III. About a Plane Crash

Tanking my own career and nosediving it into the ground wasn’t on my bucket list of things to do but here we are. Everything that can go wrong, has gone wrong. This is my truth that I will speak on. If you were to tell me six or seven months ago that I would be in this position to set up myself for failure I would have just told you to go fuck yourself and then go about my day.

Instead I am faced with my own mortality as Morgan shines a light in my eyes and uses her very heavy hand to knock on my head to see where my brain went, because I sure as hell can’t locate it.

“HELLLOOOOOOOOOOOO…” she says following up by a very facetious echo. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, my love, but you lost again. I mean, you were close, however I think we are both in agreement that we need to both go back to Texas and you are going to have to speak to your nan.” I try to open my mouth to form some sort of response but she covers her hand preventing me from a witty retort. “Now…I know this might be a little hard for you to digest, but to get over whatever you are feeling you are going to have to face your demons. Not your nan, she is not a demon, at least I don’t think so. Anyway you know what I mean. You may speak now, Mr. Styker”.

“Morgan, you are right…” I gave in.

I let out a heavy sigh.

“This is not like me at all, I was at the top at BattleZone. They were very good to me there and I was a major player. I broke someones fucking leg to win a championship. Going from that to back to the bottom, to feeling worthless is not something I can take lightly. I know both of my opponents were tough and they just beat me by a small fraction, but I know I can do better. I have done better and it’s shameful I continue to disappoint myself”.

There are so many crosses to bear here, many things that are needed to be unpacked and the catharsis to motivate myself outward and beyond the immense trepidation I continue to feel will continue to settle into my stomach questioning every move I will ever make from here on out. My life and my career will now always be me trying to avoid the land mines on the ground or piloting a plane figuring out how to land the fucking thing.

“Mr. Alex Stryker, your head is very empty and full of dumb silly thoughts. You are very lucky I do not have any matches scheduled until the beginning of next year and I am going to be here to pester you until a resolution happens. Either you get out of your funk and be the troublemaker and agitator I know you can be, else you are going to get a new job as my manager. You will follow me across the world, hold my championships for me and everything will be mint.”

I almost want to concede at this point, she is going to drive me up the fucking wall. I know she is goading me into trying to fix whatever it is I am crashing out on.

“We have to go to Texas, don't we?” I look at her and the most facetious shit eating grin you have ever seen in your life has lit up her face and she nods very slowly like a horror movie character. “I fucking hate when you do that, Morgan.”

“What. Ever. Do. You. Mean. Alexander. Stryker.” She continues smiling as she pokes and prods me, like she is trying to select the best cut of meat to bite into. “You. Might. Have. Smart. Thoughts. After. All. You absolute buffoon. I already bought the tickets. We leave in the morning.”

[THE NEXT DAY IN GOOD OLD TEXAS]

I hate having to come back here whenever something bad happens. I have embroiled myself into this thing like a noir detective. My grandfather has died and now I am expected to hunt down this falcon, what has my life come to here. How the fuck would Humprey Bogart solve this mystery? How would Sam Spade come to figure out all these threads that are being pulled and put them together? Is my femme fatale going to try and kill me?

I prefer not to answer that last part, but it may come sooner than later.

There is so much insanity I can only handle at once. There are many questions that need answers and I am afraid of figuring out whatever truth might be buried at my Grandmother's house. I stated this before but I would rather not have her relive this over and over again, she is such an innocent soul.

Before I step foot in my grandmother’s house again, I think the best course of action is going to the Texas Outlaw building. Maybe I can get answers before I even approach her. It can’t hurt right?

Right?

“You know I’ve never actually wrestled here before, why hasn’t your grandmother invited me to come ‘round and square up with some of the locals here?” Morgan stares intently as though I had some sort of answer I could give her.

“Honestly? She loves you a lot, and she was mostly afraid you’d say no, especially with the schedule that you've had she didn’t want to burden you with more travel.”

“Hmm, I would have made the time. This place is nice and quant. No wait, that is not the word. What is the word I’m looking for that means like old and stuff?”

“Quaint?”

“Yes, quaint, not quant. There is a charm about this little old place. I’ve seen the videos, it looks like they do bull-riding or whatever you Texans do.”

“Yes…they had a shared space with bull-riding and indoor soccer or something.”

“Football…”

“No, no, soccer.”

“Darling, I am English, I am correct.” The struggle to argue with her was too great about the semantics of football versus soccer. She laughs, slinging her arm into mine as we walk down the sidewalk into the building.

It could use some work, honestly it should be demolished. It has that sort of eerie musk that you would get if you went into a hundred year old condemned building. Full of asbestos, lead, and dark secrets that you couldn’t put your finger on, but knew something would happen.

I use my keys and open the door into the main entrance of the building. Despite the smell, things have never changed. The walls were decorated with my grandfather, father, and various other wrestlers from the past and the present that adorn in a tapestry.

There was a history here that I try every day to live up to. I knew I was great at professional wrestling and the world knew it too. I take a lot in pride in what I do and enjoy the adrenaline when I am inside that ring. I want the people in the crowd and the people at home to live vicariously through me whenever I throw a punch or give a nasty scowl to someone deserving of it.

Lately, it has not felt that way. Like I keep telling Morgan, the top was a very high peak where I was at. I am in a quicksand trap full of shit and struggling to give myself the lifeline I desperately need. Why the fuck am I self concious? Where did I suddenly go wrong and lose my way? There is more than me just being rattled by some geek in a trilby telling me what is going to amount to some lies.

“Do you think you’ll retire and come back here and train the next generation of Alex Strykers? Are you going to teach them your wizard tricks? How to blow smoke up yer own ass and learn to teleport or whatever you do?”

I blink at her, my eyes widen. “I do not teleport, what the hell? I don’t plan on retiring for a long time, and yeah I would probably come back here and take over this facility. Get rid of all the asbestos and mold that is probably in all the HVAC. I think I would do a pretty good job.”

“You know what they say, those who can’t do, teach.”

“Morgan…”

“Yes darling?”

“I seriously dislike you at this moment.”

“I am right, though. Mr. Stryker, you couldn’t hit a barn side of a door or whatever the phrasing is. I am not going to continue to give you motivational speeches because you don’t take this seriously.” She pokes my chest repeatedly. “There are too many demons in there Mr. Stryker that you are in danger of losing yourself.”

“Alex…Stryker?” An unfamiliar voice calls out to me, I turn around from Morgan and see a 20-something standing in front of me, I can see his hands shaking.

“Hey…there…pal?” I am confused. “How can I help you buddy?”

“Oh, uhh, I…jeez this is hard for me to say, but you are the reason I am training here right now. You remember when you pushed that Brandon guy off the top turnbuckle and broke his leg and won the championship? That was so fucking cool. Oh my god I am sorry I didn’t mean to swear. Apologies. Ever since then I have wanted to do that.”

“You mean break people’s legs in a wrestling ring?” Morgan snorts.

“MORGAN.” I nudge her shoulder with mine giving her a dirty look, she snorts again looking away then back towards the kid trying to make a serious face. I turn my attention back to the kid. “Honestly? That is flattering. My family has been in this business for a lot longer than I have been alive and the thing that really made me get into wrestling is when my grandfather and father took an icepick to someone’s head and made them bleed pretty bad. It has lit a fire under me and makes me want to get into the business myself”.

As we continue to have our chat I learn a great deal about him, he was a lot like me in some ways. His only passion in life before getting into training to be a professional wrestler was video games, anime, and watching wrestling. His friends were mostly online and he felt like he needed something to connect his life together.

I spent all my time watching Kamen Rider and playing Silent Hill and Resident Evil. I had a lot of doubts as to what I would ever do with my life. I could have just said fuck it and went to college and do something with my life. I always dreamt of becoming an architect or something to do with building things. Getting my hands dirty was always in my calling. I guess when you see someone bleed from an ice pick things the trajectory changes in your life.

Was this divinity? A sign from a higher power that course corrections happen for a reason? No, I am too smart to believe in any of that. I like to observe through whatever cosmic forces is pushing me into this direction is playing fast and loose with my life and I do not fucking like it.

“Are you going to be here for long? We have a training session soon and I think everyone would like to hear your words of wisdom.”

“We…would love to.” Morgan answers for me. She smiles digging her finger in my side as I nod my head in a forced agreement. I turn to her and she gives me a shit eating grin. She leans in and whispers to me. “This is going to be good for you and them, you are welcome.”

[NEAR THE END OF TRAINING]

I do not know what came over me. This is second nature to me. These kids look up to me and I haven't felt this way in a few months. They hung on my every world and it was probably one of the best feelings that I have had. A sense of commanding such an audience in this setting lifted my spirits.

“How do you deal with losing?” One of the trainees asked.

I knew this was going to come.

“Losing, unfortunately, is something that is going to happen. Not everybody can have a perfect record coming into this industry. You are going to lose and you are going to lose often. If you guys look at the last 2 matches I had, I was on the cusp of winning but it just didn’t go the way that I had planned it. Losing is another opportunity to learn from your opponents and just hope that you are better the next time. I have lost so many times in my career, sometimes I have a streak of 5 losses in a row, it’s happened multiple times and I have always just readjusted and refocused myself. We are human, we make missteps and you know what? Things will work out in the end. Losing is not the end of your careers, not by a fucking long shot.”

I feel like I am commanding an army, giving a rousing speech about losing.

“You have a match in California on the 29th, you think you’re going to win?”

“Yeah, I have to. I am not going to go in there and already doom myself that way. That’s not how you should approach life. Just because I say losing is okay, doesn’t mean you’re not supposed to give it your all. I plan on winning, but if I don’t it is not worth losing sleep over.”

I need to start taking my own advice under consideration. With the blessing of the trainers I dismissed the class. Everyone thanked me for being there and helping out. It was the introspective I needed, I think.

There was a lot of me looking inside myself and trying to find the faults I had burdened myself with, the trials and tribulations I put myself through was not worth the hassle anymore.

[HOTEL ROOM]

“Alex, you lead that class really well and that motivational speech about losing was very classy. Taking your own advice would do wonders for you, yeah?” Morgan smiles at me. “I am being totally honest and don’t take this the wrong way, but this is your calling.”

She was right in some aspects, but there was too much unfinished business I needed to take care of first before I even thought about setting my boots in the middle of a ring.

I grunt. “I know, I am a golden goose in this industry. I have too many goals to accomplish before that happens.”

“And what are those?”

“The first one is Revival 60. Adam Ellis. I want to put him through the ringer and disrespect him in front of the cameras on Ace Network.”

“Oh wow, what the hell did he do to you?” she asks me surprisingly.

“Nothing, but it’s going to be the first step of many for me. Step by step I am going to work my way up that card and win that Universal Title. I do not care how long this is going to take, but I will dig deep in the trenches and get there eventually. No matter how long it takes, no matter how many road blocks are in my way.”

So fucking sick of the motivational speeches.

I am tired of this damn introspection I have of my own life.

Dissecting every word and phrase, every sentence that flows through my head. I came back to Texas to figure out things in my life and again I was met with what some people would say is divine intervention. They all would say that something is leading me onto a path of something greater than myself.

No, I reject that. There is no divine path for me, I am carving out my own free will one body at a time. Going forward I can’t let myself fall into the same trope over and over again of this pity party that is thrown when something doesn’t go my way.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. My crown is made of razor blades and thorns. I will be the gold standard, I will put bodies on the slab and make people afraid of me again.

There is time between now and Revival 60 to assemble myself, to rebuild and push past all this negativity I casted upon myself. I am my own imperfect enemy.

I am the saboteur.

Bowing down to my own insecurities has made me the product of my own environment. I inhaled the miasma of self guilt, all the self control has went out of the fucking window. I set my own trap and walked right into them.

No more.

Not today.

Or Tomorrow.

Never again.