Mattbusters (Ryder Blade RP vs Matt Robinson)

I

I'm not sure if it's the end of the nightmare that jolts me awake, or the unfamiliar sound. Once I'm up, however, and once I've managed to bring my heartbeat down to a regular pattern, my attention becomes fully focused on the alien element of this Friday morning – the dull, rhythmic thud emanating from somewhere below.

At first, I think it may be Ruby pawing at the door, wanting to be let out for her morning affairs. I swing myself out of bed, putting on my slippers and robe, and prepare to give her an earful for waking me up, before letting her loose in the shrubbery. As I pad downstairs, however, she emerges from the common area, pausing only to shake the sleep out of her bones before trotting over to me cheerfully. Nor does the thumping sound cease with her appearance; instead, it seems to have grown louder, echoing dully across the downstairs hallway. Now much more aware of my bearings, I quickly pinpoint the basement as its source and – Ruby in tow – promptly tackle the spiral staircase down to the underground level to investigate. 

What we witness at the bottom of the stairs is something I don't think either of us was ready for, if Ruby's snort of disbelief is any indication. For standing there, in full kick-boxing gear, repeatedly punching and kneeing at a heavy bag...is Ryder.

My first reaction is to tell myself I'm dreaming. That nightmare, however, was far too real for me to have gone on sleeping after it; not to mention, the dog fur I currently clasp between my fingers is also undoubtedly real. No, this is no dream. I am actually standing here looking at my son not only out of bed but exercising at 8AM on a holiday.

I remove my spectacles, rub my eyes, pinch myself, and generally take every possible precaution to ensure I am not hallucinating or seeing things. Only once all my options are exhausted, and my brain has processed the fact that what I'm seeing in front of me is absolutely real, do I dare speak up.

Only now does my son seem to notice me. Focused as he is on hitting his target, however, he does not spare me more than a few vaguely coherent grunts:

He turns his attention back to the bag, mumbling to himself as he delivers a quick series of punches ('cross, jab, CROSS!) Only then does he reach forward and wrap his arms around the swinging bag, stopping its momentum as he turns to me, grinning.

He's swarthy and sweating and ruddy-faced. At eight in the morning. On Good Friday.

Maybe I am still dreaming.

He lets go of the bag, steps forward, preening. 'What'chu talkin' 'bout, Dad? This is The Blade! Do you know anybody else who's this good-looking?'

He winks, but I'm still too confused to process it.

'Winners don't sleep in, Dad', he replies, simply. 'And last time...was too close. Too freakin' close.'

Last time...? What is he talking about? '...you won last time, Ryder. You went up against a wrestler most people in VoW piss their pants at the prospect of facing. And you beat her.'

'Sure', he retorts. 'But The Blade almost didn't.'

I must look as confused as I feel, because Ryder continues:

'Sure, Dad', he retorts, with infuriating calm. 'But look at it this way. Think of all the great Champions. Ronda. Tom Brady. LeBron. Tiger. That old boxing dude you like. All those guys. What do they all got in common?' He doesn't give me time to reply. 'They're dominant. They don't pull off lucky wins and stuff. Nine times outta ten, they go in there – in the ring, or the field, or whatever – and you know somebody 'bout to get 'pwned', and it ain't them. You dig?'

I pinch the bridge of my nose. 'No, Ryder, I don't 'dig'. In fact, I don't think I've ever been more confused about something you said.'

'Well, Dad, it's like this. You know how The Blade's been trying to get respect at VoW?' I nod. 'And you know how nobody gives it to him, and everybody says he's just a punk who keeps getting lucky?' I nod again. 'You know why that is?' This time, I shake my head. 'It's 'cause of times like two weeks ago. It's 'cause of wins like that. Where half the arena was expecting The Blade to punk out.'

I try to get a word in edgewise, but he just cuts right across me. 'How d'you think it's gonna look if The Blade lets Matt Robinsuck catch him out? Or if he just kinda manages to scrape by? With Big Cass sitting there, just waiting for The Blade to punk out so he can talk trash? Nah, Big D. Miss The Blade with that hish. The Blade ain't about that life. From now on, it's go big or go home.' He drops his gaze. 'Besides...Nothing Else Matters is the one-year anniversary.'

I frown. 'The one-year anniversary...?' Then, it hits me. 'Oh. And you want to make sure history doesn't repeat itself...'

Ryder nods. 'Yeah. Double Jeopardy was bad enough. Would'a been a year straight if not for that. The Blade ain't 'bout to let it happen again.'

Not for the first time this morning, I am at a loss for words. I cannot believe the boy in front of me, the same boy I saw 'scrape by' for months on the back of underhanded tactics, has just put me in my place when it comes to the right way to win. I don't know whether to be furious or proud, whether to yell at him or hug him. The only thing I know is that the person in front of me right now is no longer a boy.

I am standing in front of a man.

And I'm not sure that's entirely a good thing.

II

The punch throws The Blade off his balance, and he sort of staggers back and trips and falls onto his butt.

'I told you to put ya damn guard up', Big Dogg says as he offers The Blade a hand.

Big Dogg ain't about to hear it. 'You weren't freakin' ready? So what, 'b'? You think that dude Robinson is gon' wait around 'till you done fixin' your hair or whatever?' He spits and puts up his dukes again. 'Let's do this!'

He doesn't even wait – just straight away, whaling on The Blade. Just punch after punch after punch, cross, jab, cross, quick as all heck. The Blade ain't even got time to finish taking one before Big Dogg throwing another one. Whack, whack, whack, just backing The Blade up against the wall, making him look like a rookie, like a loser, like a punk...

The Blade springs out of the corner, and just like that, it's him on top of Big Dogg, wham-wham-wham-wham-wham, cross-jab-cross-jab-cross, using his feet, mixing it up a little, cross-cross-jab, jab-cross-cross, catching Big Dogg out, making him lose his cool, making him so he doesn't know what to do. And then...

...and then The Blade throws Big Dogg on his butt.

Big Dogg smiles, accepts The Blade's hand up, pulls him into a hug. 'My man!' He grins at The Blade. 'That's what I wanna see. A Champ. Not a chump!' He starts boxing with shadows, doing The Blade's moves. 'Bam-bam-bam-bam! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!' He reaches in and taps gloves with The Blade, then gets into guard again.

'Aight, 'b'', he says, sort of twitching his head to the side like he was Bruce Lee or something. 'Let's do this shit.'

He comes at The Blade again, but this time, The Blade is ready and dodges. Big Dogg punches again, but The Blade is too quick for him. And again. And again. The Blade's just dancing around dodging everything, He even finds himself behind Big Dogg at one point, and tries to sweep the leg, but Big Dogg's too quick. Then, it's Big Dogg who tries to grab a headlock, but The Blade knows what to do. Elbow to the gut, spin around, deck a bitch with a lariat. 

WHAM! 

And just like that, it's Blade 2, Big Dogg 1.

'How you like The Blade now, Big Dogg?' The Blade can't help it. He likes to gloat. But that doesn't mean he ain't going to help Big Dogg up again. He totally is, and he totally does. 'Cause The Blade and Big Dogg are homies. And that's what homies do.

...huh?...

...the heck...?

...bruh...

...The Blade gets it now.

...night-night.

Bruh...

...what's going on, yo...?

...why is The Blade lying on the floor...?

Then The Blade remembers. 

Something hitting him. From behind. Real hard.

And then lights out.

'He did? Who did?' Suddenly, Big Dogg's tone changes. 'R-Dogg! You alive, homie!'

'Yeah...The Blade is alive...kind'a...' The Blade takes R-Dogg's hand, gets up real slow to make sure he didn't break anything. 'What the heck, yo?'

'This mo'fucka don't know how strong he is.' Big Dogg jerks a thumb at K-Dogg. 'When I say come from behind with a chair, dumb-ass goes and hits you with that shit for real!'

'Come from behind?' The Blade ain't really all back yet; his brain's all scrambled and stuff. 'Why'd you tell him to come from behind for?'

Big Dogg gives K-Dogg this look like he wants to kill him, and K-Dogg starts saying he's sorry, but The Blade waves them both off.

'Well', Big Dogg says, 'you got a gash and shit, homie. Sucka just hit you with a goddamn chair.' Here, he makes his words kind'a smile. 'But you gon' be fine. Ain't nothin' Papa Dogg can't patch up.'

He slaps me in the back. 'We cool, big guy?'

The Blade smiles. 'We're cool. And The Blade needs to watch his back next time, right?'

Now it's Big Dogg who's smiling. 'You damn straight!' He slaps The Blade on the back again. 'Now c'mon. Ain't nobody wanna be in a video with their head bleedin' and shit.'

III

The sudden raised voice drowns out whatever Izzy's saying, causing my attention to momentarily wander from the phone call to try and locate it. It does not take me more than a moment to solve that particular mystery – when I look off to the side, the Three Stooges are there, all waving at me and grinning like loons.

'No problem, Charlie', my ex-wife's voice says over the line. 'I'm sorry about the other day...you just kind of...caught me by surprise. I overreacted.'

'It's fine, hon. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. I'm sorry too.' The trio's gestures are becoming more urgent by the minute, so I quickly add. 'Speak to you soon. Bye-bye.'

It's not until I have hung up that I realize this is the first time I'm seeing Ryder since our little chat in the gym this morning. Almost twelve hours ago. That's impressive – usually, you can't go twelve minutes around here without seeing or hearing Ryder or one of his friends. And here we are more than half a day apart, and it doesn't even register with me. Guess I was too busy reminiscing and making amends with my wife to notice. That, or the guys were just really fucking quiet.

'Where have you three been all this time?' After being caught stammering like a schoolboy at Izzy (that seems to be a side effect of talking to her) I have to try to regain at least a little of my dignity.

'Making a video.' Ryder's grin of expectant pride hits a sour note in my heart, which I hope is not outwardly apparent. He's so much like him...

Ryder shrugs. 'We had to edit it, too, and stuff...'

'Edit it?' I frown – anyone who could edit a video in this complex has the weekend off. 'Who edited it?'

'I didn't, Mr. B.' The fourth musketeer's head suddenly pops up behind the other three. 'And you need to see this video, it's really cool.'

It damn well better be, after they dragged the poor kid out here during a national holiday!

I gesture for the iPad, and Mike promptly hands it over. The video-playing software is already booted up – all I have to do is press Play – and a large image of a smirking Ryder fills up the screen. I guess this is what they call a thumbnail. 

One swipe of a thumb later, however, and it is gone. As the video starts rolling, I am instead looking at a pretty fair home-made set, clearly fashioned from the Sprintex kitchen counter. (How did I not see them make this?!) Behind it stands a smiling Ryder, who, a moment later, welcomes viewers to this strange pseudo-show:

Ryder looks to his left in mock surprise.

Ouch. Low blow, Ryder.

A picture of a scowling, realistically-drawn man with a machine gun and a white skull on his shirt appears on screen for a moment.

'No', Video Ryder says, 'not that dude!'

The picture quickly gets replaced with a photo of Matt Robinson, causing an appreciative Ryder to state:

The camera focuses back on Ryder, now standing next to a small flatscreen monitor. 

Ryder holds up a piece of paper with something scrawled on it in pen.

'Matt Robinsuck is a bad dude.'

The sheet disappears back behind the counter, as Ryder continues.

Video Ryder gives the camera his trademark smirk.

Video Ryder pulls an O-face in mock surprise.

A snort comes from somewhere off to my side. Real-Time Ryder laughing at his own joke in the video.

Ryder gestures towards the monitor on the counter beside him, and a second later, it turns on, showing highlights of Matt Robinson's career.

Video Ryder lets his voice trail off as a quick-fire montage begins, depicting Robinson taking move after move after move from a variety of VoW wrestlers. Surprisingly, Ryder has no commentary to offer to this, and it is not until this segment is over that he speaks again.

He pauses briefly, for effect, then quickly moves on – leaving me impressed at his mastery of timing. 

Out comes another hand-written note.

'All those losses were flukes.'

The note gets put away again, and Ryder's smirk widens.

The monitor comes alive with highlights yet again, and this time, Ryder does speak over the footage.

'Like here. Does this look like a fluke to you?' He points at Robinson as he takes a kick from that strange mannequin woman who's been running around.

'Or that, does that look like a fluke to you?' Robinson taking some sort of move from that fellow in the face paint.

'Or that?' Robinson getting pinned by that young girl who has a belt. I think he calls her some sort of joke name.

Ryder gives the camera another one of his trademark smirks, before pulling out yet another scribbled piece of paper.

The camera zooms in on the A4 sheet, revealing the words 'The Blade is a punk who keeps getting lucky.' Hoo boy. Had to have that one in there.

Video Ryder once again turns to the screen beside him, where a new roll of footage has started to roll. This time, predictably, we are looking at some of Ryder's proudest moments, from pinning Emma Carlisle to conquering Stacy Jones in a submissions match, putting Valquist down for three and dominantly defending his belt against Patrick Jones. The biggest surprise comes when I realize the package includes highlights of his bout with Constance Chapin – the Ryder I thought I knew would have never included a losing effort in something like this.

Well, well. Guess the kid is growing!

Also surprising is the fact that, once again, Ryder chooses to remain silent for the duration of the video, letting the images speak for themselves and only piping up at the very end with:

Knowing when to hang back and not be in people's faces all the time?! Is this really the same boy I've been warding at the complex for the past year?!

I barely have time to dwell on this, however, as there is still more video left to watch. This time, Video Ryder holds up a sheet of paper with 'BONUS MYTH' scrawled on it, as he announces:

The camera zooms in again, and the words 'Robinson d. Blade - Nothing Else Matters – 3-31-16'' become discernible. As the feed pans back out to Video Ryder's smirking face, he concludes:

With that, and one final wink-and-smirk from our host, the video fades to black. Not a moment afterwards, Real-Time Ryder is patting me on the shoulder, leaning over me expectantly.

I pick my words very carefully. 'Well, Ryder...it was...good...but I thought you were trying to be serious...? That wasn't what I'd call a serious video...'

To my surprise, Ryder actually chuckles. 'Nah, Dad...The Blade meant serious inside the ring. In videos and stuff, The Blade's still gonna do himself. Ain't anybody else he can do...'

I nod. 'Fair enough. In that case...yeah, sure. It worked.'

Ryder's grin becomes a bonafide smile as he holds out his hand for a high-five. I promptly comply, then feel a pang in my stomach as Ryder takes off in a stutter-step across the room. I try my hardest to quench the feeling rising inside me – it wouldn't do for me to show weakness in front of my guys – but it's proving extremely hard. I feel like at any moment know, my internal dam is going to break, and everything I've repressed for over two years is going to come flooding out...

Just as I am about to hit breaking point, the atmosphere is pierced by the hard rock beat of Ryder's ringtone. As his Dad tries his hardest to keep his lip from quivering, he holds up a finger and steps away from us, to peer into his screen. A moment later, his fist shoots up in an explosion of joy.

He turns back around to the three of us, a boyish glint now in his eye.

There are high-fives all around, as Kyrill and Mike both congratulate Ryder on his latest fetching catch. One person in the room, however, is nowhere near as happy.

Ryder shrugs. 'Dunno. Probably just, like, hanging out and stuff. Hitting up a couple of bars or whatever.'

I shake my head. 'No way, mister. I'm not going to have you running all over New York City on your own, at night. Forget about it.'

This hits the mark; suddenly, Ryder is squirming and looking down at his shoes.

'Eighteen', he mumbles.

Ryder sighs huffily, but nods. 'Fiiiine. We can catch a flick. Just give The Blade a second to text Raven...'

I am happy to see him proceed to do just that, and even happier when the girl has no objection to them going to a movie. As such, and after giving Kyrill and Mike instructions to keep an eye on the lovebirds from a discreet distance, I set Ryder free to go meet his date. 

He starts for the door excitedly, then seems to think twice and takes a step back to wrap his arms around me The hug last an age, yet somehow not long enough. It says more than words could ever say, yet leaves just as much unsaid. And in the end, when it's over, it leaves a void somewhere deep in my blackened made-guy heart.

'You're the best, Dadhead', he says. 'Don't wait up for The Blade, alright?'

He opens the door, takes a step out, looks back over his shoulder. My son. Ryder Blade. Spiky-haired. Dimple-cheeked. Bright-eyed. Clean-shaven. Twenty-one years old. A boy. A man. A goofy kid. A champion wrestler. His Dad's big guy. Number One Contender to the VoW World Visionary Championship.

Hopeful.

Optimistic.

Excited.

Alive.

When he comes back home at two in the morning, I am waiting up for him.