When The Levee Breaks

It was an uncharacteristically dull day in Badalona, especially for late May. Seán O’Neill had decided to stay here for the week, preferring to avoid the bright lights of Barcelona itself until ReVival rolled around. The afternoon was quickly fading into evening, and despite the sun being hidden behind clouds, the heat was still powerful. He’d spent the majority of the day walking without purpose, but whether conscious of it or not, the ocean had called to him. So now he found himself leaning out over the railings at the end of the Pont del Petroli, a beautiful pier that stretched out into the Balearic Sea from the beach at Platja del Coco.

He was breathing deeply in through his nose, allowing his lungs to fill-up with the freshness of the sea breeze. After around thirty minutes of taking in the blissful peace in isolation, he heard the sounds of others approaching the end of the pier. He didn’t wish them any ill will, but he’d have given anything to have extended his time alone here. It’d been so perfect.

He opened his eyes and turned to see a young family approaching. The mother was being dragged along by her daughter, in a mad rush to get to the edge. The couple’s son was sitting on his father’s shoulders and his eyes were wide with excitement, taking in the sights of waves rising and crashing back to the water’s surface. O’Neill caught the father’s gaze and they exchanged a nod and a smile. He decided it was time to turn back, much as part of him would have been happy to stay there long into the night, he didn’t want to risk conversation right now.

He’d been thinking about the online interview he’d taken part in that morning - Replaying it bit-by-bit in his head. He was worried about some of the things he’d said; it wasn’t in his nature to be so open, so honest amongst strangers, yet he’d opened up completely. As he started walking back down the pier he resumed the mental playback, picking up where he’d left off earlier.

****

“I think there was this, hope more than necessarily expectation, that having been part of the winning side in the War Games match, things might have reached a turning point for you. Sadly that wasn’t to be though, and Rose walked away with her first victory at your expense. Can you talk a bit about that?”

The question was posed by Philip McDaniels, one of the most prominent figures in the business of analysing and discussing the world of professional wrestling. McDaniels had gained a name for himself in the late 1980s and early 1990s with his fan newsletter, which over time had risen to the spot of the most prominent service of its sort anywhere. Covering all facets of the industry, it was posted out bi-weekly to thousands of readers, mainly spread across North America.

Unlike most of his contemporaries, McDaniels had been an early adopter of the internet, and this had resulted in his newsletter gaining even further attention internationally. It was no great secret that his message boards were often viewed by ‘The Boys’, keen to see how he’d rate their latest matches. There were those hwoever, who’d begun to question in recent times, if McDaniels still has his finger on the pulse of the business in 2024.

At the very least - he’d always been fair in his reporting on O’Neill. Not to mention, there’d now been several occasions where Seán had seen the man defend his position in PRIME from the constant attacks of his regular Online Wrestling News co-host; Jackson Stevens. It was with that thought in mind that Seán accepted the question wasn’t meant as an insult or attack, and so he took a second to consider his response.

“Well in all honesty Phil, I think things did change for me that weekend, at least on a personal level. Whether that’ll translate to better results in the ring? I guess time will tell. If anyone can appreciate how desperate Rose would’ve been to get the win, it’s me after all. She was the better wrestler on the night. It’s easy for someone to look at the win loss records and pass judgement on any of us, but that doesn’t really paint the full picture.”

McDaniels nodded in agreement as O’Neill continued.

“Sure, losing the majority of my matches isn’t how I want things to pan out - but sometimes you have to remember where you are and who you’re in there against. I hold my hands up to struggling to compete at this level. If this was a small independent promotion and I was losing week in, week out, against local wrestler number three, then yeah, I’d have to start questioning my decision to come out of retirement. But the men and women of PRIME are the best in the world. And I know phrases like that can be thrown about easily, but in this case the statement is absolutely valid.”

****

He was brought back to the present by a vibration in his pocket. Taking his phone out he unlocked the screen and opened the message, it was from his best friend Logan.

Just watched the interview dude, I’m very proud of you... ya bell-end!

O’Neill allowed himself a smile; of course Logan would be the first to reach out. It had been Logan who’d called him out on trying to deny his struggles, particularly in coping with Jay’s loss. He’d proven yet again, as if it’d ever been in any doubt, that he knew Seán better than Seán himself.

He tapped out a quick reply and then stowed the phone back in his jeans. He’d made it about a third of the distance back to the beach at this point, his attention was drawn by a speedboat zooming through the water. The speedboat was towing a banana boat along in its wake, judging by the gap in the passengers they’d already lost one or two along the way. It was clear from the squeals and shouting that carried to him the passengers were having a blast.

He leant on the railings again and watched the boat as he let his thoughts drift back to the interview.

****

“I think you’re right in saying that, it’s easy to just look at the numbers sometimes and miss the bigger picture. And I agree with what you’ve said about the roster. I’ve said it before, and I’ve never yet heard a convincing counter argument when I say that PRIME has put together the most talented roster I’ve ever seen. Next up for you is the newcomer Steve Harrison, what are your thoughts going into this match?”

“I thought his name was Stefan Hariston, no? Maybe that explains why I’ve struggled to do much homework on the guy. I mean, I’ve seen him about recently, but I honestly thought he was just one of the guys who works the gimmick tables.”

Phil laughed “Perhaps he’s on a dual-contract?”

Seán held his hands up as a sign of not passing judgement in response. “Listen we all have to put meat on the table somehow. You know what, maybe it would work to my advantage if he does just work the tables, he’s not likely to know too much about me if he just handles merchandise is he? Safe to say I’m not amongst the top-sellers.”

“Well, it certainly must be a busy job manning those merch tables at PRIME events!”

It was O’Neill’s turn to nod now, agreeing with Phil. He gestured he needed a moment, allowing an opportunity to knock back some of his coffee. “Sorry, I appreciate you having me on, but I’ve never been much use in the mornings without caffeine!”

McDaniels chuckled, raising his own coffee cup. “You’re certainly not alone in that Seán. On the topic of the roster, how do you think PRIME has been able to amass such a wealth of talent?”

“Well, I dare say a big part of it is just the landscape of the business in 2024. When I first came to the States there were so many different world class promotions with television deals operating at the highest of levels. Under the PTC banner there were what six or seven at any one time?”

McDaniels cut in “PTC for some of our younger listeners was the legendary Primetime Central network. Probably the most famous organisation of its type, it was the hub for premier wrestling for many years, connecting several of the most important, and in some cases infamous, promotions in the world.”

“Exactly, and even when I last competed over here back in 2010, you still had some really iconic promotions still running. Obviously I was in GCW at that time, the first iteration of PRIME was taking the world by storm, the WWA was starting to wind down but they were still running live events and then HOW was enjoying great success too. Those days are gone now, and with no disrespect to the promoters out their busting their asses, but on a really global scale, there is probably only PRIME and HOW left now. So perhaps it’s only natural that the best of the best would converge in one place.”

“And there was no chance of you going back to HOW I take it? It’d have been interesting to see you back there, twenty odd years after your first run in the company.”

O’Neill shook his head; he’d struggled to make an impact in High Octane Wrestling. Well, he’d struggled to make any sort of impact in almost all of the promotions he’d wrestled for in the States - but his failures in HOW had always seemed to him to be a greater disappointment than most.

“No, I didn’t really consider it to be honest. When word got out I’d started working again in the UK, Lindsay Troy reached out, and I don’t know if you’ve ever spoken with Troy, but let me tell ya, she isn’t someone you say no to if you know what’s good for you! I think that’s really clear if you look at the roster now, I’m far from the only person to resurface after a long time away from the business. Look at the likes of Ivan, Dawkins, Hessian to name just a few others that have been lured back into this crazy world by her over the last few years.”

****

He smirked as another of the banana-boat’s passengers bit the dust. For a second he allowed himself to imagine his team-mates from War Games on a banana-boat. He couldn’t decide if Sage would be the first to be thrown from his seat, or whether his ‘chemically-enhanced’ concentration would allow him to outlast the others. He chuckled as he pictured them all wearing the scarves Anna had made.

A thought occurred to him then, where was the voice? That never ending voice only he could hear. The voice which was his harshest critic, the one that had plagued him for time out of mind, was silent. He certainly didn’t miss it, but he’d only just noticed its absence. He tried to think when it had last invaded his thoughts.

He decided it’ been on the flight to Wales, he’d last heard its poison. He’d allowed himself to have fun during that week with the other members of the team, and then he’d followed that up straight afterwards the long overdue heart-to-heart with Logan. Dare he even consider this thought - had accepting that he needed to heal finally given him peace from it?

****

“So no regrets about taking on this challenge then?”

“None, I’m under no illusions Phil. I know right now I’m on the bottom rung of the ladder, but as long as I have one hand on it I’ll keep giving all I’ve got to start that long climb. I remember when Jason Newsted left Metallica; I read an interview at the time where he talked about the band spending time with their families but that not being an option for him. I think he said something like he’d chosen to marry himself to the music industry. I’ve always related to that, I effectively made that same choice. Professional wrestling has been everything to me since I was a kid; I’ve sacrificed everything for it.”

“So, in light of that, does that make it harder when you hear some of the negative things your critics have said about you?”

“Like your pal Stevens? It could, and at times I suppose it has. I’d like to be able to say I’m older and wiser now so it doesn’t get to me, but only half of that is true! Listen, people are entitled to their opinions. I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, or coffee...” He took the opportunity to take another swig from his coffee before raising the cup to the camera to salute his own pun.

“...At the end of the day, all I can do is go out there each time and put everything I have into every match. I’ve never been good at accepting what I can control and what I can’t, but I’m working on getting a better grasp on that. If I give it all I have, and I come up short, then that’s just how the dice have fallen. I realise that for every fan who appreciates what I bring to the party, there will be another hundred who will want me to be flashier - to be more of a character I suppose but this is me, I am who I am. I’m just a guy who has lived, slept, breathed and bled to be the best I can at this stupid sport I love.”

McDaniels took the opportunity to step in. “Do you think that holds you back? I understand what you mean about being true to who you are, but in saying that, the wrestling world is filled with crazy, kooky characters. Wouldn’t it be worth trying to play that up, even a little?”

****

Seán reached the end of the pier, to find a busker had set himself up on the gentle slope of the ramp that connected the pier to the beach. Fair play to him, the guy had a great voice. He’d drawn a small crowd, as he worked his way through a collection of classics from the 1980s; his Spanish accent came through particularly prominent on some of the words, but that added to the charm.

Deciding to stay a while and enjoy the performance, O’Neill took himself off to the side a little and sat down on the ground. He was thankful it was an overcast day as it dawned on him if he’d done this on a cloud-free day his arse and legs would’ve been melted within a few seconds.

The busker had started into ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’ by Foreigner. He and the busker looked at each other as he sang;

In my life, there's been heartache and pain

I don't know if I can face it again

Can't stop now, I've travelled so far

To change this lonely life

For those few seconds, O’Neill felt like the busker was looking into his soul. It was as if he’d known Seán had been thinking about all the things he’d sacrificed along the way. ‘To change this lonely life’ Hmph! That thought had been growing in his mind of late too.

He’d never regretted the choices he’d made - The friendships he’d let slip, the relationships he’d not noticed falling apart, spending so much of his life apart from his family and away from the comforts of home – none of these things had mattered when weighed against the ever-burning desire to be the best he could be in the ring.

He glanced around at the other people watching the busker playing; most of them were couples or young families, all enjoying each other’s company. There it was again, a pang of sadness for what could’ve been – maybe he was starting to regret his choices after all, some of them at least.

He’d always been so sure of what he wanted from life, so certain that would never change. And yet...

****

“Well, yeah I know what you mean. It probably would help, at least a little. And it’s not that I’ve not played up to characters and roles in the past. But there comes a point I think in most people’s lives, I think, where they just want to be appreciated for who they are. I think, even if it was just for me, I needed the world to see me in that way.”

He paused for a few moments, gathering his thoughts; he wanted to make sure he wasn’t misunderstood in this. Sensing this Phil didn’t interrupt.

“I’m Seán William O’Neill, I’m forty-four years old, and for thirty-two of those years I’ve put every part of my soul into this. I knew at twelve my destiny was to wrestle; there was never any other option. I’m what they call ‘A student of the game’, I’ve wrestled in every corner of the globe and I learn something every single time I step between the ropes. I made peace with the fact that I don’t have the championships or accolades to reflect that a long time ago. I may never be considered the best in the world, but like me or not, that is the company I keep. Am I the worst wrestler in PRIME? Maybe, some would say definitely. And I don’t mean to keep harping back on this, but, even being the worst in PRIME still makes me better than ninty-nine percent of the people who’ve ever done this.”

McDaniels smiled and nodded, whether he agreed with O’Neill on this or not, he could feel the genuine passion in the words. O’Neill wasn’t going to stop now however, he felt like with each word he was lifting a weight off his shoulders.

“I understand where the criticism comes from, and I’ve heard it all by this point. O’Neill focuses too much on technique, O’Neill lets wins slip away when he can’t control his temper, O’Neill lets the boos and jeers get in his head. All true, like I said, I am who I am. There was a time when I’d have judged myself on my ranking, or if I’d won championships – those days are gone. The target I’ve set for myself now is to get myself in a position where when it comes to the end of the line, folks will say – Seán O’Neill he was a hell of a wrestler!”

A deep breath, the time had come.

“I said earlier that things changed for me around War Games, on a personal level. The truth is for a very long time now I’ve been battling with depression. It’s a horrible disease Phil - it destroys any confidence you build, it leaves you second-guessing every decision you make, all you can think of is the mistakes you’ve made and the ones your making right at that moment. It causes you to push everyone away so you can hide. The world is changing, we’re starting to be more aware of these things, but our generation wasn’t raised to share our feelings and problems - we viewed it as weakness. I want to use this platform to put a message out there to anyone who might be going through something similar. Talk about how you’re feeling, reach out to your friends or your family if you’re lucky enough to have them. If not, then reach out to someone, be that a GP or a support network like the Samaritans for example. You’re not alone, and no battle is won by an army of one.”

“Thank you for being so honest about that Seán, that can’t have been easy to speak about, and you’re absolutely right, there is help and support out there and we’d encourage anyone who is struggling with their mental health to reach out.”

****

Another buzz from his phone brought him back to the present. This time it was a direct message from Twitter however. He opened the app and checked his messages. He felt a surge of frustration as soon as he saw who’d sent him the message – Jackson Stevens.

‘Not today you asshole’ he thought, he was tempted just to delete the message unread, but ultimately he chose to open it.

Listen, I know I’m the last person on Earth you want to hear from. But I wanted to say I saw the interview with Phil. It was very honest, and very brave. I owe you an apology for all the crap I’ve said about you. What do you say to putting the past behind us?

O’Neill had to read the message several times, convinced his eyes were deceiving him. ‘Now I didn’t see that coming!’