Joey Crash: Detours

The last time Crash wrestled in the US he was managed by his long-time mentor, Mick. Mick was a scrawny, stubborn old man from Northern Ireland with a thick accent and a smoker's cough. He looked like he probably ate the cigarettes after he smoked them. A former boxing coach turned wrestling manager, Mick had been around combat sports for over forty years. He'd forgotten more than most had ever known about toughness, technique and how to win a scrap. Joey had enjoyed the benefits of his knowledge for the first ten or so years of his career since he was plucked out of the bareknuckle boxing scene as a bright-eyed sixteen year old. After Evolution Wrestling went bust, they parted ways as Crash decided to return to England. Their working relationship didn't sour or explode, it just slowly vanished until he left. As dramatic as wrestling usually was, it wasn't the fate that Crash thought was in-store for them.

He'd rcently heard through some former acquaintances that Mick had been in hospital for a few weeks, still languishing in the same town Crash left him in. His return to the ring would need a detour to visit the man who gave him his start in professional wrestling. Turns out the decades of being on the road, sleepless nights and apron bumps had taken their toll on poor Mick. While Crash took some time off after he left, Mick never stopped. He always kept himself busy. Anytime you looked at him he was always scheming, working out, taking apron bumps -  one of those things is not like the other.

Only a couple of months into their tenure together, Mick said to Crash, "Don't bump on your side, Crash, it looks like shit," Joey remembered him saying. "I can get away with it because you never see anyone that's lived as long as I have fall on their back without dying. Plus, the apron means you have to bump on the side anyway." Later that night, Mick would take a step-up enziguri while trying to distract the ref and sure enough, he would take his signature side bump on the apron. His left shoulder made a loud pop and he spent the rest of the night attempting to fix this injury by shoulder barging the hotel room door. The grunts and banging made it sound like a 70's porno. His attempts ultimately failed and he didn't see the doctor about his shoulder for another week. Which of course meant in the meantime, he continued to do the same apron bump on the same damn shoulder every on every show he was booked.

The sky above the hospital was the colour of old veins long since deprived of circulation. The building itself climbed and faded into the dull clouds. Out here was a quiet bustling of strangers, empty bodies floating around in their own thoughts. A stiff breeze whips through the parking lot as an ambulance speeds up the ramp, sirens blaring. Crash turned towards the entrance, squinting through the stabbing winds. Crash remembered another phone call he had with Mick a few years back, when Crash came to him for advice about returning to wrestle in the US. "Joey, you've been wandering around aimlessly hoping for something to drop in your lap. You think the answer to all of your problems now lies back here? I hate to burst your bubble but kid, I've seen this story before... And you know how it ends. Save yourself the trouble."

In Hospital room 214, Mick was lying in the bed, tube in mouth and eyes closed. He was assisted by a machine that was doing all the living for him. His arms deflated and sunken from a lack of movement. His breathing was undetectable if not for the matrix he was hooked up to. Crash took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled sharply. The smell was horribly familiar. Disinfectant on top of old leather furniture coverings, the hanging breath of old patients and a chemical air freshener. He closed his eyes and could hear the last words Mick told him on repeat, echoing through his head.

"Your heart's not been in it. I can tell. You go out there and you look the part but it's not you. You can't get out of your own head. When are you going to let go of whatever it is and just admit that maybe you need to try something else. You're your own worst enemy, you know that? Jesus, kid. You know some time away from the ring might do you some good."

Crash sat down in the chair opposite the bed, eyeballing Mick as if he were a snake who could strike at any moment, gripping the arm of the chair, the soft leather arm rest clung to the metal beneath the pressure. Outside the room Crash had felt composed but seeing the mannequin that lay before him, he felt his stomach shift and his eyes fixate. Back in the day, Mick couldn't stop dispensing his opinions for love nor money. It was always what to do more, do less of, do louder, or be more subtle. The silence by comparison was noticeably loud, the sort of ambience that comes before a gunshot in the night. Crash eventually walked over and grabbed Mick's wrist, careful not to knock the tube that was injected into his skin which looked as thin as paper. He gently shook it and his eyes started to shudder and opened to reveal his pale green eyes. He could barely move, let alone talk.

"Yeah Mick, good to see you," Crash said. "You look... well, you probably know how you look. I know this isn't a good time so I'll be brief. I've taken a detour on my way to California to come see you. You managed me for a long time, took me from boxing to wrestling and I figured I owed it to you and myself to say some proper goodbyes. I'm going to wrestle again."

The silence continued hanging over them like a dark cloud, thunderous and inevitable. Crash took a moment to scan the monitors next to him before continuing.

"For years you were right behind me, like a shadow. You always had something to say no matter what the situation. When we were together, I felt protected... But looking back now, you were holding me back. If something I wanted didn't fit into your plans then you made sure I never made it there. You practically forced me into an early retirement because you lost faith in me! You ruined everything good I ever had and if I could go back in time and do it all over again, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Crash slowly walked up to the pillow and Mick did his best to turn his head to follow him but he could barely move. Crash leaned in until there was barely an inch between them. Under his voice, Crash begun his threat, "I can't get back the time that I lost so I'm not going to get mad about it. I mean, am I angry? Sure but I'm not going to stiff you across the chest or start pulling out teeth - though that's the least you deserve. I'm going to get my revenge the old fashioned way. I'm going to get everything you told me I could never achieve. The voice in my head telling me I wasn't good enough, your voice - dies today. You can rot in here knowing that your attempts to sabotage me almost worked. If you do somehow make a recovery, and that's a big if, I never want to see you or hear from you ever again. Do we have an understanding?"

Mick's gaze was wide and shaky. He opened his mouth but hesitated. Crash sauntered back to the door and opened it, turning back one last time to with a bitter determination to lock eyes with Mick's pallid face.

"Good. If you want to watch the show it's on Twitch, not that you'd know what that is or how to watch it anyway. It's not on the TV. Guess I'll see you around. If you're planning on following me out you better give it a couple minutes. If I see you in the parking lot, I'll run you the fuck over."

---

The video opens up with Crash raining hook shots and elbows into a heavy bag in a dark gym. There's a soft spotlight above where Crash is dishing out punishment and there's a hint of echo in the background. With a final 4-hit combo ending in an elbow strike, Crash exhales deeply and unwraps the end of the tape on his left wrist with his teeth.

"I'll tell you my name in a minute - you're probably more curious about the accent. I was born in London, Old Blighty. I can box, I can wrestle, I can do it all. Don't you try to lump me in with the failed MMA goons that litter this sport. I've more than earned my place here. I've had bones broken, blood spilled and I'm still fucking standing."

Crash moves onto his right wrist, making quicker work of removing the tape with his left hand now free. He grabs a small towel and a water bottle from the floor, taking a swig and pouring some over his head.

"My name is Joey Crash. Get used to the name 'cos you're gonna be hearing it a lot more, I can promise you that. I've been gone from the ring for a long time but the stars aligned and it was time for me to remind people that this bastard can still go. I'm not the junior heavyweight I once was. I'm a full fledged heavyweight, all grown up. And with that in mind... I'm gonna keep a close eye on the Power Championship. So... Duncan Shepard! I'm looking forward to seeing how you square up against the Chef. I hope you tear the house down. I want you both to pull out all the stops and kill each other for the win. And I do sincerely mean that. Just don't forget that before long, you're gonna have to deal with me." Crash begins to chuckle to himself quietly and looks down at the floor for a brief second. "Hahaha, look at me, I'm getting ahead of myself."

Crash lands a knee and forearm combo on the bag before he continues.

"At EXP 15, I'm going to make my debut, teaming with two losers in a six-person multiplayer match. And I literally mean losers. Fisk got done in by Strader - a woman who is literally half his size - and Fear lost a multiplayer match only last week. I'm not going to sugar coat this and I'm not going to repeat myself. I don't play nice with others unless you can hold your own. If you want to have a chance at walking out victorious, tag me in and stay out of my fucking way."

Crash turns around to throw a flurry of heavy punches circling the bag as he jabs and hooks, ending with another powerful uppercut.

"Strader, Crawford, Payne... It'll be fun getting to introduce myself properly. I know it can be very exciting when you get to share the ring with a solid veteran," Crash smirks, wiping his lip with his thumb, "but I didn't come back to 'put on good matches' or 'be an example to the younger talent'. I'm here to take what's rightfully mine and trust me, it's long overdue! I'm not going to let myself get done in by some big name stoner, a Jekyll & Hyde fangirl and a wimp whose scared of wrestling's occupational hazards. The wrestling world is not what you think it is and you're all in for a harsh reality check. I'm particularly going to enjoy taking my time with you, Crawford. You'll need to grow eyes in the back of your head if you're going to stop me sending your arse out on a stretcher, sunshine."

Crash swigs from the bottle again and pours the rest over his head one more time before slamming the bottle and towel to the floor.

"I've made a living out of hurting people. Getting hit and hitting back? That's what I live and breathe for! Level Up is about to see what happens when eight years of anticipation and hunger explodes in the ring. The cleanup crew is gonna need to peel your carcasses off the mat once I'm done with you. Mark the date in your calendars: October 19th, Joey Crash returns to professional wrestling and sends the fans home crying!"

Crash slams into the heavy bag with a final elbow strike which spins the bag wildly as he walks off-screen. We see the bag has the Power Championship Triangle on the other side as we fade to black.