Mark Your Calendars

Mark Your Calendars

Posted on May 26, 2024 at 11:45 pm by Drew Mitchell

Joe Bergman’s Barn- Saturday, May 25th– The morning after Chaos 65
Drew Mitchell and Sunny O’Callahan cautiously opened the squeaky door and stepped inside Joe Bergman’s Barn. He winced as he felt his bandaged ear throb in time with his fury, a constant reminder of Evan Ward’s savage bites from their last match. Beside him, Sunny adjusted the bandage on her forehead, another parting gift from the teeth of Evan Ward in that same brutal match.

Drew flexed his fingers, trying to ease the discomfort of the dressing that wrapped around his arm. As they approached Joe Bergman’s office, he couldn’t help but vent his frustrations.

“I’ll telling you right now, Sunny,” he declared through gritted teeth. “Evan Ward can sod off if I’m ‘randomly’ chosen to be on his War Games team. I refuse to be a part of any team led by that wanker.”

Sunny leaned against a rough wooden post, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as if searching for patience in the shadows of the rafters. She had seen potential in Drew from the first time she watched him wrestle in Brighton, England- his raw power and brash charisma were undeniable – but this situation called for strategy, not just brute strength.

“Look, I get it,” she said in a soothing tone, trying to calm the storm brewing within him. “Evan Ward may not take wrestling seriously anymore, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take our careers seriously too. We need to think about your future here.”

But Drew was too fired up to listen. He halted in his tracks, his chest heaving with pent-up energy. “Rubbish!” he shot back, unable to contain his anger any longer. “Evan Ward is a plonker. I’ll walk back to Manchester before I’ll wrestle on that muppet’s team.”

Sunny sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Drew, please,” she implored. “Think about what this could mean for your career. We can’t just let our personal feelings get in the way of opportunity.”

Drew glared at her, feeling torn between his loyalty to Sunny and his burning desire to take down Evan Ward. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the raw edge of his frustration still evident. But beneath that rebellious surface, there flickered a spark of understanding. She was right, as always.

“Think about it, Drew,” she countered calmly, stepping closer. “You’re a professional wrestler, not some street fighter or sports entertainer. You have the skills and the potential to make it big in this industry. Don’t let someone like Evan Ward hold you back. He’s a joke… got it. Evan Ward went the easy route and became the same douchebag, a-hole heel that’s a dime a dozen in HOW. Evan is lazy and took the path of least resistance. I understand.”  Sunny placed a comforting hand on Drew’s shoulder, her presence commanding despite the physical pain she was masking. “What happened last night is just a setback. You’ll get another shot and when you do, we’ll show them what a real wrestler looks like.”

Drew’s eyes scanned the interior, taking in every detail. The familiar sight of Missouri Valley Wrestling’s banner caught his eye, prominently displayed on one wall, while the red and black banner of High Octane Wrestling hung proudly on the other side.

But it was the scattered photos that truly captured Drew’s attention as he walked closer to examine them. Each frame held a moment from Joe Bergman’s illustrious eighteen-year wrestling career, from his early days at PCW as Halitosis to his run as Halitosis/Joe Bergman in HOW.

Drew zoomed in with his camera, capturing each photo in detail:

The first picture showed Referee Matt Boettcher handing Halitosis the HOW World Title belt after defeating Brian Hollywood in 2019, a triumphant smile on Joe’s face.

In the second photo, Halitosis holds the microphone triumphantly after winning the belt for a second time by defeating John Sektor in 2019, surrounded by former HOW ring announcer Zack Taylor and an ecstatic crowd.

The third picture displayed Halitosis and Rah standing tall with manager Dawn McGill by their side, as they were presented with the Missouri Valley Wrestling Tag Team Title in 2017.

Next to it was a photo of Halitosis and Rah once again, this time accompanied by valet Regina McGill after winning the MVW Tag Team Title in 2019 – a testament to their enduring partnership.

The fifth photo captured Joe Bergman raising the HOW Tag Team title high above his head at the Lethal Lottery in 2020, a look of determination etched onto his face.

And finally, there was a snapshot of Joe and Laura Bergman standing proudly beside Ray McAvay after becoming part-owners of MVW – a moment that marked their transition from wrestlers to business partners.

Drew couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and respect for Joe Bergman as he took in the memories adorning the freshly painted walls of the barn. It was evident that this location held great significance for both Joe and his loved ones, serving as a tangible symbol of his journey in the professional wrestling world.

“Oi, didn’t really look at all this the last time I was here,” Drew remarked.

“Well, you were too busy salivating over Dawn McGill if I remember correct,” Sunny replied.

“Aye,” Drew agreed.

Both paced back and forth anxiously waiting for their turn to talk with MVW owners Ray McAvay and Joe Bergman.  The door to Joe’s office remained closed, the muffled voices of presumably McAvay and Bergman inside providing an eerie soundtrack to the tense atmosphere.

Suddenly, a door on the opposite side of the barn creaked open, drawing all eyes towards it. A hush fell over the room as Dawn McGill emerged, her presence commanding attention as she glided across the floor.

“Oi?” Drew mumbled, gawking as Dawn made her way through the barn, her attire leaving little to the imagination with glittering fishnets and strategically placed cutouts revealing flashes of smooth, tanned skin that caught the bright lights inside the barn.

But it wasn’t just her outfit that demanded attention. It was also the man followed closely behind her- Adam Ellis, his gaze locked with Drew’s across the room. The tension between the two men was evident- like two alpha lions circling each other in a den. The weight of their history hung heavy in the air, adding an electric current to the already charged atmosphere.

It was the first time they had been in the same room since April 9th when they were supposed to have a match after Drew’s attack on Adam at the MVW Awards just two days prior. But now, all eyes were on them as they stood mere feet away from each other- two rivals with unfinished business and a score to settle.

“Um… Drew?” Sunny said as Drew began to walk towards Adam.

With a determined stride, Drew closed the distance, his broad shoulders squared and every step echoing a silent drumbeat of resolve. The murmurings around them fell away, leaving only the hushed whisper of feet on concrete.

“Adam, mate,” Drew began, the weight of regret roughening his usually cheeky tone.

Adam’s expression was wary, but he stood his ground, meeting Drew eye to eye.

“I owe you an apology.”

Adam seemed slightly taken aback as Drew’s words hung between them, sincere and raw.

“I regret what I did last month at the MVW Awards thing…,” Drew went on. “It wasn’t proper. Not right proper at all.  I let the HOW vs. PRIME rubbish get to me head. I wish I could take it all back.”

“Okay…”  Adam stood there and regarded him, the initial shock giving way to a cautious acceptance. After a moment that seemed to stretch into hours, he nodded. “…okay.  Apology accepted, Drew. Just—no more surprises, yeah?”

“None,” Drew assured, a faint smile hinting at the return of his typical bravado.

Drew’s heart raced as he slowly turned to face Dawn McGill. Her piercing gaze bore into him, weighing him down with a heavy sense of guilt. “Dawn,” he said, his voice carrying a solemn respect that belied their tangled and sordid past, “I want to apologize for me actions with Tori, sleeping with Tori after being with you was bang out of order and I realize that now. I wanted to tell you in person.”

Dawn’s expression remained inscrutable as she studied him, her features giving nothing away. There was no forgiveness or condemnation in her eyes, only surprise. But then, something shifted. A softening in her gaze, a glimmer of recognition and understanding at the courage it took for Drew to stand before her and admit his mistakes. “Thank you, Drew,” she finally spoke, her tone conveying both gratitude and resignation. “Look, my daughter’s no angel either… and neither am I. But thank you.”

The tension in the room seemed to dissipate as Dawn moved along to get ready to finish up a photo shoot in the ring.  Sunny let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing. As Adam and Drew shook hands, Sunny couldn’t help but smile frizzy blonde hair framed her face like a halo in the dim lighting of the arena, and she leaned against the guardrail behind her. Her fingers drummed nervously on the cold metal to an unheard rhythm, her eyes never leaving the pair as they made their way to the edge of the ring. They sat side by side on the apron, their legs dangling over the side as if they were two old friends catching up after years apart.

“Rumor has it you’re going up against John Sektor next Friday,” he said, his tone laced with curiosity.

Drew’s jaw tightened and he let out a sigh of apprehension. “Yeah, just confirmed this morning. Tag match with Sektor and Steve Solex.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And who’s your tag team partner?”

“Darin Zion.”

Adam’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “Ah, Darin Zion. I have a bit of history with him,” he admitted, recalling their past encounter in a MVW Title match at HOW’s Dead or Alive pay-per-view show two years ago. Adam won but Zion’s Love Convoy mates Jonathan-Christopher and Vickie Hall attacked him after the match.”

As the memories resurfaced, Adam couldn’t help but release a soft laugh. “John Sektor also used to be my mentor.”

“Oi?

“Yeah, John brought me to HOW in 2022 and won the tag team title together.  He played a big part in my career- just like Joe Bergman and Ray McAvay did early on.”

Drew, hands clasped between his knees, turned towards Adam. His British accent colored his curiosity, “So what went wrong then?”

“Control,” Adam spat out the word like it was venom. “Sektor wanted complete control. And he wanted all the credit… even though I did put in the work… the hours… the sweat… that he asked of me.” He shook his head, the bitterness evident. “You see the same thing now with Eve except apparently I ‘already knew who I was’ and Eve doesn’t… yet.  Ray and Joe… they worked with me because they wanted to see me improve, become a better wrestler… and they didn’t ask for anything more.  John?  Eh…”

Sunny took a discreet sip from her flask, the Southern Comfort warming her insides as she watched the exchange, her protective instincts on high alert.

“I mean, John didn’t want me to get involved with women either,” Adam continued. “He wanted my total undivided focus to be on wrestling, period. And then the whole Tori McGill thing happened.”

“You shagged Victoria, too?” Drew interrupted.

Adam smiled sheepishly. “No. John did.  I was kind of interested but when John slept with her, that pretty much ended that idea. John sees women as a commodity to use and dispose of. I wanted to get married and have a family someday.  And I did.”

“And now,” interjected Sunny, “John is Lee Best’s right-hand man in the Final League of Enablers he’s put together… a bunch of post-adolescent frat boy wannabes who worship the ground Lee walks on so they can get special dispensation in HOW.”

Adam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I remember them.”

Later that morning…
As they sped north on Interstate 55 back towards St. Louis, Drew’s mind was a chaotic mess, the roar of the engine serving as a backdrop to his brooding silence. The meeting with McAvay and Bergman earlier that day was tense, terse, but necessary. Their conversation filled with awkward apologies and reassurances left him feeling trapped in a submission hold he couldn’t escape.

Sunny, sitting shotgun beside him, glanced over at Drew, her sharp eyes cutting through the darkness beneath her wild cascade of blonde curls. Before he could even muster a response, his phone buzzed loudly against the car’s central console. Dawn, who had been quiet in the back seat, leaned forward slightly with curiosity. The caller ID flashed ‘Brinsley’ in bold letters, causing Drew’s heart to flutter anxiously at the sight of her name.

“Answer it, mate,” Sunny’s voice broke through the tense silence, her Irish-tinged Californian drawl light but insistent. “You’ve already sorted things out with Ray and Joe, so just talk to her.”

Drew hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before finally reaching for his phone and pressing the green icon. As he lifted the phone to his ear, he tried his best to keep his voice steady.

“Hey Brinsley,” he greeted her cautiously.

“Hi Drew,” came her crisp and clear reply, a stark contrast to the rumble of the road around them. “Are you okay?  I saw what Evan Ward did to you and Sunny last night.”

“I’m doing okay and so is Sunny,” Drew replied with a forced nonchalance, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to relieve some of the tension building up inside him. “Look, I apologize for cutting the call short last time.”

“Understandable,” Brinsley said, her tone pragmatic yet warm. “I know finding out about your dad out of the blue like that is a lot to process in the moment.”

“Aye, I’m working through it,” Drew replied.

“Good. Catch me up on the rest, will you? What happened with Evan Ward last night?” Brinsley asked.

“Let’s just say it was all bollocks,” Drew chuckled. “Ward won. He’s a War Games Captain. He’s still a dodgy numpty and I have no intention to wrestle for that gormless twit’s team at War Games. If ‘randomly’ chosen, I’ll be in the loo and Ward can go fuck himself.”

Sunny rolled her eyes.

“Sounds intense,” Brinsley mused.

“And you, lass?” Drew asked.

“Pennsylvania’s lovely this time of year, even if I’m trailing in a regional tournament after two rounds,” Brinsley sardonically replied. “Golf’s a cruel mistress sometimes. Especially one week before the US Open when I’m trying to peak and can’t get out of second gear.”

“Isn’t she just?” Drew smirked, imagining Brinsley’s focused gaze as she lined up a putt, the same intensity he channeled in the ring. “But hey, you’ll catch up. You’re unstoppable when you get in the zone.”

“I hope so,” Brinsley said, her voice filled with determination as she spoke. “I’ve hit some good shots but I can’t seem to get any traction. But I’m right in the thick of it but this afternoon I have to make my move and climb up the leaderboard.”

“Speaking of intensity,” Sunny ventured into the conversation, “so, your dad catch that promo they aired on HOTv?”

There was a slight pause. “Yeah, he saw it,” Brinsley replied with measured calmness. “Dad understood the angle- said it was quite the performance. Mom, though, she wasn’t thrilled. Thinks wrestling is all bar brawls masquerading as sport and I should be focused on the US Open and nothing else.”

“Can’t win ’em all,” Drew chuckled, not surprised by her mother’s disapproval; the woman had an eye for perfection that made even a polished golf swing seem amateur.

“Hey, about losing the LSD title,” Brinsley interjected, shifting gears like she did on the fairway when facing an unforeseen hazard. “You put up a hell of a fight, Drew. Just stick with your plan, yeah? You’ve got what it takes.”

Drew felt a spark of warmth at her words—Brinsley, the Fairway Prodigy, believed in him. “Means a lot, Brins,” he said earnestly. “I’m not throwin’ in the towel. Got me sights set on the next one.”

“Good,” she affirmed, her tone crisp like the strike of a well-hit drive. “That’s the spirit.”

Drew noticed a few road signs indicating the first St. Louis exits were near just as he heard some back chatter over the phone.

“Drew, I tee off in about twenty minutes,” Brinsley advised. “I need to get going.”

“Brins, go get ‘em. I-” Drew started, fumbling for the right words amid the jumble of emotions.

“Save it, Drew,” she cut in softly, understanding lacing her voice. “I love you. Everything will be okay.”

“I love you too,” Drew replied, the sentiment feeling as solid as the grip of his favorite steel chair. With those words, he ended the call, letting the silence envelop him for a moment.

Drew stared at the phone for a moment longer, the ghost of their conversation lingering in the air. He turned to Sunny, a small, grateful smile playing on his lips. “Cheers for the nudge, Sun.”

“Anytime, kid,” Sunny replied with a wink. “Now, let’s get you home and let’s get focused on next Friday. There’s work to be done.”

He glanced over at Sunny, who was focused on the road ahead, her hands steady on the wheel. Drew settled back into his seat, the echoes of Brinsley’s encouragement fueling his resolve.

Cheers Bar and Grill- Manchester, Missouri- Saturday Night
The chaotic din of Cheers Bar and Grill in Manchester, Missouri, was deafening as Sunny O’Callahan, her wild frizzy hair and toned denim-clad legs propped against the weathered wood of the bar, commanded the attention of everyone in the room. A wave of anticipation rippled through the sea of excited wrestling fans as they hung onto every word that fell from her lips.

With a commanding gesture, Sunny raised her arm, silencing the boisterous crowd before her. Her voice, a potent mix of Californian drawl and fiery Irish spirit, sliced through the chatter like a sharp blade. All eyes were focused on her, drawn to her magnetic energy. Standing beside her was Drew Mitchell, his towering figure serving as a stark contrast to Sunny’s casual lean.

Taking a moment to bask in the palpable energy of the audience, Sunny smirked confidently before addressing them once more. “People!” she declared, taking a swig from her glass of Southern Comfort. “You know why we’re here tonight- Drew’s upcoming tag match with Darin Zion.”

The mere mention of Zion’s name caused a collective murmur to sweep through the audience. “That’s right,” Sunny continued, her piercing eyes scanning the room. “The same Darin Zion that Drew Mitchell destroyed in less than ninety seconds just three months ago!”

A roar of approval erupted from the audience, their enthusiasm building with each passing moment as Sunny took another sip from her drink, her intense gaze never faltering.

“But let me tell you something about Darin Zion,” she continued, leaning in closer to the crowd. “Sure, he may have pulled off a win with Scott Stevens at Chaos 64 over the Final Alliance, but let’s be real here – his ring work has been about as consistent as a broken compass at the North Pole!” The room erupted into laughter and cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.

She slammed her glass down on the bar, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Darin, here’s the deal- come Friday night, you’d better bring your A-game, because if you don’t, it won’t be Solex or Sektor you gotta worry about. It’ll be Drew here, delivering a Tenshi Crash you’ll never forget!”

The crowd erupted into cheers again, their support for Sunny and Drew undeniable. With a smirk, Sunny turned her fiery tirade towards The Final Alliance.

“Let me tell you something about The Final Alliance,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Those boys may think they’re tough, but they haven’t faced anyone like Drew before. He’s got strength, he’s got speed, and most importantly, he’s got me in his corner!” She placed a hand on Drew’s shoulder, a proud grin spreading across her face.

The crowd cheered even louder at Sunny’s words, their excitement building for the upcoming match. Sunny finished off her drink and slammed the glass back down on the bar, the sound reverberating through the now electrified bar.

“And as for you two, Solex and Sektor,” she bellowed, her voice rising over the cacophony, “the so-called ‘Final Alliance.’ You think you’re untouchable? You think ’cause Lee Best’s got your backs that you can walk all over everyone else?” She shook her head, strands of hair breaking free from their confines.

“Let me tell you something about Drew. He doesn’t bend, hey doesn’t break, and he sure as hell won’t bow down to a couple of Lee’s lapdogs!” Sunny pointed emphatically at Drew, who stood cool and collected, the very image of confidence. “This Friday, the Final Alliance is gonna learn… FOR THE THIRD TIME… what happens when you run up against real talent, when you come face-to-face with raw passion and skill, when you run into… Drew Mitchell. It’s was hard to believe that just six months ago, Drew Mitchell debuted in HOW after moving up from X-Pro. History shows all kingdoms will fall and a new era will begin- and that era began the second Drew Mitchell walked through the HOW door.”

Sunny’s voice boomed through the crowded bar as she leapt onto the bar and pulled Sunny up to stand beside her. The cheers of the patrons echoed off the walls, a symphony of adoration for Drew Mitchell.

The roar from the crowd shook the glasses on the shelves as Sunny declared, “Drew Mitchell has lit a fire beneath this bar and his potential is undeniable. He is a young wrestler who won a HOW title at just 21 years old. Solex and Sektor are mere relics of a bygone era – an era filled with interchangeable, mind-numbingly predictable, douchebag heels… acting badly and acting out.” As the cheers grew louder, it was clear that Cheers had become a haven for those seeking greatness and victory in their own new era.

As Sunny drained the last drops of Southern Comfort from her bottle, she shifted the spotlight over to Drew, bathing him in its harsh, revealing glow. The Brit squared his shoulders, his broad frame casting a formidable shadow over the sea of spectators. His voice sliced through the din, tinged with the sharp cut of London’s East End.

“I’ve heard the nattering. ” Drew’s eyes glinted with a challenge. “All this bollocks about Sunny doing the yapping for me.” He swept a muscular arm toward the animated figure beside him, still commanding the space with ease. “They can all sod off.”

A murmur rippled through the spectators, their attention now ensnared. Drew’s accent turned the air around him into something exotic, a spice that flavored every word he spoke.

“Me job is to wrestle,” he continued, his tone firm, unflinching. “Sunny’s job is to manage. I do me talking in the ring!”

He punctuated the statement with a clenched fist raised high, causing a surge of support from the onlookers.

“Last night, against Evan Ward…” Drew paused, giving the moment weight, allowing the tension to build. “It was just a setback. A minor hiccup I’ll learn from.” His jaw tightened, a physical manifestation of his resolve.

“Mark me words,” he vowed, a growl woven into his voice, “I’ll get another shot. And when I do, I’ll show the bleeding world what a real wrestler looks like.”

The crowd erupted in raucous approval, their belief in him as unyielding as the steel cables of the wrestling ring. For in that moment, Drew was more than just a wrestler—he was a symbol of indomitable spirit, an avatar of the fight that lay within them all.

“So mark your calendars folks!” Sunny exclaimed, her voice booming over the cheers. “Because this Friday night, it’s going to be one hell of a show! And when the dust settles and The Final Alliance is lying face down in the ring, Sunny O’Callahan and Drew Mitchell will come back here and we’ll buy you all a round of alcohol!”

The patrons of Cheers Bar and Grill were on their feet now, clapping, stomping, and chanting in a frenzied display of solidarity. As the cheers swelled to a crescendo, Sunny raised her empty Southern Comfort bottle high, a rallying cry for all who believed in the heart of wrestling, in the spirit of defiance, and in the inevitable victory that awaited Drew and, begrudgingly, Darin Zion. With one final triumphant smirk towards the cheering crowd, Sunny took Drew by the arm and led him out of the bar in preparation for their upcoming match with The Final Alliance. The energy in the room was electric, and both Sunny and Drew knew that he was ready to take on anyone who dared to stand in his way.