Best I Ever Had (Grey Sky Morning)

5th December, 2022

He’d thought the last few days had been hard, but in truth they paled in comparison to how he felt in this moment. He was vaguely aware of people slowly ambling past him on either side. More than once he felt a hand land on his shoulder, or a squeeze of his forearm. He made no move to acknowledge the gestures of support; his gaze didn’t waver, but whether he could see much through the sea of tears still falling from his face, who could say?

The rain, which had started shortly after they’d arrived, was now hammering down so hard that it gave the impression of a rising mist on what was already a dull grey morning. Seeing more than ten feet ahead would have been a challenge at the best of times - and this was certainly not that.

The low buzz of sound from the other mourners began to fade as they slowly drifted away. Even his dearest friends, looking on full of concern long after the others had gone, decided it was best to leave him alone now. They knew he’d find them when he was ready.

He’d not spoken a single word that morning; he’d barely said anything in the last few days as a matter of fact. The only sound he’d made at all was that of his ragged breathing, as he fought in vain to try and stem the flow of his tears. But now he did make a sound, one utterly unexpected. He laughed.

Coming out of his reverie, he looked up into the torrential downpour and laughed again. It was a short laugh, completely devoid of joy. The thought had come to him that this was the world’s way of saluting the man who’d been his friend and mentor. The rain had come to extinguish the flames of the man who’d assumed the mantle of the mythical fire-bird.

He became aware of the stinging sensation around his eyes, swollen and red from the countless tears he’d shed. He moved forward at a snail’s pace until he stood right before the grave; he knelt down on his haunches, a wooden cross marked where the gravestone would soon stand. Without knowing if he meant to or not, he spoke aloud to the grave, his voice cracking from a combination of the grief and lack of use. The words came slowly, painfully.

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”

He reached into his jacket’s breast pocket and pulled out an old photograph. It’d been taken almost twenty years earlier. Two fresh faced men, grinned at the camera, both with long flowing hair unnaturally coloured a deep red. Each had their arm across the other’s shoulders. This had been his birthday, was it his twenty-third? He wasn’t sure now, not that it mattered, it had been a good day and made all the better by Jay being there.

As he looked down upon the photo, he could feel his heart breaking as though it was a physical injury. Long moments passed before he finally reached forward and let the photo drop, landing on the coffin below.

“Goodbye brother, thank you for everything. I love you.”

He stood up and wiped his eyes clear, he noticed two men huddled under a large umbrella with shovels at their feet a few meters away. He realised he was keeping them from their job. He half raised his hand in an apologetic gesture. Both men nodded back, doubtless they were all too used to scenes like this one.

He’d only gone a few steps from the grave-side, when thunder sounded in the distance. He almost managed a smile as his thought this was mighty Zeus welcoming his friend back home to Olympus. The phoenix had risen.

***

30th March, 2024

Vince Howard’s amplified voice echoed out across the sold-out Millennium Stadium.

“The winners of the twenty twenty four WAAAARRR GAAAAMMMEEESSS... TEEEAAAMMMM FFFFFFAAAAAARRRRRTTTTTHHHHIIIIIINNNGGGTTTTTOOOOONNNNN!”

How to summarise the odd mixture of the ecstasy of tasting victory on a stage of this magnitude with the agony of having every bone, tendon, ligament and sinew ache from all-out warfare? He beamed from ear to ear as he reached down to help The Neck Collector to his feet. FLAMBERGE had done it, they’d all done it, they’d won.

This was the absolute pinnacle of his career. He had worried himself almost to the point of throwing up, concerned he would let down those he’d become so fond of in such a short space of time. The thought of him being the one who cost them victory had tormented him in the weeks leading up to tonight. All other emotions gave way in a heartbeat, there was only joy now.

Suddenly Anna was in front of him, proffering the scarf she’d made him, the joy no less apparent in her. He took it gladly and just like his teammates had done already, he quickly pulled it over his shoulders.

He clapped Hanlon on the shoulder, and they shared a nod of mutual respect. A few meters from them, Sage and Paxton were reliving highlights of the match. O’Neill couldn’t help but think how far those two could go if the tag division ever returned. He’d seen teams thrown together in the hope that something would stick a thousand times, but those two... it just worked.

Cecilworth approached him, his hand outstretched. Looking every inch the proud captain that’d led his team to victory. “As good as your word O’Neill!”

Seán shook the outstretched hand “Thanks Boss.” He knew Farthington had been referring to his vow that the team could rely on him not to let them down.

He wasn’t sure if he was happier at winning on the big stage or having not let down his team. ‘Not now’ he thought, there would be time to analyse and reflect on the match, but he was meant to be letting life come at him these days, now was the time to enjoy the fruits of their combined labours.

He turned to his left, a most unexpected sound having drawn his attention. A reasonable section of the crowd had begun chanting his name. They’d cheered him when he’d made his way into the match, now they were voicing their support once more. That had blown him away, where was the usual blend of distain and apathy he normally received? These fans had shown him the love he so desperately craved.

He held up both hands, gesturing towards them, palms together as if praying. “Thank you”, the sound of his words was lost between the music blasting out from the PA system and the noise from the crowd themselves. They were still riding the high from the incredible contest they’d just witnessed, but he hoped they’d understood his appreciation.

A voice cut through the cacophony; “WANKERRRR!” The voice was a meld of the Ulster Scots’ accent of Northern Ireland and the unmistakeable twang of the American Mid-West. If it was possible for this night to get better, this was how. He knew the beloved voice could only belong to the man who’d been his best friend since they were eleven years old.

It didn’t take long to spot Logan; he’d made his way forward to the ringside barricade as some of the crowd had started to ramble towards the exit. He wore that all-too-familiar mocking grin; it meant more playful abuse was being prepared. Taking leave of his teammates, O’Neill made for the area where Logan stood waiting.

As they embraced over the barricade, Logan made a point of giving his lower back a stiff slap. He swore as his friend laughed. “You’ll need to see Anglo Luchador for a receipt on that one Seán!” That was very true, he’d just experienced the ‘pleasure’ of the Japanese Ocean Cyclone Suplex for the first time, and boy had he experienced it!

“What happened to you not making it over for this?”

His question was met with another smirk, “Well, wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I’d told you I was coming now would it Dickhead? So we going to go celebrate, I’d say you’ll want to enjoy a few more Guinness whilst you’re so close to home.”

O’Neill nodded, he could think of nothing better right now than an ice cold pint of ‘the Black Stuff’. “Aye, come on, will be easier for you to wait in the dressing room than trying to find you again amongst all these hallions.” He helped Logan over the barricade and then turned back to quickly thank the fans around him once more.

Logan grabbed his wrist and thrust his arm up in the air, which produced another round of cheering from those still seated. O’Neill took in their support for a final time.

“Our old man would’ve been very proud of you tonight mate.” his friend whispered in his ear.

‘Our old man’ – The epithet they’d lovingly bestowed on the man who trained them both, their hero, Jay.

***

31st March, 2024

“Uuugggghhh”

The groan was all he could muster. Was there any part of him not aching? He might have had a clear head, but too many pints had put paid to that. The midday sun was blinding as it launched its assault on his delicate senses through the window. He almost fell out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. He could piss for days, and he sorely needed the paracetamol his ringing head was demanding.

An hour later, he sat across from Logan; they’d made their way to Cafe 37 on Salisbury Road. A quick Google search at the hotel had identified it as one of the best ‘greasy spoons’ in Cardiff. O’Neill was already half way through his second mug of coffee since they’d arrived, when their breakfasts were placed down in front of them. Both muttered a croaky thanks to the young waitress, neither of them noticed the little shake of her head and smirk that accompanied it - these two were far from the first or last ‘victims’ she’d save this weekend.

His plate was stacked with an ungodly amount of food, none of it healthy; bacon, sausages, fried eggs, mushrooms, hash browns, baked beans, toast and fried bread. He had bemoaned that the Welsh didn’t serve sofa farls and potato bread, but he’d long-ago accepted that was a uniquely Irish thing.

“Christ I’ve missed this!” O’Neill commented as he began to shovel down masses of bacon. American bacon was, ultimately, better than no bacon, but when you’ve been raised on the pleasure of loin-cut back bacon, the streaky belly-cut stuff the Americans favoured couldn’t compare.

“Mmmm” came the only response as Logan too tucked in. He’d ordered a pancake breakfast, more like what he would’ve eaten when he’d lived in the United States. You’d imagine such a feed would be savoured, enjoyed and drawn out over conversation – nonsense. Within five minutes of their plates being sat down before them, both lay completely empty.

“I see your biggest fan has been talkin’ about you again.”

O’Neill looked up; he’d been admiring his belly as it purred with contentment. “Oh?” He reached for the phone Logan proffered and groaned as he saw the face of the controversial wrestler-turned-YouTuber Jackson Stevens. A man who had an unhealthy obsession with him - which he was sure, had absolutely nothing to do with the complete schooling O’Neill had dished out on the one time they’d faced off, many years before.

“Joy of joys! Let’s see what wisdom the ‘estimable’ Mr Stevens has now chosen to bestow upon us.”

Not entirely certain he really wanted to, he pressed play on the video regardless. He didn’t doubt his headache would quickly resurface if he had to endure much of Stevens’ vitriol today.

“So Team Farthington picked up the big win on night two of Culture Shock. A feat made all the more remarkable by the fact they had Seán bloody O’Neill on their team...”

He was cut off by co-host Philip McDaniels. “You really need to let this obsession with O’Neill go you know Jackson. Say what you will, Seán O’Neill played his part in the victory just as much as his more celebrated team-mates!”

Not willing to even entertain the suggestion, Stevens shakes his head as he responds. “That’s balls Phil! Look at his team-mates; FLAMBERGE, Daniels, Pontiff, Ray, not to mention Cecilworth himself, they could have pulled out the victory if you’d been their partner.”

“I doubt that somehow. Look, if you took a second to step back from this ‘feud’ you seem to be determined to engineer you’d see that last night, O’Neill mixed it up with Ellis, Colton, Williams, Diamonds, Doubleday, Anglo Luchador, Tsonda and even JCH for god’s sake, the Universal Champion! You understand those are some of the biggest names in the business right? And guess what, he didn’t embarrass himself and he didn’t look out of place.”

Looking up at Logan for a second, he flashed his friend a grin. “You know I always said McDaniels knew his stuff.”

“Naturally, but then he’s always been far too generous to you with his star ratings hasn’t he!” Logan’s eyes lit up as he delivered the stinger, pleased with his wit. O’Neill grunted what may have been a chuckle and then turned his attention back to the video.

“I notice you didn’t mention Hessian. How’d O’Neill do against The Murder Show? Again?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed Jackson, he bloodied him, might have even broken his nose!”

Unwilling to concede any point in O’Neill’s favour Jackson shakes his head again. “Phil I could practically smell him crapping himself from this side of the Atlantic when he realised he was in there with Hess.”

“Have you ever actually seen Hessian? Who the hell wouldn’t crap themselves face to face with that titan? Seven foot two, three hundred seventy pounds Jackson. The man is a walking fortress!”

“Well, I maintain Team Farthington could’ve had anyone in that spot and still been able to win. Seán O’Neill was not worthy of a spot in the War Games, and as I’ve said a hundred times, he is not worthy of a spot on the greatest roster of talent ever assembled. His spot could go to some young talent ready to break out.”

This time it was McDaniels turn to shake his head, he knew he was in the right here, but he also knew just as firmly there was no chance Stevens would accept that. “PRIME has plenty of young talent ready to break out; O’Neill being on the roster isn’t holding anyone back. In fact, I’d say it demonstrates that PRIME are willing to take chances on people willing to do the work, even if they’d thought their time had passed them by.”

O’Neill decided he’d had about as much as he could take of Mr Stevens for one day. He stopped the playback and handed Logan’s phone back. “Hell of a guy, great eye for talent!” Both men chuckled.

“He’s right though, look at the roster you guys have at the moment. It’s the perfect blend of established talent, young up-and-comers making their mark, and folks like you who’ve come back with a point to prove. Troy runs one hell of a ship mate; maybe I should try and dig out my own tights, what do you think – SurReal and The Real Deal reunited on the biggest stage of them all?”

Seán smirked, it was his turn to get a little payback. “I think I have enough problems without trying to carry you through matches again mate. I’m pretty sure that was the major contributing factor to my back problems you know!”

“Dick!” Logan shrugged. “But... since you brought it up - your problems, what is going on with you man? You look in phenomenal shape, maybe the best you’ve ever been in. And Stevens’ nailed it when he said this was the best roster ever assembled and your on it. Yet, you don’t seem ‘yourself’ – what’s up?”

“Oh I’m fine, I’m just trying to learn to take things a bit less seriously.”

Logan arched an eyebrow at that remark. “Taking things less seriously? You? ‘Mister Live & Die For This’. You’ve been hanging out with Ryan haven’t you?”

O’Neill let out a very full Belly laugh. “He’ll be delighted to hear his impact has been so obvious.”

“You remember what happened the last time you listened to that dude – right? You spent two years wrestling as Batman and Robin.” Logan spread his palms, exclaiming the point. “I know the idiot means well, but you’re not talking with him now, you’re talking with me. I know you better than anyone on the face of the earth.”

Logan continued “My diagnosis is that you sir, are scared. Your scared that you’ll bugger this run up and that you’ll tarnish people’s memories of the old man.”

O’Neill looked up into his friend’s eyes, no point in denying it here. He nodded.

“Mate, nothing you ever do will tarnish Jay’s legacy. You can’t wear those chains. I miss him too man, but listen to me now – He was proud of you, always. He would have been proud of you making the decision to try again after all this time. And he’d still be proud if you never won another match. He loved you like a brother Seán, but you need to let him rest now. What you do has to be on your own shoulders.”

***

25th April, 2024

“I fly out to Paris this evening.” He was speaking on his phone as he walked. Logan was on the other end of the line. This run of European shows had allowed him to spend the last few weeks with Logan and his family. He was sad it was coming to an end, but glad the schedule had allowed this opportunity.

“Who you got?”

“Rose”

“Oh, she’s a real firecracker, a blur of motion, how are you possibly going to keep up with her you old fart?”

“I don’t plan on trying to keep up with her you prick! Honestly, I’m looking forward to facing her. I don’t doubt she can run rings around me. Let her tire herself out doing so, and then when she’s out of energy, she’ll have to compete at my pace.”

“Oh? At a standstill then?” came the sarcastic retort.

“I’d hardly expect you to understand Logan; you were the same as her inside the squared circle - All strikes and dives. But I’ve been telling you for thirty years, basic fundamentals always shine through. I don’t doubt she sees this booking as her best opportunity yet to pick up the win; it’s my job to relieve her of that train of thought. I’m going to pick her apart, limb by limb, and then I’m going to make her tap out.”

“Is that... confidence I hear Seán?”

O’Neill smirked, he’d reached his destination and as far as he was concerned, so had the conversation. “It is, and with good reason lad. I’m Seán O’Neill; I know that, come ReVival, so will Rose!” And with that he ended the call. He didn’t bother with goodbyes; he thought that had been a pretty cool line to end the conversation on, plus he knew how much it would have pissed his friend off, and that made it all the more pleasing.

He looked down at the grave in front of him; the gravestone had been erected since he’d last stood in this spot.

JAYMES FAULKNER

Wrestling Legend

JAY PHONEIX

The weather mirrored his mood, the sun was out, and the air had a wholesome feel. He sat down on the grass, and crossed his legs.

“Hello old man, it’s been a while. I’m sorry I’ve not come sooner; I’ve been lost in the dark. But I think I’ve found the light switch at last. The truth is, I’ve been so consumed with grief and fear of letting you down that I couldn’t hear the words you would’ve told me. As usual, I had it all backwards in my head.”

He sighed before continuing “I thought if I didn’t make an impact, it would reflect badly on you, as my trainer. I should’ve come to my senses sooner; Logan had to point it out. I know now that your legacy remains intact, regardless of anything I achieve. I know you were proud to be my trainer, and that you knew how proud I was of that.”

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders as he sat there, he should’ve done this long ago. But he’d meant what he said, he’d found the light in the darkness, a new day was dawning for Seán O’Neill, and he was going to make it his.

“So, let me tell you about War Games...”