Time to get back to work
Downtown Toronto
January 2023.
He plants the sole of his bare foot on the cold granite floor, sending a jolt through his body that raises him from the hazy stupor that he had found himself in. Not for the first time. Not for the first time this week. Not for the first time today. ‘How would you cope when it is over?’ he would always have been asked by his friends, family or the worlds media on occasion. His answer was one that was drilled into him from a young age, before media training was a thing, and that was to downplay it. It is what it is. Can’t control what you can’t control. The advice, in general, is to just pivot to a question that you think you can answer even if that particular questions wasn’t one that ended up be asked. The great thing right now is that the question isn’t being asked of him anymore, after all, he stepped out of the spotlight without so much as a throwaway remark. The unfortunate thing now is that he has the answer to that question, and the answer isn’t a pretty one.
The answer is the ever-expanding waist size, the out of place and disheveled hair, the unmaintained beard, bloodshot red eyes and bottle or bottles in his hand at any given hour of the day, just to feel something for a short time before falling back into that stupor that he had just jolted himself out of moments before. He rubs his eyes, bleary, and becomes aware of the dull vibration of his phone on the coffee table across the room.
“Jesus wept”
He mutters to himself as his places his other foot on the floor and begins to tread across to the source of the vibration. He tweaks his wrist and his smart watch briefly displays the time to him.
18:45
Tuesday January 3 2023
He lets out a deep exhale, knowing now before finding the phone exactly who the source of the vibration is indeed, and it isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. Not unless he can magic himself to Massey Hall 30 minutes ago. He used to be good but never would’ve been that good.
“What”
Not a greeting that would win you many awards in the customer service industry, admittedly, but this was a call to inquire about a service that he agreed to provide.
“Give me 45 minutes, push it to later in the show.”
He slams the phone back on the coffee table, hanging up at some point the process, before marauding his way over to the bathroom. He turns the cold water tap on, closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to get himself mentally in a place to leave his apartment. One more deep breath and he looks dead in front to the mirror, fractured. In between the fractures in the glass, you can see that he doesn’t look good. There is pale and pasty complexion that you would never have caught off of him in his prime, with a yellow-ish tinge that would be indicative of the wars that he has been putting his body through since he stepped away, ironic considering the rigors that he would’ve put himself through in his line of business should’ve been what was responsible for his physical decline. A splash of cold water doesn’t quite have the refreshing effect he would’ve hoped for – although with what he was expecting it to do by way of refreshment it was probably the prudent move to have sourced some holy water in the interim – alas, there was nothing else for it. Time to reintroduce himself to the small assembly of people gathered downtown at Massey Hall. Two months after saying goodbye without so much as a peep, time for Mike Parr to say hello.
Massey Hall
Toronto, Ontario
45 minutes later
“Merlin’s ghost Mike, who did this to you?”
Tom Ayling, the general manager of Massey Hall with a concerned greeting as he walks into Mike’s dressing room and casts his eyes upon his star booking for the evening. Whilst the aforementioned yellow tinge had given way, somewhat, to red as a consequence of the blistering temperature outside, it’s safe to say that this wasn’t the Mike Parr that Massey Hall had paid money for. This was barely Mike Parr at all, truth be told. Mike, lacing up his boots with a degree of difficulty, doesn’t acknowledge the comment from Tom but moves on with what he was likely about to ask anyways.
“So, you need me to go 5 minutes, exhibition, a few spots and home?”
There is a hesitance, a little squeak from Tom that is neither confirmation or a denial of the summary although you would imagine that it doesn’t sound too promising on that front.
“Well Grady already had opened the show, nobody had told him you weren’t here or ready as expected, so he’s out. We’re going to pair you with Chuck Lawson actually. He’ll go out and get the crowd riled up like he can, he’s pretty green at it all though, but when the right time hits you’ll emerge to shut him up. As promised though, no need for you to speak. He will challenge you to a match, you can nod, and then the ref will ring the bell.”
“Sounds good, Tom.”
Mike couldn’t sound less enthused, but you get the feeling he could’ve just been pitched a hall of fame induction and he would’ve reacted with equal distain.
“Butwewill actually need youtogo 20minutes, not5.”
The words were spoken so fast that they blended together in the main, but the message delivered was clear. That got Mike’s attention. He leant backwards from lacing up his boots, and looked over at Tom with a steely glare. One, to Tom, that was unquestionably petrifying as regardless of his current physical status he would be able to handle an general manager of a venue. A glare, however personally speaking, that was masking the sinking feeling that he just had in his stomach. An unfamiliar one, as the words 20 minutes reverberated around the inside of skull, each bounce added to the newly found self-doubt that Mike is now saddled with. Had he not had a rather pale gaunt expression beforehand, you would’ve seen it coming now. Aware of the need to at least react, Mike starts to slowly nod his head in the affirmative, his glare becoming more vacant and distant by each passing millisecond.
“T-tw-twenty minutes. Gotcha.”
An involuntary stammer when he started to speak was perhaps the only outwardly noticeable sign on the inner trepidation, but Tom seemed satisfied enough not to have his head pulled from his shoulders for suddenly quadrupling the agreed upon workload with no advance notice. Counting his relative blessings, he scurries out of the dressing room and closes the door behind him – the slam of the door couples with a deep exhale from Mike. He rises to his feet, and in a similar vein to an hour beforehand, he stares down himself in the mirror. Again, he slowly begins to nod his head in the affirmative, as he tries to force out the doubt and panic that came over him and replace it with confidence that you would expect from a multi-decade veteran. There is a noticeable tremble as Parr raises his left arm to slide his elbow pad up his forearm.
“Twenty minutes it is…”
Massey Hall
Toronto, Ontario
1 hour later
The crowd are absolutely vociferous, with a loud ‘F**k you Chuck’ chant echoing around the capacity crowd.
“….and there isn’t one single person in this cesspool of a city that can step up to me and tell me that I’m wrong. I’m not. I couldn’t give a single solitary fu-“
Chuck’s diatribe is brought to a close with the interruption from a song all too familiar to the local Toronto wrestling fan, as Adema’s “Giving In” fills Massey Hall. The crowd rise to their feet and eagerly look towards the entrance ramp, where some budget dry ice has started to whisper around. Out onto the ramp steps Mike, who has done a moderate job of making himself look presentable in the intervening time since we last saw him. Wearing a t-shirt to cover one of the telltale signs of his lack of fitness, he raises his arms in the air to the acclaim of the crowd. Parr closes his eyes and listens to the cheers, looking closely enough you can see some goosebumps slowly form on his arms. Whether it’s a combination of the reaction or the upcoming physical exertion, Mike throws his head back and basks in the feeling. A natural high – one that he hasn’t felt in months. Truly, probably not one he has felt in almost a year.
“Making his way to the ring, from Toronto, Ontario…..”
There is the obligatory pause as the natives go wild at the mention of their own city.
“Former FWA North American Champion, “The Prrrrrrrooooooddddddddddiiiigggggggyyyyyyyyyyy”…”
Mike’s head snaps forwards, eyes open, as the ring announcer gives his moniker the type of gusto you would expect for a far grander stage.
“Miiikkkeeee Paaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”
Mike shakes his head in the negative, before marching down the rampway and towards the ring. The announcer has slipped out of the ring also, and as the two are about to cross paths, the announcer extends his fist for a bump. Inaudible to the surrounding crowd, who are still cheering loudly, as he returns the bump for the appearance Mike whispers into his ear.
“Don’t call me that again.”
The announcer shakes his head, thinking he has misheard, and looks back bemused into Mike’s eyes, only to see he is likely not mistaken. Mike, for clarity given the look on the announcer’s face, repeats himself.
“I’m not him. Don’t call me him again.”
Unable to prolong the conversation any longer without making it apparent that something was up, Mike gingerly rolls into the ring and raises his arms for the crowd, as Chuck moves forward with the appearance of wanting to front up to Mike.
“Welcome back, collar and elbow to start”
Chuck throws his head around in an exaggerated manner as cover, before backing into his respective corner and awaiting the bell, which duly sounds. Collar and elbow, Mike thought to himself, was an easy introduction back into things. It had been months since he had laced his boots before tonight. Indeed, Chuck approaches and the two tangle.
“Break the hold, slap me in the face.”
Mike’s command is pretty simple, one designed to get more heat on Chuck. After all, you need to build up an opponent to make the win worth it. Chuck breaks the collar and elbow tie-up and slaps Mike across the face, the palm to skin contact even audible over the raucous crowd. Mike stumbled backwards, the ringing in his ears growing louder. Chuck approaches and the ref intervenes and backs him into his corner and Parr staggers back to his own.
“You still good Mike?”
The ringing slowly begins to subside, as Mike comes back around, and gives the ref a nod, pushing himself to his feet with the ring ropes – not even aware of how he ended up off of his feet to begin with. A anxious hush has fallen over the crowd, too smart to think that this was all a sell for a simple slap. Mike shakes his head, although you can see his knee slightly wobble beneath him as he does so.
“Irish whip, duck, leapfrog, clothesline to the outside. Plancha on the outside.”
The referee hesitates slightly but nods, and backs over to Chuck to relay the same. Mike throws his hands in the air as the crowd react accordingly, before he pushes Chuck back and Irish whips him into the ropes. Mike throws himself to the ground before leapfrogging over Chuck. As he pops back gathers his balance and turns around Chuck catches him with a clothesline that sends him sprawling to the outside of the ring. Mike leans against the barricade, getting himself prepared to get in position to catch Chuck on the Plancha over the top. Suddenly, a sharp pain in his abdomen causes him to buckle over slightly, still trying to save face in front of the crowd. He closes his eyes, looks down and screams in agony, his scream thankfully not audible over the noise the crowd is making. In the interim, Chuck has launched himself over the top rope and as Mike looks up he realizes he is slightly out of position. He moves across to try and break his fall and catch him as need be, but his movement isn’t as sharp or as accurate as it needed to be. He semi-catches him, but in the process manages to invert Chuck before both men hit the floor. Parr’s head smacks the concrete, his head again filled with ringing for the second time in a matter of moments. His vision is blurred as it was a couple of hours ago when he was trying to wake himself up, the lights from above are piercing as he tries to get some form of focus back.
“It’s done, stay down. Don’t move.”
A voice penetrates Mike in amongst all the ongoing confusion, he is not totally sure exactly what that is referencing but it sounds like the ref so he is staying down as instructed.
“Going to need medical out here, now. Don’t move, Mike, it’s being looked after.”
Still confused as to exactly what is happening, Mike shuffles around slightly as he senses the presence of a few other bodies nearby. He squints, desperately trying to eradicate the blurred vision issue that has been plaguing him since he hit his head, and as he does so he can just make out Chuck being attended to with a neck brace attached.
“R-ref-refe-ref….REFFF…is he ok?”
Mike, in almost a panic, has pushed himself to a seated position against the side of the ring. The referee looks over and acknowledges having heard the question, but gives him a solemn nod in the negative. The crowd are less of a factor now, but Mike only becomes cognizant of the absolute silence engulfing Massey Hall at this moment. Only the voice of the ring announcer breaks that silence.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Chuck Lawson is unable to continue. Therefore, you winner by forfeit, The Prodigy Mike Parr.”
There is no gusto this time, the tone of the announcement is pretty reflective of the mood in Massey Hall right now. Mike raises his head up to the sky, and can only thing of one thing as the medical team continue to assist his fallen opponent.
I’m not him anymore.
Toronto Western Hospital
January 14 2023
“Room 14A, sir.”
The attendant at the front desk of the hospital directs Mike towards the ward of a certain Chuck Lawson, 11 days after their match at Massey Hall. The preceding days have not been so kind to Mike, he left the arena immediately after Chuck was carried out and proceeded to slip his way into any bar that would accept his business over the next 10 days. He looks, and smells, just like he had emerged from one of those fine establishments just recently. Those gaunt features of 10 days ago are even more pronounced, as are the bags underneath his eyes. As he reaches 14A, a single tear trickles down his cheek as he peers through the glass window. Perched upright, still in a brace, is Chuck Lawson. Mike bridges the door open, his hand shaking from a combination of withdrawal symptoms and nerves, and throws in a question.
“OK for a visitor?”
What could he say? There weren’t really any words, and if there were, they should’ve been articulated 11 days ago and not after a self pity bender.
“Was wondering when you would show your face.”
Mike nods, sheepishly, in what is very uncharasteric of the Mike that we have grown accustomed to on a national stage. He shuffles his way inside the room to the bedside of Chuck.
“I-I’m….”
Mike tails off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence that we all know is coming without sounding absolutely pathetic in doing so. Lawson gets it too, and decides to interject before it comes to that.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. Sorry doesn’t help me get better any faster, does it?"
“I suppose not, no…”
The sentence, the intended destination of which is less apparent than the previous, similarly tails off again. For someone who was conscious enough to try and not sound so pathetic, he certainly isn’t doing to the greatest job of that.
“It’s my fault.”
Chuck’s admission causes Mike to do a double take, as he looks quizzically at him. How could he have come to that conclusion? Mike was clearly not in an appropriate state to wrestle, and he botched it so badly that it landed him in hospital with serious injuries. The guy who got injured then is stating that it’s
his fault?
“I knew something wasn’t right and I didn’t say anything.”
Chuck again speaks, as Mike takes a breath as if he is having some sort of out of body experience. Chuck is saying exactly what Mike was thinking about himself.
“I heard what you said to the ring announcer. I should’ve known better. I knew the fact that you were even taking the booking meant something wasn’t right, the way in which you just left the FWA in the lurch. I knew in my heart it wasn’t good. But I wanted…I wanted the rub. I wanted the chance to wrestle Mike Parr in Toronto…..do you know how many people actually have the opportunity to do that? Despite everything telling me something was wrong, I pursued because it was worth it. I probably didn’t entirely anticipate the exact cost of pursuing it mind….”
“What are they saying?”
“I can move my legs again. I can lift my arms, but it’s really day by day to see if I keep improving. Did some serious damage to my neck but compared to a week ago it’s looking better than then. We were worried then that I wouldn’t…..”
This time, Chuck trails off into nothing. The implication clear.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve been there but I shouldn’t have been there. I should’ve caught you and been in the right place but the right place for me was not that ring. I…just…I can’t explain it. I didn’t need the money, I’ve wrestled across the world my whole life and I’m not short on money. I just needed…something. Something to keep me from becoming what I hated, everytime I look in the mirror what is staring back at me is just something I hate….”
The theme of sentences finishing unfinished continues, as Mike probably is honest out loud for the first time in a LONG time, something Chuck promptly acknowledges.
“We all chase it, brother. You’re not unique, you’re still just like the rest of us. Difference between us is I was chasing something I never had, but you walked away from what you want. You don’t have to answer, but why did you walk away? I didn’t understand it at all.”
The least I owe him is honesty, Mike thought to himself. Notoriously guarded over sharing his own thoughts and peeling back the curtain, there didn’t appear to be any danger in opening up under these circumstances.
“I didn’t recognize myself, which is pretty ironic right now I know given what I see when I look in the mirror. I lost to Alyster and was carried out of the arena by Kayden. I found myself as part of a group that was going nowhere. Danny was gone. Gabrielle was hanging in there and Kayden was……well he is Kayden right. I don’t play to lose, and I was doing a whole bunch of losing and not looking too good doing it. I spent a lot of time after the Summers match at Back in Business wondering exactly what I wanted to do – I was almost gone then. I went back for the North American Championship and the chance to be part of something great with Danny and, well….yeah. Just everything. The reason I didn’t speak is not just because it’s nobody’s business apart from my own, but also, I don’t think I really have the ability to put words to it. I just…left.”
Mike came here today to face past demons, that being the injury he believes he caused Chuck, but has somehow now managed to start facing up to the demons that he has suppressed for much longer than that. A strange about turn, indeed. Chuck, you would imagine, was deeply touched by this outpouring of emotion and was about to respond in kind.
“Catch a f**king grip of yourself.”
Not quite, then.
“You took the booking because you miss the thrill. You are build for it. I’m going to be away from it for the longest of time, and even when I do get back, it’s not going to be the same opportunity or at the same level that you are able to reach. But getting back is what I’m about to put everything into. You need to do the same. You can’t say when you look at this television that there is isn’t a part of you deep in there, that you haven’t tried to murder with booze, that still gets excited right? Keep that part of you alive, keep fanning that flame. It will spread, and you’ll be back there in no time……”
Chuck nods towards Fallout 025, the show emanating from Turkey. It just happens that a certain someone happens to be in the ring at the minute.
Knox falls backwards into the ring, staggering across the mat before dropping down near the center of the ring! Vampyra, now out on the apron after delivering the move, runs the apron and climbs to the top…
NIGHTFALL!
She connects it! She hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Natalie Rosenberg: “The winner of the match, Vampyra!”
Vampyra climbs to her feet, falling back into the ropes and lifting up her arms in celebration as the crowd cheers showing their support of the Dark Huntress.
Allen Price: “What a win for Vampyra! She gets to hold her head high coming out of the F1 with a win! Well earned!”
Jean-Luc Watkins: “Yeah, yeah… but more importantly - Kayden Knox loses! Oh I’m so happy I got to call this match after all, Allen!”
Allen Price: “Haha… try to contain yourself!”
Vampyra rolls out of the ring, continuing to celebrate as she takes her WCW Television Championship and holds it up high. Meanwhile, Knox begins to stir in the ring, shaking his head as he realizes he just came up short in this one.
Jean-Luc Watkins: “And with that loss by Knox… it all comes down to Michelle van Horowitz vs. Tommy Bedlam for the second spot in the Climaxxx semifinals!”
Allen Price: “Another tough loss for Kayden Knox. Kayden's mind did not seem to be in that match at all.”
Jean-Luc Watkins: “As it shouldn't be Allen; We all saw what he did last week to his own partner and broke what was left of Executive Excellence. When he left the ring he couldn't even look anyone in the eye. Gabrielle trusted him, all of us did.”
Allen Price: “Partner, I think you are letting this cut close to home.”
Jean-Luc Watkins: “That's because Kayden's here while Gabrielle is in the hospital and they are working on her neck. He could of paralyzed her.”
Kayden Knox sits in the ring, his head held down. He is given a microphone, and for a few seconds doesn't say a word. He is catching his breath. He tries to speak but nothing comes out. When he does speak you hear him tremble and his voice break.
Kayden Knox: “Gabrielle, I am so sorry, I didn't have a choice. You were someone when we met last year that would go on to change my life. You did make me a better man, as much as a better man I wanted to be… you didn't make me a good man. I was enticed when you and I got together as a team. You could see the desire in our eyes. That desire evolved into an addiction of sorts for money, power and fame.”
Kayden stands back up and paces back and forth in the ring.
Kayden Knox: “We all came together for Executive Excellence; now everyone here knows the story. They saw how it played out. Danny, Gabi, and I when we got together the three of us we knew that Rupert Watkins thought he was the puppeteer but in reality we were the ones pulling the strings. That was at least, what I thought. The truth is however, I got the taste of the good life and wasn't aware of my surroundings and in the end it cost me everything it was just a matter of when not if it was going to happen.What do I mean?”
Mike pats the side of Chuck’s bed, and as the two men make eye contact a smile spreads across Chuck’s face. There is a little flitter in Mike’s eye, one that you can only be in the wrestling industry to be able to identify. The little flame is still there.
“Anything you need, let me know and I’ll look after it until you are back on your feet. Only fair I return the favour.”
A knowing nod, a final pat on the bed, and Mike gets up and leaves 14A and Chuck to enjoy the remainder of Fallout. If he keeps with the weekly programming, you might assume that he may be seeing a familiar face on there before too long.
Ball Arena
Denver, Colorado
February 2023
With Reagan and Bellatrix having just made their way through the curtain, there is no turning back now. Whilst just over a month has passed, it was a month well spent. We all saw Fight Night, but what we haven’t seen is Mike Parr and the work that he has put into this comeback. His face no longer pale, his hair no longer unkempt, his beard shaved down to some barely visible stubble. On the face of it, this is more of the Mike Parr that we know, right down to the trimmer waistline that was almost hidden from sight. Mike is hunched backstage, behind the curtain and waiting for his music to hit to mark his return from the FWA wilderness once more. He turns to his left, and the adrenaline is coursing through his body only slightly subsides with the warm smile he receives from Kathryn, there supporting him as always. He has the shakes, but the good kind.
“Get your phone”
Kathryn cocks her head to the side, curious but obliging, as she takes out her cell phone and holds it out in front of Mike.
“Film”
As requested, she presses record. Mike hops from his left to his right food, trying to shake out the nerves and excitement.
“If I ever go through a spell like the last three months again, show me this video. Because that version of Mike needs to hear this from me…..there is no feeling in the world like this. You need to pull your shit together and you need to remember that you are good at what you do, even if you haven’t quite got what you always deserved while doing it. There will be day when you can only be Mike Parr, where you can’t be The Prodigy any more, but that day if you are watching this video is not today. Today…you are the Prodigy. Today, you are the best wrestler in the world.”
A slight pause, as Mike smirks and reflects. That sentence has not seamlessly left his mouth in quite some time. Not missing an opportunity, one of the camera hands approached as Mike finished his last sentence, trying to capture some material for the website exclusives following Back in Town. Parr catches it, and ushers the cameraman into his face.
“Today, I remind everyone of what they seemingly have conspired to forget for the longest time, and how I do that is at the expense of Kayden Knox. People will say this isn’t a fight that Kayden picked, and you know something? They are right. For all of Kayden’s faults, he isn’t stupid. He didn’t pick this fight because he was close enough to me to know that this isn’t a fight that he has any chance of winning. He talks about Executive Excellence and how about all ‘three’ of them were once a group – I get it Kayden, greatness by association. Gabrielle trusted you and you betrayed her. Danny tolerated you because he had to. I……you weren’t even on my radar. You were just…there. You were the second body needed for a tag team championship but you couldn’t even do that right, could you? A couple of big Back in Business wins doesn’t make you a superstar, doesn’t make you a name, it makes you a trivia question. A tradition, I’m afraid, that is going to continue when you become the answer to the most important question in FWA wrestling history. That question? ‘When did we all realize that Mike Parr was back?’”
The crowd have started to buzz, as the promo package for the upcoming Parr/Knox match has begun to play in the arena ahead of the next match.
“Welcome to the big leagues Kayden, I can’t say that I always thought we would get here but this is your moment. You are about to stand across the ring from the main event of the two Back in Business’ that you claim make you, and you should bask in it. I’m going to soak it all in, from the appreciation of the crowd right down to the feeling that I get as your bones crunch beneath the pressure applied by my first. Bask in the moment because it’s going to be your last, where you and your lawyer can slip away back to irrelevancy and mediocrity, where Danny and Gabrielle plucked you from. Tonight is the night you become famous and infamous all in the same evening.”
The starting chords of ‘When The Lights Go Down’ start to play, before the scream of ‘ALWAYS READY’ engulfs the arena.
“Maybe not 'always' but I’m ready now. Time to get back to work.”
With that, Mike swivels and pokes his way through the curtain as the arena rises to officially welcome back The Prodigy. A reaction reciprocated 200 miles away in a certain Room 14A in Toronto.
