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Dial tone... A woman's voice, tired and faint, answers.
"Hello?"
"Honey,"
"Jamie? It's late."
"Sorry, babe. I needed to hear your voice."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothin'. Just missing you guys."
"..."
"I'm doing the right thing here, aren't I, Jenna?"
"What do you mean?"
"Being over here, wrestling. Just remind me I'm doing this for us."
"Are you okay, Jamie? What's happened?"
"It's okay. I just... I've had to do some things I'm not so proud of over here."
"You know you can come home whenever you want. We miss you. Emily misses you."
"I miss you guys too. Give her a kiss for me, okay?"
"Sure."
"..."
"You still there?"
"Uh-huh."
"Don't be a stranger, okay? You can call whenever you want."
"I know."
"This was your idea, Jamie. We can work out other ways to support ourselves."
"It's okay, I'm being stupid. Get some sleep."
"Okay... I love you."
"I know you do, honey. I love you too."
SUNDAY NIGHT, Post-Showdown.
I sit in this locker room alone and racked with guilt.
No, not because I clobbered Shabree Reddington in the gob with a chair. She made it abundantly clear tonight that she wants to be treated with the same disdain as everyone else in this insipid company. I'm happy to oblige.
No, my guilt stems from factors far more important than the wrestling cesspool. Yet it lay undeniably tangled in that web.
Over two years ago I left this business. I was tired, broken down and worn out. My friends had either disappeared or withdrawn into the many vices this business has a proclivity to. I was alone, as I am now, and I had to get out.
It turned out to be the best decision of my life. I went back to Australia. I cleaned up my act. Sure, there were the initial months where I sank deeper into depression and those vices I'd learned to accept as "normal". But then I fell in love. I was rescued. I learnt that reality as it exists in the wrestling industry is no reality at all. I learnt that despite my successes, my championships and world-renowned matches, I had never been happy in wrestling.
Through the woman who would later become my wife and the mother to my child, I saw what true happiness is.
And now, ironically, to protect that happiness, to maintain it's purity and strength, I've been forced to return to the source of all my old problems. A business where my successes were my greatest failure.
And here I am, sitting in this locker room. Beyond the door I've locked are countless men and women consumed by this business. Cattle on the conveyor belt in the giant slaughterhouse that is wrestling. Men and women who know this as their only reality. And I can't talk to a single one of them. They don't understand me, how could they? They think all my negativity towards the industry is just for show. An elaborate work to get the crowd going. They're that far imbued with the toxicity of wrestling that they can't fathom those who would deny it's importance. Even Krunch, as helpful as he is, remains firmly entrenched in that camp.
So I'm alone and guilty.
Guilty because the more time I spend in these surrounds, the more at risk I become to succumbing to them. I've been clean for nearly two years. I haven't slept around outside my marriage. I haven't gotten into undue fights at bars and I haven't strutted around like a petty diva. I've maintained my grace and integrity in the face of all the temptations this industry has thrown at me. But how long can that honestly last?
I'm not happy here. I'm miserable. All I want is to go home and hug my child and kiss my wife. I long for warmth and yet here I am, absorbed by the cold, unflinching circumstances around me.
And I really fucking want to make it all go away. Someone, a backstage hand, some young guy on the crew offered to take me out drinking after the show. And I actually considered the offer.
That's why I'm guilty. And that's why I'm sitting here alone in this locker room, staring at a picture of my wife and child wondering "is this worth it?"
For now, I'm just going to have to trust that it is.
We fade into a brightly lit room. Ignoring the emo segment just past, we are now a few days later. The "Virtuoso of Violence" Jamie Krenshaw sits comfortably in a leather recliner, his Champion's Case beside him, his Tag Title belt hanging over his shoulder. A wry grin forms on his face as he addresses the camera, you and most importantly, Chris Freytag.
JAMIE: Chris Freytag is an excellent self-promoter. Ever since he arrived in The Wrestling Domain he's had with him an aura of "next big thing". An undeserved aura, yes, but an aura nonetheless. His matches are billed as special attractions. His match with Filipe Barraqueiro was billed a "technical wrestling dream match". His follow-up match with Brent Kersh was billed a "technical wrestling dream match but even more this time". He's cunningly positioned himself as someone on the rise. And I applaud him for it.
Jamie nods assuringly.
JAMIE: Since he burst back onto the scene with a sneak-attack on a worthless pair of Paper Champions, Chris Freytag has become a figure of hatred for the crowd. He's been earmarked as a potential champion. He's become "one to watch." Just like me. In many ways, Chris' rapid ascension in the ranks of TWD mirror my own. And now we find ourselves facing each other, for the first time ever, one on one.
Jamie grins.
JAMIE: This isn't being billed as a "technical wrestling dream match". It's not being billed as anything. It doesn't have to be. It's simply known: next Showdown, Chris Freytag vs. Jamie Krenshaw. We're the true main event. The hatred and animosity between Colt Crawford and Saber is immense but you and me? We're two men who simply REFUSE to lose. Next Showdown, one of us will have to. And I know that as certain as I am it won't be me, you too are equally certain. That's what makes it fun.
Another grin before Jamie takes on a more serious tone.
JAMIE: See, Chris, in a way you remind me of myself. A lesser version of myself but reminiscent nonetheless. You like to crack wise. You like to rile up the crowd. You disrespect others on the roster and have an unflinching belief that you are the single best in the industry. You may tell Shabree differently to keep things sweet but I know, you know and even she knows deep down that while you stand alongside her, in your mind, you stand taller and greater. I feel the same way towards Krunch and I have no doubts he in turn thinks the same of himself in relation to me. He and I will readily admit it though. One of the bonuses of being a "pretend tag team" I guess. Not having to worry about stepping on your partner's toes just incase their ego can't handle it.
Wink.
JAMIE: Yeah, you do remind me of me, Chris, but there is one key difference between you and I. While you lecture Brent Kersh on the importance of having goals and winning matches in this industry, while you perpetually, desperately pour fuel onto your own reputation, I have evolved. You seek glory from this industry. You seek titles and victories and, though you'd hate to admit it, you seek the respect of the fans. Me? I seek money. End of story. I have no desire to build a legacy. To be remembered. My only goal is to get out of this business before it turns me, as it inevitably turns everyone involved, into another statistic.
Jamie fondly rubs his shiny title belt.
JAMIE: You flaunt your successes, you flaunt your DVD, why? Because at the end of the day, your goal is to be respected in an industry bereft of respect. I have a DVD too, Chris but you know why? Because the mutants who follow this sordid business were desperate for it. They adore me and my "body of work" and you know what that means to me? Sweet FA. All's I care about is the DVD sells and the residuals I get afford my family luxuries the selfish egotists in this wretched industry take for granted. I didn't cobble together a compilation of my various five-star matches in a self-serving attempt to preserve my legacy. I did it to preserve my family. A far more honorable, important goal. And you're all about goals, aren't you Chris?
Jamie looks down at the Tag Title that rests on his shoulder.
JAMIE: Like now, your goal is to prise this Tag Team Title belt from around my waist. More than a goal though, for you it's an apparent foregone conclusion. Yours and Shabree's attitude since walking into this company has been one stinking with the air of entitlement. You brag about being the only "real" tag team in the company as if it matters one bit. Here's the facts, Chris: Krunch and I have wrestled as a tag team in this company the same amount of times you have. What's more, we've wrestled against you for the belts you feel so entitled to and we beat you. We didn't even have to beat you last. You bowed out before Colt and Saber, a team so rich with egos it blew up merely one show later. Yet you couldn't beat them. You couldn't beat us, a team you've labeled "pretend". Answer me this, Chris: Were you pretending to tap out when I cinched you in the Down Under Deathlock? Were you pretending to be in so much pain that you literally had to GIVE UP on a match you claimed was yours for the taking?
Krenshaw lightly taps his title belt, mocking Freytag's submission.
JAMIE: And I can already feel the excuses forming at the base of your throat. Keep 'em there, Chris, I'm not interested. What is it you said a few weeks ago? And if it wasn't you, it was your partner.
Jamie halts his momentum a moment.
JAMIE: How is Shabree, anyway? Hope I didn't mess her pretty face up too much with that chairshot.
A smile.
JAMIE: I digress, though. After Tag Team Turmoil, the excuses came thick and fast and my personal favourite was that the match, now that you'd lost it, meant nothing. That it was pure chaos and the winners were just the lucky ones to survive the mess. Heh, a losers get-out clause if I've ever heard one. The truth is that for weeks leading up to that match you and your partner espoused your greatness and solidarity. You tore shreds off the other teams, labeling them "makeshift" and "combustible". You were right on those counts, too. Saber and Colt did explode and Krunch and I are fairly new to teaming with one another. We're also the Tag Team Champions. For all your bragging, for all your sneak attacks, for all your joking around and playing cool, you ultimately left with nothing. Less than nothing. You left defeated, humiliated and foolish. And then, predictably, you went back to playing it cool. "Maybe if we pretend it doesn't matter the people won't judge us on our failure?" A nice try, Chris, and it probably worked on the easily manipulated mutants in the audience but it didn't work on me. I know that loss hurt. I'd like to say I can empathise but I haven't lost here yet, so...
Shrug.
JAMIE: And now you're back where you started. On your way to another Tag Title match, proclaiming your solidarity, playing it cool as if the titles are already yours. But this time, the shine is off. Those of us with functioning brains know that you're all talk and no show. You're great at getting the upper-hand when you have the advantage of weapons and surprise-attacks. When it comes to actual matches, eh, not so much. Myself, however, I need no advantages. I've won most of my matches here at a severe disadvantage. I defeated eleven other men to win my Champion's Case. Myself and Krunch defeated nine others to capture the Tag Team Titles. I've been put in every imaginable environment during my tenure with this company and every time, without fail, I have come out successful. Because my goal (there's that word again) is pure. While I'm surrounded by men and women consumed by greed, lust and temptation, I'm full of love, honor and charity. I've sacrificed my very core beliefs to denigrate myself in front of an international audience, playing part in a business I despise. And I do this not to build an empire, not to be respected by toothless homophobes and children who'll grow up to be even stupider than their parents. I do this to create a secure and stable life for my family. Their future happiness fuels me. It keeps me going.
Jamie becomes deadly serious.
JAMIE: There's nothing more important to me in this world than succeeding for them and THAT is why I don't lose. Any loss, should I suffer one *spoiler alert* I won't *end spoiler* sets me two weeks further away from my eventual relief from this business. With each win, I earn more. With my growing streak, now at 28-0, the crowds flock in to see me be beaten and my pay cheque reaps the rewards. Simply put, Chris, while your goal is personal glory and success in a business where success is measured by whether you've died at age forty or not, my goal is salvation and freedom. Which do you think is the bigger motivator?
Jamie allows the question to linger before cutting the silent air with his razor-sharp tongue.
JAMIE: Don't bother answering that, Chris. It was already answered at Tag Team Turmoil. Next Showdown, I'll just add an exclamation point to that conclusion. And you'll just keep playing cool, pretending that it doesn't matter. But it does, Chris. You said yourself, victory is your goal. And as you so arrogantly asked Brent Kersh: What's the point of all this if you don't have goals?
Cut.
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 The best around, just minus the crown. |