An Itch To Scratch: The Nature Of The Beast

Among their inner circle, the students of the Simcoe Wrestling Club simply called it The Hour. In one hour of gruelling exercise, their bodies screamed for mercy. The environment became a passing blur of shapes and noise, warping reality into a psychedelic episode. Hearts pounded furiously, muscles and joints ached, and their eyes begged for forgiveness. Even the fittest of students dreaded this rigorous routine, praying this time they would be able to stand proud and not collapse onto the floor in weakened, blubbering heaps.

Why did he have to construct such a test, they questioned privately to each other. Is the wrestling business really worth this?

Perhaps he was stricter than they imagined, or maybe he had just gone crazy with madness.

‘Good form, Megan. Keep up those knees, Luke. You can do this, Andrew, don’t fall behind.’

Inside the warm Simcoe Wrestling Club, Matt Slater continued to motivate his students, walking amongst them with an air of guidance. Dressed only in shorts and T-Shirts, the prospective wrestlers jogged furiously on the spot, obeying Slater’s harsh instructions as life drained from their core. Ghostly-pale skin affected one such student, seemingly on the verge of passing out as she wiped sweat from her brow. The Hour neared its end, but the memories of that time would last a whole lot longer.

As much as he wanted to, Slater could not pity them, and although some of them would not comprehend his logic, this test was for their benefit. Despite some of them being naturally athletic, including a former College State Cheerleader who regularly topped Slater’s rating list, the wrestling business spared no key individual, weeding them out one-by-one until only the strongest survived. This very test had caused three previous students to quit, fuelling their sense of inadequacy after their dreams were dishearteningly crushed. Others were forced to throw up in buckets, unable to muster the courage to continue. There could have been more deserters, but fortunately the rest of the group pushed on, ravenous with ambition and hope as Slater supported them all along the way.

When the latest batch of students found out Slater would be personally training them, they figured it would be a walk in the park. Almost immediately, reality whipped them with the knowledge that life was a cruel mistress, devoted only to breaking apart their optimistic minds and making them wonder if Slater, despite being a humble man, was some kind of sociopathic monster.

Truth be told, his methods were out of love, not disdain. No expert or ancient prophecy could determine how the wrestling business would affect them. If they could survive these trials, their endurance would see them through - hypothetically speaking. Even with the toughness of a matured rhino, there was no telling what horrors awaited them on the other side. His only requirement was to prepare them for the road ahead, but he knew every branching path had a terrible story to tell.

‘Okay, let’s bring it up to the next level.’

That next level, the students agreed, was five minutes of pure, concentrated hell, designed solely to separate indestructible behemoths from their mortal peers. When God failed to heed your cries for mercy, you knew you were in serious trouble. It was hardly surprising then that a sudden urge to make a deal with the devil went unjudged, ready to grant him anything in order to spare them from mind-bending agony.

Trainers thundered off the Club’s wooden floors, accompanying tearful wails and grunts that formed an orchestra of pain. In the distance, Antonio and Francine willed the students on with applause and shouts of encouragement, two other coaches in the Club that helped Slater with his weekly schedule. Brian York, the Club’s founder and owner, stirred his coffee thoughtlessly, intrigued by the depths in which Slater had pushed his students into. All the while Slater gripped his whistle and stopwatch, waiting to see if any of these potential wrestlers would concede defeat and solemnly drag their shattered dignity home.

He understood why they hated the test, having secretly heard their stressful murmurs throughout the Club. The only correction was that this was not of his own morbid design; he merely adopted the routine from the Manchester Wrestling Academy, having been subjected to the same anguish they were currently experiencing over ten years ago. Amusingly, Slater had given this exact test a different name in his youth: Joe Griffin is an unrelenting arsehole. The thought his students could have used that same quote and substituted his name in for Joe’s did not escape detection, but after all of these years, he developed a new respect for his rugged, short-tempered tutor, something he hoped his own students would do once they understood how tumultuous the wrestling business could be.

With sweat dripping down his students’ faces and coating the varnished flooring beneath their shoes, Slater looked at his stopwatch.

Three seconds.

Two.

At one, he finally blew the whistle. Just like that, the dreaded hour was over, and the screams of relief could not have been more appropriate.

‘At ease!’

The students wilted from exhaustion, most of them falling to their knees and blinking hazily. Only three of them remained stood, gingerly swaying as they waited for reality to settle. Every breath mattered. Every tear symbolized their atonement. No one knew how many souls had been claimed by the Lord of Darkness, or even if Divine Intervention protected them from eternal harm.

‘Great job, everyone,’ Slater said, congratulating them like a supportive family member. Bottles of water were quickly passed around by Slater, Antonio and Francine, re-hydrating the students before they suffered further. ‘Take a seat.’

No one refused that order. The wooden floor felt soothing to them, making them feel alive again.

Once the students relaxed, Slater acknowledged them all in turn, listening to their heavy breaths.

‘As you’re all aware, in two weeks time it will be Graduation Day.’

Comforting cheers flowed throughout the room from the student’s mouths, knowing they had all survived months of physically-demanding training and stretch-holds. They high-fived and embraced each other, sharing the euphoria of qualifying for the business they worked hard to be in. A proud smile formed on Slater’s face, sharing their combined joy.

‘I just want to say that I’m proud of you all for sticking through until the end here at Simcoe. You’ve all done an amazing job, especially those who, admittedly, I didn’t think would make it.’

Slater’s eyes focused on one young man in particular, a short, husky fellow named Kieran. His fitness was below-average at best, but through the conditions that Slater exercised him in, Kieran started to improve. He still had a long way to go in terms of wrestling ability, but he did show some promise, something that could be realized or broken into irreparable pieces in the months or years to come.

‘However, I’m going to have to hit you all with some cold, hard truths. If you prefer your news to be sugar-coated and covered in sprinkles, this will not be your day.’

The students fell deathly silent. His serious tone could not be ignored, especially when he was about to discuss the importance of their futures. Antonio and Francine stood by, and having been wrestlers themselves once upon a time, they knew exactly what Slater was going to say.

‘Some of you might not last long in this business. Some of you might sustain injuries that will permanently change your way of life forever. Some of you might pack your bags and retire early, never to be seen again. I retired a year ago because of those injuries and the road itself. Believe me, I’ve seen them come, and I’ve seen them go. If you think you’ll be the exception, then I advise you to think again. The sacrifices will be great. The pain will be even greater. If you think you’ve done enough here to believe you can survive out there, you are not only lying to me, but you are lying to yourselves.’

No one interrupted Slater’s speech or defended their sense of self-worth. His experience was a reliable source of information, and it was hard to criticize the words of a man battered by numerous injuries, savage attacks and problems with his personal life.

‘I just want you all to know, once you step out of those doors two weeks from now, your journey along that hard, torturous road will begin. It won’t be easy, but if you work hard enough, if you continue to learn from your experiences, and if you truly believe that this is what you want to do, then you might get somewhere. At the end of the day, it’s not up to me where you go and what you accomplish. I might give you some pointers, and Brian and I will be setting you guys up with some matches in the coming weeks for a local promotion, but after that, it’s up to you guys to decide what road to travel down. Your career, your very life, will be in your hands. Are there any questions?’

The students exchanged curious looks, waiting for someone to garner Slater’s attention. Before long, one student did just that, raising his frail arm up weakly.

‘Go ahead, Joey.’

Slater pointed a finger at Joey, a slim young man with long flowing black hair and a crooked nose. Joey adored aerial manoeuvres, but Slater was forced to give Joey an earful once or twice about using too many flips and unnecessary dives during training. Such a reliance on high-flying would cost him dearly, as Slater explained to him like a strict father would his disobedient son. The message was stern but true; if he made a crucial mistake, he could end up paralysed. Joey managed to calm down under Slater’s guidance, and eventually there was no need for further instruction, although he did catch Joey attempting a 450 Splash to mild success, nearly landing on his head as a result. Soon he’ll learn the hard way.

‘Do you have any company recommendations?’ Joey asked, hoping Slater had some kind of list on the ready. Instead Slater chuckled, putting the group further at ease but also making them wonder what he was going to say.

‘As I said before, Brian and I will be giving you guys some bookings to help you get started in the business. But listen, if a company is interested in hiring you, they’ll come directly to you with an offer. If they need a reference, the agents will come to me. I’ll do whatever I can to give them the best information, but once again, it’s your desire and your determination that will keep you afloat.’

‘Can I get by on what they pay me?’ Kieran asked, resting his arms on his thighs.

‘Your pay depends on a few things,’ Slater replied, attempting not to deflate Kieran’s hopes in a severe manner. ‘The attendance, the company budget, and the promoter. If the promoter feels you weren’t up to snuff, you’ll get far less than those who interested them. That only applies to new recruits though and not the established wrestlers. When I started in the business, I had to sleep in my car on some occasions. When I could afford a room, it was always in a dirt-cheap hotel. I went hungry a number of times too, but I still worked whatever shows I could get onto for the extra income. Nowadays the pay is better in some respects, but don’t be surprised if you’ll end up doing the same thing I did. I’d get another job while you’re wrestling to help with the expenses, much like I did when I first started.’

Slater reflected on his time as a Public Administrator for a local Council, a job he had before he started wrestling. It was not the most flattering job in the world, but once his bookings and payments increased, he handed in his notice at the Council and set upon living his dream.

‘How do you get your own ring gear?’ Sophia asked, a quirky young woman with a heart of gold. Her ghostly-pale complexion had gone away, revealing her natural skin-tone.

‘Custom Designer stores,’ Slater replied amusedly. ‘If you have the money to use you can get your own printed gear, but I’d suggest waiting a while so that you can save money. It took me four years before I came up with my first custom gear. Fortunately, none of you have to wait that long.’

Silence followed Slater’s answer, making it clear that there were no more questions to consider.

‘Okay, well, I know we’re supposed to have an extra hour on Friday, but since you guys have done such a great job recently, I’m going to give you an early finish today.’

Once again, cheers flowed throughout the modest Club, being accompanied by the noise of the students getting up from the wooden floor and loosening their bodies.

‘Enjoy the weekend, everyone. In the mean-time, I’ll get with Brian and come up with some bookings for you all. You should have more information on Tuesday evening.’

‘Thanks, Matt!’ Megan cheerfully yelled before she followed the rest of the student’s to the Changing Rooms. Slater nodded appreciatively towards one of his brightest students. She had the intelligence and flair to make it big, but Slater feared the day something horrible happened to her.

Suddenly, Slater felt a tap on his shoulder, turning to see Antonio stood close behind him. Antonio was a huge, bearded man with an impressive physique, capable of powerlifting anyone in the building with ease. Unfortunately, too many knee injuries had cut his career short, although he had been a champion in a few Canadian promotions. ‘Want to get a bite to eat at Caesar’s?’

‘Sounds like a plan, but I need to talk with Brian first. Give me a text and I’ll meet you later on.’

‘No problem, pal, I’ve got stuff to do before then anyway. Just don’t take too long with Yorkie or he’ll give you a coffee addiction.’

Not only did Antonio refer to Brian as “Yorkie” for his own amusement, but he was correct about Brian’s coffee habit. The man literally existed on the hot beverage, reminding Slater of his old ally and friend Vanessa, an unorthodox woman who made drinking coffee seem like a competitive sport.

Meanwhile, Francine collected her bag and immediately checked her phone, mindlessly strolling towards the main doors that Antonio held open. The look Antonio gave her was hilarious to Slater, only because she did the same thing every time they were at the Club.

‘Do you ever give that thing a rest?’ Antonio said to her. She looked offended as she took her eyes off the phone, having been in the middle of browsing Facebook.

‘Are you ever going to shave that beard off?’ Francine countered. The chemistry between the two could not be denied, although there was no love connection between them; they had their own families to take care of and provide for.

‘It’s the in-thing, Fran.’ That was all Antonio could muster as the duo left the building, their conversation fading into the distance as Slater stood in place. Once the students began to filter out of the Changing Rooms, Slater picked up the pace and entered Brian’s office. The founder and owner of the Club was sitting at his desk, failing to take his eyes off the paperwork he was going through as Slater closed the door.

‘Good session out there,’ Brian applauded vocally. His vision remained on the important papers, as did the pen he wrote with to jot some much-needed notes down. ‘Good idea to give them an early night too.’

‘Thanks, Brian,’ Slater replied earnestly as he sat opposite the owner. ‘They’ve come a long way over the past few months.’

‘That’s because they listen to you with devotion. None of them would learn a lick if they didn’t trust the person giving them directions.’

Adjusting his glasses, Brian finally looked up at Slater.

‘Sometimes I think you push them too hard though. They’re people, not machines.’

What should have been a genuine critique of Slater’s training program turned out to be a joke from Brian, laughing heartily at his own statement.

‘With all due respect, Brian, Professional Wrestling will hurt them worse than I could.’

‘You’re right, Matt, but some wrestlers are lucky enough to catch a break, like you were.’

‘Sadly my luck ran out,’ Slater responded drearily. His sudden retirement was met with skepticism at first. People believed he would be back in a month, renewed enough to take down Seth Iser after the former’s series of attacks and reprehensible comments. When the months ticked by without any updates, the wrestling world took notice. Then, as soon as Slater was hired as a Trainer and Fitness Coach at Simcoe, his retirement was accepted as fact. ‘I’m just fortunate that I got out before I was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.’

‘But you still loved the business enough to take this job,’ Brian said as he put down his pen. ‘Everyone respects what you’ve done. Nothing can change that.’

‘I guess I still wanted to be part of it to some degree,’ Slater confessed. ‘As long as I can be a positive influence to those students, I’m a happy man.’

Gazing out of the window to the office, Brian watched the exhausted students leave the building in high-spirits. They were sore and malnourished, but these lessons would truly aid them for a life of hardships. Slater followed Brian’s gaze and acknowledged the students as well, only to be brought back to the conversation by a deep, personal question.

‘Do you miss it?’

As much as Slater expected those words to come out, a satisfactory answer failed to emerge. The temptation to compete was always going to exist within his battered shell, even if those feelings were detrimental. Seconds elapsed before Slater focused on Brian, mulling the question over until his heart exposed the truth.

‘Sometimes I do,’ Slater admitted, all the while watching Brian heavily consume the steaming coffee from his “World’s Greatest Dad” mug. ‘But it’s not a constant obsession.’

‘It’s just an addictive craving,’ Brian laughed. Slater laughed too, but his comfort in the room slowly turned to contemplative tension. He knew exactly what Brian was saying about never truly getting away from wrestling, with death being the only permanent release from its chains.

Both men understood the persuasive nature of the beast, offering exhilarating highs while hiding away the negatives. As they would individually find out, those negatives shortened careers and damaged lives in various ways, something Slater did not need a seminar to comprehend. But the beast would never rest, not when its prey had been given a taste of glory. Insatiable hunger controlled them now, guiding them towards the same road alcoholics and junkies travelled in order to reach their next fix; a road of supreme ecstasy that transformed into painful misery more often than not.

‘You want to go back, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.’

Slater momentarily looked away from Brian, drawing in a long breath.

‘You closed wrestling’s door, but I think you’re staring at that door again, Matt. There’s an itch you need to scratch, and the only way you can get to it is to open that door.’

‘I don’t know if I should open it,’ Slater replied, understanding Brian’s metaphor. ‘I can’t leave Amy and Gabriel again, and I’ve got a good job here.’

‘I can be flexible,’ Brian revealed, standing up from his chair and walking over to his coffee machine. The smell of the beverage dominated the small office, a smell not even the strongest of fragrances could remove. ‘Besides, I’m sure you can get a part-time deal these days.’

‘It sounds like you’re pushing me towards that door, Brian.’

‘It sounds that way, sure, but it’s up to you make the call. I’m just telling you what I see, and right now I see a man, a decent man, that feels like he can continue doing what he loves.’

The coffee machine provided enough noise to cancel out the silence between Slater and Brian that ensued. Will it be worth the trouble? Slater thought deeply, rubbing his hands together as time ticked away.

‘Think about it,’ Brian finally said with a friendly tone. ‘I’m sure you’ll be okay.’

‘I will, Brian. But speaking of wrestling, we do need to-’

‘Leave the bookings to me, Matt,’ Brian interrupted, knowing exactly what Slater was going to propose. ‘Enjoy the rest of the night and relax.’

Instead of standing his ground, Slater simply nodded and stood up from his chair. ‘Thanks again, Brian. I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

As soon as Slater left the office and closed the door, he took a long, hard look at the constructed ring inside the Club. He had been between those ropes many times since his arrival, putting the students through drills, stretches, move training and psychological lessons. He felt as though he truly belonged in that ring, being watched by thousands of people as they shouted anything and everything at him or his scheduled opponent.

After a minute or so, Slater walked by the ring towards the Staff Room, running his hand along the smooth apron.

The nature of the beast had begun to yearn for his knightly return.