Choke, Choke Again

[Kaz]

[Segment 1 – Could I Push Rewind]

Sykes: What’s wrong Colin? Was last time not enough for you?

Sykes asked the questions with his hands around my neck. The pressure against my carotid arteries caused my vision to darken. Just as I felt myself blacking out…the pressure released. My lungs struggled for air, choking on every sweet bit of it.

Rabuele Picardos: Colin…what’s going on?

I lay against the mat as I pondered Rabuele’s question. I didn’t know exactly what was going on anymore. I felt lost in this barn, in this ring. If I never got up off the floor again…that would be a-ok.

Rabuele Picardos: You have everything you need to succeed. Why can’t you do it? You put up one hell of a fight Colin…then you choke.

Sykes: You struggle to close. Why do you hesitate? Is there something there that’s stopping you from winning? A mental block maybe?

I didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. I felt a firm grasp on my arm, but Rabuele’s voice cut in through the haze.

Rabuele Picardos: Leave him for now. We have other places to be, Sykes.

I roll over on to my side and watch as the two men exit the shed, leaving the double doors wide open. I sit there in silence and disillusion. The one man who had believed in me this entire time just walked out on me. I could hear the disappointment in his voice…I closed my eyes and my mind began to wander.

Robert: (Voiceover) What IS wrong with you Colin? What’s holding you back? You were inches away from grabbing the People’s Championship before Chelsea Black Armstrong climbed that ladder and knocked you off. She didn’t hesitate to secure the victory…Why can’t you have that same resolution? It’s like you’re afraid of your own success.

When I opened my eyes again, I was once again buried in Robert’s dream world. The coastal forest was as clear as day, the tree line was lush and green. Robert stood with his back against one of the trees, his arms folded. He looked at me with stern eyes.

Colin Marshall: (Voiceover) Trust me, Robert, I know. It was like I was watching myself reaching for that belt…but I was just waiting for it to come to me. Why do I think like this? Why can’t I pull my own head out of my ass for one minute? It’s like I can talk and talk…but I can’t win. I’m beginning to think what Buzz though was true…that my first victory was a fluke and I’m not meant for anything greater than that first moment.

Robert’s gaze turned angry and his words were heated.

Robert: Don’t you ever think like that Colin Marshall. I know what is stopping you from succeeding…it’s yourself. You don’t think that you’re a winner? You don’t want to be a front runner in the WCF? Fine, then you’re not. If you think that way, it’s going to come true. Pull yourself out of that Colin. Now get out of here…I can’t look at you right now.

The wrench behind my navel yanked me once again from the dream world. When I came to on the mat, I felt like I had been thrown against it. I crawled towards the bottom rope and pulled myself out of the ring, holding on to the bottom rope on the outside of the ring as well. I held my bruised ribs as I walked towards the exit. I picked up my bag off the ground as I walked towards my car. Once inside, I pulled out my cell phone and began recording.

Colin Marshall: My name is Colin Marshall, but you all know that by now. Last Sunday, at Asesinato de Mayo, I claimed I would defeat Jordan Ciserano, Bryan Worthy, Peter Quinn, and Chelsea Black Armstrong and become your People’s Champion…I did not achieve that. You all cheered for Colin Marshall, you wanted him for People’s Champion…but I was not able to come through for you. I let you, the people, down. I let myself and everyone who cares about me down. This is a message to all of WCF, wrestlers and fans alike…I’m done messing around. It’s gotten me nothing so far. From this day forward, you’re going to see a new, determined, calculating, and precise Colin Marshall. You’ll never see that hesitant kid anymore. Always be on your guard when you step in to the ring with me, or you’ll find yourself in the hospital with a broken neck. It’s either that or…

I stopped, feeling my eyes well up with tears. I couldn’t let Rabuele down again…ever. A single tear escaped from my right eye and I pressed stop. I saved the video and sent it to the WCF webmaster to be posted. I didn’t care that I let my emotion slip in the video. I started my car and drove towards whatever future awaited me.

[Segment 2 – Wasted Time]

This week, when I got off the plane in Belfast, Ireland, I did not go to the hotel that Rabuele set up for me. I slipped past his driver and caught a taxi out of the airport.

Cabby: Where to, sham?

I asked the driver if he knew of any motels in the area that were out of the way.

Cabby: Sure there are, but yer’ not goin’ to like the area…

I told him it was fine and we drove off. I sat in the middle of the back seat, my head leaned against the rest staring at the sky out the back window. The Belfast sky was very blue today, but I was not focused on that. I had my match against Quinn this week. I wasn’t afraid of him, having already performed against him in the People’s Championship match. He fought like a child and looked like a woman. I was just afraid I was going to choke and not be able to obtain the win this week.

Cabby: Got somethin’ on yer’ mind fella?

He could tell I was deep in thought. It was probably the pensive look on my face. I didn’t know what it was about random drivers…but they always wanted you to get your problems out in the open…Talkative bunch, these drivers.

Colin Marshall: Yeah, I have something on my mind. You watch professional wrestling?

A look of realization crosses his face and he opens up in response.

Cabby: I thought I recognized you, sham. You’re that Colin Marshall buck aren’t ya?

Colin Marshall: Yes sir, that’s me. Well, anyways, if you know me then I’m sure you know that I haven’t won a single match since my debut, right?

The cabby looks confused, but answers the question either way.

Cabby: Aye, I know.

Colin Marshall: Well, I’m not sure what to do. Do I keep going or do I quit? It doesn’t seem like it’s something I’m meant for if I can’t win.

Cabby: Well, I’m goin’ to tell ya’ somethin’, sham. What I see is a buck that goes out there and fights his heart out every night. When I was growing up, it wasn’t about who won or lost the fight, it was about who had the stones to step up and fight like a man. Just going out there every night, even if you lose, you have my respect lad. Who are ya’ fighting this week?

I let the cabby’s words sink in…inspiring bunch, these drivers.

Colin Marshall: I have a match against Peter Quinn, writer extraordinaire.

Cabby: You have a match against Quinn, that gammy tool? What’s he even doing in a ring?

Colin Marshall: I don’t even know…but I’m terrified this week too. I’m not afraid of him particularly…there’s just a lot of other stuff going on. Now I’ve gotten mixed up with Diablo Calzone and I have no idea what he’s capable of.

Cabby: The only advice I can give ya’ is to focus on the present, lad. Think about Quinn, not Diablo Calzone. Get your win this week, if it’s what you need. You need to get that confidence back son. Go in there and make an example out of that tool Quinn. Show them that Colin Marshall’s not to be trifled with. Everyone will take notice, I promise ya’ that lad. Don’t waste any more time there. Life’s short.

We drove the rest of the way to the hostel in silence. I was soaking in this man’s words like life nectar, letting them fill me up. They inspired me. I made my convictions in my video to the WCF earlier, now it was time to stick to them.

[Segment 3 – Coming Undone]

I sat in my cheap hotel room with my phone cut off from all outside contact. I began to dig through my bag, pulling out a camera and the equipment to set it up. I put in on a tripod, plugging all the required accessories in to it. After it was completed, I sat on the bed, thinking about everything that was about to happen over the next few weeks. I had to let Diablo know that I wasn’t going to be fucked with…but this week was Quinn. He would be the first to feel this pure fury. I began to become unhinged as I took my place against the wall. I remotely started recording, threw the remote to the side, and looked in to the camera.

Colin Marshall: I keep trying to hold on every week. I go in to that ring, do my thing…and walk away, with my head down in shame. I know the score, Colin Marshall, one, one, and five. The losses weigh heavily on my mind…not because I think I’m better than any of the opponents I have faced, no. It’s because I KNOW I’m better than any opponent I have ever faced. I know I have what it takes to crush their skulls in to a million pieces. I know I have what it takes to kick their teeth down their throat and watch them struggle to swallow them. I know I can do these things…and they’re about to find out.

I tilt my head forward, allowing my shoulder length hair to dangle in front of my eyes. I begin to raise my hands up, balling them up in to fists, and holding them in next to my face.

Colin Marshall: This week, I begin anew. I start with Peter Quinn, a man I have some knowledge of in the ring…but if anyone’s ever babysat a kid, they have experience with Quinn in the ring. His style is tantric…and I’m not really sure he knows what he’s doing out there. I’m more surprised he hasn’t hurt himself yet…but no matter. I’ll make short work of him this week.

My lips curve up in to an iniquitous grin, one that would haunt Quinn’s dreams.

Colin Marshall: You’re an author, right Peter. I have something for you to write about…it’s called the Six One Fourteen edition of Sunday Night Slam! Headline: Peter Quinn Gets Kicked in Head So Hard, Forgets What He Did For Living. I will crush you Quinn…and I will enjoy every minute of it. I’ll make an example out of you that the WCF Galaxy will never forget. My time of being at the bottom of this totem pole is over. After I make you beg and cry for sweet, sweet mercy…I’ll just be getting started, Peter. When you come at me Quinn, strike quick and be deliberate. I want to hear those sweet bitter words flow from your mouth. They always say that the pen is mightier than the sword Quinn…but will a pen fix your broken neck? See you at Slam, Peter.

I walk away from the camera and grab the remote. I begin to whistle as I turn the camera off.