Post by Duncan Ryder on Oct 11, 2022 17:15:27 GMT -5
“My name is Duncan and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi Duncan.”
Friday September 2nd - Indianapolis, IN
He was still champion and he was home. Combat Evolved was in the past and with it, Duncan felt like a weight had been lifted. He felt like he had been drowning a mile underwater with the pressure crushing him as he fought for breath. The journey back from El Paso in the Normandy, had been long and tiresome and all Duncan had been waiting for was to be back in his own home and to sleep again in his own bed. Now he was here though his home felt wrong. No sooner had he stepped inside the door then he felt the walls closing in on him. He felt like he was being watched, like he was being judged. It was as if the walls had eyes and memory. They knew what he had done, the depths he had sunk to and the ways in which he had failed. Failed himself, failed his family. His family didn’t know. The people around him, people like Johnny and Craig, they had an idea. They knew he wasn’t right, hadn’t been for a long time but they only saw what had come to the surface in the light of day. They at least knew there was more going on with Duncan than what met the eye of the public in the times Duncan had fought to keep hold of some measure of his mental clarity. That though was only a part of the story. The walls, they knew. They knew everything. They had seen every breakdown, every reality detached tirade. The walls had seen him stumble drunk back into his bed on a night that even he had no memory of. They knew what he had done and he felt their disapproval and disappointment. His home felt small, too small for him to inhabit. He couldn’t stretch out without touching the walls on either side of him, couldn’t stand up straight as he was bowed by the oppressively low ceiling.
Still exhausted, still wanting nothing more than the comfort of his own bed, now standing in his own doorway, Duncan backed out into the corridor, closing the door behind him and walked away.
“I’ve been sober now for fifty two days.”
Supportive applause.
“Before that I had been sober for about a year and nine months but I let myself down. People suffered for it and now I’m back to square one again.”
In the days that followed Duncan’s victorious and harrowing homecoming he had spent as little time in his own home as possible. He was sleeping in a motel a few blocks away, just off the main highway into the city. He only returned when he needed something, something specific that belonged to him that he couldn’t simply replace in which cases he would dart in, grabbing whatever he needed in an agitated hurry as if the place were radioactive and his life depended on his brevity.
It was strange to him. In the time since he had moved in, since he had made the choice to settle in Indianapolis there had been nowhere he had felt more comfortable than in that apartment. Long months on the road living out of the back of a piece of crap van, years before that living in motels, couch surfing or sleeping on the floors of gyms or venues had taught him how much of a privilege it was to have a simple space to call your own. To have a place for your belongings and each of your belongings in its place, not crammed in the bottom of an overstuffed duffel bag.
Now, once again holed up in a singular motel room Duncan couldn’t help but reflect on the way his life had seemingly come full circle. It was signing his original deal with Level Up that had given him hope that better days were in his future. That his time living day to day on the road may be over. It was winning the Power Championship that had turned that hope into a reality, seeing his original four show deal extended out to a year. That stability, in no small part assisted by the deep and generous pockets of the Developer, alongside the desire to never go back, had allowed Duncan to raise his game to levels beyond any he had achieved before in his long career. He may have lost the Power title but he had won The Last of Us, earned his shot at the Final Boss Championship and at Doom, taken it and with it taken his place at the pinnacle of the young promotion. It was everything he had wanted. Everything he imagined becoming on those nights he slept in the back of that van either sweating and stifling hot or shivering, so cold he could see his own breath each time he yawned. For a time everything had been perfect but just as it had elevated him to the peak of his career and the attainment of a goal over fifteen years in the chasing, the Final Boss Championship cast him down again.
He sat on the end of a bed that wasn’t his with the gold plated strap laid across his knees. It felt less lustrous than it once had. Duncan realised this wasn’t the first time he had felt this way. The same thoughts had run through his mind following his defeat at TriForce Heroes. He remembered how then the brilliant ruby-like stone that dominated the centre of the Power championship felt dull and lifeless in the wake of that loss. He had felt like the title had lost something that night by not being the first to rise to become the TriForce title. By him failing to live up to the level of performance he expected of himself and that he believed that championship deserved. Then that title had been taken away from him before he had been able to see it revivified in his own eyes by his own hands.
That was different though. With the Power Championship these feelings had come as a result of his defeat, from the way he still held the title that he believed that he had sacrificed, win or lose, for his chance to compete for the TriForce. When it had been placed back in his hands he had felt unworthy. With the Final Boss Championship that now laid across his lap he had not been beaten. He had done exactly the opposite, defeated two of the toughest challengers he ever had or ever would be called upon to face. He had stepped in the ring with the only other two men in Level Up wrestling call themselves the Final Boss and he had proven himself the superior. He had proven that he was the man, that he was the one to put the Level Up name on the wrestling map. That he was the standard by which anyone wanting to call themself champion in Level Up would have to be measured. He was the one who would carve the title of Final Boss into the annals of wrestling history as a competitor to be respected and vaunted and in turn the title would secure his legacy in this business. It was this title that would see his name remembered.
Or so he thought and perhaps he was still right to think so, but equally it was this title that for all it had done for him professionally, had set him back on a personal level by two years. Here he was once again, a drunk, sitting alone in a fleabag motel wishing his life was different. Before he had wished that that difference was the Final Boss championship.
Now he had no idea what to wish for.
“I got cocky. Since I first accepted that I had a problem and took steps to address it things had been going well for me. I still had my low points for sure, but we all do. All told though things were on the up for me, professionally mostly but personally too. I took that for granted. In this room we hear from people who haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in twenty years and still introduce themselves as alcoholics, because it never goes away. I lost sight of that. I thought I was the exception. I had gone over a year without drinking, barely even been tempted and I thought I was cured. I stopped going to meetings. I just thought I had this all under control now. Naive I know. It’s easy not to be tempted when everything is going great for you. No matter how good life seems though there is always going to be something waiting to tear you down. It might not be around the next corner or even the one after that but you’ll run into it eventually. When I ran into it I didn’t ask for help. I should have done but I didn’t, because I had this under control right? It was mine to deal with. I had been dealing with it on my own for over a year already. So I could keep on dealing with it myself. No, I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here though, because I understand that I can’t do this on my own.”
Wednesday September 7th - Indianapolis, IN
Duncan had awoken and naturally rolled over onto his left side, reaching for his phone which wasn’t there. The only outlet for his charger was on the right side of the motel bed and he rolled over with a sigh to retrieve the device from the opposite side than he muscle memory still expected, despite this being the fifth morning in a row that he had made the same mistake.
Different from the four previous mornings though there was a notification on his phone that warranted some actual interest and wasn’t simply swiped away without concern. It was a text message from Johnny that read:
‘Meeting Friday. Flight Tomorrow. Check your email. Wear something smart.’
Duncan did as he was instructed and checked his email. Attached to the latest unread message was a plane ticket to Atlantic City. Duncan smiled. He’d never been a big fan of casinos and that wasn’t why he was going. Still though, he may have been about to make the biggest gamble of his career.
“I’m still under a lot of pressure. I feel it every day. It’s difficult to process when I know that the only way the pressure will ever be alleviated will come from failure. I wonder how I will feel when that day comes, because I know that it will, no matter how hard I fight against it inevitably it will come. I wonder whether I will feel relief or grief. I want to know and at the same time hope I never have to find out.”
Saturday September 10th - Atlantic City, NJ
The hotel suite he had been put up in, courtesy of the Benson Estate, for the duration of the contract negotiations was a more than welcome change of scenery. Not only was it utterly new but its luxury, while typically anathema to Duncan’s modest sensibilities, gave him a sense of progress, of elevation. A year ago it would have been impossible to imagine himself in a place like this for any reason other than having given up on his wrestling career entirely and taken a job as a cleaner.
His potential contract of employment to train the pariah of the wrestling community Sonya Benson stood several inches high on a rich mahogany table at the edge of the room. Duncan hadn’t concerned himself with it too greatly to begin with. Johnny would read it, that was what Duncan employed him to do wasn’t it. Still though, Johnny was taking his time in doing so and with little else to do Duncan had on several occasions since the end of his first meeting with his possible new employer sat down to attempt to read the document himself. Each time he had bounced off its, no doubt deliberately, dense legalese. Each attempt had left him with a headache and none the wiser to the contract's meaning.
This third attempt was no different and he dumped the block of paper he’d been clutching back down onto the table with a dull thud and leant back in his chair with a sigh. He reached for his phone, intending to open some easily digestible app to clear the fog that had formed in his brain but as he extracted the phone from his pocket it slipped from his grip. He fumbled, snatching wildly at it and by some miracle managed to catch it before it could make contact with the ground. In doing so though his thumb jabbed at the contacts icon on his home screen, bringing up the list, at the very top of which was the name Annie, his sister.
They used to speak regularly, or had begun to do so this past year or so. Duncan had been trying to rebuild the connection with his family that he had allowed to whither for too many years but these past months, with his mind not always being as it should be he had broken off contact again, whether through a lack of awareness or deliberately not wanting to allow her an opportunity to perceive the state that he was in. Now though he felt it was a good time to change that. He looked at his watch. It was early afternoon in Atlantic City but with the time difference to London it was likely Annie was just getting home from work. Duncan opened up Skype and made the call.
It rang. It rang for a long time, so long that Duncan almost hung up with an intention to try again later but just as he was reaching for the red button that would disconnect him it stopped ringing and the plain grey that had filled his screen was replaced by the moving image of his sister with an expression he was unfortunately all too familiar with. Annie was mad.
“Hey sis,” Duncan ventured cautiously hoping the greeting may in some way dissuade the tirade he had no doubt was incoming. It didn’t work.
“Don’t you ‘hey sis’ me Duncan. Where the hell have you been? We haven’t spoken in weeks, months maybe. I don’t even know how long it’s been. I had to pay to stream your last show just to reassure myself that you weren’t dead.”
Duncan ran his hand over his head then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
Annie looked back at him, silent and expectant. “Is that it?” she asked eventually.
“I’m…very sorry?”
Annie’s head rocked back and she let out an exasperated growl. “My god how are you such an idiot so much of the time?”
“I know, I know,” Duncan conceded, “and I really am sorry. I haven’t been well recently, mentally.”
Annie’s look of annoyance swiftly shifted to concern. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ve been stressed out, anxious. It caused me to start losing sleep. That had some knock on effects and I-” he trailed off.
“You what?”
“I drank Annie.”
Annie’s face softened, “Oh Duncan, I’m sorry,” she said with genuine warmth and sympathy, “when?”
“A few weeks back, before Combat Evolved.”
“Right. How’ve you been doing since then?”
Duncan shrugged a little, “OK. I think it was a bit of a wakeup call for me. I got complacent. I’m getting help and trying to find new ways to keep busy. I might have a new job. Something to fill some time between shows.”
“Yeah? Doing what?”
“Training some rich spoilt brat to wrestle so she can win enough matches to get an inheritance from her father, or something like that, I dunno.”
“Wait…what?” Annie asked with disbelief.
“I know. Rich people are crazy. I’m sure she’s going to drive me crazy too but the pay is excellent.”
Annie chuckled a little, “I’ll tell the kids. Let them know they can expect extra special presents when Uncle Duncan comes back for Christmas this year.”
“You do that. I don’t think they’ll have to wait for Christmas though this year. I’m thinking I want to head back a bit sooner.”
“Oh? When’re you thinking?”
“Not sure exactly. Within the next few weeks if I can swing it. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, sure, we’ve not got much going on. Just let me know when.”
“Of course.”
There was a pause, a lull in the conversation. Duncan considered saying his goodbyes but before he could Annie spoke again.
“So tell me more about this brat.”
Duncan smiled, got comfy and settled in for a long overdue catch up.
“I’m feeling a little better each day though. I’m doing what I can to let go of the things I can’t control. Each day I’m feeling a little more like myself. I’m reminding myself of who I used to be. Who I want to be again.”
Sunday October 9th
Duncan stands before a generic backdrop covered in a repeating pattern of Level Up Wrestling logos. He’s wearing plain clothes, blue jeans and a black HYE t-shirt. He holds the Final Boss championship belt over his right shoulder.
Duncan: No more gimmicks. No more facades. No more green screens or props or actresses dressed up like aliens. No, we’re bringing it all back to basics. Commander Shepard is gone, slain by the Reapers like he was always destined to be. I’m still here though. My name is Ryder but it’s the same man, the same Duncan underneath. So listen up and listen well, especially you Bam Miller.
Duncan: Bam, I don’t know you beyond what you’ve achieved here in Level Up. That is to say, not much. I think it speaks to your character that you walked in the door, took the lay of the land and decided, those Game Changers, I want to be a part of that. What’s even worse is that you couldn’t follow through. Now what? Now the Game Changers are kicking your ass and you’re trying to make out like you’re some badass resistance fighter for facing off with them? Please, there isn’t an idiot in this world buying that story.
Duncan: So what else do I know? I know you put on the big tough guy facade. You drink your beers and you swear and you get in people’s faces like you expect people to be impressed by you, or be afraid of you or something. I’ll tell you this for free Bam, that’s not going to work on me. You see this title? I earned my shot and took it by beating a dozen guys tougher than you. I’ve kept hold of it by defeating competitors that you can’t hold a candle to.
Duncan: For you Bam, EXP 32 marks the most important match you’ve had in Level Up. It’s the night you get to say that you went one on one with the Final Boss. For me though? It’s a night of wondering why I’m not sharing a ring with Sebastian Everett-Bryce, an actual contender. Maybe I’ll just have to thank Mr. Steel. It’s been a few weeks since Combat Evolved. I guess he thought I could use a tune up.
Duncan: It doesn’t matter what match I’m in though. It doesn’t matter where I am on the card, because I am the Final Boss and whatever match I’m in is the main event of the evening. Because since EXP 7 I have established myself as the very core of this promotion. I am the pillar around which this promotion has been built. I am fundamental to Level Up in a way you will never be Bam.
Duncan: So bring your brick if you want. You want to swing weapons? That’s fine. You think I got this far without being able to brawl? You think I became the first ever Power champion without being able to sling metal? You’d best understand Bam that if I choose to fight fire with fire you’re the one who’s going to walk away burned.
Duncan: That’s not how this is going to go though. Like any good Pokemon trainer I know the best way to fight fire is with water. When I say we’re going back to basics I don’t just mean this set I mean from the moment I set foot in that ring I’m going to remind you of everything they tried to teach you on your first day of wrestling school. Everything you’ve forgotten and with the fundamentals of great wrestling I’ll grind you down, I’ll extinguish your fire until you’re nothing by damp steaming embers and you’ll serve as a lesson to everyone in the locker room.
Duncan: I am Duncan Ryder and I am Fundamental.
“Hi Duncan.”
Friday September 2nd - Indianapolis, IN
He was still champion and he was home. Combat Evolved was in the past and with it, Duncan felt like a weight had been lifted. He felt like he had been drowning a mile underwater with the pressure crushing him as he fought for breath. The journey back from El Paso in the Normandy, had been long and tiresome and all Duncan had been waiting for was to be back in his own home and to sleep again in his own bed. Now he was here though his home felt wrong. No sooner had he stepped inside the door then he felt the walls closing in on him. He felt like he was being watched, like he was being judged. It was as if the walls had eyes and memory. They knew what he had done, the depths he had sunk to and the ways in which he had failed. Failed himself, failed his family. His family didn’t know. The people around him, people like Johnny and Craig, they had an idea. They knew he wasn’t right, hadn’t been for a long time but they only saw what had come to the surface in the light of day. They at least knew there was more going on with Duncan than what met the eye of the public in the times Duncan had fought to keep hold of some measure of his mental clarity. That though was only a part of the story. The walls, they knew. They knew everything. They had seen every breakdown, every reality detached tirade. The walls had seen him stumble drunk back into his bed on a night that even he had no memory of. They knew what he had done and he felt their disapproval and disappointment. His home felt small, too small for him to inhabit. He couldn’t stretch out without touching the walls on either side of him, couldn’t stand up straight as he was bowed by the oppressively low ceiling.
Still exhausted, still wanting nothing more than the comfort of his own bed, now standing in his own doorway, Duncan backed out into the corridor, closing the door behind him and walked away.
“I’ve been sober now for fifty two days.”
Supportive applause.
“Before that I had been sober for about a year and nine months but I let myself down. People suffered for it and now I’m back to square one again.”
In the days that followed Duncan’s victorious and harrowing homecoming he had spent as little time in his own home as possible. He was sleeping in a motel a few blocks away, just off the main highway into the city. He only returned when he needed something, something specific that belonged to him that he couldn’t simply replace in which cases he would dart in, grabbing whatever he needed in an agitated hurry as if the place were radioactive and his life depended on his brevity.
It was strange to him. In the time since he had moved in, since he had made the choice to settle in Indianapolis there had been nowhere he had felt more comfortable than in that apartment. Long months on the road living out of the back of a piece of crap van, years before that living in motels, couch surfing or sleeping on the floors of gyms or venues had taught him how much of a privilege it was to have a simple space to call your own. To have a place for your belongings and each of your belongings in its place, not crammed in the bottom of an overstuffed duffel bag.
Now, once again holed up in a singular motel room Duncan couldn’t help but reflect on the way his life had seemingly come full circle. It was signing his original deal with Level Up that had given him hope that better days were in his future. That his time living day to day on the road may be over. It was winning the Power Championship that had turned that hope into a reality, seeing his original four show deal extended out to a year. That stability, in no small part assisted by the deep and generous pockets of the Developer, alongside the desire to never go back, had allowed Duncan to raise his game to levels beyond any he had achieved before in his long career. He may have lost the Power title but he had won The Last of Us, earned his shot at the Final Boss Championship and at Doom, taken it and with it taken his place at the pinnacle of the young promotion. It was everything he had wanted. Everything he imagined becoming on those nights he slept in the back of that van either sweating and stifling hot or shivering, so cold he could see his own breath each time he yawned. For a time everything had been perfect but just as it had elevated him to the peak of his career and the attainment of a goal over fifteen years in the chasing, the Final Boss Championship cast him down again.
He sat on the end of a bed that wasn’t his with the gold plated strap laid across his knees. It felt less lustrous than it once had. Duncan realised this wasn’t the first time he had felt this way. The same thoughts had run through his mind following his defeat at TriForce Heroes. He remembered how then the brilliant ruby-like stone that dominated the centre of the Power championship felt dull and lifeless in the wake of that loss. He had felt like the title had lost something that night by not being the first to rise to become the TriForce title. By him failing to live up to the level of performance he expected of himself and that he believed that championship deserved. Then that title had been taken away from him before he had been able to see it revivified in his own eyes by his own hands.
That was different though. With the Power Championship these feelings had come as a result of his defeat, from the way he still held the title that he believed that he had sacrificed, win or lose, for his chance to compete for the TriForce. When it had been placed back in his hands he had felt unworthy. With the Final Boss Championship that now laid across his lap he had not been beaten. He had done exactly the opposite, defeated two of the toughest challengers he ever had or ever would be called upon to face. He had stepped in the ring with the only other two men in Level Up wrestling call themselves the Final Boss and he had proven himself the superior. He had proven that he was the man, that he was the one to put the Level Up name on the wrestling map. That he was the standard by which anyone wanting to call themself champion in Level Up would have to be measured. He was the one who would carve the title of Final Boss into the annals of wrestling history as a competitor to be respected and vaunted and in turn the title would secure his legacy in this business. It was this title that would see his name remembered.
Or so he thought and perhaps he was still right to think so, but equally it was this title that for all it had done for him professionally, had set him back on a personal level by two years. Here he was once again, a drunk, sitting alone in a fleabag motel wishing his life was different. Before he had wished that that difference was the Final Boss championship.
Now he had no idea what to wish for.
“I got cocky. Since I first accepted that I had a problem and took steps to address it things had been going well for me. I still had my low points for sure, but we all do. All told though things were on the up for me, professionally mostly but personally too. I took that for granted. In this room we hear from people who haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in twenty years and still introduce themselves as alcoholics, because it never goes away. I lost sight of that. I thought I was the exception. I had gone over a year without drinking, barely even been tempted and I thought I was cured. I stopped going to meetings. I just thought I had this all under control now. Naive I know. It’s easy not to be tempted when everything is going great for you. No matter how good life seems though there is always going to be something waiting to tear you down. It might not be around the next corner or even the one after that but you’ll run into it eventually. When I ran into it I didn’t ask for help. I should have done but I didn’t, because I had this under control right? It was mine to deal with. I had been dealing with it on my own for over a year already. So I could keep on dealing with it myself. No, I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here though, because I understand that I can’t do this on my own.”
Wednesday September 7th - Indianapolis, IN
Duncan had awoken and naturally rolled over onto his left side, reaching for his phone which wasn’t there. The only outlet for his charger was on the right side of the motel bed and he rolled over with a sigh to retrieve the device from the opposite side than he muscle memory still expected, despite this being the fifth morning in a row that he had made the same mistake.
Different from the four previous mornings though there was a notification on his phone that warranted some actual interest and wasn’t simply swiped away without concern. It was a text message from Johnny that read:
‘Meeting Friday. Flight Tomorrow. Check your email. Wear something smart.’
Duncan did as he was instructed and checked his email. Attached to the latest unread message was a plane ticket to Atlantic City. Duncan smiled. He’d never been a big fan of casinos and that wasn’t why he was going. Still though, he may have been about to make the biggest gamble of his career.
“I’m still under a lot of pressure. I feel it every day. It’s difficult to process when I know that the only way the pressure will ever be alleviated will come from failure. I wonder how I will feel when that day comes, because I know that it will, no matter how hard I fight against it inevitably it will come. I wonder whether I will feel relief or grief. I want to know and at the same time hope I never have to find out.”
Saturday September 10th - Atlantic City, NJ
The hotel suite he had been put up in, courtesy of the Benson Estate, for the duration of the contract negotiations was a more than welcome change of scenery. Not only was it utterly new but its luxury, while typically anathema to Duncan’s modest sensibilities, gave him a sense of progress, of elevation. A year ago it would have been impossible to imagine himself in a place like this for any reason other than having given up on his wrestling career entirely and taken a job as a cleaner.
His potential contract of employment to train the pariah of the wrestling community Sonya Benson stood several inches high on a rich mahogany table at the edge of the room. Duncan hadn’t concerned himself with it too greatly to begin with. Johnny would read it, that was what Duncan employed him to do wasn’t it. Still though, Johnny was taking his time in doing so and with little else to do Duncan had on several occasions since the end of his first meeting with his possible new employer sat down to attempt to read the document himself. Each time he had bounced off its, no doubt deliberately, dense legalese. Each attempt had left him with a headache and none the wiser to the contract's meaning.
This third attempt was no different and he dumped the block of paper he’d been clutching back down onto the table with a dull thud and leant back in his chair with a sigh. He reached for his phone, intending to open some easily digestible app to clear the fog that had formed in his brain but as he extracted the phone from his pocket it slipped from his grip. He fumbled, snatching wildly at it and by some miracle managed to catch it before it could make contact with the ground. In doing so though his thumb jabbed at the contacts icon on his home screen, bringing up the list, at the very top of which was the name Annie, his sister.
They used to speak regularly, or had begun to do so this past year or so. Duncan had been trying to rebuild the connection with his family that he had allowed to whither for too many years but these past months, with his mind not always being as it should be he had broken off contact again, whether through a lack of awareness or deliberately not wanting to allow her an opportunity to perceive the state that he was in. Now though he felt it was a good time to change that. He looked at his watch. It was early afternoon in Atlantic City but with the time difference to London it was likely Annie was just getting home from work. Duncan opened up Skype and made the call.
It rang. It rang for a long time, so long that Duncan almost hung up with an intention to try again later but just as he was reaching for the red button that would disconnect him it stopped ringing and the plain grey that had filled his screen was replaced by the moving image of his sister with an expression he was unfortunately all too familiar with. Annie was mad.
“Hey sis,” Duncan ventured cautiously hoping the greeting may in some way dissuade the tirade he had no doubt was incoming. It didn’t work.
“Don’t you ‘hey sis’ me Duncan. Where the hell have you been? We haven’t spoken in weeks, months maybe. I don’t even know how long it’s been. I had to pay to stream your last show just to reassure myself that you weren’t dead.”
Duncan ran his hand over his head then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
Annie looked back at him, silent and expectant. “Is that it?” she asked eventually.
“I’m…very sorry?”
Annie’s head rocked back and she let out an exasperated growl. “My god how are you such an idiot so much of the time?”
“I know, I know,” Duncan conceded, “and I really am sorry. I haven’t been well recently, mentally.”
Annie’s look of annoyance swiftly shifted to concern. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ve been stressed out, anxious. It caused me to start losing sleep. That had some knock on effects and I-” he trailed off.
“You what?”
“I drank Annie.”
Annie’s face softened, “Oh Duncan, I’m sorry,” she said with genuine warmth and sympathy, “when?”
“A few weeks back, before Combat Evolved.”
“Right. How’ve you been doing since then?”
Duncan shrugged a little, “OK. I think it was a bit of a wakeup call for me. I got complacent. I’m getting help and trying to find new ways to keep busy. I might have a new job. Something to fill some time between shows.”
“Yeah? Doing what?”
“Training some rich spoilt brat to wrestle so she can win enough matches to get an inheritance from her father, or something like that, I dunno.”
“Wait…what?” Annie asked with disbelief.
“I know. Rich people are crazy. I’m sure she’s going to drive me crazy too but the pay is excellent.”
Annie chuckled a little, “I’ll tell the kids. Let them know they can expect extra special presents when Uncle Duncan comes back for Christmas this year.”
“You do that. I don’t think they’ll have to wait for Christmas though this year. I’m thinking I want to head back a bit sooner.”
“Oh? When’re you thinking?”
“Not sure exactly. Within the next few weeks if I can swing it. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, sure, we’ve not got much going on. Just let me know when.”
“Of course.”
There was a pause, a lull in the conversation. Duncan considered saying his goodbyes but before he could Annie spoke again.
“So tell me more about this brat.”
Duncan smiled, got comfy and settled in for a long overdue catch up.
“I’m feeling a little better each day though. I’m doing what I can to let go of the things I can’t control. Each day I’m feeling a little more like myself. I’m reminding myself of who I used to be. Who I want to be again.”
Sunday October 9th
Duncan stands before a generic backdrop covered in a repeating pattern of Level Up Wrestling logos. He’s wearing plain clothes, blue jeans and a black HYE t-shirt. He holds the Final Boss championship belt over his right shoulder.
Duncan: No more gimmicks. No more facades. No more green screens or props or actresses dressed up like aliens. No, we’re bringing it all back to basics. Commander Shepard is gone, slain by the Reapers like he was always destined to be. I’m still here though. My name is Ryder but it’s the same man, the same Duncan underneath. So listen up and listen well, especially you Bam Miller.
Duncan: Bam, I don’t know you beyond what you’ve achieved here in Level Up. That is to say, not much. I think it speaks to your character that you walked in the door, took the lay of the land and decided, those Game Changers, I want to be a part of that. What’s even worse is that you couldn’t follow through. Now what? Now the Game Changers are kicking your ass and you’re trying to make out like you’re some badass resistance fighter for facing off with them? Please, there isn’t an idiot in this world buying that story.
Duncan: So what else do I know? I know you put on the big tough guy facade. You drink your beers and you swear and you get in people’s faces like you expect people to be impressed by you, or be afraid of you or something. I’ll tell you this for free Bam, that’s not going to work on me. You see this title? I earned my shot and took it by beating a dozen guys tougher than you. I’ve kept hold of it by defeating competitors that you can’t hold a candle to.
Duncan: For you Bam, EXP 32 marks the most important match you’ve had in Level Up. It’s the night you get to say that you went one on one with the Final Boss. For me though? It’s a night of wondering why I’m not sharing a ring with Sebastian Everett-Bryce, an actual contender. Maybe I’ll just have to thank Mr. Steel. It’s been a few weeks since Combat Evolved. I guess he thought I could use a tune up.
Duncan: It doesn’t matter what match I’m in though. It doesn’t matter where I am on the card, because I am the Final Boss and whatever match I’m in is the main event of the evening. Because since EXP 7 I have established myself as the very core of this promotion. I am the pillar around which this promotion has been built. I am fundamental to Level Up in a way you will never be Bam.
Duncan: So bring your brick if you want. You want to swing weapons? That’s fine. You think I got this far without being able to brawl? You think I became the first ever Power champion without being able to sling metal? You’d best understand Bam that if I choose to fight fire with fire you’re the one who’s going to walk away burned.
Duncan: That’s not how this is going to go though. Like any good Pokemon trainer I know the best way to fight fire is with water. When I say we’re going back to basics I don’t just mean this set I mean from the moment I set foot in that ring I’m going to remind you of everything they tried to teach you on your first day of wrestling school. Everything you’ve forgotten and with the fundamentals of great wrestling I’ll grind you down, I’ll extinguish your fire until you’re nothing by damp steaming embers and you’ll serve as a lesson to everyone in the locker room.
Duncan: I am Duncan Ryder and I am Fundamental.
Feb. '22 - Jul. '22
2022
2021/2022
Jun '21 - Jul '22