Joey Crash: Heart Split in Two (vs Duncan Shepard)

Duncan, Duncan… Duncan. You’ve been running your mouth an awful lot lately. My timeline is filled with all these quotes about how this is your time, and how I never deserved to be the Final Boss Champion in the first place. I’ve heard you call me lucky. I’ve heard you say I was just in the right place at the right time. And at the same time you’ve barely stopped talking about your own impressive records. You’re undefeated this year? Well, congratulations. You’re the #1 ranked wrestler in Level Up? Great! I’m glad you found some solace from a bias, hand-picked top 5 list. It’s been pretty funny to tune into ‘Radio Duncan’. I can tune in and I’m guaranteed to hear the best excuses, non-stop, 24 hours a day. Sounds like you’re trying to compensate for something. And maybe that’s because for every win you have under your belt, you’ve got fuck all to show for it.

You're looking at me like I'm in the rear view mirror and you're driving away, championship in tow. This isn't a foregone conclusion. You might think you've got everything sussed out but when it all comes down to it, your biggest problem is you. You've convinced yourself that you're the ultimate badass, untouchable... Undeniable. But you’ve set the bar so high that even you can't live up to the version of yourself that you project, every moment of every day. And that's why you can't fucking touch me. When we peel back the layers to see who you really are, you’re just a dude in cosplay.

You were so proud of the Power Championship that you carried for so long. Why? You only got the strap because I wasn’t here in time to win it first. I wasn’t here to enter the Round Robin. The Power Championship simply won't have prepared you for the pressure of being the face of this company! And maybe that's why you've never won the big one.

But that’s not even the full reason you're so pissed off. The backslide. I've heard you talking about it. Fuck, it's all anyone can talk about. ‘The pin heard around the world!’ I know it gets under your skin especially, Big Dunc. My patented backslide came on the very next show after you failed to do what I did. You think I got a lucky pin? I've done more with one backslide than you've achieved in your entire history with Level Up. Your record is a security blanket. Like a baby with a dummy, throwing tantrums every time you fail to clinch the big one, you console yourself by looking at how many wins you stacked up when nothing was at stake. Well guess what, idiot. I, too, am a winner. It takes a winner to become the champion. That’s the textbook definition of a champion, it’s the guy who wins the most! You're looking into the eyes of a man who you truly believe is only half the wrestler you are. It’s funny that you’re the guy with the delusional god complex in this match up.

You only made this a Last Man Standing to save yourself the embarrassment of losing to a backslide. I dunno Duncan, sounds like you're taking the cowards way out. You'd never see me challenging you to a match where you couldn't use your precious Reapers Bane now would I? That's because I'm a man of honour. I prefer to play on an even playing field, know what I mean? What sort of victory would that be otherwise? A tainted victory, that's what. If you somehow make it out with the Final Boss Championship, you'll never be able to live with yourself.

Let’s rewind the record for a minute. In consecutive shows, you failed to become the TriForce Champion... and then I pinned the TriForce Champion. You can pretend to be angry at me all you like. You're not angry at me. You're angry at yourself. You've put yourself through hell to achieve this championship opportunity. All I had to do was beat the guy and lay down the challenge. You want to say that it was a case of right place, right time? I created that opportunity for myself. I saw the opportunity while you were still tending to your wounds from losing yet another match on PPV. If you can’t face being angry at yourself, why not get angry at Bert? He’s the one who accepted my challenge. He didn't have to do it. I didn't force him into it! Is that why you're angry with me? Because I earned my shot through asking politely without needing to battle twenty-nine other wrestlers? Turns out hard work alone gets you jack shit, and hey, I've been there dude. We’ve all been there. You’re not special. But even you are smarter than this. I'm not just some guy who walked into Level Up one day and found the belt on the floor. I still had to beat the champion on my own, by myself. Live by the sword, die by the sword. I'm a fighting champion and I got this by beating the absolute best that Level Up had to offer. Duncan Shepard was not included in that equation. And you’re still not.


Joey and Sophie had been spending more time together since they reconciled in the park. Nothing too interesting or out of the ordinary, nothing romantic or intimate but there was a shared connection there. Something akin to coworkers who were slowly figuring out that they each had opinions and personality underneath their cordial exterior. Inside both of them was a longing, a need to be understood and appreciated and whether knowingly or not, it was something they both recognized in each other.

Joey was flushed with concentration, eyebrows furled and squinting. His right fist was clenched and rhythmically squeezing down the pressure each second. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, envisioning how he could end this assault. How much more could he take? The onslaught was relentless and there had to be a way out, he just had to–

“HEY! You making a move or what?!” Sophie flailed her arms in exasperation.

“Fucking– I’m thinking! Alright? You can’t rush art!”

“I’m going to rush my foot up your ass if you don’t hurry up!” Sophie casually tossed a cigarette in her mouth and lit up. Joey smiled, he saw more and more of Mick in her every time they saw each other. Regardless of how much time they spent apart, turns out the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Sophie, for all her faults was truly her father’s daughter. Joey moved a pawn one space forward on the board and Sophie immediately moved her queen into position. “Checkmate, you fucker! I win!”

“What– that’s– how did you do that?”

“It’s easy. First you have to learn how to think three moves ahead. Secondly, you need to find easy prey.” She snatched a $10 bill out of Joey’s hand, squeezed his cheek and cackled like an evil witch. They had initially been making bets with quarters but Joey was yet to win a game. He’d run out of quarters a few games ago, so he’d now been cleaned out of his dollar coins, $1 bills and now his $5’s. If he keeps losing he’ll have to go to an ATM soon.

The breeze picked up for a second and both of them instinctively hunched over their side of the board to stop their pieces from flying away. Other experienced players in the park along with them weren’t bothered, they’d prepared for this by playing with heavier, weighted pieces. Sophie had wanted to spend time in Joey’s apartment but he vetoed the idea quickly in favour of the outdoors. Despite his best efforts, Michigan had felt cold. The view from his apartment were great and sure, the space was nice. It had better noise insulation than any of the motels he’d previously stayed in. And the on-site swimming pool and gym were great. But everything served to remind him that he was alone. Memories do not make great company, and that’s what he had when Sophie wasn’t around.

“I’ve only got a couple bills left.”

“That’s cool. I wasn’t going to stop until I cleaned you out anyway.” She flashed a smile and reset the board. She insisted on playing with the white pieces. It made no difference to him anyway. Intellectual games were never his strong suit. If Mick could see him playing chess now, he’d probably roll in his grave. Or break out and drag Joey over to a set of dumbbells.

“Well the joke’s on you because I’ve been taking it easy on you! But not anymore, baby! I’m gonna make you cry for your mama when this is all done.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I’ve lulled you into a false sense of security and you’re ripe for the picking! Ho yes, it’s gonna be plain sailing from here out! Just you wait.”

Sophie won the next game in eleven turns.

“FUCK!”

“Begging for mercy?”

“Never! In fact, that was a ploy to throw you off your game! Now your guard is down, prepare yourself!”

Sophie won the next game in six turns.

“Jesus Chr– How is this happening?”

“You talk a big game, Joey! You should have known when to stay quiet.”

“Stay quiet? Me? Pffft, do you know who you’re talking to?”

“I do. And it’s sad that you don’t recognize what I’m trying to point out to you.” That point lingered in the air for a moment. Like an insect bite that feels like nothing and only starts to sting a moment later.

“What the hell are you trying to say?”

“It’s the mouth that kills the fish.” Joey blinked.

“One more time. Without the pretentious bullshit I mean.”

“Fuck sake, it’s a proverb. Or a metaphor or something. It’s Spanish. What it means is, look– imagine you’re fishing, right? You’re catching fish and having a great time. But for every fish you catch, there’s plenty more down there you’ve not caught.”

“Don’t bring another proverb into this, for the love of God.”

“Shut up. Look, the fisherman caught the fish. But if the fish hadn’t bit onto the hook, what would they have caught? Nothing! The fish wasn’t captured by some master hunter, he was careless and for that reason, was caught by his own actions.”

“So what’s your point?”

“My point is, if you run your mouth someone will fuck you up. Is that a clearer explanation for you? Jesus, sometimes you make this far more difficult than it needs to be!”

There was a silence for a minute or so. He couldn't stop thinking about what Sophie said a couple moments ago.

“What did you mean when you said, it was sad I didn’t realize what you were saying?”

“Oh that was nothing.”

“No come on, it must have been something. What was it?”

“Well, look it’s just– You’ve been talking a big game in Level Up, right?”

“It’s what I’m paid to do, Sophie. What do you expect?”

“And everybody there is just waiting, hoping beyond hope that Duncan is going to take you down. Because you’re an annoying little shit, Joey.”

“Nobody likes me. Gee, what a newsflash that was. What’s your point?”

“Aren’t you worried Duncan is going to take the championship from you?!”

Joey studied her for a moment. She was being serious.

“That’s my business, Sophie. Let me worry about Duncan. It's not your problem. Let me handle it.” Joey started packing his chess pieces away.

“It sure sounded like my problem when you called me in the dead of night to ask if I thought you could beat Bert!” Sophie shouted, slamming her hands on the table.

“Why are you bringing this up?! I've already apologized for acting like an arsehole, I thought we moved past this!” Joey was exasperated.

“I need to know where I stand! We’ve hung out and that’s great but I’m walking on eggshells here because I have no idea what might happen next! If you lose the title–”

“I’m NOT going to lose to Duncan!”

“Don’t tell me that as if it’s a guarantee! You can’t promise anything! If you lose to Duncan you might revert back to that desperate, creepy, narcissistic arsehole again and I can’t stand it! I don’t want you to turn back into the person I hated that first time we spoke at the bar!”

“I won’t! Sophie, listen to me. I can’t lose to Shepard. It’s just not going to happen. I’m still the same guy!”

“You’re not the same… You’re better. That championship has fixed something inside of you whether or not you realize it. But Duncan is coming for blood and I can’t risk you… Relapsing! I don’t know how else to describe it. Before you had that belt, you were a shitty friend! Constantly talking about yourself, only concerned with your next match. You didn’t give a shit about me, you only wanted to make sure I didn’t make your life harder! I should apologize because you didn’t ask for any of this. You never sought me out, I barged my way into your life. But I’m not sure your heart has enough room for me if the championship isn’t there.”

“Sophie, please! You’re getting worked up over nothing!”

“NOTHING?! Have you even been to his grave yet?”

“YES! I went to go see him before I faced Bert! I had to! Someone didn’t invite me to the funeral! And I won the fucking championship didn’t I? I’m going to win this match again and I’m still going to be the same guy that’s standing in front of you, right now. I’m your friend… Sophie. Look at me in my eyes.” She couldn’t bring her eyes up from the ground. “Sophie, please.” She looked up. “I’m going to win. I’m going to continue being your friend. That’s a promise.”

“I’ve heard those sorts of promises before. Don’t do that to me, Joey. If you lose, please don’t talk to me again.”

---

I know who I am. I know what I'm capable of. I know that when push comes to shove, I can make the difficult decisions to leave morals and good will at the door and beat you within an inch of your life to leave with the gold. The closest you'll get to seeing yourself with the Final Boss Championship will be in the reflection of its gold plate as it rests on my shoulder. The same shoulders that unbeknownst to you, have been carrying this company for the past three months. Three months I’ve been carrying the weight of Level Up on my shoulders and carrying it to a higher plane. Three months I’ve been cleaning house and making chicken salad from chicken shit served by The Developer. I’ve been the bannerman for what professional wrestling should be and what a real champion should look like. I’m the perfect portrait for how a champion should carry himself. And you want to act like you already did that with the Power Championship? Give me a fucking break. The Power Championship?

I'm the main character in the Level Up story. I'm the warrior in the eye of the storm, defending the gold and honour of this company - all on my own. I’m a self-made man, Duncan. People look at me and they’re envious of my work ethic, my ring smarts, my cunning. People look at you and wonder where Comic Con is being held. But everything I’ve ever done has been with the only person I can truly rely on - myself! I live and die by this sword, Duncan. I’ve lost to the numbers game on a couple of occasions but I’ve never, not even once, resorted to bringing in outside forces, no guns for hire, no pals or chums, nobody. But you’re pretty fond of tipping the scales, aren’t you? What sort of noble, fighting contender does that? I’ll tell you who. The fucking GameChangers. Now, I don’t want to lump you in with that crowd but you’re leaving me no choice, Dunky Boy. You’re no better than Victoria Salinas when I faced her the first time. Oh yeah, she was red hot coming in to Level Up. She had a win streak of her own and was a multiple time world champion in other, far less impressive promotions– but a proven world champion nonetheless. I lost to her in no small part because of our mutual amigo, Larry Tact. The difference here Duncan, is at least I knew Salinas was a piece of shit. She didn’t hide it. Fuck, neither did Larry. He’s a piece of shit too! But you’re recruiting your own merry band of bastards to help you do your dirty work while you stand proudly in your space suit claiming to be the good guy.

It’s funny when you think about it.

Let’s rewind the clock back to The Last of Us. I’m not going to congratulate you on winning because you didn’t make it here on your own. Like my old pal Donny Mason on the last EXP, you’re not qualified to face the Final Boss Champion one-on-one! You and him have both seen your greatest successes while someone else does the heavy lifting! We both know who we’re talking about. Little Miss Emily Simms. You’ve got a great taste in friends… Or girlfriend, or whatever it is you are these days. My problem here, Duncan, is she literally kicked Buster Gloves in the dick to make sure you could win! You were getting choked out like a punk in front of the entire world. And if it wasn’t for little Emily, who definitely hadn’t been trying to get in Buster’s pants before - you wouldn’t be here. Fuck, you could still be on the shelf. I should be standing in the ring facing Buster! Not you! You can talk all you want about the ifs and the buts but I only deal in absolutes. And the simple truth is this. Without that woman standing behind you, you’d be nowhere near the Final Boss Championship. Nature would have taken it’s course and hey, maybe you’d be getting that rematch for the Power Championship you’re so infatuated with. I’m not going to judge - I love that belt too! But we each need to know our lane. Every wrestler has a natural place and you have drastically overreached by getting Simms to bail you out at the last second!

And that’s not even the worst of it! You’ve also got a mini army in the form Hitmaker Yamakazi Enterprises at your side. Now, I’m not saying you’re going to bring each and every one of them down to the ring with you… But you fucking could. And when would be a better time to do it, with the title on the line and no disqualifications? You see, this is the shit a fighting champion has to worry about. I can’t just take you as you are, Duncan. You’ve brought some dark clouds with you that could lash down at any moment. And I don’t like that. I don’t think anybody does.

I’m having to grow eyes in the back of my head in case some random dudes just start trying to jump me. What’s gonna happen? You gonna bring Guy Manson down here on a leash to try and finish the job he started a few weeks ago? Are you going to wheel Bert down in a wheelchair to exact his revenge? Are you going to load up your shitty little van with Hitmaker goons like a clown car? You know what all that could achieve? Nothing. I’ve got knuckle sandwiches lined up like a buffet and they’re coming in hot. I don’t care if you don’t have the stomach, I’m swinging for the jawline and I don’t care if you get lockjaw or teeth missing. I’m on a mission to save the world from Duncan Shepard and it’s going to happen one swing at a time.

One day, Duncan, we'll be able to look back at this and laugh at how foolish you were. How stupid and blind you were to the traps that you had laid yourself. And when that happens, I'll buy you a drink and let you hold the belt while I'm in the bathroom. You can even take a selfie with it while Little Miss Simms buys the next round. We’ll all laugh while you admit that you were just a wannabe, in a league of other wannabes and try-hards who despite their best efforts can't get by without someone elses help. Emily Simms will hold your hand and smile. But that's never going to happen because you can't accept the truth that's staring you in the face. You are not enough. You can never be what this company needs.

You can never take this Final Boss Championship away from me!

You’ll never take this away from me!

NEVER!


The hallway was dimly lit. The wallpaper was dangling off the wall where it’d been ripped, bumped and prodded after years of neglect. The number on the door was 3. It had been polished recently compared to the other doors. The peephole was dark. He knocked and stumbled back a moment. He’d been drinking. He waited, and waited. The sound of latches and keys jingling preceded the door opening, and there Sophie was. She was wearing an old long t-shirt.

“Joey? What are you doing here?”

“I… I needed to tell you something and… I wanted to do it in person. I understand what you said. And I need to do better. But until then, I’m still the champion… For at least one more night.”

He leaned against the frame of the door, inching over the threshold.

“And why… Has that brought you here?”

“Because I don’t know what tomorrow will be like. And if what you said is true, then tonight is all we have.” Joey grazed a finger down the side of her face, moving a stand of hair behind her ear. Her face was red and her cheek was soft.

She dragged him into the room and shut the door. A member of motel staff walked by at that moment holding a cheap vinyl sticker with the number one on it. They corrected the door to 13 and walked away.