Eddie Cross
Nothing could prepare me for what it felt like to lose at this level. I knew it would happen, eventually, but I did not see this specific loss coming. Hats off to you Tyler, you were the better wrestler. I obviously didn’t take you seriously enough, and now I can’t say shit except you beat me and you backed up everything you said. I can respect that. Doesn’t mean I respect you, but bro, you are the man.
For now.
I’m not one for resting on my laurels. I don’t bitch and whine when I take an L like most of the people in PRIME. I don’t haul my half dead carcass to Mexico on some idiot’s gamble to fight in a barely sanctioned event. I don’t deny that the loss happened like some prodigious sized members of the roster. Most of all, I don’t get in my feelings about a loss and I am the absolute last person who needs twenty-four hours to process. I processed as soon as the referee’s hand slapped the mat the third time. That’s where all of you and I are built different.
You all thought losing was going to teach me humility? Please. I was born into this life. I lived through it destroying my family. I watched what the pursuit of winning meant for everyone who mattered to me and I realized one thing: It’s all temporary. Especially here. In PRIME, you can be Universal Champion one week, hailed by all as the chosen one, and the next you lose and all the hype is gone. That’s it, end of the story. Just ask Hayes Hanlon, I’m sure he would tell you himself if he could drag his ass out of the strip clubs and drug-induced delusion long enough to process that he just lost his title to a guy named after the shit that you smoke when you’re too broke to buy another dime. Literal desperation.
A word of advice everyone? Listen to me. I don’t blame you if you say you don’t give a fuck about what I have to say, but you should give a fuck. You should give lots of them. Because I walked into my last match conflicted and it cost me a W. I’m not conflicted anymore and that’s a bad deal, not just for my next opponent, but for everyone on the PRIME roster. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction, team.
Consider yourselves on notice. I’m not going anywhere. I told you all what would happen when I lost. I would evolve. I would adapt. I might talk a lot of shit, but I’ve never lied to anyone. I’ll be damned if I start today.
Oh, that’s right, I said nothing could prepare me for what losing at this level would feel like, right? Well, you want to know what it feels like? It feels like the freedom to be who I choose to be, not who I am destined to be. To know what I want. And I want all the smoke.
Game on, PRIME. Your Go.
💻
2/11/23
Charlotte, North Carolina
Winter rolled through the foothills around Charlotte, North Carolina, during the middle of its second semester. With it came the occasional downpour that was a bit like running through a summertime sprinkler fed by a deep well. The weather might have been a heat wave to most northerners, but when your average yearly temperature is twenty to thirty degrees higher the sting of winter is real, doubly so when the wind can pass straight through wet clothing.
Eddie Cross ran alone on the gravel road through the woods. He listened to the sound of his footsteps and marked his breath against the breeze as it flew off behind him. The quiet comfort of these hills provided peace in an otherwise tumultuous world in which he had found himself dropped into the center.
As he rounded the last corner coming down the hill and into view of where his car was parked, he looked up and came to a slow stop, as if the beat of a song slowly faded in his feet. Dave Gibson’s rust pocked ‘94 Ford “pick-em-up” (as he called it) was parked next to his vehicle. This wouldn’t be so unusual, but Eddie had specifically woken up before Dave to get in a morning jog and not told him where he was going.
E.C. half-chuckled to himself and finished jogging down to the ancient truck. The door opened with a pained creak and he was greeted by a droning noise unique to late 80’s and early 90’s Fords that let him know that his door was opened. “Have you been tracking me on your phone or something?” Eddie asked his mentor.
“Shee-it, you know I can’t work that thing.” Dave’s reply was mixed with a sly smile. “Get in, we gotta talk a minute.”
“But how did you…never mind.” Eddie had come to learn that asking a man from North Carolina what is going on in the foothills is like asking an overprotective mother about her children’s allergies. “What’s up?”
Dave shifted a bit in his seat and grabbed an envelope. He handed it to Eddie and nodded for the kid to open it. The seal had already been broken, and it looked like Lindsay Troy’s handwriting on the face. He took the letter out and turned it over in his hand, curious why anyone would use stationary when a text would do, then began to read it aloud. “Dave, we are informing you of an upcoming matchup for Eddie Cross…” He finished the rest of the letter without making a noise.
“Coral Fucking Avalon? This is her idea of being careful what I wish for?”
“That aint his middle name, Eddie.” Dave joked. “But it sure as hell is accurate as to the man’s talent.”
A moment passed and a softer tone took Dave’s voice “You OK? You’re shivering.”
“I’m just cold and wet, Mom.”
“Sure you are. Look, I understand if you are nervous. Hell, I would be. It’s a lot like having to face me down in the ring, what with his experience, his role as a teacher, and all.”
Eddie bristled, and Dave was taken by surprise by the look on his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I… look I didn’t… ” Dave tripped over his own thoughts as he tried to answer.
“No hold up,” The gears meshed together and suddenly it seemed obvious to the younger man. “You don’t think I can beat you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
This moment could very well be what eternity feels like for the poor souls who believe in the afterlife.
“I don’t believe this shit,” Eddie finally broke the sound of Dave’s inline six cylinder motor that was in dire need of an exhaust gasket. “You talk and preach about tradition. You tell me you’re trying to teach me how to do this the right way. Where was that last show when I was getting pinned?”
“He was better than you.”
“BULLSHIT!” Eddie rattled the windows in the old truck. “You filled my head with some nonsense about finding my inner fire and being like my Dad and where did that get me?”
“It got you focused on a game plan,” Dave answered. “You did good too, it just wasn’t your day. You’re acting like beating Tyler was a foregone conclusion, and the kid was trained by one of the best.”
“One of the best,” Eddie mimed. “Right. You know what I think?”
“Enlighten me.”
“I think you’re full of shit. If I wasn’t ready for Tyler you wouldn’t have been banking on me learning on the fly in the ring. You would have called the office and begged for a tune-up match or two.”
He ran a hand through his wet half shaved head and through his hair, then flicked the excess water off. “I think my parents were worried about what happened in the desert and I think you honestly thought I was going to see the light and somehow it would get me closer to my Dad.”
Dave sighed through his nose as the rain beat on the thin sheet metal roof of his old truck like a steelpan drum. “There’s a little truth to that.” He paused. “Did it work?”
Eddie’s viper green eyes shined as he thought about his response. He lowered his head a little and nodded. “Yeah, it did.”
“See, I know what I am…”
“And then I faced that shit-stick and forgot everything you taught me. Who headbutts someone in this day and age?” Eddie snapped his basilisk eyes back up to his mentor. “When I needed you most to tell me to be me, to wrestle like I know how, to be the person you trained, you went to the well and… I’m not wrestling for a belt now am I? I guess we have that in common”
Eddie knew right away by the look of seething behind Dave’s eyes, he had plunged a dagger deep in his mentor’s heart. Gibson’s face moved through emotions as he lashed out at his student.
“The hell is wrong with you?” Dave yelled in frustration. “You are gonna sit here in my truck and talk to me like I aint never been talked to in my whole adult life?”
Eddie knew better than to respond. Dave grew in his seat while Eddie shrank.
“You run your mouth every chance you get anyhow, why should I be surprised? Well let me tell you something, Mr. Know-It-All. You were plenty good enough to beat Tyler. You didn’t. Boo hoo, life goes on. Now you gotta face a real veteran, not some kid, not some curtain jerker. I reckon you’re gonna blame me if you lose this time too, huh?”
There was a pall of awkward weight hanging in the cab of the truck. Eddie felt what Dave said deep in his chest. He knew he was right, but he was too young and stubborn to admit the truth. He knew that there had to be more to Dave’s plans than trying to teach some knuckleheaded boy how to wrestle. He had already done that, after all. Finally, mercifully, Eddie broke the silence.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Being pissed off at you? Am I on Oprah or something?”
“No!” Eddie retorted. “The early mornings, the car trips to arenas, the history, the advice, weight training, nutrition, the time in the ring. I mean… all of this?”
“Oh, that. Your Daddy called in a favor and asked me to train you, Ed.”
“That’s it?”
“Jesus, Lord of Light, this kid. Yeah. That’s it.”
Eddie waited for just a moment and looked to his mentor, his normally verdant eyes having taken on the soft glow of dying embers. “Dave, this is one of those times in life where I need you to tell me the absolute truth.”
“Ok. fine.”
Eddie struggled to ask. He didn’t want to know the answer, yet he needed to know. “Are you really doing this for my Dad or are you doing this for me?”
Dave wasted no time answering, and he did not mince words. “Your father is my best friend and I gave him my word. I won’t break my word.”
Dave Gibson is a hardened veteran of several different wrestling organizations. He had faced down some of the absolute best the business had ever seen. What he was facing, in this exact moment, was something he had never experienced.
Eddie’s face softened and his lower jaw trembled as he searched through Dave’s response. Slowly at first, like a little kid who had just learned their parents were divorcing. His face moved involuntarily through surprise, anguish and landed on rage. He stifled his emotions after letting a couple tears roll down his cheeks and found the words he had dreaded to say. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”
Dave wasn’t sure what to do. He had been raised by his mother and, frankly, his own father wasn’t really part of the picture. He had no kids. He had no wife. It was just wrestling, to him. He was a student of the game, Mr. Old School. He knew every move, every counter. But this was clearly not wrestling… and for the first time a long time, he had no idea what the counter was.
“Kid, I’m…” Dave started.
“An asshole Dave, you’re an asshole.” Eddie spat venomously. He sucked up a deep breath and opened the door to the old truck with a creak and the annoying buzz once more. “I need some time on my own.”
“Ok,” Dave nodded, feeling a pain he was quite unfamiliar with. “I understand.”
💻
Eddie stood outside his vehicle on the outskirts of Charlotte with his phone up to his ear listening to someone deliver instructions. He nodded to himself and responded to the phantom on the other end of the call “I understand, I just need some time to clear my head and maybe a different perspective. I hope a change of scenery can help me with that.”
A car whizzed past him as he paced back and forth alongside the road splashing a slurry of water, dirt, and slush. Whoever was on the other end of the line must have finished what they had to say again because he soon replied “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Oh, and thank you for the opportunity.”
He put his phone back in his pocket and turned around for another look at Charlotte, almost like he wouldn’t be seeing it again. The beauty of the rolling foothills gave way to the February chill and the bustle of the city. He put his hood up on his Carolina blue sweatshirt, pulled out his keys, and got in his car. As he started the diminutive Honda, the radio automatically came on with a local sportscaster Dave Nathan announcing “in other news, Duke lost to Virginia tonight.”
The voice faded as Eddie pulled off the side of the road and headed north.
💻
I said I was free to be who I wanted to be now, right? I’m not sorry that person isn’t someone beloved by all. In fact, I love that you all see me for who I am instead of comparing me to my father. Truthfully though, this isn’t simply about being who I want. It is about business. Putting asses in seats, titles on my waist, and money in my pocket. I’m not afraid to admit that because it’s the truth and if you’re doing this for any other reason, you’re missing the point. In the end nobody gives a shit if you were well liked by your peers and you can’t pay a mortgage with a legacy.
I guess as long as we are telling the truth and airing our deepest feelings, I want you to know that I’ve always respected you, Coral. I think you are doing the Lord’s work with that pack of morons you’re trying to train to be functional mouth breathers. And let’s face it, I can’t match up to the decades of experience you won’t shut the hell up about. If someone would publish the stories you’ve been telling everyone about your exploits all over the world it would be so goddamn dry that the printer would die of dehydration.
We’re talking Genesis Chapter 5 levels of written desiccation.
But I digress.
I do respect you, truly and honestly. Though this was never about giving respect on my end. Once we step into the ring, you have something I want; I want to lay you low, to humiliate you, make you concede, and steal your respect. Then I am going to wipe my ass with your respect and give it back to you as a reminder of the day you underestimated me. And I am not going to stop until I get what I want, Coral.
Dave was right about a few things during our little spat; one of which being you two are very similar. You both have years of experience in the ring, and you both will end your time chasing a crown you will never get. That’s because you peaked already, Coral. You peaked over a decade ago, and your biggest accomplishment since then is being a living cartoon character. You lost to FLAMBERGE and he went on to win the 5-Star Title. You lost to Ivan and now he is in the Main Event for the Universal Title.
Yeah, you beat Great Scott before he got up and retreated back to easier competition. You would think after a big win like that you would be given a title shot or at least a qualifier in your next match, right?
Nope. Lunchbox. Fucking. Larry. In the lower mid-card. This is your life now, Coral. Don’t feel bad though, it’s a solid career that pays the bills. After all, every promotion needs gatekeepers.
I may not have the records you amassed when they carved them into stone tablets, I may not have moves named after a Monty Python bit, and I may not have a cool nickname like The Crownless King, but I have something you never will: a real legitimate shot to win a title in PRIME. Look on the bright side though, when that happens, you’ll at least get mentioned in the same vein as a title, and that’s something, amirite?
A-ny-ways;
I’m looking forward to this. I really am.
It ain’t personal, Coral. But if you want that crown, you’re going to have to go through me.
In the words of The Queen:
🎵 Be careful what you wish for. 🎵
💻
Eddie pulled his Honda Civic into a parking space in front of a building in Boston. He had been driving for the better part of two days and was well-past exhaustion. Still, he said he would be there as soon as he could, and he wasn’t going to start lying today, either. Not stopping to sleep for a bit was probably a mistake, though. One that was highlighted when he shut his car off and saw a figure standing in the doorway staring at him with her arms crossed.
He opened the door and stepped out with a groan, his legs aching from hours behind the wheel. Eddie ducked back in quick to grab his duffel bag and a sports drink before turning to the lady who was clearly waiting for him.
The young Samoan walked forward and offered his hand. “Hey, I am Eddie Cr… “
“You’re late.” She replied, looking down at his hand and smirking. “I’ll shake that when you earn it.”
“Right,” he said and pulled his hand away. “I assume you know all about me already.”
She nodded, running a hand up through the blond side of her two-tone hair. “Yeah, I got the call, and I don’t really care. I was told that you’re pretty stubborn and you’re a bit of an asshole, but you have talent. I can work with that.” She opened the door and nodded for him to head in.
As they walked toward the main facility she stopped him before they went through a set of double doors to an area that is clearly full of gear and has all the sounds emanating from within a wrestling school.
“Showers are through here, locker room is over here,” she motioned with her hands to the left and right, respectively. “If you need a place to crash, there is a cheap motel around the corner. Tell them I sent you and you’ll get a good rate.”
Eddie nodded. “Got it.”
“Are you ready to get to work?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she replied, opening the door revealing the inner sanctum of the gym. He saw fit men and women grappling, transitioning through holds, and fall training. It sounded technical, precise, like the boards in the rings were fresh and the ropes were tuned properly. It smelled like a gym, but not musty and dank like Dave’s dilapidated building. His guide shot a sly smile as she read the look on Eddie’s face. “If you need me, my name is Vivica J Valentine. Welcome to Troy Combat Systems.”