- Event: ICONIC 2022
Tim Tillinghast: From sitting on the sidelines for years, to winning War Games, and systematically dismantling the Highwaymen. What a story this has been for Christopher America.
Clay Byrd: It’s a hell of a story, Tim. I’ll give him that.
Tim Tillinghast: And you think you’re the guy that’s going to beat him? The High Octane Gambling sportsbook has you at, what, +250? That’s a hell of a mountain to climb.
Clay smiles at the mention of +250.
Clay Byrd: Sure, I’m a dog. And that’s alright, Tim, I like bein’ underestimated. I like bein’ the underdog.
Tim Tillinghast: What makes you think you have a chance in hell? Vegas might as well have better odds on the rapture happening on Sunday.
Clay Byrd: I’ve put in the work, Tim, week in and week out, for years. Look at this roster and tell me who other than Christopher America can stop me. Tell me I don’t deserve it. Tell me I haven’t earned it.
He slams his fist on the table, startling Tim.
Clay Byrd: Tell me I can’t fucking do it. Be like the rest of them. Be like that bald fuck, be like Mike, be like Jace, be like all the fucking rest of them. Because this is it. This is where all this shit stops, Tim.
Clay looks at Tim Tillinghast intently. Behind his steel blue eyes a fire burns. A raging inferno.
Clay Byrd: I am the end.
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“You got a second?”
Roy’s voice was small in comparison to the large characters he found himself surrounded by. It was an unusual feeling for him; normally he was the man in control. But he was surrounded by giants, and Clay Byrd towered over them all. A real life colossus.
“Long as ya give me a hand,” The Behemoth handed Roy a grate to a portable fireplace. He reached down and grabbed the structure by the lip, lifting it up with his massive hands to his chest.
“Sure,” Roy said with a smirk as they started down the steps from Bergman’s back deck. As they reached the bottom, Roy put his free hand on the back of The Monster’s shoulder. Clay turned around to face him. He could have planted him like a spike in the ground using the fireplace, could have ripped him apart with his hands. But he didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Roy said, his small voice cracking. Clay sat the fireplace down on the damp grass as Roy continued. “I saw you beat that man with that nightstick. I saw you destroy him in that ring, and I saw this big violent man. A scary, violent fucking man. And that’s all I thought you were.”
“Ya ain’t gotta say sorry fer that, Roy. That’s what I am,” The Behemoth fired back as he bent over to pick the fireplace back up. Roy once again put his hand on his shoulder.
“No!” Roy was shaking, his voice quivered. “No you’re not. You’re out here in the middle of Missouri, getting ready to go to war for a cause you believe in. Risking your life for something you and your friends believe in. I don’t have half the courage you do. I’m not a quarter of the man you are, Clay.”
“Ya know I was gonna kill ya, right?” Roy looked up into The Behemoth’s icy glare.
“And I would have deserved it,” The smaller man answered back. “If someone would have taken Mom from me, I don’t know what the hell I’d do, Clay. I’d hunt them down and hurt them. I’d make them suffer. I might kill them.”
The Monster stood quiet in contemplation.
“You never got to meet Sharon, sorry, your mother, right?” Roy asked, his eyes pleaded for forgiveness as Clay nodded.
“I see a lot of her in you, and you don’t even know it. That blonde hair, the same color as hers. Your determination, you got that from her. How hard you push yourself, you got that from her. That rebellious streak? You got that from her. And watching you put in the work, Clay, watching you do what you just did, and what you’ll continue to do until you reach your goal. I saw Sharon, I saw my sister…” Roy paused, wiping a tear from his eye. “And right now, I’m looking at her son… my nephew.”
Clay reached out with his huge arms and wrapped them around Roy, pulling him close. Roy wrapped his arms around Clay, and beneath the starlit Missouri sky The Behemoth finally felt complete. A tear streaked down his cheek. He hadn’t had a family his entire life, but to finally have one…to finally have one that loved him.
“You two comin’!” Solex’s voice echoed through the woods.
Make that two families that loved him.
The two men released the hug and Roy looked up at Clay, smiling at the big man. “Now you kick this guy’s ass, and you bring that big red and gold belt down to the home and you let Mom hold it.”
Clay smirked and nodded. “I’m gonna.”
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Tim Tillinghast: Wha…
Clay flips the table between the two men, the coffee mug flies to the outside. He covers the gap between Tillinghast and himself in an instant. Clay’s hands grip the arm rest as tight as humanly possible. The veins in his neck and bicep bulge. His face is fire engine red.
Clay Byrd: Shut the fuck up!
Clay’s breathing is labored, heavy and seething. Tillinghast can feel the hot breath against his face as Clay’s facial expression transitions to a snarl.
Clay Byrd: I’m done with the questions.
Tillinghast squirms his way backwards in the chair. He digs in as far as he can go but The Monster’s face follows as he burrows. His nose and Tillinghast’s are almost touching. Clay shoves the chair backwards, spilling the journalist onto the mat. Clay turns towards one of the cameras.
Clay Byrd: It’s time ta stop talkin’ ‘bout him and time for me to talk to him.
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The clouds have been gone for hours, the training has stopped, the barn doors are wide open and The Highwaymen sit outside in the middle of Bergman’s dirt driveway. The orange and yellow lights of a fire flicker off the trees. Three lawn chairs and the bench from the gym surround a small portable fireplace, the iron grate off to the side.
The light from the fire dances off all their faces. The Behemoth is in the middle of a hearty laugh. The Average Joe is standing up, with a PBR in his hand. The MercDad sits in a lawn chair, his own PBR buried in an American flag koozie, while The Miracle Man holds court standing up by the fire.
“Then this asshole here told me he wanted America to win!” The Highwaymen burst into laughter. Roy approaches an empty seat on the bench and sits down beside Clay. He’s grinning from ear to ear, red solo cup in his hand. A handle of Jack Daniels sits between the two men.
“Yer fucking kidding, right?” Solex chimes in while he wipes a tear from his eye caused by the laughter.
“No! HE WAS DEAD FUCKING SERIOUS!” Another roar of laughter. The Monster shakes his head and stands up to grab another log for the fire.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Clay knows that Harrison will have a remark for that. This was part of being a Highwayman though, the camaraderie, the reward for all the hard work, it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“Oh c’mon, Clay! We all know exactly how you meant it!” Solex adds as he slugs back and finishes his beer. He crumples it in his hands and pulls a fresh one out of the cooler at his side.
“I can’t believe you wanted all the glory for yourself,” Bergman deadpans and immediately he corpses as the boys all start laughing again.
“It’s natural,” Clay smirks and drunkenly tosses a log on the fire, sending a wave of smoke and ash towards Harrison who quickly steps out of the way.
“Yeah as natural as Solex’s fucking physique!” Harrison bellows, while The MercDad’s eyes widen in shock, he holds a hand to his chest to profess his innocence. But the banter comes quickly.
“Do they work?” Roy, the newest acquaintance to the band of misfits asks towards America’s #1 Dad. Solex grins and flexes, showing his massive arm.
“Not for little guys like you, Roy,” says Solex. “You’re gonna need a full on transplant.”
Roy joins in laughing while Bergman and Harrison sit down on their lawn chairs. The Average Joe picks up a stick and pokes around the fire like any good #97Red-blooded American man would. The five of them all start to settle down, and the laughter dies off as they all stare into the fire.
The Behemoth’s mind races; this might be the last time all of them are in the same place. In their profession, what they do, how they fight, tomorrow isn’t a guarantee. Each one lives that way; each one lives in the moment. In his own way, even their new friend, Roy. Harrison, Solex and Roy would leave early tomorrow. Clay would stay to keep working with Bergman with the goal of the World Heavyweight Championship to work towards. The Monster pulls out three more cups and adds a liberal amount of whiskey to each one. He walks around the edge of the fire handing each man a drink, before finally stopping where he started. He holds his plastic cup in the air.
“Thank ya boys, I needed this,” Clay says through a genuine smile, one that you can feel down in your chest. The Behemoth raises a giant hand up to stop everyone from downing their drink.
“Iconic, we’re gonna do it boys. We’re gonna take this fuckin’ thing over. We’re gonna be standin’ in the middle of The Best Arena, in the belly of the fuckin’ beast. The World Heavyweight Championship in our fuckin’ hands. Christopher America layin’ in the middle of the ring a bloody fuckin’ mess. We’re gonna win them tag belts back from that prick Jace Parker Davidson, and we’re gonna walk away with that LSD Championship. No matter how we need ta get it done, it’s gonna get done,” Clay pauses for a moment, staring into the flames. The other four men all stand up on their feet. The clink of plastic glasses follows. “Iconic is a new beginnin’. A new beginnin’ fer all of us. A new beginnin’ fer H-OH-Dubya, cause the Highwaymen are fuckin’ comin’.”
“And hell’s comin’ with us.”
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Clay turns towards the camera and begins talking, his voice low and quiet.
Clay Byrd: We both deserve to be here, Chris. You’ve had an incredible year. Your story has been almost unbelievable. You’ve taken on Hall of Famers; you’ve taken on the best High Octane Wrestling has had to offer. You’ve run the road, run the gauntlet. You deserve this moment. I ain’t gonna take that away from ya. Ya earned it. That stage at Iconic, when that crowd explodes for your entrance. You fuckin’ deserve it.
Clay nods his head and looks down, agreeing with what he just said. His eyes flash back up to the camera.
Clay Byrd: But I deserve ta be here too.
Clay half shoves, half kicks the #97RED recliner out of the way.
Clay Byrd: The last two years of my life I’ve fought battle after battle. I’ve gone to war week in and week out. I’ve climbed up ta the top of the fuckin’ mountain more times than most people ‘round these parts fuckin’ dream of. I’ve seen the summit; I could taste its air, I could feel its presence. I’ve fought for it. I’ve fuckin’ bled for it, Chris.
Clay looks up as he continues on.
Clay Byrd: You want ta be this insurmountable mountain, and you want me to believe I don’t stand a chance. Ya think I’m goin’ ta walk up ta the side of Mount Insurmountable and decide ‘naa, not today.’ That’s why I’m a fuckin’ underdog. That’s why I’m the long shot of fuckin’ longshots. I’ve been waitin’ fer this opportunity my entire life, Chris. I’ve been waitin’ at the bottom of Mount Insurmountable waitin’ fer the next chance ta climb up there. This is my destiny.
He holds his arms out wide, gesturing to the stands and the arena.
Clay Byrd: Look at this arena, this place. It’s the site of my biggest failures. They despise me here in Chicago. They hate me more than they hate Kostoff. I tried to kill their hero. I burnt down his school.
He points to the entrance ramp.
Clay Byrd: Look! I tried to turn Benny Newell into a martyr right over there.
The Behemoth squats down in a catcher’s stance, throwing the rug back and pointing to a spot in the ring.
Clay Byrd: I was laying right here, right on this fuckin’ spot when Mike leapt off that fucking cage. I was layin’ starin’ up at the fuckin’ lights when he crushed my sternum with an elbow.
Clay marches to the other side of the ring and points.
Clay Byrd: Over here, I was layin’ right here after you jumped into the ring and hit me with For America so that little fuckin’ shit Conor Fuse could leap off of the top rope and pin me.
He comes back towards the camera, pointing up the ramp.
Clay Byrd: Up there, to the left of that entrance ramp, was the first place I fought Mike. Almost two years ago, February 6th 2021, I went toe to toe in an HOFC cage and got knocked out.
He takes a deep breath and looks into the camera.
Clay Byrd: Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end Chris. You talked about this journey, this legacy you want to leave. You want to be the greatest, and you want to cement yourself beside the names Best and Farthington in the record books. You want to be the man that they are, and you’re driven to prove it.
The Behemoth runs his hands through his beard.
Clay Byrd: That’s why you came back for War Games. That’s why ya conquered Joe Bergman. The beginning of your story was a shotgun blast. Ya smashed Bergman into War Games irrelevance. Straight out of retirement and directly inta the fire. Directly inta all of this mess. Sure, Rick Stevens was the referee. Sure, ya hit Bergman with a low blow. But that’s all part of the story; you’ll do whatever it takes. You’ll do whatever is necessary to win, to advance. Everyone else sees it as some type of detriment. Like it’s some fatal flaw. I don’t see it that way, Chris.
He looks up and smiles.
Clay Byrd: I think it’s a compliment. I think it’s an advantage.
The Monster points at the camera.
Clay Byrd: You achieve your goals, at first it was ta become the greatest War Games competitor of all time. To win, again. And you did it, Chris, you achieved the goal. You’re the greatest War Games competitor of all time, nobody can take that away from you.
Clay tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweat suit.
Clay Byrd: But that meant you were the World Heavyweight Champion, and then your goal shifted to surviving. Surviving the onslaught, surviving the rigors of bein’ here week in and week out. The rigors of fightin’ tooth and nail ta keep the title. Solex, Harrison, Jatt, and Stevens. They were the middle of the story, Chris. That was the peak, the top of the mountain. But it’s all downhill from here.
The Behemoth waves his arms in the air in a circle.
Clay Byrd: It’s all a cycle, Chris. You watch it come and go, you watch the seasons, you watch everything in this world rise and fall. And one person’s failure is the rise of another. Your journey was the end of Conor Fuse’s.
Clay points to himself.
Clay Byrd: My journey is going to start with the end of yours.
Arms outstretched, gesturing around to the empty seats in the arena.
Clay Byrd: But it’s more important than just the two of us, Chris. There’s a generation of competitors in High Octane who have dealt with your ilk, with the hoverin’ presence of the history of High Octane Wrasslin’. It lords over us, as we slam time after time into the ceiling. Kael’s, Best’s, Farthington’s, and now America’s. The elite of that oppressive old guard, they come back at their own will and whim. They come back, right to where they left off. It’s time for there to be a new cycle, Chris. It’s time for this generation, the CHAOS generation, ta grab that old guard by the fuckin’ throat and shake them. This is the battle for the soul of this place. This is the battle fer who’s going ta represent High Octane through a new generation.
The intensity returns and Clay grabs the side of the camera. He’s shaking, his voice low, almost a growl.
Clay Byrd: Yes Chris, I’m comin’ after fuckin’ everythin.’ I’m comin’ after your livelihood. I’m comin’ after your championship. I’m comin’ ta destroy your mission. I’m comin’ ta blow up your goals. I’m comin’ Chris. The end is comin’. Clay motherfuckin’ Byrd is comin’.
A wicked grin crosses the face of the Monster from Plainview.
Clay Byrd: And with your story ending, a new beginning dawns.
Clay releases the camera and takes a step back.
Clay Byrd: But just like you said, the words mean nothin’, it’s all ‘bout our actions. So…
The Behemoth starts to walk away, then turns around suddenly.
Clay Byrd: I’ll see you at Iconic. We can watch one sun set and ‘ nother rise together.
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“Hey Grandma, it’s Clay,” The Monster says into the phone, watching the sun pass the treeline. The barn door is open, the fire in the portable fireplace is smoking and smoldering. Clay stood just outside the barn.
“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called or visited lately,” The Behemoth smiles as he looks at the sunlight cascading over the treetops. “Oh yeah? She’s been takin’ good care of ya? That’s good…”
“Did ya get the flowers I sent?” he nodded his head as he listened to her response.
“That’s good. Listen, I gotta go, gotta get back ta work,” Clay held up a finger to an impatient Joe Bergman standing in the ring. “Yes I’ll kick that America jerk’s ass, Grandma, and I love you too. See you soon.”
Clay turned around and walked into the barn. He made a beeline towards the ring and looked up at Bergman with a grin.
“Sorry, Grandma stuff.”