ONCE A BANDIT, ALWAYS A BANDIT... RIGHT?

MIND OVER MATTER

Well isn't this just perfect.

Troy's really outdone herself this time.

This week I get the privilege to face Cancer Jiles.

Friend of mine.

If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it is that people always assume the hardest matches are the ones fueled by hatred.

They think the difficult nights are the blood feuds.

The betrayals.

The grudges.

The personal wars where every punch carries years of resentment behind it.

Ivan Stanislav versus Jared Sykes.

Nate Colton versus Flamberge.

They're wrong.

Sometimes the hardest match is the one that gives you too much time to think.

And for the next couple of days, that's exactly what I've got.

At Revival 89 I have to face Cancer Jiles.

A match where I have to stop looking at him as someone who put their trust in me at Squad Goals, and start looking at him as an opponent.

Most wrestlers spend their time in the gym, preparing for the upcoming match.

I get to spend this time trying to figure out what this match actually means.

Because Cancer Jiles isn't just another name on a card.

He's not just some random guy standing across the ring from me.

He's somebody I've gone to for advice.

Somebody I've stood beside on more than one occasion.

Somebody I've seen succeed when others thought he wouldn't.

Somebody who has managed to remain a challenger for the Universal title, despite an entire roster of individuals talented enough to give the champion a run for his money on any given night.

That's not luck.

That's not an accident.

That's not something you stumble into.

That's earned.

Whether people like him or not.

Whether they agree with how he does things or not.

That's earned.

And that earned my respect.

Respect gets thrown around too casually these days.

People respect popularity.

They respect championships.

They respect influence.

They respect whoever happens to be standing on top of the mountain.

That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about respecting survival.

Respecting consistency.

Respecting the ability to adapt when everybody else is falling apart around you.

Cancer has done that for a long time.

I've seen the confidence and the arrogance.

I've seen the smirk that seems designed specifically to irritate people.

I've seen the moments where he acts like the entire world revolves around him.

But I've also seen the work.

The pressure.

The expectations.

The burden that comes with being Cancer Jiles.

People see the character.

I see the competitor.

And because I see the competitor, I understand exactly what makes this difficult.

Cancer and I once stood under the same banner.

We fought on the same side of things.

Once a Bandit, always a Bandit.

I'm not saying that creates loyalty.

I'm not saying it creates obligation.

I'm not even saying it means anything to him.

Truthfully, it probably doesn't.

But it means something to me.

Not because I'm sentimental.

Because history matters.

Shared experiences matter.

The roads you've traveled matter.

At least they do to me.

Maybe that's the difference.

Maybe that's the problem.

Because respect doesn't have to be mutual.

I respect Cancer Jiles.

That doesn't mean he respects me.

And if I'm being honest, I don't spend much time expecting him to.

Cancer has never seemed particularly interested in earning anyone's approval.

He's Jiles.

People either adapt to him or they don't.

He's never been the kind of man to adjust himself for somebody else's comfort.

Part of me admires that, but another part of me recognizes how dangerous that makes him.

Because while I'm reflecting on what this match means, I doubt he's doing the same thing.

While I'm sitting here acknowledging everything he's accomplished, I doubt he's spending much time acknowledging me.

While I'm thinking about history, he's probably thinking about outcomes.

And maybe that's why he's been so successful.

Cancer understands something a lot of people don't.

Results matter.

History remembers results.

Nobody remembers good intentions.

Nobody remembers almost.

Nobody remembers what you meant to do.

They remember who won.

That's it.

That's the game.

Cancer figured that out a long time ago.

That's why I don't fool myself when it comes to what happens once we're in that ring.

I know exactly who I'm dealing with.

If an opportunity presents itself, he'll take it.

If an advantage appears, he'll use it.

If the referee misses something, I don't expect Cancer to suddenly develop a guilty conscience.

Why would he?

The rulebook has never been anything more than a suggestion box, and his willingness to ignore it when necessary is part of what has made him successful.

Some people call that cheating.

Maybe they're right.

We usually call it winning.

And that's where my mind keeps circling back.

Not to him.

To me.

Because I know what Cancer is willing to do.

The question is what am I willing to do?

Can I put my respect aside?

Can I stop admiring the accomplishments long enough to focus on the opponent?

Can I stop looking at Cancer Jiles as a name and start looking at him as a problem?

Because if I can't, then I've already lost.

That's the uncomfortable truth.

Respect creates hesitation.

Not a lot.

Just enough.

Enough to make you think.

Enough to make you question.

Enough to cost you a split second.

Split seconds that can decide the outcome of a wrestling match.

Cancer doesn't seem burdened by hesitation.

That's one of the things I've always noticed about him.

Most people stand at a crossroads weighing options.

Cancer picks a direction and starts walking.

Whether people agree with it or not.

Whether people approve or not.

He moves, and I saw that first hand when he faced Coral.

Meanwhile, after our match was announced all I've spent time doing is asking myself questions.

Can I be ruthless when I need to be?

Can I match that certainty?

Can I do what has to be done if the moment calls for it, or am I going to walk into this match carrying respect like extra weight around my neck?

That's the fight I'm having right now.

Not with Cancer.

With myself.

Because the match hasn't happened yet.

The bell hasn't rung.

The crowd hasn't reacted.

Nothing has been settled.

All I've got is time and my own thoughts.

Time to prepare.

Time to train.

Time to study.

Time to convince myself that admiration and competition can coexist.

Because despite everything I've said, despite every concern I've got, despite every question rattling around in my head, there's one thing I know for certain.

I can beat Cancer Jiles.

I believe that.

I have to.

Not because I think he's overrated.

Not because I think he's lost a step.

Not because I think I'm better.

I believe it because if I don't, then there's no point in showing up.

Confidence isn't arrogance.

Confidence is necessary.

You don't survive in this business without believing in yourself.

The trick is believing in yourself while still respecting the challenge in front of you.

And I respect this challenge.

Probably more than any challenge I've had in a long time.

Because Cancer isn't dangerous simply because of what he can do.

He's dangerous because he knows exactly who he is.

There's power in that.

A lot of people spend their careers trying to figure themselves out.

Cancer figured himself out years ago.

Love him or hate him, he's never pretended to be anything else.

There's something intimidating about a man who understands himself that completely.

Which means if I'm going to beat him, I need to understand myself just as clearly.

I need to know exactly who Tony Gamble is.

Not who people think I am.

Not who I used to be.

Not who I want to become.

Who I am right now.

Because when we step into the ring at Revival 89, none of these thoughts are going to matter.

The analysis won't matter.

The admiration won't matter.

The history won't matter.

The respect won't matter.

The only thing that will matter is what happens between the ropes.

Cancer Jiles is going to walk into that match exactly the way he's always walked into every challenge.

Confident.

Certain.

Prepared to do whatever he believes gives him the best chance to win.

I don't expect anything less.

The question isn't whether Cancer will be ready.

The question is whether I'll be ready to stop respecting him long enough to beat him.

Not forever.

Just for one night.

Just long enough to stop seeing the legacy.

Just enough to stop seeing the championships.

Enough to stop seeing everything he's been, and start seeing what he is.

The next man standing in my way.

I've got a few more days to figure that out.

A few more days until all the questions disappear – until respect gets tested.

In a couple of days admiration collides with ambition, Tony Gamble collides with Cancer Jiles.

And by the end of that night, I'll finally have my answer.

Not about him.

About me.

I hope I'm ready for it.

=-=-=-=-=

HENDERSON HOUSEHOLD

The living room felt lived in without being cluttered. Warm beige walls framed family photographs arranged neatly above a dark wooden bookshelf. A large gray sectional couch occupied most of the space, facing a television mounted over a stone fireplace. A soft lamp in the corner cast a golden glow across the room. Outside the wide front window, the last traces of evening sunlight were fading into dusk.

Tony Gamble sat on the far end of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. Even while sitting still, he looked exhausted. There were bruises along his forearms and a faint discoloration near his jaw that makeup couldn't hide because he wasn't wearing any. He stared down at his hands while Victoria Henderson sat in the armchair opposite him.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Their daughter had finally gone to bed, leaving behind the kind of silence that always seemed to make things between them more awkward than either wanted to admit.

Victoria crossed her arms.

"You look terrible."

Tony laughed quietly.

"Nice to see you too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She shook her head.

"No, Tony. You look like you've been hit by a truck."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"That's not funny."

"It kind of is."

Victoria sighed.

There was always this dance with him. Deflection. Humor. Anything to avoid saying what he was actually feeling.

"You've been training too hard."

Tony looked up.

"There's no such thing."

"There absolutely is."

"Not when Cancer's standing on the other side of the ring."

The room became quiet again.

Victoria knew enough about the business to understand the significance of that statement. She wasn't a big fan, but after years of watching Tony chase championships and opportunities as his valet, she'd learned to pay attention to the names that mattered.

Cancer Jiles was a name that mattered.

"You're worried," she said.

Tony smirked.

"No."

"Tony."

"I'm not."

"Tony."

He looked away.

Victoria raised an eyebrow.

"That's what I thought."

Tony leaned back against the couch cushions.

"I'm not worried."

"You're lying."

"I'm concerned."

"Same thing."

"No. Concern means I'm realistic."

Victoria couldn't help smiling.

"That's the most bullshit answer I've ever heard."

Tony pointed at her.

"See? You get it."

She rolled her eyes.

"I get that you've been spending every waking moment preparing for this match."

"Pretty much."

"How many hours are you sleeping?"

Tony hesitated.

Victoria narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, that's not good."

"I'm sleeping."

"How much?"

"A few hours."

"A few isn't a number."

Tony rubbed the back of his neck.

"Four."

"Tony."

"Sometimes five."

"Tony."

"Six on good nights."

Victoria groaned.

"You're impossible."

He completed his smile.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

The smile lingered.

Victoria hated when he smiled like that.

Not because it bothered her.

Because it affected her.

Even now.

Even after everything.

Especially after everything.

She looked away first.

"So tell me honestly."

"About," he asked.

"This match."

Tony's expression shifted.

The joking disappeared.

"What about it?"

"Can you beat him?"

The question hung in the air.

Tony took a long breath before answering.

"Yeah."

Victoria studied him.

"You believe that?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't answer immediately."

"Because I was thinking."

"You usually answer immediately."

"Maybe I'm growing as a person."

She laughed despite herself.

"I doubt it."

Tony chuckled.

"Fair."

Victoria's smile faded.

"Seriously."

"I am serious."

"Can you beat him?"

Tony stared toward the fireplace.

"Yes."

The answer sounded stronger that time.

More certain.

Victoria noticed.

"So why are you pushing yourself this hard?"

Tony was quiet for a moment, then finally replied, "Because believing I can beat him and actually beating him are two different things."

Victoria nodded slowly.

That answer made sense.

Maybe too much sense.

"You still respect him."

"I do."

"You don't usually say that about opponents."

Tony shrugged.

"You know he's not just any opponent."

"You're not a Bandit anymore."

"I know."

Victoria watched him carefully, Tony wasn't a man who handed out compliments. If he respected someone, it meant something.

"Then why are you so worried about him?"

Tony leaned forward again.

"Because he's Cancer."

"Helpful answer."

"I'm serious."

"Then explain."

Tony thought for a moment.

"Jiles isn't just talented, he's smart and knows exactly who he is in that ring."

Victoria listened.

"I hate to admit it out loud, but if I lose this match I'm not sure if there's any point in continuing in PRIME."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't keep calling out the champ if I can't even beat the second runner up. Cecilworth has beaten Cancer multiple times, he'll he's beaten Coral’s record."

Victoria nodded.

"That sounds intimidating."

"It should."

She looked at the bruises on his arms.

"Then maybe I'm right to be worried."

Tony met her eyes.

"You don't need to worry."

A strange tension settled between them.

Victoria looked away.

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

"No," her voice softened. "No, it isn't."

Tony frowned slightly.

Victoria stared at the photographs on the wall.

"Every time you get hurt, you tell me not to worry."

"Because I don't want you worrying."

"You don't get to decide that."

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Tony fell silent.

Victoria immediately regretted sounding so emotional.

But it was too late.

The damage was done.

Or maybe not damage.

Maybe honesty.

Tony's voice became quieter.

"Victoria."

She didn't look at him.

"You don't get to tell me not to care."

That silence felt heavier.

Longer.

More dangerous.

Tony swallowed.

Neither of them mentioned what she had actually said.

What she had actually meant.

He cared too much.

She cared too much.

Both knew it.

Neither acknowledged it.

Tony looked down.

"I know."

Victoria finally met his eyes.

For a moment neither looked away.

The room suddenly felt much smaller.

Then Tony cleared his throat.

"So."

Victoria nearly laughed.

"So?"

"So that's uncomfortable."

She laughed despite herself.

"There he is."

"Who?"

"The man who runs from serious conversations."

Tony pointed at her again.

"I don't run."

"You absolutely run."

"I strategically retreat."

"That's running."

"It's different."

Victoria shook her head.

"You've always been ridiculous."

Tony smiled softly.

"Yeah."

The way he said it made her chest tighten.

Because he wasn't talking about being ridiculous.

He was talking about them.

About history.

About years lost.

Now the timing never seemed right, there were feelings neither one wanted to touch.

Victoria stood and walked toward the kitchen doorway before turning back.

"Are you seriously thinking about quitting?"

Tony blinked.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

He answered immediately.

"I don't know."

Victoria nodded.

"I figured as much."

"Why ask?"

She leaned against the doorway.

"Because it scares me."

Tony's expression softened.

Victoria rarely admitted things like that.

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do."

Tony stood.

Now they were only a few feet apart.

"I do."

Victoria looked up at him.

"You get in that ring with people who want to hurt you."

"It's always been the job."

"I know."

"You knew that when we met."

"I know."

"Nothing's changed."

Victoria laughed quietly.

"Everything's changed."

Tony didn't answer.

Because she was right.

Everything had changed.

They weren't young anymore.

They weren't figuring life out.

They had responsibilities.

A child.

History.

Shared memories.

Shared regrets.

Tony looked toward the hallway where their daughter slept.

"I'm careful."

Victoria followed his gaze.

"You've lost conscienceness."

"I'm being careful with that."

"There is no such thing."

Tony smiled on the right side of his face.

"There kind of is."

She shook her head.

"No."

The smile faded.

"Victoria."

"What?"

"If I wasn't doing this..."

He stopped.

"What?"

Tony looked away.

"Nothing."

Victoria stared at him.

"No. What were you going to say?"

He hesitated, then laughed nervously.

"Nothing."

"Tony."

He rubbed his forehead.

"If I wasn't doing this, I probably never would've met you."

Victoria froze.

Tony looked embarrassed immediately.

"That sounded better in my head."

"No," her voice was quiet. "No, it didn't."

The room grew silent again.

Tony chuckled awkwardly.

"See? Uncomfortable."

Victoria smiled despite the ache in her chest.

"Very."

They stood there for several seconds.

Neither moving.

Neither speaking.

Finally Victoria folded her arms.

"So you're really going to beat Cancer Jiles?"

Tony grinned.

"There she is."

"Answer the question."

"I'm going to try."

"That's not what I asked."

Tony nodded.

Then his expression became serious.

Focused.

The expression of a competitor.

The expression she'd seen before championship matches.

Before defining moments.

Before wars.

"Yeah," he said. "I think I can."

Victoria studied him.

The exhaustion was still there.

The bruises were still there.

The doubt was still there too.

But something else existed underneath all of it.

Belief.

And Tony Gamble wasn't someone who pretended to believe.

If he said it, he meant it.

Victoria smiled.

"Good."

Tony looked surprised.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"No speech?"

"No."

"No lecture?"

"Not tonight."

Tony laughed.

"I was prepared for one."

"You'll get one after the match."

"Win or lose?"

"Especially if you lose."

Tony groaned dramatically.

"Harsh."

Victoria smiled.

"You'll survive."

Tony looked at her for a long moment.

"Hopefully."

The joke landed softly.

But neither laughed, because there was truth hidden inside it.

Victoria stepped forward and adjusted the collar of his shirt.

A simple gesture.

Yet both seemed caught off guard by it.

Her hand lingered a second too long.

His eyes stayed on hers a second too long.

Then she pulled away.

"Just be careful."

Tony nodded.

"I will."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Victoria looked down.

"Okay."

Tony watched her.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say.

A thousand things she wanted to hear.

Neither happened.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

But sometimes caring about someone wasn't the hard part.

The hard part was carrying that feeling quietly.

Living beside it.

Pretending it wasn't there.

Tony headed toward the front door.

Victoria followed.

When he reached the doorway, he stopped.

"Hey."

"What?"

"When I beat him..."

Victoria smiled.

"When?"

Tony grinned.

"When."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay. When."

"When I beat him, you owe me dinner."

Victoria laughed.

"That's your prize?"

"For now."

She shook her head.

"Fine."

Tony smiled.

"Deal."

He stepped outside, she watched him walk toward his car.

For a moment she remained in the doorway.

Watching.

Worrying.

Caring.

The same way she always had.

Tony glanced back before reaching the driver's side door.

Their eyes met one last time.

Neither waved.

Neither said anything.

But the look was enough.

Then he climbed into the car and drove away, carrying the weight of an upcoming battle.

Victoria remained standing in the warm glow of the doorway long after the taillights disappeared, hoping that when Tony Gamble finally stepped into the ring against Cancer Jiles, belief would be enough.

And perhaps hoping for something else, too.

=-=-=-=-=

THE YELLOW PAGES

“I'm not going to lie, this week has been hard.”

A grin.

“The thought of having to go one on one with the Coolympian has me on edge.”

That grin.

“Not because I don't think I can beat you…”

The Grin.

“But because of what happens when I beat you.”

Tony Gamble.

“It tore us apart when Coral beat you, so I know things between us are going to change.”

A pause.

“Because you don't take loss well, and losing to me of all people…yeah, I don't see that going well at all.”

A longer pause.

“But I have to win this match, Cancer. I need to prove that I belong in the main event by beating Mr. Main Event.”

He completes his smile.

“Can't get to the Finish Line, if I can't even cross the Starting Line.”

A chuckle escapes.

“I'm sure you're going to be ready with a Full Counter, but I want to make it clear that it isn't personal.”

The smile fades.

“I hope at the end of the night you'll understand.”

Only the grin remains.

“Once a Bandit.”