Post by tirri on May 6, 2022 4:59:00 GMT -5
Midnight Workout (offcam)
"Setbacks happen. To everyone. Don’t let them drag you down. Just dust yourself off and move forward”
Mum’s words rang in my head as I took a breather between sets, setting the heavy bar down on its rests on the bench. The gym that I used to work in was pretty silent, as it was past-midnight. The perfect time for me to be here. I mean, I knew becoming a wrestler would make me recognizable, but the last few weeks, after Pops hung up his boots I had been unable to go almost anywhere without being recognized.
I cringed at the memory. “Hey, you’re… You’re Don Tirri’s son, right!” The words I had heard way too many times recently. Turns out him retiring had been bigger news and brought more exposure to him than actually wrestling. But it was irritating me. Not helped by the recent streak of losses I’d endured after that 8-0 record posted on TIA. Atleast their sponsorship hadn’t gone away.
But yeah. A few big losses back to back. First to Ziggy, who then proceeded to choke to Tact, then the big bad final boss Crashman screwed me… and even in SWWS, where I seemingly could do no wrong, I got rolled up and lost the Evolve title I had held since my 3rd official professional match.
“You’ll bounce back darling, you always have” I heard mum again. As a kid I had this burning passion of succeeding in everything. Or anything. And the times I’d come home hanging my head after being outdone or beat in something, Mum would always be there, smile on her face, telling me those words while patting my head. Yes, even when I got older and outgrew her by a foot. I chuckled at THAT memory of her getting a step-stool for the sole purpose of patting me on the head.
I mean. Looking back at my youth, I had it pretty good. Despite not having a father, I had enough. Mum worked hard to make sure I grew up in a happy home. Of course, the other kids teased me, or just asked questions. Questions I didn’t really have an answer cause I didn’t know it myself. “I’ll tell you when you grow up” was what she used to tell me when I asked about my father. What I didn’t realize until later was that the sad smile I saw on her face at times, especially after I grew interested in wrestling and the hoard of tapes from this one particular Finnish guy was not her being sad, it was her being glad. Glad that I was taking cues from my father. Albeit without knowing it.
I went back for another set of reps on the bench. I couldn’t let these setbacks drag me down. Because I knew that Mum never did. She had the biggest setback in her life happen not long before I was born. After Pops told me about the events that night in Manchester, I understood the mountain Mum climbed every day. The sheer bravery and strength she had to get back up from having such a burden dropped on her and keep fighting. Fighting to give me a good childhood. I can't give up now. I’d be metaphorically spitting on her grave if I laid down and gave up after such a short amount of time. I’d bounce back. I had to bounce back. For her. And for myself. I’d bounce back, get back in the groove and continue carving my own path in the world of wrestling.
“Well would ya look at that, Mr. Bigshot graces us peasants with his presence.” I was shaken out of my thoughts by a voice speaking behind me. It shattered my concentration and I nearly dropped the bar, only for a pair of hands to grab it and pull it back up. “Damn Donny, you’ve really let yourself go being a big star, if you can’t handle THIS kind of weight.”
I glanced up, seeing a very familiar shit-eating grin. It was Ryan, my co-worker from the gym as well as the dude I shared a dorm room with when I originally came to the US. And then some. “Oh fuck you man, the sound of your whining broke my concentration” I quipped back with a small grin as I sat up. “How ya been ya wanker? Drowning in work after the most popular trainer of the gym quit?”
Ryan gave a deep belly-laugh at that. “You ever thought about WHY you were so popular? The guys wanted to bang you and the gals wanted a gay best friend” He sat down on the opposite bench, still grinning. “But all kidding aside, it’s been a bit quiet here in general.” He leant forward, taking a good look at me. “So why are you back? I heard you moved to California to live with this chick of yours, Sharon or Shawna or Shantelle or something. She kick you out already, sending you back to your dad’s basement?”
For an outsider, it might’ve seemed like we hated each other, but Ryan and I had always talked to each other like this, constantly throwing barbs as a way of showing fondness. He was my best friend for a long time, the guy who decided to come with me when I hopped across the pond to look for Pops, simply because he and I quote “Got tired of ole england”. We had grown up together. “First off, Shay. What the hell kind of a name is Shantelle? Secondly, I never lived in Pops’ basement. I’m not even sure his house HAS one. And thirdly, nah. We actually bought a house here. Pops is opening a wrestling school in Reno, and we are both helping him with it.” I explained the situation to him. And it did sound kinda absurd now that I spoke it out loud.
Ryan scratched his jaw. “Opening up a wrestling school eh? I bet a school like that has a gym… so why the fuck are you here, at 2 am, working out harder than I’ve ever seen you work?” For all his faults, Ryan was damn perceptive, and if anyone in this world knew me, it was him.
I sighed. “Well… being a big star, as you put it, isn’t exactly going smoothly.” I squeezed out, feeling a bit uncomfortable saying it out loud. “I hit the ground running, winning matches left and right, but ever since Pops retired and all eyes turned to me, I’ve kinda dropped the ball.” I plopped back on the bench. Staring at the gray ceiling. “Needed some alone-time to get my head straight.” I glanced at Ryan. “And then you showed up.”
He offered a small chuckle before going serious. “I figured it was something like that. Last time I saw you working out in the middle of the night, alone, was when your mum died. And a week later I caught you with a suitcase in hand at Heathrow, flying here.” He stood up and came closer, looking down on me like some fearsome overlord. “I hope you don’t plan on skipping town again? Shantelle would probably be majorly pissed, and your dad might just lose the last color in his hair out of worry.” He mockingly punched me in the shoulder. “Reminds me of that time you tried your hand at rugby. You were pretty good, until you ran into some actual pros and got CRUSHED”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks for reminding me about that. Also, it’s SHAY. Not Shantelle. Where the fuck did you even pull that name?” I sat up, grumbling under my breath.
“My point is that you’ve always bounced back. Don’t forget that you got pretty good at Rugby. Just not good enough to be a pro. It just took a lot of work and a few setbacks.” Ryan tried to ease me up. “Besides. You didn’t have the genes for that. You do for wrestling. Just work through it. I know you can.” He smiled, patting me on the shoulder, a stark contrast to the punch just moments before. “This… moping around isn’t your style Donny.”
“I know.” I blurted out, exasperated. “But it’s not just the fact that I’m losing. It’s the fact that I got some big damn boots to step into. I try to tell people I’m my own man and even Pops tries to do that. But people still see me as some damn Tirri junior. And measure me up to him. And holy shit am I not ready to step out of THAT shadow just yet.”
Ryan was quiet for a long time. Suspiciously long, and my first instinct was to check if he was executing some prank to lighten up the mood, as he so often did. But when I saw him, he legitimately looked thoughtful. Scratching the 2 day old stubble on the point of his chin. It was odd, and very unlike him. “Ya know Donny.” He started, having apparently managed to string together something. “I’m not good at this stuff, but I think there is one simple question you need to answer if you ever want to escape your dads shadow. Well, two actually.” He paused and looked right at me. “First, is wrestling REALLY the thing you wanna do for the rest of your life? I mean, you got a pretty sweet gig here as a personal trainer and you were pretty good at that too. Because don’t think people will ever stop comparing you to him.”
I pondered his words. Well, not for long. “Yes, it is. I want to be a wrestler. Bloody hell mate, you know just as well as I do that I fell in love with the sport a long, long time ago. More often than not, you were right here, next to me when I watched the matches from the telly.”
He nodded. “So I figured. So just like with Rugby, you gotta work hard and be that stubborn idiot I call a friend. You’ll get there sooner than later.”
Backhanded compliments, his forte. That elicited a deep, genuine chuckle from me. “So whats the second question?”
He seemed confused for a moment. “Second question?” He blinked and then facepalmed while shaking his head. “Oh right, that. Lost my train of thought for a moment. The second question. If you wanna break out your dad's shadow… If you don’t want to be known as Tirri junior… you gotta figure out… who is Donny Mason.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. “Who am I?”
He nodded, looking a bit awkward. “Yeah, I mean, it sounds so simple right? But… I’m serious. People won’t see you as anything other than Tirri junior until you figure out who you are. And show it to them. I mean, when I look at you, I see the guy I grew up with. The reckless fool who dove head first into every adventure we came up with. The funny as fuck dude who could take the piss outta everyone without them even realizing it. And the caring dude who put aside his own life to make sure his mum had a comfortable last year. You’re all those things Donny.” He paused, making a grand sweeping gesture to nobody in particular. “But they don’t know it. They only know you as the son of Don Tirri, because that is what you have portrayed yourself as. It doesn’t work like a flick of a switch. “I’m my own man” Yeah, it was a good line. But actions speak louder than words man. Who is Donny Mason. Figure that out.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish on dry land, trying to figure out some rebuttal, some retort to his words, something, anything to counter his words. But I couldn’t. Because in its simplicity, he had nailed the issue. So I took a few steps to pace around the bench, brow furrowed in thought.
Before either of us could say a word, the door to the gym opened and closed and a female voice rang out. “You here baby?” and we both turned to look in that direction. On the entryway stood a rather attractive woman, about our age and Ryan got a mischievous grin.
He responded with a smile. “Yeah, I’m here. Come over this way baby, I got someone I want to introduce to you.”
The woman walked up to us and gave a quick kiss to Ryan. “Who’s he?”
Ryan pulled me into a headlock, grinning widely. “This is my best friend and a future wrestling superstar, Donny Mason.” The woman nodded, eyeing Donny from head to toe as Ryan turned to me. “And Donny, this is my girlfriend, Shantelle Smith”
I blinked. Now it all made sense. “Shantelle?” I asked, looking awkward. Ryan nodded and I shrugged him off, turning to the woman. “Nice to meet you Shantelle, don’t believe anything this wanker tells you about me. They’re all lies. Except the good things.”
Ryan intervened before Shantelle could respond. “Anyway, time for us to hit the road. Don’t be a stranger Donny, bring Shay around sometime as well. I gotta see the girl you managed to somehow woo despite that face of yours. Was nice catching up with ya.”
We exchanged pleasantries and just like that, I was alone again. But the question Ryan had thrown out lingered in my head.
Who is Donny Mason?
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Winnies Wisdom to Desperate Donny (offcam)
Donny was a bit nervous as he sat in the corner diner he way back in the day first met his father face to face. He had spent the last few days going through in his own head until finally admitting he needed some advice and outside perspective. But he couldn’t ask Shay nor his Pops because they weren’t exactly outside. So he called up the one man he knew possessed a wealth of wisdom rivaling or even surpassing his Pops’. And there he was, waiting for the man to arrive.
The small bell on the door to the diner rang, and Donny turned to look at the entrance, seeing what he had been expecting. One of the few men in the biz who actually stood eye level with him. Gray hair and beard marking years of experience and sharp eyes proving that the age hadn’t gone too far yet. “Hey Mr. Millar, thanks for coming. I’m sorry for the short warning, but I didn’t know who else to turn to” Donny spoke with respect in his voice as the graying man, Winston Millar-Dyson, the man who once upon a time had mentored a young Finnish hotblood by the name of Don Tirri.
Limber for a man of his age Winston Millar-Dyson more commonly known as “WMD” smirked at the young man offering one of those frying pan sized palms of his. “What’s up kid? To be honest I was surprised to hear your voice when you called, is your old man alright? He didn’t do something stupid and end up in jail or hospital or.. “ silence settled between the two as Winston sat down keeping his eyes focused on Donny. Sitting there in his jeans, faded Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of sneakers he looked far different from a wrestling legend he could havet been any ol’ grandpa who stops at a diner for a cup of coffee on the way to see his grandkids, except this grandpa could and probably would drop most other grandpa’s if need be.
Donny shook his head. “Oh no, Pops hasn’t done anything. As far as I know at least. He’s busy managing that wrestling school of his.” He took a deep breath, fidgeting a bit on his seat before continuing. “This is more of a me-problem. Well, it has something to do with Pops, but nothing he did. I mean… Well.” He gave an awkward chuckle. “Dammit. It’s not this hard. Basically I’m struggling with trying to deal with being in his shadow you know. And I figured that since your own son is also a wrestler, and you mentored Pops, you might have some insight on how to escape that shadow, and help people figure out I’m not just Tirri junior. Simple, innit?” He quickly blurted out, admitting his struggles went against his nature, but if anything, he had learned that pride comes before the fall. And he had fallen a lot recently.
Winston nodded along, he sat there in silence growing between the two men, two completely different generations yet somehow in this weird place that was set in 2022, a waitress came, bringing them some orders, drinks. Silence went on for a good while after that, Donny sat there sweating bullets waiting for this grand wise man everyone around him seemed to praise as a great mind for the business, finally he spoke up his voice a bit hoarse. “So, any pointers on how–” Winston just held up his palm. “Eat kid, enjoy the meal, take in this place, feast on what you have, get that drink into your system. Nobody discusses business over dinner, have manners, this is a place of business..” What a stupid, utterly idiotic thing to say, here he was reaching out to this geezer for help, inviting him over to this place and now he’s supposed to sit there, watch this goat chew his food (food which he would have to probably pay for in the end anyway) and he wouldn’t even offer him advice. Winston ate up, drank up like a complete stranger then after what may have been maybe twenty minutes it might have been more but it seemed like a lifetime for anyone waiting he slowly put down his knife and fork. “Donny, you don’t want to be like your dad. You don’t want to be like someone even pretending to be your dad, you don’t even want to face a guy pretending to be your pop. My boy is not built like me, he does not wrestle like me. There are people who claim that he doesn’t even look like me, like the milkman just happened to pork my missus when I was on tour.. But despite all that. He has succeeded in this business of ours. Despite the struggles he’s had, with people constantly doubting and putting him down for his size or the fact that he worked behind the announcer's desk or he uses the kitchen sink to knock people out.”
The old man turns his head just enough to look Donny in the eye. “You know why he made it?”
Donny spent a good few minutes pondering over WMD’s words, to a point that he probably looked like he hadn’t even listened. Finally he did respond, his voice quiet, contemplative. “Because he didn’t give up? Because he kept at it, despite the odds being against him? Because he had you as shoulders to stand on and not a shadow to disappear in? All of those? None of those? I don’t know…” He was slightly frustrated. He knew what Winston was after, but couldn’t vocalize it. “I know Pops has told me that Jonathan, or “Stupid Stupid” as he occasionally called him had it rough, but I mean… He’s a world champion. Something Pops never accomplished. Something I’m not sure I can accomplish. And no matter what people say… Fuck. Pops still says CCM got to where he was thanks to you. Yet, Pops distanced himself from me the moment he retired. Said he didn’t wanna hog the spotlight. Is he the one unintentionally pulling the carpet from under me?” Donny paused, taking a long swig from the glass on the table. “Bloody hell. All I wanna figure out is “Who is Donny Mason”... and I keep drawing blanks every time I discard sentences that include Don Tirri” He was so very frustrated. Not at Winston, or his Pops. But himself.
Winston leaned back on the diner stool, sizing Donny up, then without warning he grabs the glass and throws up the remains of the drink to Mason’s face, without hesitation Donny jumps up, throws a hand which the old man grabs by the wrist and clenches a tight grip on. “Didn’t need to think about that, did you kid?” His voice was a deep growl when the waitress shows up. “You two need to stop that right now or I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” Winston chuckles, sitting down, letting go of Donny and glancing at the nametag of the waitress. “My apologies Denise, I just get these here jitters sometimes, nerves you know, age doesn’t come along..be a darling a bring my friend some napkins to clean himself up will you..” Denise glared at him but somehow her grimace melt when meeting the apologetic face of the older man. “Alright, you just take it easy though. I’d hate to see any trouble here, this a nice place and I’d like it to stay that way.” When Denise went off to fetch some napkins Winston smiled at Donny, suddenly the old man had turned into an overgrown mischievous kid. “You don’t have to think or ponder who you are, Donny. Who you are is already there, all you need is to bring it out.”
Sitting down with a dumbfounded look on his face, partly due to the old man's reactions catching his hand and partly because the lesson was slowly sinking in. He throws an apologetic smile at the waitress when the napkins are brought and proceeds to dry up his face in silence, mulling over the sequence of events that when he played them back in his head seemed to have taken hours, but in reality happened in a split second. Finally he looked at Winston, who was staring at him with an expecting look on his face and spoke softly. “I get what you are trying to say. Just be myself.” He chuckled. “Impressive damn reflexes for an old man though. Not even Pops can grab me like that.” It was an attempt to lighten up the mood, mostly for the sake of the other patrons. “Ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever done this before. Never before have I thanked someone for throwing a drink in my face, but thanks. I needed it.” He then slowly eyed Winston up. “But just so you know, a receipt will come, eventually. You should know that much.” Donny gave him a wide shit-eating grin, being very reminiscent of his father at that very moment.
For a moment it looked like Winston was about to pop Donny right in the mouth for smiling at him like that, but the old man’s voice was soft as a purr “Just a old man getting lucky once in a while, thank you for not just booting my head off in response” he chuckled, a subtle yet polite nudge towards the youngster at least in his yes, it’s almost like when the bright lights and the cameras aren’t on them even professional wrestlers can be nice. “Speaking of receipts, you up for dessert or are you on a diet?” I’m sure Denise will happily bring you some sundae or whatever it is you kids love these days.
Donny perked up at the mention of dessert. “Always. I didn’t grow this big eating soup.” he says while laughing. “And I feel I should pick up the tab, since you came out of your way to knock some sense into me.” He motioned towards the table which was full of plates and glasses. Then he motioned towards the waitress who came and took a few more orders as Donny got his fill. When the two were done and used some napkins to clean up Winston nodded at Donny. “You got something in your teeth kid..” he offers up some toothpicks just as Donny is digging for his wallet adding up just how many shows he’d have to do to cover this up and wondering what the bloody hell he’d tell Shay as an excuse when the big man took the tab from Denise. “Thank you luv, I got this.”
The expression on Donny Mason’s face might have been dumbfounded before but now it was outright flabbergasted. “..wait..are..are you actually..” he wasn’t sure just what the bloody hell was going on in this weird diner. “Yeah, I know. I never pay for shit, right? Well this is what those of us in the business do. It’s what was done for likes of me and your pops too. Those who made it already pay for you kids on your way of making it.” He pulls out a worn wallet and picks up a stack of bills wrapping the tag around it so that Donny wouldn’t even see the total. “Besides gotta leave a good tab for poor Denise having to bus all these plates and glasses don’t we?” He chuckled looking at Donny, slowly the big man gets up putting a massive palm on Mason’s shoulder and leans into his ear. “If you tell anyone about this though, I may just have to kill you. I’m not going back to paying my own way, I earned my spot and what would it do to my reputation if people would stop picking up the tab.” He chuckles, slapping Donny on the back.
“Say hi to your old man for me will ya? Oh and stay out of trouble.”
Those soft steps, then the little bell rang and just as easily as he had showed up Winston Millar-Dyson was gone leaving Donny with the carnage as he sits there eyeing at the miniature barrel containing toothpicks, absentmindedly putting one behind his ear, before catching himself and throwing it away while chuckling. He asked for advice and he really did get it. Just not the way he expected.
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Ascendance (oncam)
The view opens to show the 6’10’’ englishman Donny Mason, Levelup’s self-proclaimed YEETmaster and the self-proclaimed “Future” of professional wrestling sitting in a gym, dressed in YEETwear t-shirt and shorts, proudly representing the This is Awesome brand. He is drinking from a similarly branded shaker, with a waterbottle on his other hand. He looks like he is in the middle of a workout, or just finished.
“Nothing feels quite like a proper workout doesn’t it? I mean, even the Governator once said that the best activities for your health are pumping and humping. And you should be glad I’m doing this in the middle of the former and not the latter.”
He chuckles and stretches a bit, unintentionally flexing his physique to the camera before putting the shaker and bottle to the ground and crossing his arms in a relaxed manner.
“Another thing that ol’ Arnie said though really stuck to me. It’s a message that was hammered to my head not just by him but by my mum. He said that Just like in bodybuilding, failure is also a necessary experience for growth in our own lives, for if we're never tested to our limits, how will we know how strong we really are? How will we ever grow? And honestly? Even if I’m not a bodybuilder, I can relate to that. Hell. I COULDA been a bodybuilder had I wanted to, I definitely have the framework for that but I chose not to be. Anyway. I’m getting on a tangent. Point being, failure is part of your natural development. And I’ve gotten quite familiar with it recently. Ever since I spread my wings and ventured out on my own I’ve had to deal with defeat after defeat. A weaker man would have already broken, seeing all that hard work he put in for months, all the success he accrued go down the drain when the going got tough and the challenge amped up a level. But not me. No. Ever since I was a kid in Brighton, I had to be the best in everything. And more often than not, I failed eventually. After early success I ran into a wall. And every time I did that, I had my mum tell me to not let it get to me. That failure is not the end of things. It’s merely the beginning of a new phase. And I took that lesson to heart. In life. In workouts. In wrestling.”
Donny stands up and switches up the weights on the bar behind him, adding a good 50 pounds to both ends before laying down on the bench and grabbing the bar. He began to lift the bar up and down in a steady pace, while continuing to talk, showing no signs of exertion despite having a good 220 pounds on the bar.
“So whenever I get knocked down, I just dust myself off and get back up. Just like with workouts. I continue reps until I no longer physically can’t lift the bar, take a break, recharge and go right back at it. Once upon a time I was called a bulldog because I was so damn stubborn, refusing to quit or give up no matter how outmatched I was. And I did for a moment consider taking “British Bulldog” as my moniker when I started my wrestling career, but Pops told me to reconsider since that particular one had already been associated with someone much more successful. But anyway. My point is, sure. We lost the multiplayer gauntlets. Sure. I lost the SWWS Evolve title. Sure, I got whipped by Ziggy and screwed by Crash. But that doesn’t mean I’m down and out. No. That just means I gotta work twice as hard to conquer my next obstacle, I need to put in twice the effort to take the next step… push my limits even further to succeed next time. And the next time? DOOM. Game Genie Cheat Code ladder match. A literal blank check to move your career forward in any manner you wish.”
He finishes the set and sits up, taking a few sips from his water and stretching his deltoids to keep the blood flowing before continuing to talk.
“It’s funny. Technically I’m too young to even know what the Game Genie is. Yet, because I take pride in knowing the classics, like I alluded to in my last promo against Crash, I know exactly what that is. I know that it gave you power to do just about anything with your games. And honestly? I’m giddy that the Developer decided to name this match after it. Because once you win it? You can literally cheat your way to the front of the queue and fight the final boss no matter what place you are in the card. And I love the concept. Hell, I’ll say it right now: If I do end up winning the Game Genie… I will go after Crashman. Because at EXP he proved that he can’t beat me without cheating himself. And if Duncan beats him? All the better, I get to attempt something my father never managed to do and beat the great Commander Shepard. So. I got the golden opportunity to make the fastest rise to the top in the history of this promotion, even faster than my brother from another mother Bert did. And all I need to do is win a ladder match.”
Donny stands up and takes a few steps until he stands in front of a set of wooden wall bars, a staple feature of pretty much any gym. The bars reach up all the way to the ceiling, 11 feet or so. Donny drops to the ground, lying on his stomach and grabs a hold of the bottom rung, slowly starting to drag himself up the bars one after another, using only his hands to pull himself up until he reaches the top, where he uses his core and arm strength to pull himself nearly horizontal with one hand on the top rung and another on a rung few steps below. He holds himself there like a flag on a pole before letting himself back down and hopping to the ground, a wide grin on his face.
“Let’s just say I’m pretty good with ladders and climbing. I mean fuck, I’m tall enough that I don’t even really need that much of a ladder to grab whatever is hanging above the ring so… all I gotta do is make sure the ring is empty and go for it. Prolly just enough to jump up to grab it, but I digress. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not taking my opposition lightly. I mean bloody hell, there’s names like Peter Vaughn, a 4 time world champion. Ziggy Morgan who already beat me, only to choke on Tact, which as an aside, I’m pretty pissed off about, Kat Jones, who keeps bribing me with chicken buckets at shows, Guy Manson, a fucking shitmaker project I gotta YEET just for emphasis… Victoria Salinas, a game changer in need of humbling. And even if the rest don’t have that impressive of a name to them, Simms, Voxx and Skye aren’t anyone to take lightly.”
The Englishman goes back to the bench and gets back for another set, still talking while effortlessly moving the bar up and down at an almost hypnotic pace.
“Anyone can win that match. And that’s not even hyperbole. Its the one lesson I’ve learned from multi-person scrambles like this. From watching wrestling as a kid. From my mentors, all of them. From my girlfriend. From my own experience in other promotions. Anything can happen when you got half a dozen or more folks in the ring all vying for a single prize. All it takes is one moment of opportunity, one moment of chance, one moment of everyone else being distracted to be able to climb those rungs and punch your ticket to success. On paper this match favors those with more experience than others. Like Vaughn or Jones. But just like Mike Tyson once said, everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth. And a Punch-out it will devolve into approximately 5 seconds after the bell rings. It’s all about instinct. Reactions. A gut feeling on when to act and what to do. And at the risk of sounding smug, I got pretty good instincts when it comes to this sport. Sure, it won’t help me win by itself, but it's gonna increase my chances considerably.”
Donny finishes the set, stands up and adds another 200 pounds to the bar, cracking his neck almost subconsciously as he sits back down and stares at the ceiling while talking.
“To go back to the Governator and his inspirational quotes. He said once that When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength. And I believe he is right. I’ve gone through hardships all my life. The greatest of which happened on Christmas eve 2019. When my Mum passed away. It damn near broke me. But I didn’t surrender. I picked myself back up and pushed onwards and here I am. About to contest for a golden ticket to stardom. And to finally show to the world who I am.”
He starts to lift the bar, some strain showing on his brow and his motions, pushing himself to a limit as he stubbornly keeps increasing the reps, his movements slower and slower on each push until he barely slaps it back to its rests, arms shaking and grunts of exertion emanating from his lips. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heartbeat as he sits up somewhat shakily, staring at the camera with an exhausted look.
“At DOOM… I will prove to the world that I am more than just the son of a wrestler. I will prove to the world that I am a force to be reckoned on my own. I will dig deep and extract that potential that sleeps in me by force if necessary. Once the match begins, I will show everyone just who is Donny Mason. Not the YEETmaster. Not the “Future” not the “British Bulldog”. No. I am none of those monikers. I am not Don Tirri junior. And I will prove it to you all. DOOM will be my ascendance to the ranks of the immortals. Because through all these hardships, all these defeats, all these setbacks I have found the answer to a question that I didn’t even realize I didn’t have an answer for the longest time. A very simple question. Who is Donny Mason. I know now. I realized it. I was helped to realize it by those who’ve stood by me. And by those who have seen what I could become. Both positively and negatively. I have all the strength I need in me. The resolve and the will. All I have to do is show it. Pull out all stops and prove to the world I belong. Prove to the world that the 8-0 record wasn’t just a fluke. Prove to the bloody world that Donny Mason is legit. And at DOOM? You will all see it.”
With shaky hands he takes a long swig from his shaker, a bit of the pale colored substance in it dripping down his cheek. He wipes it away and puts on a serious gameface as he speaks once more.
“Simple, innit?”
And with that, the view fades to black.
"Setbacks happen. To everyone. Don’t let them drag you down. Just dust yourself off and move forward”
Mum’s words rang in my head as I took a breather between sets, setting the heavy bar down on its rests on the bench. The gym that I used to work in was pretty silent, as it was past-midnight. The perfect time for me to be here. I mean, I knew becoming a wrestler would make me recognizable, but the last few weeks, after Pops hung up his boots I had been unable to go almost anywhere without being recognized.
I cringed at the memory. “Hey, you’re… You’re Don Tirri’s son, right!” The words I had heard way too many times recently. Turns out him retiring had been bigger news and brought more exposure to him than actually wrestling. But it was irritating me. Not helped by the recent streak of losses I’d endured after that 8-0 record posted on TIA. Atleast their sponsorship hadn’t gone away.
But yeah. A few big losses back to back. First to Ziggy, who then proceeded to choke to Tact, then the big bad final boss Crashman screwed me… and even in SWWS, where I seemingly could do no wrong, I got rolled up and lost the Evolve title I had held since my 3rd official professional match.
“You’ll bounce back darling, you always have” I heard mum again. As a kid I had this burning passion of succeeding in everything. Or anything. And the times I’d come home hanging my head after being outdone or beat in something, Mum would always be there, smile on her face, telling me those words while patting my head. Yes, even when I got older and outgrew her by a foot. I chuckled at THAT memory of her getting a step-stool for the sole purpose of patting me on the head.
I mean. Looking back at my youth, I had it pretty good. Despite not having a father, I had enough. Mum worked hard to make sure I grew up in a happy home. Of course, the other kids teased me, or just asked questions. Questions I didn’t really have an answer cause I didn’t know it myself. “I’ll tell you when you grow up” was what she used to tell me when I asked about my father. What I didn’t realize until later was that the sad smile I saw on her face at times, especially after I grew interested in wrestling and the hoard of tapes from this one particular Finnish guy was not her being sad, it was her being glad. Glad that I was taking cues from my father. Albeit without knowing it.
I went back for another set of reps on the bench. I couldn’t let these setbacks drag me down. Because I knew that Mum never did. She had the biggest setback in her life happen not long before I was born. After Pops told me about the events that night in Manchester, I understood the mountain Mum climbed every day. The sheer bravery and strength she had to get back up from having such a burden dropped on her and keep fighting. Fighting to give me a good childhood. I can't give up now. I’d be metaphorically spitting on her grave if I laid down and gave up after such a short amount of time. I’d bounce back. I had to bounce back. For her. And for myself. I’d bounce back, get back in the groove and continue carving my own path in the world of wrestling.
“Well would ya look at that, Mr. Bigshot graces us peasants with his presence.” I was shaken out of my thoughts by a voice speaking behind me. It shattered my concentration and I nearly dropped the bar, only for a pair of hands to grab it and pull it back up. “Damn Donny, you’ve really let yourself go being a big star, if you can’t handle THIS kind of weight.”
I glanced up, seeing a very familiar shit-eating grin. It was Ryan, my co-worker from the gym as well as the dude I shared a dorm room with when I originally came to the US. And then some. “Oh fuck you man, the sound of your whining broke my concentration” I quipped back with a small grin as I sat up. “How ya been ya wanker? Drowning in work after the most popular trainer of the gym quit?”
Ryan gave a deep belly-laugh at that. “You ever thought about WHY you were so popular? The guys wanted to bang you and the gals wanted a gay best friend” He sat down on the opposite bench, still grinning. “But all kidding aside, it’s been a bit quiet here in general.” He leant forward, taking a good look at me. “So why are you back? I heard you moved to California to live with this chick of yours, Sharon or Shawna or Shantelle or something. She kick you out already, sending you back to your dad’s basement?”
For an outsider, it might’ve seemed like we hated each other, but Ryan and I had always talked to each other like this, constantly throwing barbs as a way of showing fondness. He was my best friend for a long time, the guy who decided to come with me when I hopped across the pond to look for Pops, simply because he and I quote “Got tired of ole england”. We had grown up together. “First off, Shay. What the hell kind of a name is Shantelle? Secondly, I never lived in Pops’ basement. I’m not even sure his house HAS one. And thirdly, nah. We actually bought a house here. Pops is opening a wrestling school in Reno, and we are both helping him with it.” I explained the situation to him. And it did sound kinda absurd now that I spoke it out loud.
Ryan scratched his jaw. “Opening up a wrestling school eh? I bet a school like that has a gym… so why the fuck are you here, at 2 am, working out harder than I’ve ever seen you work?” For all his faults, Ryan was damn perceptive, and if anyone in this world knew me, it was him.
I sighed. “Well… being a big star, as you put it, isn’t exactly going smoothly.” I squeezed out, feeling a bit uncomfortable saying it out loud. “I hit the ground running, winning matches left and right, but ever since Pops retired and all eyes turned to me, I’ve kinda dropped the ball.” I plopped back on the bench. Staring at the gray ceiling. “Needed some alone-time to get my head straight.” I glanced at Ryan. “And then you showed up.”
He offered a small chuckle before going serious. “I figured it was something like that. Last time I saw you working out in the middle of the night, alone, was when your mum died. And a week later I caught you with a suitcase in hand at Heathrow, flying here.” He stood up and came closer, looking down on me like some fearsome overlord. “I hope you don’t plan on skipping town again? Shantelle would probably be majorly pissed, and your dad might just lose the last color in his hair out of worry.” He mockingly punched me in the shoulder. “Reminds me of that time you tried your hand at rugby. You were pretty good, until you ran into some actual pros and got CRUSHED”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks for reminding me about that. Also, it’s SHAY. Not Shantelle. Where the fuck did you even pull that name?” I sat up, grumbling under my breath.
“My point is that you’ve always bounced back. Don’t forget that you got pretty good at Rugby. Just not good enough to be a pro. It just took a lot of work and a few setbacks.” Ryan tried to ease me up. “Besides. You didn’t have the genes for that. You do for wrestling. Just work through it. I know you can.” He smiled, patting me on the shoulder, a stark contrast to the punch just moments before. “This… moping around isn’t your style Donny.”
“I know.” I blurted out, exasperated. “But it’s not just the fact that I’m losing. It’s the fact that I got some big damn boots to step into. I try to tell people I’m my own man and even Pops tries to do that. But people still see me as some damn Tirri junior. And measure me up to him. And holy shit am I not ready to step out of THAT shadow just yet.”
Ryan was quiet for a long time. Suspiciously long, and my first instinct was to check if he was executing some prank to lighten up the mood, as he so often did. But when I saw him, he legitimately looked thoughtful. Scratching the 2 day old stubble on the point of his chin. It was odd, and very unlike him. “Ya know Donny.” He started, having apparently managed to string together something. “I’m not good at this stuff, but I think there is one simple question you need to answer if you ever want to escape your dads shadow. Well, two actually.” He paused and looked right at me. “First, is wrestling REALLY the thing you wanna do for the rest of your life? I mean, you got a pretty sweet gig here as a personal trainer and you were pretty good at that too. Because don’t think people will ever stop comparing you to him.”
I pondered his words. Well, not for long. “Yes, it is. I want to be a wrestler. Bloody hell mate, you know just as well as I do that I fell in love with the sport a long, long time ago. More often than not, you were right here, next to me when I watched the matches from the telly.”
He nodded. “So I figured. So just like with Rugby, you gotta work hard and be that stubborn idiot I call a friend. You’ll get there sooner than later.”
Backhanded compliments, his forte. That elicited a deep, genuine chuckle from me. “So whats the second question?”
He seemed confused for a moment. “Second question?” He blinked and then facepalmed while shaking his head. “Oh right, that. Lost my train of thought for a moment. The second question. If you wanna break out your dad's shadow… If you don’t want to be known as Tirri junior… you gotta figure out… who is Donny Mason.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. “Who am I?”
He nodded, looking a bit awkward. “Yeah, I mean, it sounds so simple right? But… I’m serious. People won’t see you as anything other than Tirri junior until you figure out who you are. And show it to them. I mean, when I look at you, I see the guy I grew up with. The reckless fool who dove head first into every adventure we came up with. The funny as fuck dude who could take the piss outta everyone without them even realizing it. And the caring dude who put aside his own life to make sure his mum had a comfortable last year. You’re all those things Donny.” He paused, making a grand sweeping gesture to nobody in particular. “But they don’t know it. They only know you as the son of Don Tirri, because that is what you have portrayed yourself as. It doesn’t work like a flick of a switch. “I’m my own man” Yeah, it was a good line. But actions speak louder than words man. Who is Donny Mason. Figure that out.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish on dry land, trying to figure out some rebuttal, some retort to his words, something, anything to counter his words. But I couldn’t. Because in its simplicity, he had nailed the issue. So I took a few steps to pace around the bench, brow furrowed in thought.
Before either of us could say a word, the door to the gym opened and closed and a female voice rang out. “You here baby?” and we both turned to look in that direction. On the entryway stood a rather attractive woman, about our age and Ryan got a mischievous grin.
He responded with a smile. “Yeah, I’m here. Come over this way baby, I got someone I want to introduce to you.”
The woman walked up to us and gave a quick kiss to Ryan. “Who’s he?”
Ryan pulled me into a headlock, grinning widely. “This is my best friend and a future wrestling superstar, Donny Mason.” The woman nodded, eyeing Donny from head to toe as Ryan turned to me. “And Donny, this is my girlfriend, Shantelle Smith”
I blinked. Now it all made sense. “Shantelle?” I asked, looking awkward. Ryan nodded and I shrugged him off, turning to the woman. “Nice to meet you Shantelle, don’t believe anything this wanker tells you about me. They’re all lies. Except the good things.”
Ryan intervened before Shantelle could respond. “Anyway, time for us to hit the road. Don’t be a stranger Donny, bring Shay around sometime as well. I gotta see the girl you managed to somehow woo despite that face of yours. Was nice catching up with ya.”
We exchanged pleasantries and just like that, I was alone again. But the question Ryan had thrown out lingered in my head.
Who is Donny Mason?
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Winnies Wisdom to Desperate Donny (offcam)
Donny was a bit nervous as he sat in the corner diner he way back in the day first met his father face to face. He had spent the last few days going through in his own head until finally admitting he needed some advice and outside perspective. But he couldn’t ask Shay nor his Pops because they weren’t exactly outside. So he called up the one man he knew possessed a wealth of wisdom rivaling or even surpassing his Pops’. And there he was, waiting for the man to arrive.
The small bell on the door to the diner rang, and Donny turned to look at the entrance, seeing what he had been expecting. One of the few men in the biz who actually stood eye level with him. Gray hair and beard marking years of experience and sharp eyes proving that the age hadn’t gone too far yet. “Hey Mr. Millar, thanks for coming. I’m sorry for the short warning, but I didn’t know who else to turn to” Donny spoke with respect in his voice as the graying man, Winston Millar-Dyson, the man who once upon a time had mentored a young Finnish hotblood by the name of Don Tirri.
Limber for a man of his age Winston Millar-Dyson more commonly known as “WMD” smirked at the young man offering one of those frying pan sized palms of his. “What’s up kid? To be honest I was surprised to hear your voice when you called, is your old man alright? He didn’t do something stupid and end up in jail or hospital or.. “ silence settled between the two as Winston sat down keeping his eyes focused on Donny. Sitting there in his jeans, faded Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of sneakers he looked far different from a wrestling legend he could havet been any ol’ grandpa who stops at a diner for a cup of coffee on the way to see his grandkids, except this grandpa could and probably would drop most other grandpa’s if need be.
Donny shook his head. “Oh no, Pops hasn’t done anything. As far as I know at least. He’s busy managing that wrestling school of his.” He took a deep breath, fidgeting a bit on his seat before continuing. “This is more of a me-problem. Well, it has something to do with Pops, but nothing he did. I mean… Well.” He gave an awkward chuckle. “Dammit. It’s not this hard. Basically I’m struggling with trying to deal with being in his shadow you know. And I figured that since your own son is also a wrestler, and you mentored Pops, you might have some insight on how to escape that shadow, and help people figure out I’m not just Tirri junior. Simple, innit?” He quickly blurted out, admitting his struggles went against his nature, but if anything, he had learned that pride comes before the fall. And he had fallen a lot recently.
Winston nodded along, he sat there in silence growing between the two men, two completely different generations yet somehow in this weird place that was set in 2022, a waitress came, bringing them some orders, drinks. Silence went on for a good while after that, Donny sat there sweating bullets waiting for this grand wise man everyone around him seemed to praise as a great mind for the business, finally he spoke up his voice a bit hoarse. “So, any pointers on how–” Winston just held up his palm. “Eat kid, enjoy the meal, take in this place, feast on what you have, get that drink into your system. Nobody discusses business over dinner, have manners, this is a place of business..” What a stupid, utterly idiotic thing to say, here he was reaching out to this geezer for help, inviting him over to this place and now he’s supposed to sit there, watch this goat chew his food (food which he would have to probably pay for in the end anyway) and he wouldn’t even offer him advice. Winston ate up, drank up like a complete stranger then after what may have been maybe twenty minutes it might have been more but it seemed like a lifetime for anyone waiting he slowly put down his knife and fork. “Donny, you don’t want to be like your dad. You don’t want to be like someone even pretending to be your dad, you don’t even want to face a guy pretending to be your pop. My boy is not built like me, he does not wrestle like me. There are people who claim that he doesn’t even look like me, like the milkman just happened to pork my missus when I was on tour.. But despite all that. He has succeeded in this business of ours. Despite the struggles he’s had, with people constantly doubting and putting him down for his size or the fact that he worked behind the announcer's desk or he uses the kitchen sink to knock people out.”
The old man turns his head just enough to look Donny in the eye. “You know why he made it?”
Donny spent a good few minutes pondering over WMD’s words, to a point that he probably looked like he hadn’t even listened. Finally he did respond, his voice quiet, contemplative. “Because he didn’t give up? Because he kept at it, despite the odds being against him? Because he had you as shoulders to stand on and not a shadow to disappear in? All of those? None of those? I don’t know…” He was slightly frustrated. He knew what Winston was after, but couldn’t vocalize it. “I know Pops has told me that Jonathan, or “Stupid Stupid” as he occasionally called him had it rough, but I mean… He’s a world champion. Something Pops never accomplished. Something I’m not sure I can accomplish. And no matter what people say… Fuck. Pops still says CCM got to where he was thanks to you. Yet, Pops distanced himself from me the moment he retired. Said he didn’t wanna hog the spotlight. Is he the one unintentionally pulling the carpet from under me?” Donny paused, taking a long swig from the glass on the table. “Bloody hell. All I wanna figure out is “Who is Donny Mason”... and I keep drawing blanks every time I discard sentences that include Don Tirri” He was so very frustrated. Not at Winston, or his Pops. But himself.
Winston leaned back on the diner stool, sizing Donny up, then without warning he grabs the glass and throws up the remains of the drink to Mason’s face, without hesitation Donny jumps up, throws a hand which the old man grabs by the wrist and clenches a tight grip on. “Didn’t need to think about that, did you kid?” His voice was a deep growl when the waitress shows up. “You two need to stop that right now or I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” Winston chuckles, sitting down, letting go of Donny and glancing at the nametag of the waitress. “My apologies Denise, I just get these here jitters sometimes, nerves you know, age doesn’t come along..be a darling a bring my friend some napkins to clean himself up will you..” Denise glared at him but somehow her grimace melt when meeting the apologetic face of the older man. “Alright, you just take it easy though. I’d hate to see any trouble here, this a nice place and I’d like it to stay that way.” When Denise went off to fetch some napkins Winston smiled at Donny, suddenly the old man had turned into an overgrown mischievous kid. “You don’t have to think or ponder who you are, Donny. Who you are is already there, all you need is to bring it out.”
Sitting down with a dumbfounded look on his face, partly due to the old man's reactions catching his hand and partly because the lesson was slowly sinking in. He throws an apologetic smile at the waitress when the napkins are brought and proceeds to dry up his face in silence, mulling over the sequence of events that when he played them back in his head seemed to have taken hours, but in reality happened in a split second. Finally he looked at Winston, who was staring at him with an expecting look on his face and spoke softly. “I get what you are trying to say. Just be myself.” He chuckled. “Impressive damn reflexes for an old man though. Not even Pops can grab me like that.” It was an attempt to lighten up the mood, mostly for the sake of the other patrons. “Ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever done this before. Never before have I thanked someone for throwing a drink in my face, but thanks. I needed it.” He then slowly eyed Winston up. “But just so you know, a receipt will come, eventually. You should know that much.” Donny gave him a wide shit-eating grin, being very reminiscent of his father at that very moment.
For a moment it looked like Winston was about to pop Donny right in the mouth for smiling at him like that, but the old man’s voice was soft as a purr “Just a old man getting lucky once in a while, thank you for not just booting my head off in response” he chuckled, a subtle yet polite nudge towards the youngster at least in his yes, it’s almost like when the bright lights and the cameras aren’t on them even professional wrestlers can be nice. “Speaking of receipts, you up for dessert or are you on a diet?” I’m sure Denise will happily bring you some sundae or whatever it is you kids love these days.
Donny perked up at the mention of dessert. “Always. I didn’t grow this big eating soup.” he says while laughing. “And I feel I should pick up the tab, since you came out of your way to knock some sense into me.” He motioned towards the table which was full of plates and glasses. Then he motioned towards the waitress who came and took a few more orders as Donny got his fill. When the two were done and used some napkins to clean up Winston nodded at Donny. “You got something in your teeth kid..” he offers up some toothpicks just as Donny is digging for his wallet adding up just how many shows he’d have to do to cover this up and wondering what the bloody hell he’d tell Shay as an excuse when the big man took the tab from Denise. “Thank you luv, I got this.”
The expression on Donny Mason’s face might have been dumbfounded before but now it was outright flabbergasted. “..wait..are..are you actually..” he wasn’t sure just what the bloody hell was going on in this weird diner. “Yeah, I know. I never pay for shit, right? Well this is what those of us in the business do. It’s what was done for likes of me and your pops too. Those who made it already pay for you kids on your way of making it.” He pulls out a worn wallet and picks up a stack of bills wrapping the tag around it so that Donny wouldn’t even see the total. “Besides gotta leave a good tab for poor Denise having to bus all these plates and glasses don’t we?” He chuckled looking at Donny, slowly the big man gets up putting a massive palm on Mason’s shoulder and leans into his ear. “If you tell anyone about this though, I may just have to kill you. I’m not going back to paying my own way, I earned my spot and what would it do to my reputation if people would stop picking up the tab.” He chuckles, slapping Donny on the back.
“Say hi to your old man for me will ya? Oh and stay out of trouble.”
Those soft steps, then the little bell rang and just as easily as he had showed up Winston Millar-Dyson was gone leaving Donny with the carnage as he sits there eyeing at the miniature barrel containing toothpicks, absentmindedly putting one behind his ear, before catching himself and throwing it away while chuckling. He asked for advice and he really did get it. Just not the way he expected.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ascendance (oncam)
The view opens to show the 6’10’’ englishman Donny Mason, Levelup’s self-proclaimed YEETmaster and the self-proclaimed “Future” of professional wrestling sitting in a gym, dressed in YEETwear t-shirt and shorts, proudly representing the This is Awesome brand. He is drinking from a similarly branded shaker, with a waterbottle on his other hand. He looks like he is in the middle of a workout, or just finished.
“Nothing feels quite like a proper workout doesn’t it? I mean, even the Governator once said that the best activities for your health are pumping and humping. And you should be glad I’m doing this in the middle of the former and not the latter.”
He chuckles and stretches a bit, unintentionally flexing his physique to the camera before putting the shaker and bottle to the ground and crossing his arms in a relaxed manner.
“Another thing that ol’ Arnie said though really stuck to me. It’s a message that was hammered to my head not just by him but by my mum. He said that Just like in bodybuilding, failure is also a necessary experience for growth in our own lives, for if we're never tested to our limits, how will we know how strong we really are? How will we ever grow? And honestly? Even if I’m not a bodybuilder, I can relate to that. Hell. I COULDA been a bodybuilder had I wanted to, I definitely have the framework for that but I chose not to be. Anyway. I’m getting on a tangent. Point being, failure is part of your natural development. And I’ve gotten quite familiar with it recently. Ever since I spread my wings and ventured out on my own I’ve had to deal with defeat after defeat. A weaker man would have already broken, seeing all that hard work he put in for months, all the success he accrued go down the drain when the going got tough and the challenge amped up a level. But not me. No. Ever since I was a kid in Brighton, I had to be the best in everything. And more often than not, I failed eventually. After early success I ran into a wall. And every time I did that, I had my mum tell me to not let it get to me. That failure is not the end of things. It’s merely the beginning of a new phase. And I took that lesson to heart. In life. In workouts. In wrestling.”
Donny stands up and switches up the weights on the bar behind him, adding a good 50 pounds to both ends before laying down on the bench and grabbing the bar. He began to lift the bar up and down in a steady pace, while continuing to talk, showing no signs of exertion despite having a good 220 pounds on the bar.
“So whenever I get knocked down, I just dust myself off and get back up. Just like with workouts. I continue reps until I no longer physically can’t lift the bar, take a break, recharge and go right back at it. Once upon a time I was called a bulldog because I was so damn stubborn, refusing to quit or give up no matter how outmatched I was. And I did for a moment consider taking “British Bulldog” as my moniker when I started my wrestling career, but Pops told me to reconsider since that particular one had already been associated with someone much more successful. But anyway. My point is, sure. We lost the multiplayer gauntlets. Sure. I lost the SWWS Evolve title. Sure, I got whipped by Ziggy and screwed by Crash. But that doesn’t mean I’m down and out. No. That just means I gotta work twice as hard to conquer my next obstacle, I need to put in twice the effort to take the next step… push my limits even further to succeed next time. And the next time? DOOM. Game Genie Cheat Code ladder match. A literal blank check to move your career forward in any manner you wish.”
He finishes the set and sits up, taking a few sips from his water and stretching his deltoids to keep the blood flowing before continuing to talk.
“It’s funny. Technically I’m too young to even know what the Game Genie is. Yet, because I take pride in knowing the classics, like I alluded to in my last promo against Crash, I know exactly what that is. I know that it gave you power to do just about anything with your games. And honestly? I’m giddy that the Developer decided to name this match after it. Because once you win it? You can literally cheat your way to the front of the queue and fight the final boss no matter what place you are in the card. And I love the concept. Hell, I’ll say it right now: If I do end up winning the Game Genie… I will go after Crashman. Because at EXP he proved that he can’t beat me without cheating himself. And if Duncan beats him? All the better, I get to attempt something my father never managed to do and beat the great Commander Shepard. So. I got the golden opportunity to make the fastest rise to the top in the history of this promotion, even faster than my brother from another mother Bert did. And all I need to do is win a ladder match.”
Donny stands up and takes a few steps until he stands in front of a set of wooden wall bars, a staple feature of pretty much any gym. The bars reach up all the way to the ceiling, 11 feet or so. Donny drops to the ground, lying on his stomach and grabs a hold of the bottom rung, slowly starting to drag himself up the bars one after another, using only his hands to pull himself up until he reaches the top, where he uses his core and arm strength to pull himself nearly horizontal with one hand on the top rung and another on a rung few steps below. He holds himself there like a flag on a pole before letting himself back down and hopping to the ground, a wide grin on his face.
“Let’s just say I’m pretty good with ladders and climbing. I mean fuck, I’m tall enough that I don’t even really need that much of a ladder to grab whatever is hanging above the ring so… all I gotta do is make sure the ring is empty and go for it. Prolly just enough to jump up to grab it, but I digress. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not taking my opposition lightly. I mean bloody hell, there’s names like Peter Vaughn, a 4 time world champion. Ziggy Morgan who already beat me, only to choke on Tact, which as an aside, I’m pretty pissed off about, Kat Jones, who keeps bribing me with chicken buckets at shows, Guy Manson, a fucking shitmaker project I gotta YEET just for emphasis… Victoria Salinas, a game changer in need of humbling. And even if the rest don’t have that impressive of a name to them, Simms, Voxx and Skye aren’t anyone to take lightly.”
The Englishman goes back to the bench and gets back for another set, still talking while effortlessly moving the bar up and down at an almost hypnotic pace.
“Anyone can win that match. And that’s not even hyperbole. Its the one lesson I’ve learned from multi-person scrambles like this. From watching wrestling as a kid. From my mentors, all of them. From my girlfriend. From my own experience in other promotions. Anything can happen when you got half a dozen or more folks in the ring all vying for a single prize. All it takes is one moment of opportunity, one moment of chance, one moment of everyone else being distracted to be able to climb those rungs and punch your ticket to success. On paper this match favors those with more experience than others. Like Vaughn or Jones. But just like Mike Tyson once said, everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth. And a Punch-out it will devolve into approximately 5 seconds after the bell rings. It’s all about instinct. Reactions. A gut feeling on when to act and what to do. And at the risk of sounding smug, I got pretty good instincts when it comes to this sport. Sure, it won’t help me win by itself, but it's gonna increase my chances considerably.”
Donny finishes the set, stands up and adds another 200 pounds to the bar, cracking his neck almost subconsciously as he sits back down and stares at the ceiling while talking.
“To go back to the Governator and his inspirational quotes. He said once that When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength. And I believe he is right. I’ve gone through hardships all my life. The greatest of which happened on Christmas eve 2019. When my Mum passed away. It damn near broke me. But I didn’t surrender. I picked myself back up and pushed onwards and here I am. About to contest for a golden ticket to stardom. And to finally show to the world who I am.”
He starts to lift the bar, some strain showing on his brow and his motions, pushing himself to a limit as he stubbornly keeps increasing the reps, his movements slower and slower on each push until he barely slaps it back to its rests, arms shaking and grunts of exertion emanating from his lips. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heartbeat as he sits up somewhat shakily, staring at the camera with an exhausted look.
“At DOOM… I will prove to the world that I am more than just the son of a wrestler. I will prove to the world that I am a force to be reckoned on my own. I will dig deep and extract that potential that sleeps in me by force if necessary. Once the match begins, I will show everyone just who is Donny Mason. Not the YEETmaster. Not the “Future” not the “British Bulldog”. No. I am none of those monikers. I am not Don Tirri junior. And I will prove it to you all. DOOM will be my ascendance to the ranks of the immortals. Because through all these hardships, all these defeats, all these setbacks I have found the answer to a question that I didn’t even realize I didn’t have an answer for the longest time. A very simple question. Who is Donny Mason. I know now. I realized it. I was helped to realize it by those who’ve stood by me. And by those who have seen what I could become. Both positively and negatively. I have all the strength I need in me. The resolve and the will. All I have to do is show it. Pull out all stops and prove to the world I belong. Prove to the world that the 8-0 record wasn’t just a fluke. Prove to the bloody world that Donny Mason is legit. And at DOOM? You will all see it.”
With shaky hands he takes a long swig from his shaker, a bit of the pale colored substance in it dripping down his cheek. He wipes it away and puts on a serious gameface as he speaks once more.
“Simple, innit?”
And with that, the view fades to black.
