CDL: Made for TV Dinners

CDL: Made for TV Dinners

Posted on December 9, 2023 at 9:30 pm by Charles de Lacy

There I was, the great Charles de Lacy, ensconced in the faded grandeur of my once-respectable Chicago flat, staring desolately at a TV dinner that mirrored my current state: frozen, bland, and depressingly convenient. The flickering light of the television provided the only semblance of life in the room, my thoughts a depressing sinkhole of self-pity and recriminations. Defeat at the hands of John Sektor and Jace Parker Davidson wasn’t just a matter of bruised pride; it was a matter of missed fortune.

My motivations for entering this business were never governed by financial incentives, and just as well, for the pay days in my twenty-five year career had been paltry at best. But as I reached the twilight of my career it was beginning to dawn on me that I had very little to show for the years of blood, sweat and tears I had invested in this fair sport.

Mickey, my gentleman’s personal gentleman, was my steadfast companion in these dreary times. A Cockney with the wit of Wilde and the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He stood leaning against the doorframe, polishing a brass knuckle with an almost meditative focus. I decided to confide in him.

“Mickey, that match with Sektor,” I began, the words tasting like ash in my mouth, “it was more than a loss. It was a missed jackpot.”

Mickey glanced up. “Yeah, Mr. Charlie. Tough it was. But it ain’t all about the fights, is it? There’s other ways to line your pockets.”

As I pondered Mickey’s words, a TV commercial invaded my thoughts. A local celebrity, whose claim to fame was as thin as tissue paper, was enthusiastically endorsing hemorrhoid cream. The audacity of it! I couldn’t help but let out a derisive chuckle.

“Look at this, Mickey. Peddling relief for the rear on national television. The lengths people go for a few quid.”

Mickey, ever the voice of unvarnished truth, chimed in with a chuckle. “Well, Mr. De Lacy, sometimes the real gold ain’t in the ring but in the airtime. Maybe a bit of selling out might be what we need to spruce up this old place, eh?”

His words, though simple, struck a chord. Pride, after all, had never kept the lights on. If dignity couldn’t pay the bills, perhaps it was time to rethink my strategies. The world of product placement, as undignified as it may seem, beckoned with a siren’s call. After all, in life, as in wrestling, one must be prepared to grapple with the unexpected, even if it means endorsing products for ailments best left unmentioned at polite dinner parties.


Ladies and gentlemen, Charles de Lacy here, and let me cut to the chase about my next opponent, Xander Azula. Now, I’ve scoured the depths of the wrestling world, and all I’ve got on this guy is an unusual name. Xander, just why do you think you’re worthy of stepping in the ring with the great Charles de Lacy? What have you done?

In welcoming me to the “bottom of the barrel” you have shown a rare moment of insight. Because that’s just what this is. What you are. But that’s not who I am.

Let me enlighten you as to what men like me do with things they find at the bottom of the barrel. We scrape them off, toss them aside, and forget they ever existed. It’s a place reserved for those who can’t rise above, those who lack the mettle to climb to the top. So, Xander, while this is your domain, it’s most certainly not mine.

But here’s the thing, folks. Charles de Lacy might not know much about Xander Azula, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my edge. Sure, the passion for this business might flicker, but every time I lace up those boots and step into that ring, it’s a commitment. As long as I can physically do it, I’ll be there, giving it my all. So, Xander, be ready, because whether you’re a portly two-bit jobber or a world-beater , you’re stepping into the ring with a man who lives for the roar of the crowd and the thrill of the fight!