NLCW When Worlds Collide Undisputed championship Dead Man's Draw match - Isaac Reynolds(c) vs Dazz (September 28th 2008)
Page 2 of 4 - First dose of Reality

He’d been back in the company a few months now, actually more than a few months. Dazz had won the World title a second time in NLCW during Highway to Hell III in May of 2005 then relinquished it after successfully retaining against Phil Castle 2 weeks later, only one title defense before handing it back to management. In fact that title match against Castle was the last match he had in the company before disappearing and going onto other things in other companies, not seen again until over a year later when he and Faith had a triumphant return against both Kidd and Kellie Kwik, the brother and sister tandem in November of 2006.

Of course he’d spent time from March till July of that year voluntarily working for the development company Limited Championship Wrestling, wanting to help not only nurture the newer guys before they got called up to NLCW’s roster but also wanting to prove his worth as a legend and a top NLCW main event superstar, showing them what it would be like in the so-called “bigger leagues” of the main NLCW company by having them face off with somebody that was seen as one of the best NLCW had ever seen. He’d only just missed taking on recent wrestlers called up such as Tyler Scott and Chris Logan but had the chance to take on people in the Elimination Expedition as it was called by LCW owner Robert Bordeaux, managing to pull through and win the LCW Heavyweight championship at the end and having it made extra special because the NLCW World Heavyweight title match had been postponed for reasons only know to management, making his match for the LCW’s main championship the new main event of the When Worlds Collide event.

That was his first taste of headlining a major NLCW ppv event in almost a year, the last time being his Highway to Hell III victory and now, suddenly, the tides of change had somehow aligned with the stars and made fate itself bring the match he considered the one to watch for the pure athletic showcase into the limelight, himself and the soon to be former LCW Heavyweight champion now becoming the night’s main event and having every butt in the building several inches away from their seats, standing room only as the back and forth contest showcased exactly what LCW was about in front of a much larger audience. The former champion got the call up to NLCW while the new champion – Dazz – got to walk into the building during LCW Showcase with the gold around his waist, the tiny audience chanting and cheering for him and every person in the LCW locker room and those staff members in charge of helping bring it to these passionate fans feeling a sense of pride that Limited Championship Wrestling was being renamed unofficially by wrestling critics and writers after When Worlds Collide as the moniker “LimitLESS Championship Wrestling”, a sort of homage to the sheer hard work and effort in a match contested by two men to battle through a series of elimination battle royal matches and then against one another, stealing the show in many people’s eyes from what NLCW were doing that night.

More hard work was to come as LCW put forth more of its talented up and coming wrestlers against one another, Dazz not being pinned or made to tap out but passing out as one of the final two, in that act losing the LCW Heavyweight championship but, as runner up, becoming the new LCW Hardcore champion, the first man to have won this while previously also having held the NLCW Hardcore championship too. He lost that championship to Fuel of course weeks later but that didn’t matter to him, what mattered was that he was proud to have shared a locker room with such talented young wrestlers and formed a sort of bond amongst one another. Niggling injuries plus business elsewhere with his band and his own wrestling company meant he had to unfortunately leave LCW, creating a sadness in him which came flooding back upon the news that LCW and NLCW were merging, feeling that the closeness and the tight knit community created in that small but talented locker room might be lost in a much bigger place. Of course, when he was asked to appear at the NLCW vs LCW show, give his comments and thoughts on what that meant and whose side he was on, he honestly couldn’t and didn’t want to choose between them, having such fond memories for both.

That’s why he was glad he wasn’t asked to compete on Team NLCW or Team LCW for the main event, his inability to choose one side over the other might have been heartbreaking. Being there that night though, it lit a fire inside him that made him want to compete in NLCW again. Months of negotiations and decisions and he and Faith both made their way back to the company where they’d first met, winning their return match against the brother and sister tandem of Kidd and Kellie Kwik. He even got the one on one match he’d requested for over 2 years against Ethan Andrews to get back at him for what he saw as Andrews stealing the World title from under his nose in Highway to Hell II, the very first time that NLCW had seen the match first created in CWF in 2003. Slamfest saw two shocks for him, the shock of having the Slamfest battle royal win snatched from under his nose but also the shock of what he and Ethan did to each other on the same night in their match, one of several main events that night although he wished he could finally close the event as the very last match on the card as he’d wished since his first in 2004.

Those losses though, they helped him set himself on a path to better himself and prove he could work up from the very bottom rung of the ladder as he’d failed to do in his opening few months in the company, wanting to finally earn the respect of the batch of newcomers like Chris Logan, Dillon Durst and Frank Merritt that had debuted since his first World title reign had ended along the way. He eventually found himself taking on yet another newcomer to the world of NLCW pretty soon after....


******


Isaac Reynolds had been on a spectacular run since his NLCW debut and had managed to win himself the NLCW Television championship during the Sultan of the Squared Circle event against Hannah Galen, ex-wife of former NLCW World champion Sean. One week after retaining against Stacy Jones, it was his time to face Dazz and while the rookie wasn’t exactly shy and bashful about taking on a Hall of Fame legend, he wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence either. Talking about why he was a part of the Violent Delight group, he seemed both humble and grateful to be amongst so many big name wrestlers, not feeling himself worthy at times by all accounts. Dazz had been watching him from the sidelines, seeing bits of himself when he first began in the business. The same facial expressions trying to show confidence and hide the pangs of shyness and being overwhelmed but those feelings seeping through regardless anyway and trying to figure out his own way of taking body movement and language to his own level, going from debuting athlete to the type of big personalities usually seen on television competing on professional wrestling shows in front of big audiences. Just looking at this Reynolds guy showed that he wanted to fit in, to belong and to become one of them, the same feelings he himself felt when he first began his professional wrestling career in the Revolution Wrestling Federation, looking around him to see names and faces of those he looked up to and wanted to be on the same equal footing, the same level as someday.

It took him back in time to that very day he first started out as a professional wrestler, the sights, the smells, the atmosphere of being in the same locker room as all these men and women, not just the legends but those up and down the roster from opening match athletes to the main event superstars. Getting to watch them in action, maybe even tug on their proverbial shirt sleeves asking for advice and any information that could help him improve and become one of them, getting used to his position and becoming gradually impervious to the nervousness and the excitement he’d initially felt at the fact he was looking across the room at those who paved the way for people like him. That was how Isaac now was from what he noticed, Reynolds having began in NLCW straight from training, looking around him at people such as Dazz, Sean Galen, Alex Taylor, Dillon Durst, Ethan Andrews and Rick Majors amongst others all sharing the same small space as him, the pure joy and frantic worry about feeling unworthy in his eyes. Now after being with the company for months, Isaac had gotten used to it all and Dazz noticed the change, his emotions almost covered in Teflon as he became gradually unaware of the importance of the men in that locker room with him and saw them as fellow employees and even as friends in some cases rather than as the legends, the superstars, the Hall of Fame inductees that built NLCW from its foundations and made it what it was today, paving the way for him to enter upon signing the contract.

Now it was his time to face Dazz, a man who the mans knew could get the job done and, while not exactly taking it easy on rookies like Isaac, certainly wouldn’t be too harsh to put him off being in the business like some other veterans had done in the past to others just starting out. The battleground would be in the middle of the ring during NLCW’s Avulsion show on April 8th 2007 and he were just as excited as if he’d been in Isaac’s boots ready to take on a legend in a title defense. Just the way he felt when he took on Rob Thorn for the very first time for the NLCW World Heavyweight championship, defeating him for that belt and feeling he was on equal footing at Highway to Hell II months later at NLCW’s first ever When Worlds Collide event in 2004 and also when Thorn signed the contract to compete for CWF a year later. Maybe if they were to meet in the ring again many times then Isaac would also see himself as an equal to Dazz and not as a kind of teacher/student or legend/rookie? Only time could tell but as of right now, it was refreshing to be against somebody so willing to please the fans and satisfy them while also wanting to learn more as he went along. Not many who debuted here were the same, complaining if they didn’t get that World championship shot right away or acting as if the world owed them a favour. Reynolds was different and thank god for that indeed, less ego meant more fun and more of a challenge in the ring with an opponent focused on winning rather than showboating and thinking they had it in the bag.

As it stood, Isaac was part of a group named Violent Delight along with Tanya Black and Nicole Moretti, trying to gain enough together to give themselves a little push towards the top or put some attention on themselves without resorting to the blatant cheating that some people were accustomed to in wanting to make a mark, get themselves known. Not this little group though by the look of things. Refreshing, very refreshing.

He sat in the front seat of his car, leaning back against the soft seat with the back of his skull against the head rest atop the white leather that matched the rest of the cream interior, a stark contrast to the black paint on the outer side of the vehicle. The engine was off and no radio or in car CD player was making any form of a noise, instead peace and utter silence dominating in this space. His hair was still growing after having it short for over a year previously and he remained clean shaven, his eyes closed though, hiding those deep blues as he seemed almost in a meditative state. What he could be thinking or meditating about, nobody wandering around outside the car to and from the huge concrete and steel building would ever know nor even guess, not that they’d care anyway, wanting to think only of themselves and their own lives than whatever he was thinking about and he was glad too.

He was considering the fate that awaited him on this night. He of course was the type to want to win, being all smiles and fun before and after a wrestling event but on the day and even on the day immediately before and after, in this case Saturdays and Mondays, he liked to become all business and seriousness. No time for joking around or acting the fool to put others at ease, nor of being the life and soul of the imaginary party but instead preferring to stay in his own little world, his own self-created yet invisible bubble of which he could situate himself for three days and remain there until 72 hours later when he could become more friendly and approachable again. It wasn’t done on purpose, just seemed to be an in built reaction to help him because he didn’t enjoy being serious all of the time but also wished to avoid the polar opposite of that, the other end of the spectrum where he’d be a little too jovial and not take an upcoming match as seriously as he should, whether it be the main event for the World title in front of a crowd of 40,000 fans or the opening match against a debuting guy with no idea what to expect for a crowd of 5 people.

He loved being in the business for that reason though, not knowing how fans would react, not seeing their faces until he stepped through the curtain. That was a funny thing about professional wrestling, he knew exactly who he’d be competing against that night several hours before the show or in some cases a week or possibly even a month later if it was for a championship that was so coveted but the unpredictability of the whole situation made it fresh and exciting every time he pushed his way through that black as night fabric. Finding his feet on the steel of that stage, wherever he was in the world, he couldn’t be sure whether the fans would explode into a cacophony of cheering or booing and whether it’d be a slight gaggle of voices or an almighty roar of passion and fanaticism. That’s why he enjoyed being in the business, having a reaction from the fans for which he couldn’t be sure, a satisfying glow rising from his very core and moving through to his face, a smile having to be forced from escaping into the physical expression, not helping the fact he felt so proud, so happy that he was a part of this industry that has helped him so much to grow as an athlete and a person.

His eyes opened, staring at the insides of the car as his blue eyes adjusted to the sudden and unexpected attack from the daylight making its way into the vehicle with him. Pupils quickly dilating to protect from the sun’s rays, squinting and bringing his hands up to his face, gently rubbing at his eyes before taking a deep breath and yawning. He didn’t feel tired of course, just attempting to get a little rest in before he walked into the building, knowing how manic it could and would be. This was his normal ritual before every single wrestling show he attended. Of course, it was completely different with his band, not seated in his car hours before showtime but spending time with his friends in the band, having fun with them hanging with fans up close, having autograph sessions with lifelong diehard fans of not just the band but of metal in general, proving that it isn't just a genre of music but a lifestyle.

There was a famous saying created by one of the biggest bands on the planet about themselves which stated that life consisted of just four things: "Birth. School. Metallica. Death."

He hoped he had that effect on people, fans believing that he could help them through personal problems, emotional breakdowns and even the happier times of life as both a professional wrestler entertaining in the ring with solid displays of physicality or as the talented guitarist, vocalist, songwriter and lyricist he was, his words written specifically for the songs he and his band created together helping those seeking to find comfort or solace within those lyrics no matter how old or their background. That was another thing he enjoyed, appealing to those whether they were poor and living in run down accommodation or those wealthy people gifted with the biggest mansions and other luxuries in life. A universal acceptance was something he craved, gaining it within the world of music, gaining it with the fans of both his professions but still desperately seeking it amongst his peers in the locker room of NLCW, hopefully enabling himself to do so very soon, especially with the hard work and determination he had currently since his return. He sure hoped this working from the bottom worked since they were so determined to block his efforts to enter at the top and force him down the ladder while others passed right on through without anybody else batting an eyelid or stopping them to tell them the same as they told Dazz.

He looked ahead of himself as he sat in that car, watching cars of all types driving in and out of the parking lot ahead, people walking around talking on cell phones, smoking cigarettes, chatting to one another or just standing out in the fresh air getting some time to themselves in a secure and almost quiet area away from the hordes of fans waiting to pounce on whoever they recognised to get an autograph or a picture with their heroes. He loved interacting with fans but when he had to focus and get "in the zone" as it were, he just wasn't able to do that and still put on the best match he was capable of.

After pushing his fingers through the hair at the side of his head, gently scratching then reaching forwards, he managed to turn the key in the ignition and start the engine, hearing it roar into life. The engine was just like a throng of fans gathered and roaring into life whenever he appeared on the stage ready for a battle, roaring again whenever an impressive move was performed during the bout. His right hand instinctively went towards the gear stick, shifting it and pushing his foot gently on the accelerator as his hands twisted the steering wheel to his left side, gently moving the car into the parking lot as he passed those people standing around outside, watching more emerge with tools and equipment to walk towards the production trucks situated on one side of the arena.

After a short but slow drive he found a spot amongst the other vehicles in the parking lot, pulling up the hand brake with a gentle crunch as he leant over to unbuckle his seatbelt, the click and the slithering movement across his chest and ribs like a snake moving in carefully planned and purposeful movements to find its prey. The engine went from a gentle purr to complete silence as it was turned off, getting much needed rest after the drive to this arena while the commander of this four wheeled ship opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete, feeling the hard ground against the underside of his footwear, slamming the car door shut beside him, taking the keys in his hand to lock it behind him and pressing his thumb against a button, switching the alarm on.

Dragging his hand across the handle of the black sports bag on the floor next to his feet that he'd removed from his car without even realising, he gripped it tightly and began to use every muscle and ounce of strength in his upper body to lift it off the ground, feeling the weight of it as the bag hung in the air suspended from his limb. Despite containing his wrestling boots, the pants he wore to compete in plus athletic tape, a towel and toiletries to wash with after the match, it didn't feel too heavy but wasn't as light as a feather either, finding a middle ground somewhere that erred on the side of lightness. That was a good thing though because he had to walk an unknown distance to his locker room from here, not wanting to have a heavy bag in case his shoulder began to ache, feel sore or - in a worst case scenario he'd actually seen once - cause a minor injury that prevented him from competing to the fullest of his abilities.

He walked through the parking lot, nodding to those who acknowledged him with their own nods and smiles, some even saying a friendly greeting which he happily reciprocated without a second thought, enjoying that despite the high level of competition tonight, the hours beforehand were filled with joy and high spirits, everybody wishing each other the very best of luck and conversing amongst themselves with a candor that would seem almost impossible to those watching these men and women almost tear each other apart inside the ring week by week.

Eventually reaching his locker room after traversing the twisting corridors and hallways, he rattled the handle on the door and pushed through into the room, finding it as cold, as generic as most other similar rooms in various arenas around the world. Emptiness filled the atmosphere of this room almost as much as the stench of competition reeked all along the halls on his way here, his fellow wrestlers dotted all over the building looking forward to their matches, relaxing but trying not to show over-enthusiasm before the show was to begin. He took note of a steel chair unfolded in one corner of the room next to a long wooden bench in front of what looked to be wooden lockers without the doors, instead showing brass hooks to use as hangers for shirts, jackets etc and a small wooden gap for holding small travel bags, folded shirts or pants or – as was the case in professional wrestling – a handy way to store a championship belt when changing, especially to show off a person’s accomplishment during an on air promo within this room.

The walls of locker rooms were normally painted a neutral and bright colour like white or cream or any variation thereof but this one bucked the trend by having a sort of pale blue which helped make this room stand out just a little compared to others. After pushing the door shut gently with his right hand, Dazz strode across towards the bench, placing his bag on the steel chair’s seat to keep it off the floor for easy reach while seated, taking his place on the bench next to it and releasing a sigh from his lungs. This was to be his temple of sorts, his room for silent contemplation for the next few hours until Avulsion went on the air and he had to leave to make his way towards the ring for his bout against Isaac Reynolds for the Television championship, something which he’d never even competed for before let alone held. The nerves were starting to hit him already, wanting to put on the best match he could, try to win that championship and also give Isaac a lesson in how to perform a top quality match in front of the fans.

Of course, he hadn’t meant to think something which could be misconstrued as somehow arrogant or ego driven but of course, as it stood, he was the veteran and Isaac the rookie, a situation that had taken place many times throughout the lives of everybody in the business when they started out, including himself, where the more experienced wrestler schools the person just starting or with only a few months of experience under their belt to show how a big match scenario works in front of a crowd, preparing that person in advance for what could be a snippet of what a main event would feel like. It helped him in the past when he finally made it to the big time and became a World champion many times over and even Jason Stylez seemed to relish in being the master to this student despite the fact he didn’t need schooling, having learned all he was to know about working a crowd before coming to NLCW. That’s what he got though, having all these years of experience in the wrestling industry before, longer than some companies had even been in existence yet some people still insisted that he was a rookie, that even if they heard about his past achievements in the industry, he was still somehow untruthful. That hurt him most, being told that the countless championships he’d worked his ass off for years to achieve and gain in front of thousands of fans in packed arenas or millions all around the world watching on television or in sports bars, all of that somehow counted for nothing just because some people were too busy spending their time in the gutter promotions that thought they were much better than they actually were and somehow believed that their crappy little company was the only one to have ever existed.

Luckily though, he had no qualms in setting their facts straight and with this match he’d have yet another accomplishment to add to his resume, whether he won the title or not he’d be able to say that he gave Isaac his first major challenge and would hopefully have also impressed the bosses who told him to start from the bottom. That was something he felt set him and those others from the old school apart from the newer and younger generation. Those younger and beginning in the business seemed more focused on having their own fun, not taking things too seriously while he and others were taught early on back in the day that the keys to being successful in such a tough environment where slacking for just one second could mean somebody else taking your position in the company were to keep the crowds entertained, to always try to better yourself and to impress management constantly no matter what the match, no matter who the opponent, no matter what the situation or your physical or mental state. They signed the paychecks and they promoted you up the ranks along with fan reaction.

He wondered how Isaac was feeling, what he was doing at this current time, quickly dispelling that train of thought the moment the thought popped into his head, instead wanting to concentrate on preparing himself mentally and performing his usual ritual before matches, trying to put every other thought out of his head to avoid breaking tradition and thus sending himself on a path towards a potential loss not just in the ring but losing the full attention and respect of the fans, losing and disappointing that part in his mind which always was determined to win all the time, always wanting to appease that portion of his brain because that was the part that every athlete had which pushed them further towards victory, that tiny little voice in the back of the mind that convinces them that they will win. Fellow wrestlers, those Olympic gold medallists he’d spoken to, it seemed like a lot of athletes had that same voice, that same drive to win that helped push them over the edge and into the history books as winners.

Even some musicians had it, although their voice told them that certain guitar riffs, certain lyrics, certain vocal lines, drum patterns and bass lines were good but not spectacular, invoking them to push for something better which would no doubt end up being a long remembered track that stood the test of time and became remembered as a classic song forevermore. Being a musician himself along with being a professional wrestler, his mind felt crammed to bursting point with all of these voices telling him he could succeed in the ring, that his songs were fantastic and just this extra little piece could push them into classic territory. Almost like a form of schizophrenia that – instead of urging him to kill – encouraged him to better himself all the time and try to become the very best in both his chosen professions as musician and wrestler.

He decided to get changed now, unzipping the bag and leaving it wide open, reaching in to take a hold of his black wrestling boots, placing them on the floor as he bent forwards, raising the bottoms of his jeans to get at the laces of his black street boots, eventually managing to remove them before standing to unbuckle his belt and pull down the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning then pushing them down as he felt the denim sliding down his legs. A gentle tug on each leg enabled them to come off as he sat in what seemed to be his underwear but was in fact a pair of black short tights, the type that wrestlers such as Ric Flair and Hulk Hogan had worn in the ring in the past, keeping everything in check as he competed. Taking out his black baggy leather pants, he stood up once more to put his legs through and pull them up, buttoning them at the top then placing the hidden clasp at the front into its hole to keep them snug but without falling down. Then it was time to sit back down once more, placing his feet inside the wrestling boots and spending what might seem a lifetime to some lacing them through the many holes, pulling and looping the shoestrings repeatedly, several knots on the way up until they were finally fastened tightly. All he had to do now was pull the shin guards – those padded black fronts of his boots – across the laces to hide them whilst also protecting his shin, ankle and the top of his foot as he used those deadly and vicious kicks he was known for using during matches thanks to his martial arts background. After fastening the Velcro and moving his feet, ensuring that the boots wouldn’t come loose, he rested back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe deeply and rest his eyes before he had to roll the wrist tape around his arms.

The thing was, sitting here going through this every day may seem tedious to some but to him it was just something he happened to do, had gotten used to on a regular basis and getting changed into his ring gear just seemed like a habitual occurrence these days rather than excitedly fumbling with his laces or hurrying to change like when he began in the business. It were almost as if he was just going through the motions due to the fact that this became such a regular act before each and every show he competed at. Before he even knew or realised it, he was gripping the athletic tape in one hand, wrapping it around his wrist repeatedly until packed tightly, tearing off a strip at the end and flattening it against his forearm, repeating the same on the other side and then putting more around the very tip of his middle finger on his right hand. It wasn’t a gesture of obscenity, more another habit he picked up from his guitar playing.

He’d realised early on that whilst playing guitar, that finger would somehow crape against the strings of his instrument, causing it to bleed while he suffered pain and discomfort so he taped the end of that finger to prevent such a thing happening. At least he could save he gave blood, sweat and tears to both his chosen professions though and that made him proud, working his ass off to reach the level he was currently at. He didn’t know if he’d bleed in his match against Isaac tonight but if he really had to work through the match after being busted open, then that’s exactly what he’d do without a second thought. As long as he put on his best performance possible tonight, emerged without injury and entertained those fans who paid good money to sit in the crowd watching his match live, that’s all he cared about.

Before he even knew it, it was time to leave, to go take that long walk down the hallways towards the ring, towards his fate, towards his destiny. He stood up, stepping away from the bench and beginning his warm up routine, lowering himself with feet at shoulder width apart to a position which looks like he’s seated on an invisible chair for a split second before swinging both arms upwards and using every ounce of strength in his quadriceps to push himself back to an upright position, repeating this pattern as the blood pumped and flowed throughout his legs until he felt a slight strain and ache in those huge muscles on his legs, stopping at Hindu squat number 30 then pushing his legs as straight as he can, using his arms to try and reach up towards the ceiling, stretching himself out to prevent any cramping from happening after this slightly tiring, vigorous workout that aided in his lower body being useful and functioning perfectly inside the ring.

He then dropped to the floor, propping himself up on his palms and toes as he lowered his chest to just an inch off the ground, every fibre in his being used to maximum potential to push himself back up and straighten his arms. He did this 30 times, feeling slightly breathless as he stood up and moved his arms in circles, bending them and making sure blood got to his shoulders and the tips of his fingers. Every muscle in his upper body protruded slightly, his brief exercise not only keeping his body ready and prepared for battle but also giving him a little extra definition just before he appeared on television. Of course his body was greatly created, a physique which others were envious of but of course despite that, he liked every muscle to ripple just that little bit extra to look even more like a god-like statue chiseled out of marble in the ancient Greek ampitheatres and temples. He only performed 30 repetitions anyway because this wasn’t a workout, it was a warm up and he didn’t want to exhaust himself before he’d gotten inside the ring, knowing his body he could handle that many and still compete for 10, 30, 60, 90 minutes at a time while others in the company couldn’t even perform just one rep of each activity without feeling fatigued before they’d reached the ramp leading to their place of battle.

Just then, it was game time. Time came quickly, knocking on the door of his attention and he knew what he had to do. He approached the door, turning the handle and opening the door toward himself, stepping out into the hall as he closed the door behind him and began to walk the long, professional wrestling equivalent to the Green Mile past all of the NLCW employees whether they be ring crew, officials, company hired security or even other members of the roster standing talking to their allies or alone. The corridors full of personnel, equipment, cables all over the floor like the snake pit in Indiana Jones taped down to ensure nobody trips and falls over them, looking far from desolate and lonely with the company’s crew and belongings scattered all over in almost every single space in the building.

Suddenly the seemingly distant chatter gave way to activity that gradually became louder the further he walked, a noise like radio static entering his ears too. Then the dim glow of white from behind a black curtain, coming closer to find the Gorilla position, a hubbub of some of the key players from management and the television production crew seated at a hive of monitors, all wearing headsets with their words becoming blurred into one giant ball of blurred conversation, each saying a different thing to different people on the other end of the microphones situated near their mouths, directing both camera crew situated around the arena, the referee currently in the ring and both Aaron Jennings and “Flyin’” Bryan Terwilliger who were seated at ringside calling the action from behind their table.

Dazz hopped up and down on the spot, swinging his arms as he did so and staring at the black curtain ahead, a small gap showing nothing but white light and the noise of the crowd seeping in to this area, sounding like they’re ready and waiting for more entertainment, for more athleticism, for more competition to unfold before their very eyes. He stopped his on-the-spot hopping and looked at a man with short dark hair wearing a blue suit, white shirt and red tie who continuously looked from the curtain to the monitors to the legend focusing and using his last minute preparations and warm up. This man was Dade Midvalley, the guy in charge of the day to day handling of NLCW Avulsion and its ppv events while James L Rockingwell – the man in charge of the company as a whole – remained in the boardrooms and business meetings of the company’s main headquarters, only making the occasional appearance on television when making a potentially company and life changing announcement that could benefit or even the polar opposite of that anybody in the company from the wrestlers to the ringside staff to Midvalley himself if need be.

The men situated around the monitors sprung into even more activity than previously, rapid fire speech from every mouth while Midvalley watched them and then turned to stare at Dazz, who by now had ended his habitual and pre-match preparations and had an air of readiness about him, although he had an odd feeling inside. His head felt as if it were swimming, all sorts of thoughts rushing into his head, filling him with a slightly dizzying feeling while his stomach performed back flips, butterflies fluttering around his gut, causing the sensation of extreme nervousness and as if he wanted to vomit, the same feeling he felt and strangely enjoyed every time he was about to step out and begin entertaining. He’d always been told by others and came to the conclusion himself that if he were to ever stop feeling this before a match or a concert then he’d know that was the time to hang it all up, step away and enjoy a break until he got the itch again, that same itch that he knew would never truly go away now he’d had a taste of life as a wrestler and as a musician.

This was it; his time to shine and attempt to win the Television championship. Midvalley smiled and gently nodded his head towards Dazz, letting him know that they were ready. The opening blast beats and pounding guitar riffs of that Strapping Young Lad song which he used as his entrance theme excited the crowd, a huge roar going around the building as they knew who was about to make his way out to the ring. The song – “Relentless” – was an apt choice. The pure riffage and drumming was certainly relentless throughout the track, assaulting the eardrums for the entire duration of its 3 minute onslaught. It also seemed to fit his current style and determination to show that he shouldn’t have to start from the bottom but would continue the challenge anyway and prove just why he believed he – as a certified main event superstar, legend and Hall of Fame inductee as well as his status as a 2 time World Heavyweight champion in NLCW – deserved to be allowed back into the hunt for the belt which he’d given up willingly without losing it in a match almost 2 years previously.

The nonstop attacks, the way that he consistently drove forwards, never backing down, never slowing for a moment, just a continued and driven push towards his set goal, it seemed to fit that song very well. He waited just a short moment before climbing up the three steel steps that were almost like a stepladder to a slightly higher platform upon which the stage area was situated, pushing through the curtain and feeling the slight gust of air as it fluttered back to its position behind him, the arena in total darkness save for the flashing and multi-coloured lights which thankfully hid him from view as he found his spot on the stage, turning around to face the Avultron and parting his legs, raising his arms and closed fists either side of him to form a shape similar to that of the crucifix, huge explosions and immense heat behind him as the pyrotechnics commenced and the arena lights showed him in his pose.

He span around on one foot, facing the ring and looking out at the fans, a smile on his face as he saw the many thousands waving signs and cheering, noticing that from here he could not only barely hear himself thanking them for such a huge reaction but also convincing himself that the ring seemed like it were 100 miles away, such was the huge distance and the sheer scale laid out before his eyes. The long walk down that ramp began swiftly, noting the sheer excitement and the pleas to have him slap hands with those fans hanging over the protective barrier with hands outstretched in an attempt to touch even the slightest part of him. The glint in their eyes allowed him the knowledge that they were enjoying the show already but that his appearance was providing an extra delight in their very ordinary lives. Some of them maybe even wished to feel what it was like on the other side of the barrier, living the life he did of constant travel, of autograph signings, of in ring competition and championship accomplishments without realising the other things that weren’t so glamourous. The long wait to pass through customs as hordes of people asked for pictures taken with you or to sign a mountain of merchandise, the difficulty sometimes in finding transport at the very last minute to get to and from an arena and hotel, the lack of sleep provided courtesy of being inside the arena until the show was over, going for a few beers with some of the guys, trying to find a food joint open in the vicinity to have a meal and then either having a few hours sleep in the hotel before departing for the next flight or even just going straight from arena to airport unless there was a long haul drive in store depending on the travel situation facing him at the time.

He approached the steel steps, climbing them with ease like with any normal staircase yet these stairs signaled a climb to higher ground where the very best do battle for the riches and spoils this company had to offer rather than the luxury and comforts provided when at home walking up the stairs to the bed. Indeed at home the bed could provide a place to sleep, to rest and to relax the muscles causing less aches and pains as the body healed itself over the course of the night while these steps, rigid, cold and hard as they were led to the far from sanctuary enabling mattress but to a place where aches and pains were created and doled out like candy to those brave enough to step into this dreaded place night after night, wrestlers putting their bodies on the line for the fans and to say that they were good enough to win a championship belt.

The ring ropes separated him from his destiny, a barrier with which he had to break to pass the first test before being tasked with another, and more difficult and arduous test to come. Showing no respect for boundaries or barriers, he crossed through between the ropes and felt his feet against the canvas of the ring, allowing the fans to watch his commendable act of bravery, spinning around in the middle of that ring with arms outstretched once more before walking to one corner of the ring near the referee and ring announcer Lucinda Welch. The three exchanged friendly smiles amongst themselves, enjoying being out here in front of so many fans. That was when another musical assault pounded through the PA system and boomed all around him, lights once again flashing only differently to when his entrance took place moments ago, a large imposing man with short blonde hair and a championship belt fastened around his waist barely visible from behind the opened leather sleeveless trenchcoat marching down the ramp towards the ring, towards him. It was time to prepare for what was about to come, readying himself near the ropes as Lucinda announced the arrival of the current champion, his opponent for however long this contest would take place. His mindset focused, he knew what he had to do.


******


It had been amazing, just last week he was putting himself through a torturous worry over his first ever match for the NLCW Television championship, knowing that it was a title defended every single week but that with many others clamouring for their chance to hold it with odds of it being won or lost as 50/50, he wanted to make sure that he won it in his first challenge for that gold. Thinking back, every championship he’d earned so far in NLCW were all won first time

The first Hardcore championship match he had against Eddie September, he walked out as Hardcore champion; the first time he and Jason Stylez competed as a tag team they emerged as Tag Team champions; taking on Rob Thorn in his first NLCW World title match granted him the status and the right to call himself the main man in this company; his first Cruiserweight championship match not only in NLCW but ever since he began in the business against Violent A, he left Slamfest as NLCW Cruiserweight champion. In fact even his second NLCW World title reign a few years ago happened only because he’d walked into Highway to Hell III due to the clause signed to compete in every Highway to Hell match as the match’s creator and – first time – managed to get the win. To an extent even in LCW the first time he challenged for the LCW Heavyweight title after managing to qualify for the finals saw him walk away as the champion and the first time he was involved in a match with the LCW Hardcore title on the line, while he didn’t exactly win the match, he – as runner up – managed to become LCW Hardcore champion first time.

Now here he was, one week after his first ever shot at the Television title and with the belt resting on the table in front of him.

The pride shone through on his face as he sat already in his ring gear in the catering area, constant glances toward the shiny gold in front of him as he sat holding a fork in his hand, happiness still exuding from every pore from last week’s victory, a little too excited to really be able to eat anything. The plate of food just sat there, unable to do anything as he continued to pick at it, taking the occasional bite but not too concerned with trying to dampen the effects of hunger, instead sighing and thinking forwards to later tonight.

It was NLCW Fallout, indeed the fallout from his winning of the championship was still ongoing but his mind was wandering to other planes, stepping into different realms of thought deep within his subconscious. It was nice being a champion but at the same time, the adoration and idolisation that came with holding a title belt seemed distant and out of reach to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being the champion, it’s just that at distinct periods of time his mind drifted to think about what might happen on this night.

The difficulty in remaining with Television gold intact week after week was at an all time high with either the same challenger coming at you week after week - trying to chip away at the edges until those defenses finally broke down and allowed the title to slip out of the grasp, the challenger now becoming champion and figurehead of that division - or different people all with varying styles inside the ring and very different game plans trying to break through and force the championship away from you, even if the champ somehow managed to retain the gold for 3 weeks, who’s to say that the 4th week wouldn’t herald a loss and a brand new champion?

That was the beauty about the title though, the fact that it was defended every single week and even on ppv events now, unlike when the company began and they had the Television championship defended every week during Avulsion and the PPV championship was defended only once per month at the shows of which the title shared its name. It would certainly be something for anybody who managed to hang onto it whilst having so many title matches but it had been a long time since that would happen since NLCW these days didn’t seem to mind the rules and allowed whoever held the title to go weeks or possibly even months without the regular defenses that the rules originally stated had to take place at least once per week. He’d like to be the first in a while to achieve a lengthy reign of course but with the level of competition these days adding an extra factor into the ring wars that fans and athletes alike enjoyed so much, it would be hard to tell if it would become a reality.

He’d certainly try though, no doubt about that. He wasn’t one to just rest on his laurels and wait for the chance to come to him, instead he was used to and preferred to go headfirst into whatever challenge awaited. That meant that if he managed to retain against Isaac Reynolds tonight then he’d most certainly seek out somebody else who could take him on if interested in battling for the Television championship unless Reynolds wanted another shot at the belt. That’s the kind of guy he was, even if he defeated Isaac he’d allow him the chance to have another shot if he so desired.

What was he thinking? Why was he even allowing himself these thoughts? Even faltering towards unsure on the scale of his confidence in his abilities would probably ensure a certain loss, no matter how dignified. He had to think as if he was going to win, as if a portion of him knew he already had this victory won, in the bag and could go home happy with the championship title either hanging over one of his broad muscular shoulders or around that perfectly chiseled waist, covering the lower portion of his abdominal muscles. Some may have claimed it as evidence of egomaniacal tendencies, of his over-confidence pushing him over the brink and allowing him to slip up at the final hurdle, to lose due to selling his opponent short and thinking he’d had it in the bag. That’s if they could get inside his head but even if they did, they’d see not only his thoughts trying to focus and push himself to succeed but also that little voice that keeps him in check, stops him from going overboard with the self-praise and awareness of his own talents.

Looking at the plate of food, his stomach seemed to rumble and have an empty feeling but a part of him didn’t feel very hungry either. The 10 ounce steak seemed to just rest there, resigning itself to remaining untouched and completely oblivious to the distracting thoughts with which Dazz was occupied, preventing him from having his meal. Next to the meat were mashed potatoes covered in melted cheese, steam rising from the heat creating an intoxicating aroma in his senses, shaking him from his daydream into the cold, harsh realities of this world. Taking his knife and fork, he finally began to tear at the cooked flesh until only a smaller piece remained still attached by the prongs of his fork, raising it into his mouth to chew not just the food but to chew over the fact that in 4 hours time, he’d be in his locker room preparing mentally and physically for the bout ahead of him live in front of a huge audience, those at home paying $30 for the privilege of seeing talented athletes like himself, Isaac and more take themselves to the very limit.

He looked up and around him, noticing that Tyler Scott was seated with his very short dark hair and stubble an easy to recognise feature, wearing what looked to be dirty jeans and a slightly ripped white t-shirt with what looked to be engine oil stained into the fabric. He was seated at a table by himself far away from everybody else that were sitting or wandering around this area, leaning forwards to eat almost as if he’d done some serious jail time, that stoop that only convicts are known for as they eat, Tyler’s tray of food even closer to his body than others in the room. He’d never much known about Tyler if truth be told, going down to LCW just after Tyler’s time there was up and generally not coming into contact with the man. It seemed a shame but that’s how it was at this time, he just didn’t have the time to converse and it didn’t look like Tyler would honestly want to try and strike up a friendship with anybody, preferring his good friends, alcohol and cigarettes, instead.

He looked around, trying to find somebody else but in all honesty, there wasn’t anybody he wished to speak to. Either they looked busy, he didn’t get on with them or he just couldn’t think of anybody to talk to nor any topic of conversation to strike up. He managed to continue eating his meal regardless, knowing he’d feel hungry later but not wanting to snack so close to match time so wolfing down everything on the plate right now, rising to his feet and lifting the plate in both hands, carrying it as he moved away from the table and towards the table where all used plates, cutlery and cups were placed to be cleaned by the catering staff. The room looked barely empty now, Tyler still seated taking his time over his meal, seated in such a way that his position hid whatever the meal was from view. On his way out though, Dazz almost bumped into the man who would be his opponent tonight, Isaac Reynolds.

He glossed his eyes over this beast of a man, releasing a half-hearted smile and a simple nod of his head, Reynolds repeating with the same gestures, sidling past each other without a single word uttered between them. He would’ve greeted him in a more polite manner but he had no time for that, not wanting to exchange pleasantries until after they’d almost torn each other apart. Again, it was just the method in his near madness when it came to pre-match rituals that only he understood. Once safely in the doorway, he turned slightly, looking back to see Isaac approach the food and the drinks, feverishly glancing over the treats and delights on display, Dazz noting his carefree posture and body language before heading out through the door to the hall and away from the catering room.

He thought about his actions and how others may perceive them. It wasn’t fear that caused him to not stand chatting to his challenger, it wasn’t ego, it wasn’t downright impoliteness, he just preferred to stay distant to his opponents because why consider ruining almost a week’s worth if training and preparation by saying hello and being friendly as he would to those he wasn’t about to step inside the ring with? It would be hours before they’d take each other to their absolute best and he felt bad having to wait that long before striking up a conversation with Isaac but he had to wait, had to be patient. The time will soon come.


******


His ass met with the wood with a gentle bump, his spine bending and lurching forwards as his palms met his face, covering every part of it save for maybe the very tip of his nose. A long and loud sigh escaped through the slight gap as a deep growl from within his own throat came through, his frustrations coming to the fore as he sat on the bench.

He’d competed to the best of his ability, giving Isaac everything he had several times over and not only taking an insane amount of punishment but dishing it out too yet despite all of that, somehow he managed to lose sight of the task at hand, the goal lines disappearing quickly and one vicious spear that almost shattered his ribcage and allowed Reynolds to penetrate his diaphragm with his bulky shoulder. His whole body felt both hot and cool at the same time, sweat dripping along his skin all over giving him the slight sensation of coolness. His muscles felt as if they were on fire, burning and pumping blood a mile a minute, his calves and traps feeling tight, aching and painful. They were usually the first affected during and after a match but this particularly brutal and violent match – with its twists, turns, near falls and excitement which packed that entire contest from bell to bell – made his body feel like he’d been to Hell and back.

Now he was without the Television title, having been beaten by Isaac not too long ago, taking that long trek up the ramp with fans watching him with his head bowed, the lights dimmed to allow a segment in the backstage area to be shown fully to this audience inside the building but he could feel thousands of pairs of eyes staring at him, his funeral march their main cause for concern and their only entertainment it seemed. He hoped they’d watch what was going on elsewhere in the building as shown on the giant screen instead of focusing on him in his defeat, feeling as if they were only watching him to show some sort of mockery for letting that belt fall from his grasp. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost a championship match and surrendered the gold to a challenger but since this was his first NLCW title in almost two years, it affected him almost a little more than it really should have. He’d been in the business long enough to know that winning and losing were a natural part of this industry, that in the long run it didn’t really matter whether he won or lost but then again, he was a dedicated and loyal devotee to this business, to this sport.

That dedication, that devotion, that pure love and respect for the professional wrestling industry he’d spent a good deal of time in already meant that while others outside of wrestling may not understand, he lived by. Nobody outside of this career path would ever understand the fact that to him, one the one hand match outcomes didn’t concern him or matter to him all that much while at other times it was almost like a life or death situation. In this particular case, while he was glad to have held the Television championship at least once, to have his reign last only 7 days upset him greatly. Yes it may seem unfounded and maybe a little over the top but this was a serious business, a serious amount of sportsmanship and emotion involved with each and every match.

Finally he raised his head from his cupped hands, his blue eyes showing a mix of sadness, disappointment and anger at himself for losing the match and the championship. How could he have let that happen? It didn’t seem right to him but he couldn’t let himself dwell on this for much longer, he had to pick himself up, dust off those aching shoulders and be prepared for his next shot at the gold he’d just lost. He wasn’t sure when that would happen or how but he was determined to get another shot and hopefully next time get the job done.


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