Post by joeycrash on Apr 25, 2022 18:16:54 GMT -5
Grand Rapids, Michigan
The breeze was cooling and unusually sweet in the warm Michigan sun as Joey set across town. The city had come alive again was the warm weather rolled in. Teenagers loitering outside convenience stores with slushies and cigarettes. Old men with espressos excitedly debating outside a small Italian coffee place. The traffic was as bad as ever as everybody else had the same brilliant idea to head to the lake, or out of state for the weekend. Every step had a bounce in it. The chorus of car horns, loud phone calls, boomboxes and sirens did nothing to knock Joey’s cheer. It was a great time to be alive, he thought to himself.
He had been able to send those postcards to Sophie and she did eventually respond. They agreed to meet in a park not too far from Joey’s new place in Grand Rapids. Sophie was the daughter of his late Manager, Mick Smyth. Sophie tracked him down a few months to learn more about Mick who had spent the majority of her life at Joey’s side, going around the US and being the most dastardly, foul mouthed Northern Irishman on the indie scene. It robbed Sophie of a real childhood with her dad.
Joey conversely had hated Mick for a long time. It’s not all sunshine and daisies now though. There’s an eight year gap on Joey’s resume that he still attributes to Mick’s relentless dogged refusal to accept his abilities. Maybe he was right, that Joey wasn’t going to get anywhere fast with the youthful arrogance he approached life with. Not that he’d changed much in that time - but a World Championship has decidedly proved the dead man wrong.
Him and Sophie had tried to become friends on a couple of occasions but any attempts had been scalded by Joey himself, even when he hadn’t meant to. There was an air of envy when they first sat down to speak, that she felt Joey had stolen something that ought to have been hers, something she couldn’t get back, something she coveted that Joey paid little attention to. They both wanted to be the only thing Mick had time for, and Mick chose Joey every time. He didn’t know that Mick had a daughter until she showed up to tell him he’d died. Joey even visited him in hospital not long before he passed away. What he said was cruel but justified. While he wishes there had been kinder last words while he was still alive and kicking, Mick just wasn’t that kind of man.
He wandered into the park and took a deep breath. The sounds of the traffic slowly faded to that of restless kids on too much sugar, bees and light chatter on picnic blankets. There was a massive pond in the middle that he kept walking towards and eventually, he spotted her. Sophie was sitting on a bench in the shade in a long sundress and big shades. He was more nervous than he thought he would have been. She turned to him and flashed a polite smile. It was one of courtesy rather than real joy. Never the less, she scooted up the bench and gave him a spot at the end.
“Hey, how you doing?”
“Yeah! You know, I’m not too bad. Yourself?” God, this conversation is going to be awful.
“Well you’re the WORLD CHAMPION! It’s not like you could leave now even if you tried.” Sophie put so much mustard on ‘world champion’ that it felt like half the park probably heard. Joey covered his face with one hand for a moment to hide his embarrassment.
“Well, that too! That’s the biggest change, yeah.”
There was an awkward silence that hung between them. They looked over the pond, in the same direction but never acknowledging what they were looking at or thinking about. It was like the other person was behind frosted glass, obscured and unimportant. Joey stretched his legs out and immediately had to retract them as dog walkers came bounding along the path. Sophie barely moved. Her sunglasses had something alien like about them.
“Listen, Sophie. I need to talk to you about what happened before. I embarrassed myself–”
“You did a lot more than embarrass yourself! You invaded my privacy, you harassed me and you’ve made my life fucking miserable. The weeks without contact have felt like a blessing compared to how bad it was before. Were you drunk? What the hell has been going on with you?” Joey knew this was coming but it stung all the more, anyway.
“I… I was dealing with some stuff okay–”
“No, it’s NOT okay!” Sophie took her enormous sunglasses off and her facial expression was sour. With the shades removed, her seemingly placid demeanour was corrected with a face that could spit venom. “I was fucking worried! I was worried you were going to come find me, or something! You had this… this– episode where you wouldn’t stop calling me about a car… And you were clearly crying out for help! But what the fuck was I meant to do? When you’ve got someone who sounds high on drugs obsessed with my voicemail and going through a crisis?! I can’t believe after everything else before, that you would put me through that!”
Hearing it from Sophie made Joey feel like shit. In the run-up to his second match with Victoria Salinas, he’d gone on a bit of a mad one, that much is true. He bought a crappy Chevy Impala for cash that he’d seen in someone’s front yard and tried to drive it all the way to Mick’s grave. The weather and the drink were great in making sure he never made it there. But he did call Sophie from a phone booth, leaving relentlessly desperate messages until she picked up. It wasn’t a good look. But it was all because he was worried about the Final Boss Championship match with Bert– which he won. Though he was sure that fact wouldn’t console her.
“I’M SORRY! Okay?! Look, I’m embarrassed. And that doesn’t excuse my actions. I’ve never had to look out for anyone else before. My main concern was me. And I make bad decisions all the time. I can handle the consequences of my actions because I know that all it is, is me. All I ever had to worry about was Mick, who would chew me out if I turned up to training hungover. What I’m trying to say is… I’m trying.” She slumped back into the bench and put her shades back on, as if she was deliberately dissociating from the conversation. “I see you brought the postcards with you.”
Joey noticed a white corner of a postcard poking out of the handbag that sat between them. She initially reached out to take the bag away but she sighed and pulled them out. Every single postcard that Joey had sent over to her was there. She handed them to Joey without looking. The majority of these were sent by Joey’s friend, Jimmy The Pin, from London. Shuffling between the postcards and eyeing up the writing for the first time, he saw a few were actually returned to sender. Mick’s scraggly writing made for tough reading.
“Have you uh… Have you read these yet?”
“Yeah. A few times. Each. I figured you would have read them all before you sent them to me.”
“Nope. I told you I hadn't. Is that it? You just… Won’t believe anything I say now?”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“I’ve been an arsehole but I’ve never lied to you. Besides… You’re probably here because you want to listen to something I have to say. If you didn’t want to hear it, why would you have met me here? Or even responded to my messages?” She shifted and put a cigarette in her mouth but the lighter wouldn’t spark. He reached over with a flame ready on his own lighter and held it out. She hesitated but leaned in to light up. “I didn’t know you smoked.” Joey remarked, lighting one of his own.
“So what is it then? What did you want to tell me?”
“I wanted to let you know that despite some of the things I’ve said and how I’ve acted before, I do have some nice memories of Mick. Most are just drinking together. But I have a story that you won’t hear from anyone else, now that Mick is gone. Did you know he saved my life once? I don’t mean like, he gave me some great advice. I mean that… I was going to die. And Mick got me out.”
Another dull blanket of quiet fell between them again. The rest of the park blurred into the background, like a camera out of focus. Sophie blew smoke and motioned for him to speak.
“I told you I was a boxer and one day, I got injured and wouldn’t be able to box again. That’s only half the story. We got in trouble with the gang who were fixing the fights and they tried to kill us.” He stopped tactically to allow Sophie time to digest and interrupt if she wanted. “His name was Mark Lyle. Stupid fucking name. But he was meant to be the winner that night. I’d been on a hot streak of winning fights for the first time in my career. Every fight was fixed in my favour but I still had to knock the guy out, for my own safety.”
“For your own safety? How is knocking out a guy whose agreed to stay down, safe?”
“Is it ethical? I don’t know. But you could never tell when a man might go into business for himself. Only a fool would do it. Any cash gained from conning the mob would be repaid in hurt.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Because that’s exactly what I did to Mark. He was meant to knock me down in the third round. And I didn’t. In fact, I broke his nose. Mark wasn’t fancied as a boxer so his odds weren’t great. The mob put big money bets on him. That’s the usual procedure. You build up a fighter, make him look unbeatable, then David beats Goliath when you least expect and there’s a payday for the blokes in the know. I ruined their big pay day and they were not happy about it.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I was a young, stupid kid. Lyle had been taunting me all throughout the match. He’d been given the tip that he was going to win and it went straight to his head. Before the fight and all throughout, he wouldn’t stop goading me about how he’d win because he was the better boxer. He cussed me and my family. He never shut his mouth, and I snapped.”
“So then what happened?”
“Some gangsters waiting for us outside. They had a bowling ball bag.”
“Oh my God, what was in it?”
“...A bowling ball, Soph. A fucking bowling ball.”
“I– I just meant, it doesn’t sound like something you’d bring to a fight.”
“It wasn’t a fight. It was a demonstration. These people liked to get creative with how they dealt out punishments. Some people from the audience were outside watching. I got knocked around by two guys in their forties. I was a skeleton back then. Each hit was like a concrete slab. That’s when the bowling ball came out. Mick was getting restrained by a couple others. He was being forced to watch, then I’d have to watch him getting some of his own.”
“But it wasn’t Mick’s fault… Did he tell you to knock that guy out?”
“No… Mick was guilty by association. Not like they’d ever stopped to find out what had happened. They don’t ask questions. We came as a package and they were going to ruin us both. Besides, Mick was in debt to them already. This fight would have basically paid off all his debts to the mob. And instead, I put a bullseye on our heads.”
“So then… What happened?”
“I was held down on the floor. Arms bent as far back as they could go. My shoulders were in agony. This man took the bowling ball out of the bag and held it up for everyone to see. It was massive. I begged for them to stop. I begged for mercy. But they tormented me with it. And then someone grabbed the back of my neck and forced my face into the floor, grinding it there. And then, they dropped the ball.”
“What do you mean? On your head?” Sophie lit another cigarette.
“The guy holding me down moved his hand just before it hit and it gave me a second to try and move. All I managed to do was turn my head enough in time for the bowling ball to crack my jaw open.” Joey pointed at two places along the left of his jaw. “You knew I broke my jaw once, right?”
“I thought it was a boxing injury.”
“That’s what I told everyone. In a way, it’s not far from the truth. Either way, Mick managed to get me out of there before they could do anything else to me. As far as I knew, they never laid a hand on Mick before we got away. He actually stabbed a guy. Right as the ball was dropped and guys started whooping and cheering, he fucking stabbed one of them right in the side. The crowd went mad and ran in all different directions. Mick got us into a cab and told him to drive. I woke up in a hospital on the other side of the country. And eventually, we moved to the States. I wouldn’t even be alive to complain about him if it wasn’t for him.” Joey stubbed his cigarette out.
Sophie sat and contemplated everything that he’d just said, as if the words left an aftertaste that changed and evolved. She looked back at him. In a moment it looked like she perfectly understood Joey and everything he’d said and done, as if nothing else could be a surprise. But then her reasoning returned.
“And you never boxed after that?”
“Hard to clear a boxer with a broken jaw. Not that I was ever a professional anyway. We left London to focus on something that could earn us money and not get ourselves killed. Started wrestling which started to take off but even then the UK indie scene was too dangerous to stick around. Too many people in the same circles. So we came to the US and eventually, Michigan. The rest, as they say, is history. Or… Now. Depending how you look at it.”
“...I’m sorry.” Joey didn't expect this.
“What for?”
“I never invited you to his funeral.” Their eyes met for the first time just then. Sure they'd looked at each other but it it felt like going through the motions, til now. They had looked, but now they see each other.
"How can you live with yourself after what happened at EXP 22? Sure, you beat old Ziggy last week but nobody will remember. What they will remember, is the retirement of a legend. Those moments last a lifetime. Not only did you let your daddy down and lose the Multiplayer gloves, but your old man was so ashamed that he put himself out for good. There’s nothing I can say that’s more insulting than the fact that your old man would rather never wrestle again than step back in the ring with his son, a loser. No wonder you don’t carry the same name - I’ll bet if you did he would have put you out to pasture as well. I’m not going to labour this point since you’ve made it clear you are not your father. But it only takes a passing glance for people to not confuse you with a much better wrestler."
"I’m rotten to the core, baby!"
The breeze was cooling and unusually sweet in the warm Michigan sun as Joey set across town. The city had come alive again was the warm weather rolled in. Teenagers loitering outside convenience stores with slushies and cigarettes. Old men with espressos excitedly debating outside a small Italian coffee place. The traffic was as bad as ever as everybody else had the same brilliant idea to head to the lake, or out of state for the weekend. Every step had a bounce in it. The chorus of car horns, loud phone calls, boomboxes and sirens did nothing to knock Joey’s cheer. It was a great time to be alive, he thought to himself.
He had been able to send those postcards to Sophie and she did eventually respond. They agreed to meet in a park not too far from Joey’s new place in Grand Rapids. Sophie was the daughter of his late Manager, Mick Smyth. Sophie tracked him down a few months to learn more about Mick who had spent the majority of her life at Joey’s side, going around the US and being the most dastardly, foul mouthed Northern Irishman on the indie scene. It robbed Sophie of a real childhood with her dad.
Joey conversely had hated Mick for a long time. It’s not all sunshine and daisies now though. There’s an eight year gap on Joey’s resume that he still attributes to Mick’s relentless dogged refusal to accept his abilities. Maybe he was right, that Joey wasn’t going to get anywhere fast with the youthful arrogance he approached life with. Not that he’d changed much in that time - but a World Championship has decidedly proved the dead man wrong.
Him and Sophie had tried to become friends on a couple of occasions but any attempts had been scalded by Joey himself, even when he hadn’t meant to. There was an air of envy when they first sat down to speak, that she felt Joey had stolen something that ought to have been hers, something she couldn’t get back, something she coveted that Joey paid little attention to. They both wanted to be the only thing Mick had time for, and Mick chose Joey every time. He didn’t know that Mick had a daughter until she showed up to tell him he’d died. Joey even visited him in hospital not long before he passed away. What he said was cruel but justified. While he wishes there had been kinder last words while he was still alive and kicking, Mick just wasn’t that kind of man.
He wandered into the park and took a deep breath. The sounds of the traffic slowly faded to that of restless kids on too much sugar, bees and light chatter on picnic blankets. There was a massive pond in the middle that he kept walking towards and eventually, he spotted her. Sophie was sitting on a bench in the shade in a long sundress and big shades. He was more nervous than he thought he would have been. She turned to him and flashed a polite smile. It was one of courtesy rather than real joy. Never the less, she scooted up the bench and gave him a spot at the end.
“Hey, how you doing?”
“Yeah! You know, I’m not too bad. Yourself?” God, this conversation is going to be awful.
“Yep, I can’t really complain too much. I bought a place so… I guess I’m sticking around for a while.”
“Well, that too! That’s the biggest change, yeah.”
There was an awkward silence that hung between them. They looked over the pond, in the same direction but never acknowledging what they were looking at or thinking about. It was like the other person was behind frosted glass, obscured and unimportant. Joey stretched his legs out and immediately had to retract them as dog walkers came bounding along the path. Sophie barely moved. Her sunglasses had something alien like about them.
“Listen, Sophie. I need to talk to you about what happened before. I embarrassed myself–”
“You did a lot more than embarrass yourself! You invaded my privacy, you harassed me and you’ve made my life fucking miserable. The weeks without contact have felt like a blessing compared to how bad it was before. Were you drunk? What the hell has been going on with you?” Joey knew this was coming but it stung all the more, anyway.
“I… I was dealing with some stuff okay–”
“No, it’s NOT okay!” Sophie took her enormous sunglasses off and her facial expression was sour. With the shades removed, her seemingly placid demeanour was corrected with a face that could spit venom. “I was fucking worried! I was worried you were going to come find me, or something! You had this… this– episode where you wouldn’t stop calling me about a car… And you were clearly crying out for help! But what the fuck was I meant to do? When you’ve got someone who sounds high on drugs obsessed with my voicemail and going through a crisis?! I can’t believe after everything else before, that you would put me through that!”
Hearing it from Sophie made Joey feel like shit. In the run-up to his second match with Victoria Salinas, he’d gone on a bit of a mad one, that much is true. He bought a crappy Chevy Impala for cash that he’d seen in someone’s front yard and tried to drive it all the way to Mick’s grave. The weather and the drink were great in making sure he never made it there. But he did call Sophie from a phone booth, leaving relentlessly desperate messages until she picked up. It wasn’t a good look. But it was all because he was worried about the Final Boss Championship match with Bert– which he won. Though he was sure that fact wouldn’t console her.
“I’M SORRY! Okay?! Look, I’m embarrassed. And that doesn’t excuse my actions. I’ve never had to look out for anyone else before. My main concern was me. And I make bad decisions all the time. I can handle the consequences of my actions because I know that all it is, is me. All I ever had to worry about was Mick, who would chew me out if I turned up to training hungover. What I’m trying to say is… I’m trying.” She slumped back into the bench and put her shades back on, as if she was deliberately dissociating from the conversation. “I see you brought the postcards with you.”
Joey noticed a white corner of a postcard poking out of the handbag that sat between them. She initially reached out to take the bag away but she sighed and pulled them out. Every single postcard that Joey had sent over to her was there. She handed them to Joey without looking. The majority of these were sent by Joey’s friend, Jimmy The Pin, from London. Shuffling between the postcards and eyeing up the writing for the first time, he saw a few were actually returned to sender. Mick’s scraggly writing made for tough reading.
“Have you uh… Have you read these yet?”
“Yeah. A few times. Each. I figured you would have read them all before you sent them to me.”
“Nope. I told you I hadn't. Is that it? You just… Won’t believe anything I say now?”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“I’ve been an arsehole but I’ve never lied to you. Besides… You’re probably here because you want to listen to something I have to say. If you didn’t want to hear it, why would you have met me here? Or even responded to my messages?” She shifted and put a cigarette in her mouth but the lighter wouldn’t spark. He reached over with a flame ready on his own lighter and held it out. She hesitated but leaned in to light up. “I didn’t know you smoked.” Joey remarked, lighting one of his own.
“So what is it then? What did you want to tell me?”
“I wanted to let you know that despite some of the things I’ve said and how I’ve acted before, I do have some nice memories of Mick. Most are just drinking together. But I have a story that you won’t hear from anyone else, now that Mick is gone. Did you know he saved my life once? I don’t mean like, he gave me some great advice. I mean that… I was going to die. And Mick got me out.”
Another dull blanket of quiet fell between them again. The rest of the park blurred into the background, like a camera out of focus. Sophie blew smoke and motioned for him to speak.
“I told you I was a boxer and one day, I got injured and wouldn’t be able to box again. That’s only half the story. We got in trouble with the gang who were fixing the fights and they tried to kill us.” He stopped tactically to allow Sophie time to digest and interrupt if she wanted. “His name was Mark Lyle. Stupid fucking name. But he was meant to be the winner that night. I’d been on a hot streak of winning fights for the first time in my career. Every fight was fixed in my favour but I still had to knock the guy out, for my own safety.”
“For your own safety? How is knocking out a guy whose agreed to stay down, safe?”
“Is it ethical? I don’t know. But you could never tell when a man might go into business for himself. Only a fool would do it. Any cash gained from conning the mob would be repaid in hurt.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Because that’s exactly what I did to Mark. He was meant to knock me down in the third round. And I didn’t. In fact, I broke his nose. Mark wasn’t fancied as a boxer so his odds weren’t great. The mob put big money bets on him. That’s the usual procedure. You build up a fighter, make him look unbeatable, then David beats Goliath when you least expect and there’s a payday for the blokes in the know. I ruined their big pay day and they were not happy about it.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I was a young, stupid kid. Lyle had been taunting me all throughout the match. He’d been given the tip that he was going to win and it went straight to his head. Before the fight and all throughout, he wouldn’t stop goading me about how he’d win because he was the better boxer. He cussed me and my family. He never shut his mouth, and I snapped.”
“So then what happened?”
“Some gangsters waiting for us outside. They had a bowling ball bag.”
“Oh my God, what was in it?”
“...A bowling ball, Soph. A fucking bowling ball.”
“I– I just meant, it doesn’t sound like something you’d bring to a fight.”
“It wasn’t a fight. It was a demonstration. These people liked to get creative with how they dealt out punishments. Some people from the audience were outside watching. I got knocked around by two guys in their forties. I was a skeleton back then. Each hit was like a concrete slab. That’s when the bowling ball came out. Mick was getting restrained by a couple others. He was being forced to watch, then I’d have to watch him getting some of his own.”
“But it wasn’t Mick’s fault… Did he tell you to knock that guy out?”
“No… Mick was guilty by association. Not like they’d ever stopped to find out what had happened. They don’t ask questions. We came as a package and they were going to ruin us both. Besides, Mick was in debt to them already. This fight would have basically paid off all his debts to the mob. And instead, I put a bullseye on our heads.”
“So then… What happened?”
“I was held down on the floor. Arms bent as far back as they could go. My shoulders were in agony. This man took the bowling ball out of the bag and held it up for everyone to see. It was massive. I begged for them to stop. I begged for mercy. But they tormented me with it. And then someone grabbed the back of my neck and forced my face into the floor, grinding it there. And then, they dropped the ball.”
“What do you mean? On your head?” Sophie lit another cigarette.
“The guy holding me down moved his hand just before it hit and it gave me a second to try and move. All I managed to do was turn my head enough in time for the bowling ball to crack my jaw open.” Joey pointed at two places along the left of his jaw. “You knew I broke my jaw once, right?”
“I thought it was a boxing injury.”
“That’s what I told everyone. In a way, it’s not far from the truth. Either way, Mick managed to get me out of there before they could do anything else to me. As far as I knew, they never laid a hand on Mick before we got away. He actually stabbed a guy. Right as the ball was dropped and guys started whooping and cheering, he fucking stabbed one of them right in the side. The crowd went mad and ran in all different directions. Mick got us into a cab and told him to drive. I woke up in a hospital on the other side of the country. And eventually, we moved to the States. I wouldn’t even be alive to complain about him if it wasn’t for him.” Joey stubbed his cigarette out.
Sophie sat and contemplated everything that he’d just said, as if the words left an aftertaste that changed and evolved. She looked back at him. In a moment it looked like she perfectly understood Joey and everything he’d said and done, as if nothing else could be a surprise. But then her reasoning returned.
“And you never boxed after that?”
“Hard to clear a boxer with a broken jaw. Not that I was ever a professional anyway. We left London to focus on something that could earn us money and not get ourselves killed. Started wrestling which started to take off but even then the UK indie scene was too dangerous to stick around. Too many people in the same circles. So we came to the US and eventually, Michigan. The rest, as they say, is history. Or… Now. Depending how you look at it.”
“...I’m sorry.” Joey didn't expect this.
“What for?”
“I never invited you to his funeral.” Their eyes met for the first time just then. Sure they'd looked at each other but it it felt like going through the motions, til now. They had looked, but now they see each other.
“Well, I’m sorry I read your blue book. Oh, shit that reminds me–” Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out a very damaged looking book that was probably blue once upon a time. Sophie examined the damage and flicked through a few pages. “I don’t want to do anything that can screw this up. I don’t… I don’t have many friends here.”
Sophie reached a hand out and squeezed Joey's fingers for a moment.
"We could both do with a friend right now."
They sat on the bench in silence as the world filled back into full colour.
[PROMO]
The scene opens up to a rooftop at night, as Joey stands in front of a floodlight pointing towards the sky, casting harsh shadows up across his face and body. There's a breeze rolling in and he's wearing a black hoodie and his signature fisherman's beanie.
"I bet you’ve been dreaming of a night like this, Donny… And I don’t care for dreams. I don’t pay attention to the illusions of the mind, the tricks they play. It’s a fools game to take stock into what you’ve only seen when your eyes are closed. But I’ve not been dreaming much lately. I’ve barely slept. I’m restless, I can’t sleep a wink because I’ve got Duncan on the horizon, salivating, chomping at the bit like a starving dog because he thinks he can knock the crown off of my head. And then here you come Donny, with your big arms and even bigger delusions. Think you’re hot shit because you were one half of the multiplayer champions? Get real. The real Don accounted for 90% of your success and now he’s retired, you’ve got no more excuses."
Joey unzips his hoodie to reveal the Final Boss championship around his waist, as casually as if it was a regular leather belt. He continues talking as the golden strap glistens and reflects in the light.
"And listen. I’m not saying you’re awful… You’re just awful compared to me. Your moment in the sun will come soon enough, especially if you have pops watching your back. But you’ll need to escape his shadow first… And that’s a big fucking shadow. But for everything your old man ever done, he never won the belt that’s rightly sitting around my waist. That makes me better than your daddy ever was - and better than you have any claims to be. How you managed to swing a shot at the Final Boss is beyond me. You’re green as goose shit and have the IQ of an old boot. But hey, you’re probably in the market for a new mentor. Why don’t you come under my wing? You’ll only inherit the mistakes and bad habits of family if you stick with pops, nepotism will get you nowhere."
"The big problem for you here Donny boy, is I've done nothing but face scrubs for the past two weeks. I'm going for the hat-trick against you. A multiplayer specialist with a chance to face the biggest champion in the promotion? That's scrub material if I ever heard it. We're a victim of circumstance. I needed someone to face before DOOM - and you just needed someone to face, period. You're not some brazen, courageous warrior whose gunning for the top. You're a dog left out in the cold! There's no second wind when you're against Joey Crash. There are no amazing double team moves in your arsenal anymore. You can't just tag out when you're tired, boy!"
Crash starts pacing around, almost laughing to himself.
"How can you live with yourself after what happened at EXP 22? Sure, you beat old Ziggy last week but nobody will remember. What they will remember, is the retirement of a legend. Those moments last a lifetime. Not only did you let your daddy down and lose the Multiplayer gloves, but your old man was so ashamed that he put himself out for good. There’s nothing I can say that’s more insulting than the fact that your old man would rather never wrestle again than step back in the ring with his son, a loser. No wonder you don’t carry the same name - I’ll bet if you did he would have put you out to pasture as well. I’m not going to labour this point since you’ve made it clear you are not your father. But it only takes a passing glance for people to not confuse you with a much better wrestler."
"I wonder if retiring after an embarrassing loss runs in the family? Well, Donny just remember this. There’s no shame in losing to the best... So why bother even trying. At EXP 24, we’ll see just how far the apple falls from the tree!"
Joey removes his belt and holds it above his head and cackles, laughing off-screen.
"I’m rotten to the core, baby!"
