Professional Mortality

It all started over a decade ago for me...that I made a decision that would change not only my life but the lives of many other human being. It was over a decade ago that I would embark in professional wrestling when my knee could no longer be cleared to play football. And nobody can say, especially in my younger years, that I was the best thing for the industry. I’ll be the first to admit...that when I was a young man...blinded by all of my inner rage of my background...blinded by own baggage...blinded by my own ego even. Hell, you can even say I was equally blinded by what professional wrestling brought with you the moment I got some notoriety because of my drug and alcohol habit at the time.

And as a young man...I’ll be the first to admit this...I didn’t view the championship as anything other than a notch in my gun. It might be why in my earliest years of my career...that my trophy case was ridiculously bare holding just one championship for the first half of my career but I didn’t think anything of the titles...and I was blinded by my own baggage that held too deep of a grip on me. You can merely ask Patrick Jones some of the horrible things I’ve done to other human beings because of how deep the baggage had a hold. I wasn’t thinking logically. Far from it.

But I remember one night after a particularly depressing result...where I was laying there in a pool of alcohol and cocaine just wondering what am I doing? A guy who is six foot five...two hundred and sixty pounds(I was heavier at my youth coming in out of football) at the time should be far better off in the industry than I am...and I was wasting my talents...wasting my money...and throwing away my career for what? For my own anger? And then who the hell else was I going to blame? I had blamed my deceased parents. I had blamed religion for my own shortcomings...and God only knows how many damn times I’ve blamed rivals like Mike Park over the years.

Instead of pointing the finger of accusation and blame at others...I should’ve just pointed the thumb at myself.

The reason why The Apocalypse...Seth Iser, whichever name I was known at the time wasn’t successful was because of my own self. My mind wasn’t correct. The motivation...was to spite others...rather than to do anything right by me. So those first years...I didn’t appreciate the business. I didn’t appreciate...the money so much because I blew it all on 'extracurricular activity'. And I was on the fast track to becoming a tragedy until I woke up from that pool...asking myself what the hell I was doing and literally forced myself into detox.

A night that quite frankly was the worst physical pain I’ve ever had in my life. The people there said quite frankly with how deep I was into everything...I could have easily died and been another footnote in the history of life itself of people who died trying to conquer the demon of drugs and alcohol. And I remember laying there in a cold sweat...too hurt to even move as these toxins...and there I thought I was cured. Cured of the darkest weights controlling me. But as history has proved...I was far from where I needed to be. Thinking I was pure...I had justified myself thinking I was right...and ended up committing even MORE heinous crimes. I took some things away from other human beings that you really shouldn’t. Sometimes it was a sense of security...something I found out about when Owen broke into my house.

Hell, sometimes it was even something as simple as a chance at a championship...something I’m endanger of losing now...in one of the biggest matches in my over decade career.

It was two years ago that I had finally won THE World Heavyweight Title. Two years...where I felt like my decade in wrestling through all the injuries in what I was gearing up as THE biggest match of my professional life. I went through Cera and the monstrous Hazard...with every bit of will I could muster up in this battered body and I had emerged victorious. It felt like the best pain reliever in the world...winning that championship...because for a brief period of time...I felt less hollow. Until the experience was ripped away from me piece by piece...with the death of my mentor...and losing it on my very first defense right back to the man I had spent months trying to defeat.

And it was there I truly realized that I’m far from healed as a human being with how I behaved. How I acted...how I lost control once again. I never got that rematch...because as much as I beat myself up mentally over that defeat...I was looking to find different ways to take out this emptiness because...quite frankly losing that belt as quickly as I did made me feel...unworthy to the cause. It wasn’t just that I lost the World Title on my first defense mind you...it was that I lost...because my own broken down body shut down on me. As much as I tried to hide that for the last two years...I truly haven’t been the exact same since that particular defeat that...with the blow it struck to my ego...and the way it crashed my world down...and I didn’t see it as that when it happened. It turned out looking back that was the first major blow...to my own mortality in terms of my career. A different kind of blow than any of the knee surgeries or what rehabbing from my old drug addiction did.

But hindsight is always greater than foresight in this world.

And the fact of the matter is...as good of a professional wrestler that I am...having Cera crack my ribs like that...was another reminder of how fragile your professional career really is. And going into this match...at far less than a hundred percent with people on the top of their game like Ziu and English...a veteran like Valquist and two hungry kids in Carson and the god damned disrespectful Stacy Jones. And dammit...I know how skilled every single one of them are even if most of them haven’t experienced this situation...with the chips on the line the way they are...and what that World Heavyweight Title can truly do to you.

Ziu hasn’t had a chance to change...but English has grown far more power hungry and desperate just like I had. In five years...good or ill...Casanova English will experience everything I’ve gone through and am going through...and I wouldn’t mind giving him a taste of that medicine for endangering all of our jobs...endangering my pay...endangering my daughter...everybody. He just had the belt ripped away from him...and it’d be satisfying on many levels...to conquer my own demons by casting them on him.

But this isn’t just about that for me. This is two years of baggage...I’ve had to carry without a proper chance to ever redeem myself for the worst failure of my entire career. It’s been over eleven years...where I haven’t fully redeemed myself for every heinous action I’ve ever committed. Including setting the motions that got my mentor Noish deceased at the hands of a particular delinquent that spawned Hazard.

And god dammit it’s even more so for the one person in my entire life that’s stood by me. The one person who whether she realizes it or not...with her own strength even in the face of every heinous thing...has given me more courage that she’ll ever know. The past things...I’ve done in my life...are catching up to me...and unfortunately my daughter Allison as well...but with as much pain...that my body is going through...I will not stop...until I redeem myself, the sport of wrestling, my worst defeat…

Even my entire life…

...or I’ll die in the ring trying.

The wildly inconsistent summer has rampaged through Morgantown allowing various periods of ridiculously hot and humid weather with erratic thundershowers and storms and even the occasional tornado. And people say global warming doesn’t exist...but what does a wrestler who tries to keep up with reading know compared to bought off politicians serving up the rich’s interest right? Sitting on the outside chair on my yard though...I try to let out a deep breath to relax but...even breathing when the adrenaline isn’t rushing is damn painful. Every little motion...I feel on my cracked ribs. It’s one of the worst injuries that just stays with you that an athlete could ever have because it interferes with...everything.

“Damn…if I’m a doctor and you look at me like this, what the hell can you allow the patient to do if just breathing makes this fresh injury flare up.” I wince while glancing at the bright sun, “When you’re an ambitious person...and want to do many things...having an injury that flares up when you do ANY kind of motion is a ridiculous amount of pain.”

I try to slink back on the chair a little on my yard and even that motion I feel a pull still on my rib cage and this is well and above the normal aches and pains you deal in the wrestling ring for doing this over a decade that I feel on my knees. The yard in front of my quaint little house is well trimmed and give a nice view of the forest around you. The lawnmower sits there calmly with grass everywhere and a couple of drops of sweat go down my face reminding me of that task...and how much even pushing that damn lawn mower put a strain on my ribs. And then I hear Patrick Jones voice faintly echoing in my brain. I guardedly and wearily try to stand from the seat and despite the pain...I’m able to do so while I wearily glance my eyes everywhere...damn Owen’s break in made my living arrangements fairly public.  But I don’t see him...just his voice and it’s so faint in my brain...I can’t make it out exactly what he’s saying. With a sigh and a grunt of pain...I finally sit back down on the chair.

“I dare some of these kids to wrestle when they’re really dinged up...and then try to make jokes about this industry…” I growl darkly before my mind wonders, “Dammit Patrick...normally I’m known for scrambling up people’s brains but here you are...while I have my injury and this world title match...going up my own brain. Shittiest part is...what he said to me last week...had truth in it.”

He still looked as shocked as some of the audience was when I said my piece to him when I mustered up everything I could in my being despite not being cleared to wrestle the moment he started his tangent. The talk about honor in professional wrestling...similar to the speeches I heard when I was in the court. But...with how society is...honor never truly existed. Plus it’s such a subjective term depending on what one’s own morality deems honorable or dishonorable. It’s another source of conflict among other human beings...and it seems like he wants to take the flag that the now retired Vanessa and Slater both have left behind and run with it. Which means...considering my own history regardless of what happens in this World Title match...this puts us at different sides of this debate.

But not necessarily opposite.

The gust of wind finally picks up on this humid day and the perspiration sprinting down my entire body welcomes it as I glance down on my half full bottle of water and the horrid heat that’s still there. With a painful grunt I just pour a little over my head and face before drinking the rest and slouching my head down, feeling the sharp jolts in my midsection as I stay in this motion so my old white football jersey, number forty-one, doesn’t get drenched by the excess water. The black numbers on this old road uniform are faded slightly but my last name is still imprinted on the back strongly. The black shorts and knee brace for my left knee however didn’t come with this shirt.

“Hey!” I hear a voice call.

“Hm?” I raise my eyebrow before warming up slightly, “Oh.”

I notice down the...stone road  that’s near my yard that my daughter Allison is sprinting toward me with a grin etched on her face. The young lass is wearing her basketball uniform and even with every bit of pain that’s going through my body and the pressure of preparing mentally for a World Title match...I can’t help but reciprocate the smile myself. She rushes in for a big old hug and even with the little bit of additional strain there, I give her one. She’s been busy with development basketball in the area and there’s been a recent surge in interest. She wanted to go there and over the last week when I could get up there...I gave her support and drove her there. When I couldn’t...well...I don’t even want to think about the guilt on that one.

“How’d it feel to be out on the court?” I offer up dryly, “It’s its own experience.”

“Made a few,” she replies in a similar tone.

“Missed a few…” I finished what she was about to say with half of a smile, “Not everything’s going to go in...it’s impossible to be perfect even if you aim for it.”

“Does it feel that way when you’re wrestling?” she asks cautiously, “I mean...erm...with how much you know...does it frustrate you that there’s things you can never truly do well?”

“Hah…” I manage up a pained chuckle, “Every single time...as good as I know I am...you know you aren’t perfect. There’s many things I do know about wrestling...all of its different styles...competing in different regions regularly for exposure on how those styles truly think. Everything. And even I can’t be right a hundred percent of the time. Let’s just use someone I’m facing...as an example since I doubt we want to go through everything and everyone in the heat.”

“Okay…” Allison listens, half engaged and the other half wondering where this is going.

“I’ll pick on Stacy since you have of her shirts…” I raise my eyebrow.

She looks at me half cocked and disappointed since I have to pick on this woman...and have more or less blasted her on public television multiple times for not being aware that her actions in public have a greater effect on kids than she ever realizes. But if she really thinks that I’m an evil psychopath...it proves that she’s running away from the truth I presented her. She’s more of a coward than I would’ve pegged her as. I know many times on social media when she isn’t having an emotional meltdown...that she claims to understand what being a role model to girls is. Patrick might not think it’s right that I take an issue to what Stacy thinks is being a role model. And yes it does irk me as a wrestler...but it’s overridden by something more important...

...but when it could visibly harm my own daughter...I take a much bigger issue of it...as a father.

“Stacy’s in ring game...well she’s smaller than most people...putting her at a disadvantage when dealing with someone who has somewhat of a power game in that front…” I start, “She also makes her mistakes mentally because far too often...she can lose focus on what needs to be done. Not so much because she doesn’t care...but you push and pry too hard...get emotional...and you lose your fundamentals.”

“Sometimes some people play better when they’re angry,” Allison counters

“Sometimes you have a person who needs to be calmer.” I firmly reply almost in a coaching type of voice, “No two people are the same. It’s why you have to look for traits...not just in others...but sometimes with-in your own self. We both know Stacy’s at her best pushing the pace. She can wrestle stylistically a little of everything but I think she’s at her best in this larger roster wrestling more flying...the luchador style. It’s speed. Speed kills...but speed can kill the speedster if they go too fast. You go too fast when you get too emotional. It’s all about staying within yourself. It’s true in any sport. Get too emotional...you try to do too much and you make a potentially costly mistake.”

“I think I got it.” she replies before she looks at me seriously, “You think you’re going to win this one?”

“I guess we’ll see…” I mutter while trying to muster up a smile.

I can tell that things are going to get really serious now...because there’s this period of time where instead of being somewhat of a chatterbox that every kid is to an extent...she’s gone quiet. The kind of quiet...that haunts a parent down to the bone. I think half the time when she is joyous...especially overly joyous...it might be her own mask. At least that’s the worry I have...that she’d repeat my mistakes on that front.

“You’re hurt…” she replies wounded, “You know that, right? You could really get hurt if you wrestle in that match.”

She looks at me with a bunch of dread in her eyes...the joy of thinking about basketball practice and our little conversation about how everyone is different gone. I don’t think everything I said would get through to her...considering her age but I’d imagine that more of it got through than even I thought. I try to put up this wall...this firm stone wall but the pain shooting through my rib-cage and the odds and ends on my persistently troubled left knee...she knows I’m hurt...and I’m not going to lie to her about that. It’s horrible to tell something false to kids...especially YOUR kid...nor should you hide anything from them. It’s the right thing to do as a leader...a man, and a father.

I guess it’s one of those...morality things, isn’t it?

“Allison…” I sigh weakly, trying to regain a hold of my own self, “I can’t lie and say that I would let you do this if I was the one talking to you. It’d be hypocritical of me...but it’s something I have to do…”

“But why?” she immediately snaps back.

I just kneel down in every bit of pain that I’m in...and as much of a pained grunt I let out...I just want to tell her this at eye sight. At heart...I think people have more of a respect if you find a way to tell them what you need to tell them...straight to their face when they’re ready. Unfortunately...as much as I hate hiding some of the things I have done in my life...she isn’t ready to fully cope with ALL of the weight of my past. There’s far too much baggage...and it’s hard enough for a grown ass man like myself to pull at thirty-four years of age...yet alone a kid who shouldn’t have to be put through that. Her eyes are a little misty and the sweat coming from her due to the heat is ridiculous...but...she needs to be told this much at least.

“I...wasn’t always the best human being. One day...I promise when you’re older...we will detail everything I’ve done in my life…” I begin, “But...what I’m about to do...is something that’s needed. I’m going as an athlete...as a man...as a human...with every objective to do what’s needed to achieve victory. There’s elements like the random draw...that I can’t prepare for...and considering my own...injuries...if I go down in so much pain...I think it’s a proper punishment for me. As much as it pains me...Patrick Jones was right on that point...especially in being an example to you...so if I run away from the consequences...good or bad on this...I’m no father or wrestler. It means you wouldn’t be able to do the same…when I tell and teach you to do so. I won’t tell you everything I have done. Not yet...”

I don’t know if that’s the right answer to tell her in order to comfort my daughter...but it was the right answer to get her to have an understanding. She gives a quiet nod as she wipes her misty eyes with her sweaty forearm.

“Now go on inside...this heat’ll kill you. Drink some water...hydrate up, lass. Just know your father’s proud of you for taking these steps into competitive sports with your own interest…” I dwell off.

She puts on her best happy face for the compliment before beginning to march off toward the house near by. She almost glances at the lawn mower...and then to me somewhat disapprovingly for a second before she goes up the same wooden steps on my quaint little home here in the woods and pulls open the screen door and goes inside to relax...and digest everything I said. I take this moment to finally pull myself up to my feet, grunting in pain from the move and still a bit heated. When I finally take a moment to relax with a sigh of relief…

“Do what you think is right…” I hear PJ’s voice echo, “But listen to your own words. And try not to slink back from justice if it comes your way…”

I can’t help but pull myself to be guarded...looking around and paranoid. The voice was much clearer this time...but as I look around...hoping he was there to justify it...but knowing he isn’t...I just look around and just rub my forehead...the stress bothering me a little more than usual. I’m getting too old for this. The sweat dripping from my brow just as much from the paranoia as is the heat...and this rush of adrenaline numbed the pain in my ribs and knee for a bit...once I get the understanding of Patrick Jones obviously isn’t near my house...I exhale...and the pain flares up worse than ever. It hurts so bad that for a second I end up doubling down and coughing. I don’t even think adrenaline can hide this...for very long.

“Urgh...I think I’m losing my damn mind knowing much of the inevitability…” I shake my head.

“Aren’t we all?” I hear Moretti’s voice finally.

“Knew you’d be here…” I automatically reply with a half smirk.

Vincent coyly appears from behind the tree...I assume he must have been eavesdropping on the entire conversation with Allison but after the usual arrogant smirk that’s etched on the suave Casanova wannabe’s face...his expression darkens slightly. The silver hair curls down onto his face. And quite honestly his casual attire is wearing a black and white suit...so nothing has changed with him on that front…

“Why’d you tell her all that?” he demands.

“Would you rather me tell a complete lie?” I raise my eyebrow, “Besides...even with how she handled it...she makes ME feel like I’m the one who's the kid here…”

“Mmm...she’s a strong girl…” Vincent growls, “But she gets at least part of that strength from you. You know that, right?”

“And it’s the other way around as well…” I sigh as my face darkens further, “But...you and I both know as much as I want to...and can take a piece out of the Orphanage for nearly putting us out of jobs, Stacy for her disrespect...Ziu for not understanding the gravity of his position...and Valquist for showing zero respect to any man that has ever main evented in this company by calling people who have closed our show unworthy...I know for a fact...a damn fact that it’s close to my own time to pay up. And with the unknown element of the scramble…we both know there’s things you can’t control. Period.”

“There’s something else Seth. I know you.” Vincent prys, “Let it out.”

“There’s a price you pay when you’ve fucked up. And you and I both know I was at best...a fuck up for the early half of my career and even now...not always done right even by my own standard…” I reply firmly.

“Details Seth. I want them,” Vincent orders, “I’m aware that I’m not always the brightest bulb in the bunch...but for fuck’s sake I know well enough to know when you’re not yourself entirely.”

Vincent looks at me dead serious. About as serious as I’ve ever seen him in my life. While still feeling the effects of the pain I just look back at my home for a second and then back to my comrade who is still looking at me at full seriousness. We’ve known each-other for years at this point...so no point holding back. He’s more than entitled to the truth.

“Then the details you shall receive, Vincent.” I nod my head in acknowledgement before lowering my voice, “I’m at the point...where the last time I was in a world title match that I had a horrific reminder to my own mortality to the sport...and that time was ticking away. This match...might either be the next...or even last step in punishing me for every horrific thing I’ve ever done in my life. From the rats...to the things I even did to Slater’s family with my words. Even what I did to Owen’s wife…Pat’s words opened my mind to that whether he knows it or not. You reap what you sow in this world...period.”

I just let out another grunt of pain as I slowly turn toward my own house...with my arms crossed...calmly staring at it. The pain shooting through my entire body focused on the ribs...flaring up every single second when I breathe...it doesn’t matter. I know that even if Cera did what she did partially to help English and Carson...and partially for her own unusual reasons...I know for a fact that I truly do deserve every bit of that. But I can’t help now...but let out a small smile on my face...knowing what I do.

“Vincent…” I softly continue, “It ain’t ending well for me. I accept that. But I don’t know when that end is. I really don’t. The truth is...though...as much as there’s a good chance we could see the end of me...there’s just as much chance that in the process of that...I still have a chance right in front of me...to right the wrongs of two years ago...where all these scares originated…”

“The World Heavyweight Title…” Vincent pauses before he barks up a laugh, “Or as they say here...World Visionary Championship.”

“Carson might feel the emotion of being at home...maybe even use that to go against English when he otherwise wouldn’t...but that’s nothing compared to the emotion that’s fueling me…” I blink, a little more relaxed “I feel every bit of it...even through the pain...some of the worst you can ever deal with...I’ll scrap to either win that belt...or I’ll pass out and die trying. Knowing this...even with all of this fueling me...with nothing else to lose professionally...whether it’d be a belt, friendships, a mentor...even a sister...now that everything's out...I’m calm going into it knowing what all could happen. But one way or another...I’m going to make my daughter proud...to say that I’m her Dad...just like I’m proud to say that she’s my daughter...and it’s going to be even better to say that...when I win this all too important match…”

The pain that shoots through my body still causes me to wince noticeably but I still have a semblance of a warm smile etched on my face. I can feel Vincent’s smirk behind me as well...because at least we both know where the focus is. I can’t control whether or not I’m cleared with the rib injury. I can’t control the potential order that you’d come in and the chaos of having six people fighting for one goal. Hell, I don’t even know if I can control whether or not my body will hold up...like it didn’t do against Hazard two years ago.

...but I can control going in there...and if it makes Valquist run away from the promotion again like the undercover coward that he is and Ziu getting hurt to the point where he has to take time off so he can't take those damned selfies...so be it.

If I end up having to blind Stacy Jones so close after coming off her eye surgery as her own penance for her own actions...then so be it.

If I have to make English experience the pain of failure...once again that’s rotting away in his brain since he lost the belt...then I’m fine with the consequences...as long as the lunatic doesn’t try to kill the damned company when he doesn’t get his way with another lawsuit...

...and even if it makes Carson go insane...knowing the gravity of the failure of losing in his hometown going in with my aim to win...I’ll live with it.

...and hell...if my body gives out on me...then so be it.

...But I will make Allison proud...and happy.

By the end of this...with the end of my career not too far away from me, I know how I wish to be remembered won’t always coincide with how I ultimately will be remembered. They’ll remember how I pissed away a good chunk of my career and my demeanor bell to bell that ultimately didn’t live up to the code of professional wrestling. They will...however also remember the various moments of success I’ve had because even if you bias history...you can’t ultimately bias success. But above all else from this point on...I’d want to make the industry better because I was a part of it instead of being worse because of it...and I’d be proud of that legacy. Just as much as winning any championship.

Most importantly...the Iser family, sans my deceased parents, will be proud...of how I’ll handle my business of owning up to everything I’ve ever done in my life...while winning the most prestigious prize in professional wrestling...The World Visionary Title.