The Truth of Consequences

The amount of suffering a human being goes through in a lifetime is beyond description. We wake up every morning feeling some sort of negative pull from our soul whether it would be something from current events, the outgoings of the world because of selfish billionaires or the ignorant religious zealots or even something from our very past that we can’t ever shake. To say we have lived is to also say we have endured, suffered and survived every potential catastrophe life has thrown our way.

The problem with surviving so many close calls in your life though...it plants a seed of paranoia in you that even if you’re as self aware as any human being in the planet...it’s impossible to uproot this problem when it’s so deeply ingrained into your brain. It trains us to expect the absolute worst in human beings. To look for the absolute worst qualities in a person while keeping your shield up...and studying them enough whether to let your guard down or not. You might think that this is also a product of how society is now...but that’s false. It’s merely reported on more. Might make you more defensive...but you are almost always taught to be like this.

You have to anymore...just to survive because as a kid...you can’t trust what some strange, sociopathic adult can do and you damn sure can’t leave your guard down anymore if you elicit any form of fame when you become older. The second part of that I learned the hard way when I went through one of my binges with Noish and almost ran into some serious trouble with a biker gang similar to the ones that gunned each other down like thugs(though the media won’t use this word...because of their skin color) in Waco, Texas. If they were black though...it’d be Baltimore or Eric Garner over the slightest escalation...another version of breeding this...paranoia that you almost have to have.

And yet...just over a month ago...I thought for a second there was hope for me to uproot this paranoia plant from me.

Just before I wrestled Patrick Jones...for the first time in at least my adult life I felt less burdened by my own past...and the people that surrounded it. I’m well aware...that Noish’s passing really shouldn’t have happened but I knew I was atoning for it and was absolutely at peace at that. Accepted it even...and through that I felt a little bit of that weight that I’ve always carried on my shoulders. This burden...grief...paranoia all wrapped into one...just slowly slide off. A portion of it. I felt like I could exhale. Financially I’m more than alright working in the craft that has saved my life...physically I could be better but what wrestler north of thirty isn’t hurting? I could feel this wave of positive momentum busting through...an almost revitalizing effect on my own mind even if there are things in the world and the sport of wrestling that agitate me.

And then Owen had to break into my house like a damned criminal and not only water that seed but put forth damage that may not be repaired.

He barged in there reckless...false vengeance guiding his hand and ended up damaging many things in my house hold...many of which he busted over my cranium like the ultraviolent disgrace of a wrestler he turned himself into. It’s a shame that a man who is as capable as he is does those things...but it’s a disgrace when he, himself, thinks that one insincere, bullshit apology is enough to overwrite the damage he not only did to me...and this state of mind that I am in...but the damage he has caused my daughter for the rest of her life.

There are harsh lessons people need to teach...and when Owen’s wife struck me and violated the rules...Owen’s kids learned the harsh truth of violating the laws that are put in front of you. But to act like a criminal, just like his wife did before hand, and strike me just to rid his own pain. To rid the same seed that has been planted in his own brain...because of his own selfishness to the sport of wrestling and his own actions. And I know for a fact...he didn’t succeed since he threatened to end my life in a wrestling ring.

Another example of this damned criminal forgetting the bigger picture of who he effects with his own actions.

When we clashed at Nothing else Matters...I know for a fact we both went in with the intent to wrestle. Aggressively at times...but I also wanted to teach this boy a lesson that his actions could cost him more than he ever bargained for. People often get really good at the wrestling end of the spectrum while forgetting the word ‘professional’ with both their in ring actions and how they carry themselves as a person. I thought he merely fell into that trap and I’d show him the error of his ways...not in a conventional manner but in a way where he’d learn something.

In a rarity...I was wrong. He’s too far gone...too much of an irrational psychopath who deserves to be in a padded cell for the type of damage he’s inflicted on other human beings both in matches and that particular incident when he ruined the security of home for not only me...but my daughter. It’s going to be a far bigger price than a trip to the hospital...some boohooing from a disrespectful bitch of a wife and a sore, potentially concussed cranium after the best DDT in wrestling. No, Owen...the mere justice of the letter of the law by wrestling or judicial systems isn’t enough for you.

It’s street law...and that’s what the I Quit match is.

You’re familiar with the humiliation you went through against Joka that forced you to take a sabbatical from this industry...it haunts you every day...maybe even fueled what you did to me slightly. It’s going to be far far worse...than just the indignity of uttering the words ‘I Quit’ to signal that you can’t continue anymore from your own prideful admission. The law of the streets, the very streets that raised me since my parents were on the drug of the bible, dictate that you must feel every bit of helplessness...pain...paranoia and doubt that went through my brain when you busted through that door thinking you can get revenge like any American would in a god damned John Wayne movie.

But I will not quit until you’re the one feeling so trapped in every single manner that you have to say those words...and live with the same type of pain you just inflicted on me for ruining any chance I ever had of feeling normal...and attempting to ruin my adopted daughter’s chance to feel the same way. This boy, is far worse than merely killing someone like you threaten to do...and verbalizing those things doesn’t make you any better than any criminal that commits crimes for their own sick joy. And like any criminal that gets theirs, Owen...you’ll pay every bit for your transgressions.

And I won’t quit until I’ve inflected every bit of damage you deserve...and you damn sure won’t kill me...or for the first time in my life make me utter those words...I Quit.

I swear to christ...and all of my dead friends...that the sport, my family, and my own soul will be avenged for every bit of pain you’ve ever inflicted in your own delinquent life.

For what is supposed to be the heart of Summer, the wind has a little bit of a chilling bite to it this evening. A rare reminder of what Spring weather is supposed to be like in the age of global warming. The air also feels very heavy...very tense as it almost always seems to whenever you’re in one of the major cities of the world...and that’s New York in a nutshell. Though the reasons for why there’s disgust and unrest vary depending on who you ask...or eavesdrop on.

The darker clouds to the northwest have an ominous feel to them even in this cooler air even if the sun is peaking through and the happier, tamer clouds on that side bring happiness. It’s almost as if the sky itself has it’s own ways to remind us from above that the best and worst of life aren’t too far if you know exactly where to look. That thought just makes me run my hand through the top of my head, the stresses of the last couple of weeks agitating me...and while it’s easier for a white male to lay low in the streets of New York...it’s safe to say I’m far from the most popular person in this city after I gave the worst parts of this city the tongue lashing they deserve.

“Fuck you Iser!” I hear a Jewish man call out toward me.

“Fuck you too you cheap, warmongering jackass…” I grit through my teeth.

I peer back behind me to where that sound came from and while I can feel the hostility coming in that direction from the people walking the street...he won’t make a move on someone who has at least six inches of height on the average person. With a shrug, I glance at the cracked sidewalks, the large, sky scraping buildings and even the ill tempered taxicab drivers that infest this city cursing at pedestrians, slow moving traffic and God knows what else...and just exhale calmly to try to lose myself into this scene...reaching into the pocket of my hoodie and put the headphones on while some Jimi Hendrix is blaring through. And while it’d be tempting to use a guitar and pulverise Owen with it to that tune...I’ll leave anything musical to my acquaintance Blue Suede Bruce.

“Not even the guitar entirely take away from the thought of what Owen did to Allison and I…” I sigh, “But hell...it’s a classic.”

Though I glance around in this city and see the occasional mouth directed toward me in the usual venomous tone...the music makes it much easier to ignore the abuse, blend into the crowd and lose yourself temporarily from your situation. Even I need a mental break every now and then. Odd that it’d be in New York, the city that’s pretty much run on coffee, ill tempers and overtime but you can almost make yourself look busy. It’s even easier to when you’re wearing a black and white business suit with the earphones coming from the black jacket portion of your suit and my hair neatly combed back and trimmed. Even if I’m not as tan as some of the...gym rats that come up through Jersey.

It’s the often forgotten about ‘professional’ part of professional wrestling.

“What the hell!?” I hear Moretti’s trademark shriek even through my headphones

“Dammit…” I muse before putting my white headphones connected to my ipod away and take a deep breath over the situation, “Reality break over. Think my sanity is about as well as it...could be. Time to make sure he doesn’t get arrested.

I push through the mass of people that are either moving too slow or dawdling around with their stupid coffee cups for no reason to attempt to defuse the situation Moretti just got himself into...whatever it might be. Soon enough I can hear his yells get more profane...higher pitched and harder to understand and an idea soon pops into my head what he might have gotten himself into. Finally I see him bent down yelling into a parked taxi cab to the driver.

“Why don’t you learn how to fucking drive and not make so many sharp turns that I felt like I was in a fucking roller coaster ride you ignorant shit!? How dare you!” Moretti shrieks, louder.

“You made your point Vincent. He has places to be. You do too. Get on with it…” I sigh, my tone scolding...borderline parental.

Vincent lets out a loud sigh of his own before taking a couple of steps back and continuing his evil glare toward the taxicab driver. I peer in briefly to see that the man is obviously not white...but judging by the tone of brown...while I can guess on his ethnicity...I won’t speculate. He gets enough crap due to his skin color as is. Moretti straightens his silver jacket up before slicking the curls that have run down his face back and the taxi cab drives off before he gives the guy one more message...the classic double bird salute to the driver that had probably agitated him for the driver.

“Fuck you AND all your language mangling family!” he shouts before finally putting the bird down.

“There’s the subway or better yet...walking.” I sigh, more agitated than usual.

“I don’t want idiots possibly pick pocketing me in either scenario and I know I’m already doing SOME walking? Why add on to the problem?” We should all have escalators at this point everywhere but instead our stupid government is bombing people. It’s criminal…” Moretti sneers.

“After what’s happened the last few weeks Vincent...I think we might have to rewrite the entire definition of criminal…” I twitch.

The conversation is interrupted when I feel someone going into my jacket pocket. Defensively I dart my eyes and do see an arm extended into the pocket and a nervous white man, a few inches shorter than I and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt glances at me knowing he got caught. He goes to jerk his arm and begin to flee but with one swift motion I just grab his wrist and have the grip to not let him go. He grunts knowing he got caught and I’m pondering what exactly to do with this struggling kid. I can feel Vincent’s sadistic grin peering over now...looking like he’s about ready to have some fun. There’s the odd look from people here but this doesn’t even register to most of the city of New York.

“What were you reaching for?” I demand.

“I-I didn’t do anythi--” he goes to beg.

With one swift motion with my other hand I bend his left index finger on his reaching hand as far back as I can go until it makes that sadistic sound of breaking it. Moretti lets out a low but joyful laugh as I’m just staring down at the brown haired, babyfaced...criminal who looks to have made a horrible mistake now trying to pickpocket me. The fear in his own eyes is apparent already so I decide to probe further. Even still, I use the strength I have to drag him toward the alley so far less people can be witnesses to both his crime and the proper street retaliation for his crime. The alleys here are easy to drag a grown man to casually...and the way I have it gripped and our size difference...it’s almost easy to mistake it for me disciplining a teenaged kid for doing something stupid.

“You probably shouldn’t have lied about it, chief.” Vincent cackles.

“I can do that to all your fingers boy.” I glare down at the kid with my voice getting a little more aggressive, “Now let’s try this again. What were you reaching for?”

The sound of sirens go off in the air and instinctively after years of being involved in...sketchy work, I just glance around everywhere...my paranoia way too active. Doesn’t help that he indirectly triggered a reminder of criminal activity...in a short span of time. With a grunt, I just twist his wrist so he feels torque on it on top of that broken finger. That motion brings him down to his knees and he’s pleading for some semblance of mercy. The sirens tend to pick up and even if they aren’t possibly coming for me...I best hurry in delivering a different form of street justice. One that would deliver more so on the psychological side than the mere physical punishment.

“I was reaching for the wallet! I swear! That’s it!” he finally concedes.

“It’d been much less painful if you owned up to your action and told the truth the first time…these kids today...never thinking through the consequences for everybody when they commit to their actions” I sneer, “But boy...if you had lied again…”

As I trail off with that sentence, Moretti has this devilish grin before he ends up pulling out a knife and the eyes on that young man go wider than saucers. He’s tugging away trying to get free but my grip strength is way too strong for him to pull out plus I’ve had far more experience neutralizing people...not just in the streets but in the wrestling ring. The chilling wind continues to blow as I glance above and see the darker clouds slowly starting to come in. The sirens blare by as I glance at a speeding police car officer on the street from the alley we’re at just speed on by without a care and in my own mind...the bullet sweating finally stops. After a brief moment of recollecting my own inner thoughts...I calmly turn my attention to the struggling kid.

“You learn your lesson, boy?” I growl.

“Yes!” he frantically tugs, still trying to get free.

After one more huge tug where he’s completely winded himself, I finally let go and end the kid’s reality check. He takes a few deep breaths to get some oxygen built back up. The kid takes two back steps to get some distance to make sure I don’t make another aggressive move and when I just stand there like a statue just observing him...hawk like in nature. He then finally takes his cue and flees the scene with his broken finger as his reminder of this evening...this encounter. A scar he can take with him...a memory that’ll linger on for the rest of his days.

Just like what Owen did to me…

“Did any of that get through to him?” Moretti questions with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t think all of it did...but some of it did.” I answer sternly, “But asking a kid to listen to everything you’re saying these days is almost impossible. He at least has learned that to live is to suffer but learning one thing doesn’t mean you’ll adapt other lessons. It’s not always easy getting through to a troubled human being...but the kid might yet stay away from doing things without thinking of the consequences for himself, his family, or the family of the person he’s doing said action to.”

The last sentence makes me trail off again for a second and for a moment...I still flash back to the sound of that door breaking down...and the look of fear on my daughter’s face. I’ll never let that out of my mind...not for a long time. With that I just pull out my own cellphone and open the text message I’ve read a handful of times to myself...that Allison sent me. It’s message is very simple.

‘I’m okay, Dad. Make sure you get that man for what he did. He can’t kill what you stand for.’ I read to myself calmly.

“Strong girl…” I mutter to myself before nodding calmly and remembering the vile nature of how Owen delivered the threat to kill me.

“Hm?” Moretti inquires.

“Nothing Vincent.” I shake my head as I turn my head and start walking back to the more civilized part and not so much the broken down, graffitied ghetto street that street justice is often done to, “But it’s a god damned shame Owen couldn’t have listened to me. Then he had to take it a step farther and did what he did...and then threaten to kill me after he half-heartedly apologized for what was done to my daughter. As that boy found out...there’s worse things in the world than death.”

“I know where this is going…” I hear Vincent’s sadistic cackle, “Was wondering where this part of you was going to be.”

“It was never dead Vincent...merely dormant. It’s not something you can kill off even if Owen aims to...kill me.” I softly reply, “But nobody delivers the intimidating brand of street justice better than I do when it’s needed...and Owen’s going to be subjected to the worst physical and mental torture for every bit of damage he’s ever done to me, my family, this industry...everything...until he has to say I Quit one more time…”

Vincent lets out a cold cackle while I calmly palm my own cellphone and stick it back into my own pocket. A part of me really wishes this side of me that I know that’s dormant would be laid to rest. The last couple of years...even through my own anger...I’ve felt myself becoming more of a normal human being than I ever had in my life. I got to enjoy the quiet times of family and the responsibility and joy that brings as well as dealing with more of the professional aspect of wrestling than ever before.

Hell even if it wasn’t my greatest moment...I was asked to go on the Daily Show before Jon Stewart retired and did so. It’s always going to be something that I could take pride in.

There had always been an emptiness burning in my guts but slowly but surely even after Noish’s passing I felt it becoming less. Sure, I was angry with how wrestling has been of late and some of the people but I could feel my own actions and my voice helping with the righteous cause of professional wrestling from falling into the clutches of the wrong people...people like well...Owen.

Now...I feel that emptiness again...that paranoia that I’ll never be normal or right and permanently judged for it like I’ve been my entire life. And I feel the inner darkness that’s always been deep within my own being...the same thing that drove me to put a screwdriver through Hazard’s hand or burn Cera’s eyes with that mist years ago. Hell...even the same thing that fueled me to do the most inhumane actions in England the wrestling world has ever seen. I felt that tug...all thanks to the action of a selfish, vile human being.

And he isn’t aware of the damage he truly caused.

I’d be a liar if I didn’t say his actions and his words haven’t invaded my mind. The truth doesn’t have a bias as painful as it is. But the cold truth of the matter...that I hope Owen is coming into there to try to live up to his word...aiming to kill me to get me to stop...because I have news for the boy...he might’ve been known as Ultraviolent. They might dub him indestructible. He might have as much athletic ability as any god damned wrestler on planet earth and hell...he’s even a good wrestler.

None of that means a god damned thing though...because the boy has not seen the horrors I will unleash on him after he crossed that line. And it isn’t going to kill him physically. I never intended to do that...and truth be told...that line of ‘justice’ only creates more vigilantes and vengeance. No...I’m going to do something far worse as I’ve always said.

Break his mind...one layer at a time with every cruel trick I’ve learned in my thirty four years surviving in this god damned earth.

And I wager everything...I wager my pride, I wager my reputation...I wager my own sanity that Owen will quit before he can succeed in killing me or making me quit.

This...is the most important match I’m about to...fight in...for many reasons…

And I’m aiming to win at any cost because of what was launched with-in me.

...I’m aiming to end my misery that should be long gone.

I’m gunning to end my envy.

...and the only way to rid my pain...is to subject all of it upon Owen Gonsalves until he can’t continue anymore.

And he won’t continue.

On behalf of this sport of wrestling...all those that came before me...my mentor.

...and most of all my family.

I will beat the lesson of consequences into you until you say the words I Quit, Owen.

I promise.