, talk to us! How’ve things been?”

Chuck takes a seat at the table, leaning back.

Chuck Matthews: “Same old stuff, really.”

Nathan Dole: “You’ve put on some weight there, Charlie.”

Chuck Matthews: “Just a bit.”

He smirks. The last time he’d seen Nate was back in high school. Chuck weighed 130 at the time. These days, he was nearly a hundred pounds heavier.

Sean Jensen: “You’re a wrestler these days?”

Chuck Matthews: “Imagine that.”

Sean laughs.

Sean Jensen: “That’s nuts.”

Nathan Dole: “Yeah, who would’ve thought? Kids love watching, man. Wife ain’t too fired up about me letting them, but fuck it.”

Chuck laughs.

Chuck Matthews: “It’s always kinda cool to meet the fans.”

Nathan Dole: “You’re telling me. I swear, I could hardly get out of the car today without someone asking for an autograph in the parking lot.”

Chuck Matthews: “I’ll bet.”

Chuck turns his attention to Sean.

Chuck Matthews: “So…you’re married?”

Sean smiles at Tarah.

Sean Jensen: “Wouldn’t you believe it? Ten years and…what, seven months?”

Sean looks thoughtful for a moment.

Sean Jensen: “Eight.”

Tarah nods, smiling.

Tarah Jensen: “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Matthews.”

Chuck shakes her hand.

Chuck Matthews: “Same to you.”

Cody Beltram: “Oh boy. Wife Alert.”

Nathan turns in his seat and smirks.

Nathan Dole: “About time you got back!”

Chuck turns to see a woman walk up to Nathan, and kiss him. She’s followed by Jessica Matthews, Bridget Baker, Melissa Kessler, and…

Chuck Matthews: “Alexei.”

Lars Alexei: “Matthews.”

Chuck shakes hands with Lars, both men locking eyes, not averting their gaze.

Jessica Matthews: “When did you get here?”

Chuck Matthews: “Not too long ago.”

Melissa smiles at Chuck, throwing her arms around his neck.

Melissa Kessler: “How have you been?”

Chuck Matthews: “Pretty good, you?”

Melissa Kessler: “Great. I’m a teacher now.”

Chuck Matthews: “You’re kidding.”

Melissa Kessler: “Knoxville Community High. I teach freshman biology.”

Chuck Matthews: “Congrats.”

Melissa Kessler: “I think it’s me that should be congratulating you, Mr. Big Shot. Jessica tells me you’re in the wrestling business?”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah. Interesting turn.”

Melissa Kessler: “Six time world champion?”

Chuck Matthews: “Eleven, but who’s counting?”

She laughs, and Chuck turns his attention to Bridget.

Chuck Matthews: “There’s a face I haven’t seen in a while.”

Bridget smiles.

Bridget Baker: “Little Charlie Matthews.”

Chuck flexes, and stands up to his full height, towering over Bridget.

Chuck Matthews: “What was that?”

Bridget laughs, and hugs him.

Bridget Baker: “It’s great to see you again.”

The two women take a seat on either side of Chuck, allowing a spot for Nathan’s wife to sit next to her husband. Lars sits down, motioning for Jessica to take a spot next to him. Chuck frowns. Something wasn’t really ringing right with Lars. Then again, Chuck had never really trusted the guy. Lars Alexei was Jessica’s first boyfriend. Jessica was single these days. At least, she was as far as Chuck knew. She was never the type to kiss and tell, not even her own family. It had taken some time before Chuck learned that she was dating Corey. Before he knew it, the two were engaged…thank God THAT relationship was over.

Jessica Matthews: “Charlie, you know what Lars does these days?”

Chuck Matthews: “Professional douchebag?”

Jessica Matthews: “What was that?”

Chuck shakes his head.

Chuck Matthews: “I said I have no idea. What’ve you been up to, Lars?”

Lars smirks.

Jessica Matthews: “He plays hockey. Professionally.”

Chuck nods.

Chuck Matthews: “So…he’s a professional athlete…just like everyone else at the table tonight?”

Jessica Matthews: “He plays for the Devils. Isn’t that your team?”

Chuck stares at her for a moment.

Chuck Matthews: “First, I don’t follow hockey. The fact that I’d never heard of him playing hockey should have told you that. Second, I’m from Chicago. If I did pay attention to hockey, I’d be a Blackhawks fan.”

Jessica sits back in her seat.

Jessica Matthews: “There was no need to be rude about it.”

Chuck sighs. He stands up, heading for the door.

Nathan Dole: “Whoa, Chuckster! Where are you off to?”

Chuck Matthews: “I’m gonna take a walk.”

Nathan Dole: “You just got here!”

Chuck Matthews: “I just need some fresh air.”

Nathan Dole: “You want someone to come with you?”

Chuck shakes his head.

Chuck Matthews: “I’ll be fine.”

Chuck steps out of the restaurant, breathing in the New Orleans air. He was glad they’d decided to meet there. Soon, he’d be catching a flight to Dallas, to get ready for his next match. He wasn’t too concerned about it. Matches rarely concerned him. Chuck starts walking down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Millions of thoughts raced through his mind. He felt fine, really. But for some reason, something had been nagging at the back of his head. Those people back there…at the restaurant. Nathan, Sean, Bridget, Melissa…even Cody and Lars, to an extent. They had been friends. The closest friends Chuck had when he was a kid. He had figured seeing them again would be great. That it’d boost his spirits. It didn’t. At the end of the day, he was still right back where he was when he’d left that morning. So what, he saw some old familiar faces. Was he stupid enough to think they were going to be close again? He hadn’t seen most of them in nearly eight years. That was going to suddenly change because he decided to go to their happy little reunion? No. It was merely a distraction. Some way for them to see each other, catch up on old times, and then part ways for another ten years. They weren’t friends. Hell, most of them didn’t even know what the others did for a living. That was no way to build a relationship.

Chuck coughs, holding his hand to his chest. He clears his throat, continuing his walk. So many things to think about.

Chuck wasn’t very well liked. There was a time, he was a fairly popular guy. Well…perhaps not “popular,” but certainly well-liked. People got along with Chuck, and Chuck got along with them. People that met him thought he was a good guy. They wanted to be his friend, not because he had money, or because he was famous, or because they’d heard he was good in bed. No, they were friends because he was nice to them. Why was that different? What had changed?

Wrestling had changed him. Some of his closest friends had since left. John Eastwick, Craig Hemming, Lauren Taylor, Derek Mayfield. Some of his closest friends, he met through wrestling. Now? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to Lauren. John and Chuck weren’t as close as they once were, and though Chuck was sure Johnny didn’t hate him, there was certainly a waning friendship that was slowly crumbling. As for Craig…Craig was making it a point to work alongside Ruben to make his life hell.

Ruben was another one. Perhaps his only friend that stuck with him through their time in NLWF. Given, Chuck didn’t meet him until later on…but he liked the guy. They had a friendship based on respect. At the final show Chuck had with NLWF, Ruben had given him the best match he could have asked for. Now? Ruben hated Chuck as well. It seemed to be a pattern. Even Chuck’s own daughter hated him. Chuck and Chris didn’t get along all that well. Chuck hardly talked to Jessica.

He was alone.

Chuck leans against the wall, staring up at the sky. New Orleans was a beautiful city. He sighs, and continues walking, still deep in thought. He bumps into someone, and stumbles back.

???: “Watch it!”

Chuck regains his balance and looks at the man he bumped into. The man is huge, nearly seven feet tall. He stands in front of a door, his arms crossed over his chest.

Bouncer: “You trying to get in?”

Chuck looks. It’s a strip club.

Chuck Matthews: “No. Sorry.”

Bouncer: “I don’t judge. You want in, go right ahead. It’s been a slow night.”

Chuck looks at the bouncer, frowning.

Chuck Matthews: “I’m fine.”

Bouncer: “You ain’t fine. You’re thinking about shit. What’s the matter? Married?”

Chuck opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it.

Chuck Matthews: “Fine. You win.”

The bouncer smirks, and steps aside, opening the rope.

Bouncer: “Have a good time, man.”

Chuck shakes his head, and steps into the club. It’s a strangely nice place, given that the outside made it look like a shithole. Three stages jut out from the back wall, and three women are dancing on them, as handfuls of men scattered around watch, waving money at them. Chuck takes a seat near the back, watching the girls dance. A voice plays over the music.

Voice: “Thank you, Trixie.”

The woman in the center stage drops off the pole, landing on her feet, and bowing. She sweeps the money into her hands, and heads to the back.

Voice: “And now, taking her place, and making her first appearance on the center stage. Show us what you got…Cassidy Starr!”

A thin woman walks out, wearing nothing but a thong and crosses on her breasts. She circles around the pole, glancing at the men around, who clap. The woman climbs the pole, and flips her hair out of her face. Chuck leans forward in her seat.

Chuck Matthews: “Shit…”

A few men throw money at Starr. Chuck slowly stands, moving to a closer seat, stopping just outside the ring of light that surrounds her.

Man: “Wanted a closer look?”

Chuck looks over at the man sitting across the table from him.

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah.”

The man makes a “pfft” noise.

Man: “I saw her last week. She’s been left stage for the last few weeks. This is her first time in the center. I guess they thought she was ready.”

Chuck Matthews: “Do you own the place?”

Man: “I work with a few of the girls. Not this one though. She’s independent. Does her own shit. Probably a good thing, too. A lot of the guys can be shitheads. But, you know…you never get very far without em. Eventually, everyone tags onto someone. I’ve had my eye on Miss Starr for a while.”

Chuck Matthews: “What’s her name?”

Man: “You’re new here, aren’t you.”

Chuck Matthews: “Why?”

Man: “You never ask their name. And besides that, most don’t even know. It’s for the girl to know, and share with whoever she damn well pleases.”

Chuck nods. He stares at the woman. She’s beautiful. She dances, twirling around the pole, hanging upside down so that men can toss money at her, letting it flutter around her tits. One man reaches out, but she slaps his hand before he can grab them.

Chuck Matthews: “Is he allowed to do that?”

The man shrugs.

Man: “If she lets him, sure. Like I said, she’s independent. Not like she’s got a pimp getting mad whenever a guy tries to cop a feel.”

Chuck frowns. The man seems upset at her reaction. He stands up, saying something to her, and scooping money off the stage, throwing it at her, watching the small stack of bills burst as it hits her in the face. She loses her grip on the pole, and falls, landing flat on her back. Chuck jumps from his seat, looking at the woman. She lies on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The man roars with laughter, and casually drops a few bills on her prone body.

Patron: “Now then, how bout that sample, huh?”

He reaches for her. Chuck finds himself walking down towards the stage. Before the man is able to come in contact with the woman, Chuck grabs his shoulder, and pulls him away. The man turns around, confused and angry, only to receive a nasty hook to the jaw, knocking him to the floor. Chuck crouches near him, getting into his face.

Chuck Matthews: “You put your hand on her like that again, you’ll draw back a stump. Got it?”

The man stares at Chuck, rubbing his jaw, and spitting a bloody tooth out on the floor.

Patron: “Fucking Christ, man!”

Chuck smirks, and gets to his feet, looking at Cassidy Starr, who shakes her head incredulously. Chuck gives her a small smile, and she staes at him a moment before finally snapping out of it. She sighs.

Cassidy Starr: “Meet me behind the club in ten.”

Chuck smirks, and takes a seat, watching her finish her routine. She was beautiful, twisting and twirling around the stage, collecting money the men threw at her. Finally, the voice plays over the speaker.

Voice: “Thank you, Miss Starr!”

Chuck doesn’t wait around to see who the next dancer will be. He stands up, leaving the club, and heading around to the back of the building, where he leans up against the wall, waiting.

Cassidy Starr: “Can’t say I expected to see you here. Ever.”

Chuck turns to see her step out of the building. She’s in jeans, and wears a coat which drapes down to her knees.

Chuck Matthews: “I could say the same.”

Cassidy raises an eyebrow.

Cassidy Starr: “Oh?”

Chuck Matthews: “So how long have you been in this line of work, Kim?”

Kim O’Day sighs, and leans against the wall.

Kimberly O’Day: “Too long. But I needed the money. So here I am.”

Chuck Matthews: “If it’s any consolation, I think you did alright.”

Kim smirks.

Kimberly O’Day: “Nothing you’ve never seen before, right?”

Chuck laughs.

Chuck Matthews: “Well, the name was something different. Cassidy Starr?”

Kimberly O’Day: “Megan was Tiffany Starr. Only seemed fitting that I used the same last name. Being her sister and all.”

Chuck Matthews: “I figured as much.”

Kimberly O’Day: “Cassidy was the most slutty, stripper-esqe name I could think of.”

Chuck laughs again. They’re quiet for a bit.

Chuck Matthews: “So how have you been?”

Kim sighs.

Kimberly O’Day: “Why are you here?”

Chuck Matthews: “What?”

Kimberly O’Day: “I mean…just here. Talking to me. Why are we doing it?”

Chuck Matthews: “I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore? Besides, you were the one who asked me to come out here.”

Kim shrugs.

Kimberly O’Day: “I guess it’s just a bit awkward.”

Chuck takes a deep breath.

Chuck Matthews: “Do you ever regret it?”

Kimberly O’Day: “Not for a second.”

Chuck smiles. It was nice to hear.

Kimberly O’Day: “Do you?”

Chuck sighs.

Chuck Matthews: “My only regret was how it all ended.”

Kim looks at him, smiling slightly.

Kimberly O’Day: “I…um…”

Chuck shakes his head. He needed to say it now, or he may never have another chance.

Chuck Matthews: “Kim, I fucked up.”

Kim smirks.

Kimberly O’Day: “Took you long enough to realize that.”

Chuck Matthews: “Yeah…”

Kimberly O’Day: “So what?”

Chuck Matthews: “I...did a lot of dumb shit, Kim. And I’m sorry.”

Kimberly O’Day: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for anything.”

Chuck Matthews: “First time for everything, right?”

Kimberly O’Day: “Hmm.”

Chuck Matthews: “I miss you, Kim.”

Kim stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t say anything.

Chuck Matthews: “I mean…there were a lot of girls in my life. Anna, Lauren, Katie, Aubrey…but you were different. You were my longest relationship, and I think the reason for that was because you were the best of all of them. You were there, you know? You weren’t some girl I was sleeping with. You were one of my best friends. And I miss that.”

Kim nods slowly, still not saying a word.

Chuck Matthews: “I fucked up, I did some stupid shit, and I ruined all of that. And I’m sorry.”

Kim continues to stare at him.

Chuck Matthews: “There was a time…you wanted to get married. You wanted us to be together forever. I should have done it, and I didn’t. I was scared, Kim. Fuck, I’m still scared. I panicked. And…fuck it, I don’t even know what you’re thinking. This was a dumb idea. I’ll see you.”

Chuck quickly turns to walk away.

Kimberly O’Day: “Chuck.”

Chuck stops, and slowly turns around. Kim runs up to him, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. She buries her face in his shoulder, crying.

Kimberly O’Day: “Why did we ever let it get that bad?”

Chuck pats her on the back.

Chuck Matthews: “Can we start over? Pretend none of that ever happened?”

Kim looks up at Chuck, looking him in the eyes. She smiles weakly.

Kimberly O’Day: “I just can’t get rid of you, can I, Chuck Matthews?”

Chuck smiles.

Chuck Matthews: “I’d be a wreck if you tried.”

He moves in slowly, cautiously, waiting to see her reaction. She smiles, and pulls him the rest of the distance, kissing him.

Kimberly O’Day: “I missed you, too.”

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Chuck Matthews: “And here we go again.

I’ve been doing some thinking lately. It’s sort of my job, being the smartest man in wrestling and all. And lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my career. The things I’ve done, the people I’ve met…the teams I’ve formed, the alliances I’ve broken, the friends I’ve made, and lost. The people I’ve fought. The enemies I’ve made. Everything.

I’ve done quite a bit. Mutliple time world champion. The top of every company I’ve been a part of. Tag team champion. Wrestler of the year. Match of the year. I’ve won awards, I’ve won titles, I’ve won big rivalires, and, yes, I’ve lost my fair share as well.

I think, even at my young age, people wonder why I’m still doing it. I’ve proven that I’m skilled enough to succeed in other areas. I’m a smart dude, if all else failed, I could go back to college. Pointless, since I’d probably just go back to working for ME anyway. But I could go for the experience of college life.

But no. I continue to compete. I continue to fly across the country, spend more time in hotels than I do at my own house, do my best to keep my body in peak physical form. Why?

Because I love to do it. I mean, say what they will about me, I do enjoy what I do. And what I do best, is succeed where others fail.

Hell, that’s what my entire career has been, isn’t it? I want to tell you a story. I want to tell you the story of my career.

My wrestling career started in RWF. I started as Hazard. Some of you might know Hazard from a failed re-emergence in NLWF. Originally, he was my first character, going into RWF. That was the funny thing about RWF. Revolution Wrestling was run by David King. King was, first and foremost, a businessman. He knew there was no money in a couple guys fighting at random. He encouraged characters. He encouraged people to interact with the crowd, to get a reaction. Reactions sold tickets. They still do. He didn’t care if you were exactly the same guy in the ring as you were outside it. He didn’t care if you came up with some ridiculously over-the-top bullshit that no sane human being would ever believe was a real person. If it got a reaction…if it was marketable…if it sold tickets, you were good to go. Me? I started off as a masked wrestler. A silent, methodical, machine-like competitor known only as Hazard.

I went undefeated for my first four months, until I picked a fight with a man by the name of Curt Cryptic. I had the biggest match of my career at that Pay-Per-View. His title against my mask. Tables match. My undefeated streak at risk. He won. As fate would have it, I was saved by another competitor…Sacrifice.

I was out for a month, and came back, losing the mask. They called me Damien Wrath, the vampiric half-brother of Sacrifice. The two of us, along with Ileana, went on a reign of terror, and won the tag titles several times over the course of our stint. It was there, I met two of my best friends for my time in RWF. Derek Mayfield, and Lauren Taylor. Sacrifice and Ileana. Eventually, our team came to an end. Sacrifice and Damien feuded for some time. Once, again, I changed. Damien Wrath was holding me back. Or at least, that’s the way I felt it was. He was too aggressive for my taste. Too much violence and hate, not enough talking and showing off your skill. I opted to begin using my real name. In doing so, I took a risk. There was no guarantee I would succeed…and if I failed, my name would be associated with that failure forver.

Critics thought I was insane. I had a nice little feud to kick off the new name, but after that, what did I have? Where would I go when Sacrifice vs Chuck Matthews was no more? I won my first title in that feud. The Interstate Championship. A midcard title. Again, the critics were harsh. They thought it was just a bandaid, some sorry excuse to get me some airtime. Great, I had a midcard belt. I’d hit my peak. I’d never get to the big stage. I’d never make it in the business. Nobody believed I could do it. Hell, I think it was Rick Christian himself who labeled me a “glorified tag team wrestler.” To them, that’s exactly who I was. I was a tag team competitor who tried to go the singles route, and in doing so, had committed career suicide.

And then came Devastation. Sacrifice and I put it all on the line. We took a big gamble, created a match. We presented it to management, said “We’ll do this.” And they looked it over, and gave us the opportunity. I won. I got the belt. I got the services of Ileana, who decided to drop her name and start competing under her real name, Lauren Taylor…and my career was looking a little brighter. I shut a lot of people up with that match. I still hadn’t reached the top. I was still a midcard champion…but I proved that night that, partner or not, I could go out there and fucking wrestle. I could take the punishment, and damn it, I wasn’t going to give up and go home. I was given the Rookie of the Year award, and for the first time, people were starting to pay some attention. I’d won an award. Granted, only about half of the “Rookies of the Year” actually went on to win world titles…but it was still a prestigious award, and one I carried with pride.

Fast forward a couple of years. Add another midcard reign, and a couple tag reigns to my resume. Craig Hemming and I were the tag team champions. Once again, I was back where I really started my career: tag team wrestling. Reckless Rage. Hemming and Matthews. Craig was another guy, one of my best friends in the business. Our friendship backstage was strong, and it resulted in good chemistry in the ring. We put on great matches. Cue Devastation. Reckless Rage against King’s Court. Craig and I won the match, and in doing so, retained our titles. And then I was attacked. Giant Richard made his debut that night, and did so by attacking the two of us after our match. A chokeslam from the top of a ladder, an awkward landing, and a nasty crunch…and I was out of action indefinitely with a spinal injury.

The critics spoke again. The dirt sheets went nuts. They weren’t sure I’d ever wrestle again. Sure, I could walk. I could move just fine…but the risks…I had been hurt, and I’d been hurt bad. It was dangerous to step back in a ring, and for a while, it looked like Rick and his boys were right. I really wasn’t cut out for it, and I never did make it to the big stage.

But then I healed. Against the odds, I healed up from the injury, I build myself back up, and after being out of action for the better part of a year, I got the doctor’s go-ahead, and I was back in the saddle. I returned to interfere in a Devastation match…the match I had been injured in nine months prior. Curt Cryptic against Johnny Electric, for the RWF Championship. I ended the match, taking both men out. I garnered a lot of heat as I continued to assault lesser competitors over the following weeks…and as a result of my interference between Electric and Cryptic, I was thrown to the dogs. I finally had my shot. I was going to compete for the RWF Championship. I lost.

But damn it, I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I fought back. I fought my way through qualifiers, getting myself thrown into a Nine Circles of Hell match. Ten competitors, nine matches, one winner. I survived. I fought until I didn’t think I could fight anymore, and then I kept fighting regardless. It came down to myself and Curt Cryptic. Due to my performance in the previous rounds, I was granted the opportunity to pick the stipulation for the final round. I chose Devastation. A match that I had never lost.

And I won it.

You talked to me about your defining moment of your career, Styg. The moment when you realized exactly what you were supposed to do, who you were supposed to be. That was mine. In that one moment, where I was allowed to make a decision. To fight Cryptic in a standard match…to fight him in a cage, perhaps, or a tables match. No. I chose a match I knew I couldn’t lose. I chose a match that favored me far more than it favored him.

My plan worked. And when I finally held onto that RWF Championship…when I climbed that ladder one more time, to hold that belt in the air, to show the entire fucking world, “Hey, you said I couldn’t win this thing. I proved you wrong.”

Since then, I’ve made an entire career of dealing with criticism. Taking heat from people, hearing that I can’t do something, that I’ll never be able to accomplish a feat, or win a title, or get to the top of the company. They said I’d never break out of the independent scene. Never get signed to the national spotlight, let alone an international one.

I signed to NLWF, and shut them up.

They said I’d be forever trapped in the midcard.

I became an eight-time world champion in that company.

I won the Match of the Year twice.

I won Devastation matches. Triple Cage matches. Hell in a Cell, Ladder matches, Street fights. I did it all. I looked every one of my doubters, every one of my naysayers, anyone who ever thought I couldn’t make it. I looked them straight in the eyes, and I proved them wrong. I made them see exactly who I was.

The best.

I went up against all odds, and I succeeded. I found myself in situations where anyone else would have failed, and I thrived. Anyone that was put in front of me, I beat. Any match they threw me in, I conquered. And it’s exactly that success, exactly that legacy I’ve created for myself that allows me a bit of ego. Allows me to show off, allows me to say the things I say, to brag the way I do, to pop off at the mouth whenever I damn well please, to throw things out there to nobody in particular like a Baltimore Ravens quarterback…no offense, Flacco.

You’re going to tell me you’re meant to be some violent douchebag with a chip on his shoulder, fine. That was your moment. Mine was my first world championship reign. The night I planned, the night I executed that plan to perfection, and I proved to everyone that I was not an underdog. I was a threat, and one that would go on to dominate the wrestling landscape.

I learned the man I was supposed to be. The Smartest Man in Professional wrestling. The master strategist. The in-ring general. The man with the plan. That’s what I do best, and that’s the edge I hold over every opponent I face. I’m flat-out smarter than them.

Stygian will talk from now until the day he dies that he was not the same man when he fought to a draw with me a while back. He’ll go on and on about how he had lost sight of who he was supposed to be, how he was in some sort of slump, how he needed a kick in the ass to focus on what really mattered…

And that’s different now. He’s different now. Therefore, he can beat me.

I find that funny. Because sure, he might be a different man…but so am I. Do you remember what was happening that night, Stygian? At the time, you were competing against a guy who had just went through a rather terrible identity crisis and had spent the better part of the last month or two running around as Brian Hunt.

So Stygian is a different man than he was last time. Chuck was a different man than he was last time. Therefore…advantage Stygian?

Hold up there driver, back up the short bus, I think you missed a passenger.

As new as this experience might be for you, just stop and think for a second here, Styg. You’re going to sit there and tell me I should be worried about this match…because you decided to find yourself, and you figured out…what, exactly? You figured out that you’re some psycho son of a bitch who just likes to hurt things?

Well, now. That puts you right there with roughly half of the people I’ve ever fought in my career. That’s Death-Angel. That’s Giant Richard. That’s Baron Silverman. That’s Thraxas. That’s Shadow Demon. That’s Corey Casey.

And I’ve beaten them. Every single one of them.

What makes you any different?

You’re taller than I am? Who the fuck cares?

You’re stronger? Never stopped me before.

You’re more aggressive? Aggression leads to mistakes.

You’re smarter than me? Now you’re just making shit up.

You can go through an entire list of sad reasons why we fought to a draw in that match. Let me tell you what I see.

It took one Hollywood Impact. One spear, outside the ring, to take you out.

This is the reason I’ve had such a long run, and the reason I’ve won so many matches…and, truth be told, likely the reason I’ve received so much criticism.

I don’t do fancy bullshit. I go in to win matches. I don’t get into the ring to show off that I can do a backflip. I don’t try and hit a triple spinny flippy bullshit top rope move every match. I go in. I compete. I do what I need to do to win.

The most powerful move in my arsenal is a football tackle. Think about that for a moment. What you see Drew Brees get hit with on a weekly basis, I’m winning wrestling matches with. Not because it’s a powerful move. Not because it targets a weak body part.

Because when I tackle someone, it fucking hurts. I’ve done it for years. I’ve mastered the art, and today, there is nobody who can pull it off better than I can.

I’ve won world titles with it. I’ve won big matches with it. And the last time we competed, I kept you down for a ten-count with it.

What you need to realize is that if I hit that again, your little hot streak is going to end real fast. One Hollywood Impact. One big spear, and I can get the three count. You caught my by surprise last time. Congratulations. It doesn’t happen often. By all means, gloat. You’re stepping up against a fucking legend of this industry. One of the all-time greats.

Let’s just face the simple facts here. That’s exactly what I am. I’ve revolutionized this game. I’ve shed new light on what we think of wrestling. If this is all one big book, I’m nobody’s hero. I’m not the antagonist, I’m not the sidekick, I’m not the troubled boyfriend, I’m not the supporting cast. I’m the fucking author. I’m the guy at the top of the mountain, the puppeteer, making you dance, watching as everyone does my bidding, whether they realize they’re doing it or not.

Why the fuck should I feel intimidated by you? Because you’ve steamrolled everyone who’s been put in front of you up until this point?

Let me remind you that you fought to a draw with me. You couldn’t beat me. You still can’t beat me. You wanted IWF to show you their king? I’m that king. Hell, I’m the king, I’m the prince, I’m the entire fucking court. I’m the whole damn show. I’m the knight in shining armor, the one to slay the dragon, save the girl, and fuck her brains out in the dungeons. I’m the fucking Dovahkiin, I don’t even need to fight, I’ll kill you with my voice.

Let’s see how many Skyrim geeks pissed their pants at THAT reference.

I am, without a shadow of a doubt, the smartest individual to ever step between the ropes. I go into every match with a set plan. I go in looking to win, by any means necessary. I’ll cheat. I’ll manipulate the environment. I’ll use anything and everything to ensure that I walk out the winner. Can you say the same?

Rhetorical question. You can’t. Such a thing would imply that you’re on the same intellectual level as I am. It would imply that you might be smart enough to think up the plans and strategies that I can.

So far, nobody’s ever come close. It’s a mountain I’ve climbed, conquered and claimed for myself.

…who the fuck are you again?

This is my match, Stygian. My night. My time to prove exactly what I should have proved last time.

I’m flat out better than you. You can have all the advantages in the world. By all means, take them. If there’s one thing I’ve proved throughout my entire career? When the stakes are high, or when the odds are stacked against me…I win.

This week will be no different.”