“Frankie… I am your son.”
It’s five words that have haunted me for some nineteen years. I feared hearing them. I’ve tried everything I could over the years to keep them from being uttered in front of Frankie. To shelter him from what I thought was a truth much too dark for a man who lives in this blissfully ignorant reality of how shitty things really are.
Which seems a bit hypocritical coming from a drunken aging wrestler whose resume in HOW includes some of the federations most heinous acts. I know, I’m certainly no beacon of the so-called “goodness” of society. But with Frankie… with him I feel a need to… protect him. Not that I have always succeeded with that task. I mean Lee Best stabbed him in the fucking eye once. But has even that deterred Frankie’s positive outlook on life? No. The kid is as happy as ever. It’s like some kind of superpower. So to ruin that… to have something kill that happiness. Maybe this wouldn’t either… maybe it would be something that made him even more happy. But I didn’t want to risk it.
I didn’t… past tense…
Cause have you seen the size of Ben Reeves?
The kid is only eighteen year old and is six foot, nine inches tall. He weighs over three hundred pounds. He can be the future of the Scottywood legacy. Frankie didn’t seem to take it well at Refueled, but I can make this all work. We can be one, likely still dysfunctional… but still family. It’s a big risk, but I’ve always taken big risks… except with Frankie… until now.
May 17th, 2003 – 12:15 AM
Manhattan, New York
Flashback nineteen years… to a totally different era for Scottywood. Ok, who the fuck are we kidding here, Scotty was pretty much the same then as he is now, except the dreads, he has those still back then. He’s celebrating a big win, having just defeated Calvin Riley in The Perfect Match in the main event of Out Cold IV at Madison Square Garden. I’m sure no one except deep wrestling nerds knows what that match is… and I’m sure no one else cares about the long drawn out, beyond elaborate rules of it. Short story, Scotty, the owner of NGW, created The Perfect Match… and it was violent as fuck as one would expect for the future named Hardcore Artist. Calvin Riley meanwhile, his arch nemesis and member of the NGW Board of Directors, also had his contract on the line. So to say the victory wasn’t huge to Scotty, was an understatement.
So there is your quick NGW run down history, I know, you’re all thrilled. The truly important part here was the Out Cold IV afterparty. Cause if there is another thing that hasn’t changed about Scotty in nineteen years other than enjoying hardcore matches, it’s the fact he liked to drink. Though it wasn’t craft brewed IPA that are pretty much hop smoothies, no, at the age of 25 it was something much more simple, Budweiser.
At a hotel suite MSG in Manhattan, we see a large crowd of NGW wrestlers, such as Scott King who just came off a tough loss to former friend and tag team partner John Hitchin. There are Scotty’s fellow stablemates Dave Eclipse and Cyrus Skar, who tried to help King win earlier in the night. There’s another future HOW wrestler, Reggie Rivid, who unfortunately lost his triple threat strap match at Out Cold. Plus many crew members, referees and other staffers. The door policy isn’t too strict, if ya knew the room number and wanted to party, come on up.
But then there is Dallas Reeves… who just retained the NGW Xtreme Title that night against a man named Ron Hull… but more importantly, he is the man who first signed Frankie to be his cameraman in NGW. He’s the whole reason why Frankie ever got dragged down this rabbit hell-hole that is called professional wrestling. With his Budweiser in hand, Scotty makes his way over to Dallas who is drinking a Moosehead Lager… being Canadian and all.
“Who let that Canadian swill into my party?” Ask Scotty to Dallas with a slightly smirk on his face.
“Are you talking about my beer or me?” Snaps back Dallas, not backing down from the boss’ jab.
“I can’t mean both?” Quips Scotty back as there seems to be a tense moment between the two, before they break out into a chuckle and embrace in a quick hug.
“Congrats on retaining the title, but you look pretty banged up… a little bit more than that beer can help fix.” Points out Scotty as he can easily see the pain on the face of Dallas.
“I think we nearly fought for an hour… all through the arena. I didn’t expect that type of fight tonight from him.” Admits Reeves as he leans gingerly on his right leg and winces a bit in pain.
“Neither did I, but it is Out Cold, and that does bring out the best in people. So you think you’re gonna be ready for your next match in a week or two?” Ask Scotty as you can already see the booking wheels turn in his head depending on the answer Dallas gives him.
“I don’t know Scotty, this might have been a sign… a sign that I may need to take a break from NGW. I don’t wanna be that old guy who is plagued by a handful of injuries because I didn’t know when to take it easy and let them heal. Imagine us twenty years from now, barely being able to walk and still trying to put on matches just cause we couldn’t let go of the ring.” Explains Dallas as he takes a drink of his Moosehead and shakes his head. “I don’t want that to be me.” Ends Dallas as Scotty just shrugs at his statement, not really understanding it but appreciating his thought process as Dallas down the rest of his Moosehead and looks around…
“Frankie! A Moosehead!” Yells Dallas as Scotty smiles and shakes his head.
“You got him trained as your personal bartender along with your cameraman?” Questions Scotty with a smirk on his face, obviously a bit jealous.
“Well there isn’t much to film tonight… and I want him to get accustomed to the wrestling bizz. So if I’m paying him, he might as well make himself useful.” Smiles Dallas as we finally see a young seventeen year old Frankie Calrissian. He’s got a Moosehead Lager in his hand as he passes it off to Dallas.
He’s so young, so innocent. He’s got both his eyes, no SpongeBob or Jedi tattoos… he’s never even heard of High Octane Wrestling and has no clues of the horrors that await him there. Though by the end of tonight, he will experience first hand the dark side of wrestling… even if he won’t understand it.
Wrestling is a horrible fucking business. No one… not a single person makes it out of it any better then when they entered it.
“Here ya go Dallas, ya sure you don’t need me to film anything? You need me to film a post match promo? Something where you rub in your big Xtreme Title defense?” Questions Frankie with a huge smile on his face, as if he is a kid wanting to see it live on TV.
“Nah Frankie, we’re good tonight. Need to let the win simmer a bit, we can work on something tomorrow. For tonight, just enjoy the win and the party.” Smiles Dallas as he takes a drink from his fresh beer as Frankie nods his head in agreement.
“And where is my beer Frankie? Little rude to just bring Dallas one and not me, the Owner of the company.” States Scotty as he stares at Frankie who starts to panic for a moment.
“I’m so sorry Mister Woodson… what can I get…” Frankie stammers out of his mouth before Scotty cuts him off.
“I’m just fucking with you man. But please never call me Mister Woodson… I would fucking hate myself if I ever let anyone call me that. Like I’d rather cut my fucking dreads off then go by that formal bullshit name.” Laughs Scotty a bit as he finishes his Budweiser and starts to look around for a fresh one.
“You need a new beer? I’ll get you a Budweiser… Scotty? Can I call you Scotty?” Asks Frankie as he is ready to run off and grab Scotty his next beer.
“That’s cool Frankie… and thank you. That would be awesome.” Nods Scotty as Frankie takes off, almost at a run to go find Scotty a new Budweiser to drink.
“He’s a good kid man… ya sure ya wanna bring him into all of this?” Asks Scotty to Dallas who sorta shrugs at Scotty.
“I mean, how bad could it really be? A little blood and violence. Plus he is just so enthusiastic about it all. Has been watching it all for years… these are his idols, he wants to be just like them.” Says Dallas as he takes a long drink of his Moosehead Lager and debates if he should have had Frankie get him a fresh one too.
Meanwhile Frankie is on his mission for a Budweiser for Scottywood… fucking eh I can’t believe I am saying that shit. When do we get back in the DeLorean to 1985… I mean 2015… I mean fuck that movie is so old now. But I just wanna get back to a time when Scotty doesn’t drink shit beer. But I’m getting distracted… distracted as Frankie reaches the beer cool, but before he opens it up he hears a female voice to the side.
“Hey, are you Frankie, Dallas Reeves’ new protege?” Question this cute girl who is near the beer cooler and holding onto a Smirnoff Ice.
“I mean I’m his personal cameraman… I don’t know about his protege. I’ve never wrestled… and don’t think I could ever get in the ring with those guys.” Smirks Frankie at the cute girl as he opens up the cooler in search for another Budweiser.
“Well I’m Vivian, it’s nice to meet you Frankie… and I think you definitely could wrestle in that ring someday. You just gotta believe in yourself and then you could win the Xtreme Title, just like Dallas.” Smiles Vivian in a way that almost melts Frankie as he nearly drops the bottle of Budweiser, before snapping out of the near trance and slowly starting to walk away from Vivian… though with his eyes still locked on her.
“Tha….anks….” Barely mutters Frankie as finally turns his head from Vivian, nearly snapping it back a full hundred and eighty degrees as he spots Scotty and Dallas chatting on the other side of the room.
“Here is your beer Scotty… I’m gonna go chat with this girl over there, she seems cool and is a big Dallas Reeves fan… ya think maybe you can sign something for me and I can give it to her?” Asks Frankie with a huge smile on his face as he starts to devise his brilliantly cute plan in his head to impress Vivian.
“Um… sure… I think I got a trading card here in my pocket… yeah, here is one.” Mutters Dallas as he pulls the card from his pocket and searches for a pen… but Frankie, being the mark that he is, has a Sharpie already in hand and passes it off to Dallas.
“You better not be going up to anyone else here tonight and looking for autographs… someone might just stab you in the eye with that Sharpie.” Warns Dallas as he takes the pen and signs the trading card before passing it back to Frankie who is grinning ear to ear like The Cheshire Cat.
“What kind of sick fuck would stab someone in the eye with a pen?” Laughs Scotty as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his fresh Budweiser. But Frankie isn’t listening to some sound advice that he should head for his future self… sadly Doc isn’t there to drill this into his head. Tough lessons must be learned and an LSD Title must be won by the future Hardcore Artist.
Instead Frankie takes the trading card and bolts back over to Vivian who is sipping on her Smirnoff Ice… but now has a second one in her hand.
“Hey… so I was just chatting with Dallas and I got this for you… it’s a signed trading card.” Smiles Frankie like a giddy school boy as he extends the trading card out to Vivian. She places both bottles in one hand and takes the card with her left as she smiles at it and extends the fresh Smirnoff Ice bottle to Frankie.
“Thanks, that’s so sweet. Do you want to share a Smirnoff with me? I’m about done with this one and already feeling a bit tipsy.” Offers Vivian as Frankie looks at the bottle with hesitation.
“I’ve never had liquor before… plus I’m only seventeen and here in the US it is not ok for me to drink… and I have a couple more months to go until I can even drink up in Alberta, where I am from.”
“A foreign boy… exotic! But it will be ok, everyone here in America drinks when they are seventeen… it’s like the unofficial law here. I’m only twenty, but I have been drinking since I was sixteen.” Reassures Vivian as she again pushes the bottle of Smirnoff Ice towards Frankie. He again hesitantly looks at the bottle before somewhat reluctantly taking it from Vivian.
“You… I mean are you really… like really, really sure about this?” Again questions Frankie as he brings his nose towards the bottle… and it doesn’t smell all that bad to him.
“Of course… and I mean look at Scotty and Dallas. They are drinking beers, and you wanna be just like them…. Right?” Persuades Vivian as Frankie nods his head fairly enthusiastically as he raises the bottle to his mouth and takes a sip.
COUGH…. HACK….. COUGH!!!!!
“Oh geez, how do Scotty and Dallas drink this stuff?” Sputters out Frankie as he spits back up the drink…. Nearly soaking Vivian in the process… but luckily… or unfortunately… he misses her.
“It’s gonna take a handful or so drinks to get used to it… but it’ll get better Frankie.” Comforts Vivian as she places her hand on the back of Frankie and rubs it a bit as he is nearly dry heaving the Smirnoff from his body.
“I hope so… cause this stuff is bad. Almost as bad as that drink I thought was some orange juice… but was some kind of new IPA beer. Scotty said that stuff will never take off… no one will want to drink something that tastes like licking a pine tree’s bumhole.” Chuckles Frankie at the word butthole while also sticking out his tongue just remembering the taste of that IPA.
“Well do you wanna try another sip? See if it gets better? If you’re afraid of spitting it up in front of Scottywood and Dallas Reeves, we can try it in another room.” Smiles Vivian as Frankie innocently nods his head, wanting to try and impress Vivian… but also not wanting Scotty or Dallas to judge him for not liking alcohol.
So the two make their way from the party with drinks in hand and off into a side room of the suite where the last thing we see is Vivian checking to see if anyone has seen their escape and closing the door behind them with a bit of an evil grin on her face.
Fuck… usually I like regaling in my past days. I mean how many times have you heard me talk about beating Scott Stevens… my apparent new War Games teammate… for the HOW World World? Or my record number of LSD Title wins. What about how I’ve beaten Max Kael, David Black and Mike Best for my three ICON Titles. What about beating Chris Kostoff in House of Pain at ICONIC for the LSD Title? Many? Countless times? Well add one fucking more and shut the fuck up. Those are fun memories… this… this shit I wish I could have buried in the vast wasteland that is the past. But like I said… have you seen the size of Ben Reeves?
Luckily I have something to very easily distract me from all this Maury or Vader and Luke who’s the father drama shit. War Games. It’s fucking War Games and for once I have a team that I have confidence in. I’m teaming with Mike Best…’s son… which thank fucking GOD of HOW for cause I seriously am on empty when it comes to Mike Best… or even his family. Plus Tyler is the only person ever to have beaten my grandson… or would it just be my adopted son’s son? Someone get me a genealogist to give me the correct term here!
Plus we’ve also got Christopher “The Human Bald Eagle” America, a cornerstone Hall of Famer, a man I have been through my own wars with. Then there is Stronk who seems to be on a rocket ship here in HOW… David Noble and then there is Jace. What a fucking team… I’m sorry Carey, but there is no chance you are winning War Games this year. I know it has been your goal since returning to HOW. The single most thing you have focused on… but it is not gonna happen.
Conor and Clay chose and they chose poorly. Their Holy Grail is going to slip away from them and there is nothing you can do about it. To dig into the past one more time… this is not 2008 Carey. I know we are on opposite teams like back then. I know I am representing Lee Best once again and you have a bunch of plucky underdogs. I know you would love to survive War Games with Conor and somehow steal the title from him… but it’s not gonna happen this time Carey. You’ll crush Harrison, obliterate him and take that LSD Title… but War Games, War Games this time Carey, will be mine.