Post by Ryan "Rocco" O'Callaghan on Dec 21, 2016 14:14:14 GMT -5
NNaa[[Princeton College Hoyt Dormitory[[aaNN
“Yea ma, everything is great.” I lied to my mother as she asked me about precalc. I didn’t know a fraction from a triangle but as far as she needed to know or cared everything was going great. My roommate Jeremy laughed as he sparked the bong in the corner of our dorm room sitting on a vomit green bean bag chair and played Madden 2K16. Our friend Dave sat at my laptop computer playing Pokerstars in a free tournament. Last week we fucking hit quad 4s and ended up coming in 8th in like a 10,000 person tournament and got real money to play with!
We were out of money by the end of the night, lol. But it’s all good. We had fun.
“Aight, Ma. ‘Night… love ya too.” I hung up on my mother and got onto another night of Smoking Madden Pokerathon, a nightly tradition between the three of us.
“I love your mom too.” Dave laughed as he wisely folded 2-7 off suit.
“Your turn, Roc.” Jeremy said, distracting me from hitting Dave as he passed the bong.
“You’re lucky that pot trumps punching… What happened?”
“Helmet shot!”
“Shit, son. Show me the replay!”
We only smoked during special events during the game, which seemed to become decreasingly important as our desire to get a buzz on grew. Every time someone scored a touchdown, every time there was a turnover (except turnover on downs), every time there was a sack and every time a player’s helmet got knocked off we would rip the bong to our faces. The best days were when Dave would bring his steamroller… holy shit that thing. He replayed the brutal hit, and the crazy graphics on the PS4 really helped you visualize the attack like it was a real person getting hit.
It was nothing like the reality of pro wrestling though. Ever since I was a little kid I watched as titans towered over normal men and put on feats of amazing athleticism and entertained while attaining this insurmountable glory that I could only dream of. And dream was all I thought possible for a long time.
My mom wanted me to be a surgeon… to help people, my dad: a CEO or some shit. And I could do any of those things if I wanted to on my parent’s dime alone, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to wrestle… but every time he mentioned his dream it always went the same way…
July 2008
Ryan sat on the floor of his living room with his wrestling action figures in front of him as he played ‘Regal Rumble’ while watching the same event on DVD. He stashed the wrestling action figures behind his back and every time the numbers counted down he would ceremoniously reach behind his back and pull out another character and enter him into the fray.
“I’m gonna be a famous wrestler someday.” The 11 year old and youngest O’Callaghan sibling said to himself. His father barely poked his eyes over the newspaper he was reading and mumbled under his breath.
“Whatever.”
He didn’t have faith in Ryan’s ability to become a wrestler. And why would he. He was an 11 year old kid wearing polo shirts and khaki pants. Growing up in the nicest neighborhood in Greenwich Connecticut and being told that he would grow up to be a doctor or lawyer. He was given every opportunity to succeed in life, why would he squander that and choose to enter a fake profession where you could get seriously injured or even die?
“I am dad. You’ll see!” He replied not-so-convincingly.
Summertime in Connecticut was often spent like this before going outside to play fight wrestle with his friends, cinching in the perfect Boston crabs and laying people out with flying cutters OUTTA NOWHERE!
January 2014
“Happy Birthday to you!"
On his 17th birthday Ryan O’Callaghan blew his candles out on his cake and made a wish.
“I wish I was a professional wrestler.” He accidentally said out loud. Fortunately, his dad was too busy ogling the maid and his mother was typing on her phone, probably on Tinder or something. But he was rebellious, and he was tired of being ignored. 17, salty and defiant he said it again. “I WISH I WAS A PROFFESIONAL WRESTLER.”
“That’s nice sweetie.” His step-mother Siobhan said. “You can be whatever you want.” She lied.
But his dad heard and it got his ire up. He stared daggers at Ryan and finished his Whiskey on the rocks before sitting down. And in a calm and distant voice he said.
“I’ve spent way too much money making sure that you got into Princeton despite o yourself. You are going to take this opportunity and make something of yourself instead of living this circus fantasy that you had when you were a kid.”
“Is he still talking about that?” Siobhan responded finally taking her head out of the light of her phone. “Honey, you know how unrealistic that is. We need you to live in this world. We’re Donaghys…”
“O’Callaghans.”
“Right. Whatever, we have a standard to live up to.”
“And you’re not going to work in a circus, end of story.”
He wanted so much more. He didn’t want it to end there. He was determined to get what he wanted.
“I’m not going to Princeton! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”
NNaa[[Princeton College Hoyt Dormitory[[aaNN
So I may not have as large of a backbone that I wish I had when it comes to my parents, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I did it. I joined a local company called Northeast Wrestling Federation and learned the ropes. I met ‘Massacre’ Matt Lockett and he trained me in the art of technical and hardcore wrestling. I mixed in some high flying moves because why the fuck not, I’m young and invincible, right?
I won the Welterweight Championship, and then eventually won the NWF Champion. I think it was around then when I became noticed by the bigger companies. But I still wasn’t being recruited. But Seth Lerch put out an open call for new talent and I went in and he let me have a tryout. I’ve got that coming up tomorrow.
THANK GOD there’s no drug testing. From what I understand if there was half the roster would be fired including Seth himself. Because I needed the weed. My body hurt all the time, and it soothed the aches and pains. It made me feel awesome too, but that was an added bonus.
“Yo… check it out.” Dave started. “I’ve got 10-Jack of Diamonds. 2 diamonds on the flop plus an inside straight draw. This guy wants me to go all in. What do you think? Do I chase it?”
“Nah, man. Fold that shit. You ain’t got nothing.” Jeremy said and Dave folded.
The queen of diamonds hit on the turn giving him a flush and a straight- not a straight flush. But his Jack high flush would have beaten the triple Aces that the other guy ended up with.
“You always play it too close to the chest man. If you don’t stand for nothing, what will you fall for?” I said as I threw a post corner and scored a touchdown with Rocco O’Callaghan to Percy Harvin… yea I’m the fucking QB, what are you gonna do about it. “Spark the bong, bro!”
He lit up.
“Yo, you gonna be able to drive me this weekend to Pennsylvania. I’ve got my tryout at WCF on Sunday.” I asked Jeremy.
“Yea man, I gotchoo. I don’t believe that you’re still doing this shit. *cough cough cough* fuck man. This shit is dank."
“You gotta do what you gotta do man. I want this shit. I NEED this shit. I’m gonna take it, bro. I’m gonna be famous.”
On cue Dave plays a song on the computer.
‘I wanna be a billionaire, so fucking bad…’
“LOL. Yea man.“ I said “Maybe not a billionaire, but I want the glory, you know. I want to hear the roar of the crowd and the excitement and whatever the fuck else you get from it. Fuck man, I’m shot right now. Did you just score a touchdown?”
“What?” Jeremy responded as he dragged another puff of sweet herb.
We were fucked man. This was a good night.
NNaa[[Philadelphia, Pennsylvania [[aaNN
Jeremy let me drive as he was so fucked from the night before. The Gammas had a sorority party and Jeremy couldn’t keep himself away from those biddies. They were… how do I say this nicely… the plus sized girls. But they knew how to party. They always had the best snacks which were perfect for a stoner, and they were always DTF which was perfect for a 20 year old hormone fueled dude. I admit that I had taken a dip in the gamma pond a time or two, or twelve. They were fun chicks, and it was always a good time. Size isn’t the most important thing.
Plus it was nice being invited to these parties. The traditionally hot chicks always kept their events to the frat houses and I didn’t join the Betas in protest of being forced to go to this Ivy League School in the first place. I convinced myself that I wouldn’t go even if I was invited, but even I know that’s a load of shit.
We had passed the city line into Philly and it seemed like Jeremy had decided to wake up once the sweet smell of sewage of poverty wafted into the car.
“We’re here, huh? Can we go see Paddy’s Pub?” He asked taking out his phone and surfing the web. I laughed and paid closer attention to the GPS that was leading me to some small gymnasium or something in Philly for the WCF tryout. I had my gear bag packed up and was only focused on fighting and earning my spot on the first big stage wrestling promotion that I’ve had this opportunity for.
And it doesn’t get much bigger than this fed. It’s been open for 15 plus years. They just had their biggest show of the year in a sold out Met Life Stadium where I always watch the Bills get trounced by the Jets. They have this team of Pantheon running the joint and another team of psychos called Zero Tolerance nipping at their heels.
Then there’s the brotherhood who has a strong leader but other than that a team full of misfit toys from the isle of misfit toys. I’m pretty sure Damian Kaine wants to be a dentist. If I can make it here I can make it anywhere, but I’m hoping that if I can make it here that I won’t HAVE to make it anywhere else. I hope that this will be it.
“Dude.” Jeremy said as I looked at the streets for the destination. “DUDE!”
“What! I’m trying to pay attention.”
“We’re here.” He said pointing up at the massive yellow and red neon sign and the beautiful oblique contours of the structure.
“No fucking way? THIS PLACE? For a tryout?”
I pulled into the parking lot and a lone parking attendant directed me towards a small garage where I was able to park Jeremy’s Lexus. I stepped out and grabbed by Nike gig bag and Jeremy followed.
“I thought you weren’t coming in.” I asked Jeremy.
“I’m not gonna miss out on a shot like this. To see the inside of the Wells Fargo Arena!” He laughed. “How did you not realize that this was the place?”
“You punched it into the GPS!”
“I’m high as shit, what do you expect!?!?”
I walked in through the doors and security stopped me asking for credentials.
“I… I don’t have any.” I replied with a quiver in my voice. I was fucking intimidated as hell in this gigantic place. He then asked for my ID and I gave him my license. He looked at a clipboard and sighed.
“Who’s this?” He pointed at Jeremy who quickly replied.
“Jeremy Saia, I’m his manager.” He replied slyly on his feet and extending a hand out for a handshake. The black security guard ignored this and said something under his breath about ‘fucking noobs’ and led us down the hallway. We walked past the locker room where the Sixers get dressed and he led us to what I think was the visiting team locker room.
There were about 3 dozen cubbies; 2 dozen or so were filled up with gear bags already. I found one and put my bag in it. Even still it seemed oddly empty. I pulled on my trunks and my knee pads. I laced up my boots and I put on my leather jacket. Black on black on black on black. It was my style. Plain and simple. Down and dirty. That’s how I fought and that’s how I liked to look.
“Captain Rump… that you?” A large bald man wearing a WCF shirt shouted into the locker room where only me and Jeremy stood.
“No. I’m Rocco.”
“Who?” The ogre replied.
“Ryan O’Callaghan, the hottest new prospect in WCF. He’s got a tryout today.” Jeremy said in true managerial form, really sticking with the bit.
“Ha… there’s no tryouts today, rookie. You’re in a match on Slam. Welcome to the big times, boy!” The man laughed as he exited.
Jeremy jumped up and down in excitement grabbing me on the shoulder.
“BIG LEAGUES, BROTHA! CONGRATS!”
I was in shock. This was what I always wanted. I wanted to be in the big leagues, but now that it was happening… now that it was true. I wasn’t sure what to think. This was too much to be true. I knew that nothing was set in stone yet. I had seen countless wrestlers join the WCF just to leave within a week or two. Hell, I’ve seen countless wrestlers join the shitty high school gymnasium fed I was in and leave before their first match.
I was gonna be on TV, but I wasn’t guaranteed a spot yet, I’m sure. I had to do it up right. I’m not throwing away my shot. I’m young, scrappy and hungry and I’m not gonna miss this opportunity.
“Yo, beluga,” I shouted at the large man before he left the room. “Who am I facing?”
“You’re lucky Seth tells me not to crush the ‘talent.’ There’s a lineup on the wall here. Look at it yourself, jackass. ‘Good Luck.” He finished sarcastically. Jeremy disregarded the blatant disrespect and shot to the wall to read it up.
“Opening match against Vinnie Jones, Captain Rump and Axel Blackwood. OK, so now we know. Now what?”
“Google that shit, man. I don’t know these guys from Adam.”
He pulled out his iPhone and checked it out. He got to the WCF website and pulled up their bio page. It was only stats and a picture.
“Vinnie looks like an older dude… journeyman or something probably. He’s been around. He’s fucking big, though dude. I don’t know how accurate these numbers are but you’re out of your fucking league here. They really let dudes that size face guys your size. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It don’t matter how big a guy is. They all have the same weaknesses. Being that big is hard on your knees, even if you’re a premier athlete like former WCF Champion Thomas Bates it takes a toll on your joints. I’m sure he would say the same thing. The body doesn’t want to be that big. Despite how much you train or how hard you work to maintain your shape or size or whatever you gotta realize that your body wants to be a healthy smaller weight.
But look whose champ now. A smaller dude named Joey Flash. He’s a fighter, and he knows what he’s doing. He knows how to use a man’s size against him and he knows how to use his own strengths in his favor.
And by the looks of this guy, Vinnie ain’t taken the best care of himself either. He looks like he’s been through the ringer. But I don’t take age for granted. My brother always taught me about old man strength. He could always beat me in certain things because he knew how. He told me I would never beat him, but I eventually did. The same thing will happen here.
He may have the experience, but hell, who don’t got the experience on me. I’m fucking 2 years into this, and spent my entire career wrestling in front of like 50 people. He’s probably seen huge arenas like this. He probably won’t be fazed at all stepping into the ring with us. He’ll be hell bent on proving that he belongs here just like me and just like we all should. I gotta take him as seriously as I would take WCF Television Champion Frank Patrick Venable. That’s my first goal is to get to him. I gotta get through these guys first if that’s what I want to do.”
“Says here that he’s like Jekyll and Hyde. Split personality. How do you prepare for someone who can come out as either a doctor or a devil?”
“Prepare for the devil. Because the fact is he’s always the devil, right. The worst thing the devil ever did was convince the world that he don’t exist. Well that’s what this guy is trying to do. He’s trying to throw us all off and act like his devil don’t exist. But he does and he’s always that dude. If you plan to fight the devil then when you get the saint you’ll be more than prepared.”
“Fuck, man. How’d you get so insightful?”
“Lockett, dude. That guy has shown me everything I know. He’s shown me how to prepare and gotten my mind in the best place it can be for this moment. I owe him the world; I wish he could be here tonight.”
I look at the lineup again and see my opponents once more. I still can’t believe I found myself in this situation. I can’t believe that Seth is putting me on TV.
“Well from one giant dude to another, that Captain Rump is a fat fucking luchador lol.”
“Again, dude. Don’t take size lightly. You don’t get to this level by being bad. Fuck, you gotta be fucking good to get to this level. If I hadn’t won a title at my last joint there’s no way that Seth would have let me do this.”
“From what I’ve read Seth was probably drunk when he signed your contract.”
“Well we’ve all made some pretty good decisions when drunk I think. What about last night. Do you regret Becky?”
“That bitch slobbed the knob better than I’ve ever had. Fuck no I don’t regret that. But I wouldn’t have done it unless I was drunk so you’re right on that front. But this is different. I think he likes to see people get his ass kicked. And he’s setting you up for a major ass beating between these two giants.”
I looked through my phone, pushing down the fact that my parents may see me on television… or more realistically that someone will see me and tell my parents. Neither of them would watch a wrestling event, but we knew people that would. But I couldn’t worry about that.
Or maybe I could. Maybe if I win they will see that I’m ready for this and I’m making the right decision. Maybe they will finally accept me for who I am rather than who they want me to be. I can’t shake that day the first time that my mom saw me wrestle though…
November 2012
Ryan stood on the top rope of the makeshift wrestling ring he and his buddies built in the woods behind their friend Tara’s house. On the bottom they had ‘collected’ tires from junkyards and made as close to a 20x20 foot square that they could. They put pieces of plywood on top and covered that with old blue wrestling mats from their schools’ gym back storage locker. Then finally they topped it with a large piece of canvas from the store. That whole thing cost them about 100 bucks altogether which considering their background was not all that much money for them.
For ring posts they got wooden studs for in between fences and looped thick rope wrapped in duct tape through holes they drilled. For turnbuckle pads they used boxing gloves that all of them had from failed ventures at boxing that their parents had made them do, all of them trying to be convinced to do anything other than obsess over professional wrestling.
It was not steady and very precarious, but his opponent lay in the center of the ring and just won’t stay down for the three. He needed to go up. He needed to climb to the top rope and hit a high impact move. No one had tried this since they built the ring 3 months earlier. Everyone who climbed up was too afraid and would end up jumping from the middle rope. But he had balls. He was gonna go for that five star frog splash and end this once and for all.
He made the sign of the cross. He wasn’t religious, his family wasn’t either, but he felt it necessary considering the plunge he was about to take.
“RYAN QUINCY O’CALLAGHAN… WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?!?”
He knew that shrill and foreboding voice. It was his kind and gentle mother, who, when provoked, was anything but. She marched over with a group of parents that they all recognized and everyone felt defeated. He was about to have his greatest feat as a wrestler and it was ruined by his mother.
He couldn’t let it stand. So he jumped. He wanted to show her how exciting it would be to watch her son do feats of high flying and acrobatics. He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt when he watched the greatest wrestlers in the world do it, and he and to show her that he had what it took not just to be a wrestler but to be a great one.
He moved in slow motion. He watched as his opponent’s eyes opened wide as he waited for the expected. And as Ryan neared the mat he realized he was nowhere near where he needed to be. He wasn’t going to reach. He panicked. He didn’t want to land stomach first. He rolled over just enough to land on his shoulder and when he landed he heard the most sickening crack he had ever heard.
He had broken his right collarbone. His mother brought him to the hospital and he was in a sling for a month before he could resume normal activities. He missed the end of football season and the beginning of basketball. His shoulder was never the same again. He blames this for not getting a basketball scholarship- his jump shot was gone. But he also used it as motivation to get better and to not give up.
NNaa[[Philadelphia, Pennsylvania [[aaNN
I have done that move a hundred times at least since then. I haven’t gotten hurt yet since that moment, knock on wood, aside from a few unwelcome sprains or whatever, but nothing I couldn’t walk away from.
“Here’s a smaller dude. But he looks vicious!” Jeremy interrupted my thought thankfully.
“Who is he?”
“Axel Blackwood.”
I looked at his bio. Not much about the guy except that he’s about my size. These were the types of guys that seemed the most threatening to me. I was a wide receiver in football. I was used to running circles around the lineman in blocking drills. It would drive the coaches crazy that they couldn’t stop a ‘little dude’ like me.
But it was when you came face to face with those cornerbacks and safeties. Those dudes that were the same size and speed as you. Those guys that could match your moves and match your strength. But the thing was that they couldn’t beat you either. It was always evenly matched and it depended on who had more skill and more ability. It all depended on who trained more.
And no one trained more than me. I was more ready for this than I’ve been for anything else in my life. I couldn’t lose. Well, I could lose but I would look damn good doing it, you know.
“He’s hardcore, bro. Aren’t you hardcore?”
“I’m hardcore trained. I mean if the match needs it I know how to handle a chair and a bat, but I don’t want to be labeled as the hardcore guy. I want to be the fucking wrestler that people see and say ‘that dude fucking knows wat he’s doing.’ I want to be the guy that people cheer for because he’s just that damn good, you know?
This guy, he looks like the type of guy that would beat a baby if it meant that he would get ahead just a little bit. He seems like the bad guy from Karate Kid 3 where he would get a point and lose a point just to keep the match going.
Well this isn’t about points. This is about pins or submissions. This is about showing people who is the best. And I may not be the best yet, but this is my first step towards greatness. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to prove that I’m as good as I think I am. Just being here may be enough, but I want more, man. I want to be the best. And I’m gonna prove that dreams do come true.”
Jeremy shook my hand as another trainer came in and shouted my name. He was as big as the other guy, but had long stringy black hair.
“Oh Calagan…” He said incorrectly.
“It’s O’Callaghan… you can call me Rocco.”
Jeremy and I walked over towards him.
“I don’t care what your name is. You’ll probably be gone after this week. I don’t bother learning your names till you’re here for a month and even then I may not. Where do you think you’re going?” He pointed at Jeremy.
“Jeremy Saia, I’m…”
“I give even less of a shit who you are. No non-wrestlers past this point unless under contract and neither of you are. So go back home and come back to see the show at 7.”
Jeremy shook in his boots. This man was massive and knew it.
“S…Seven. Right. Well, good luck Roc.” He reluctantly said to me putting out a friendly hand.
“Thanks man.” I shook his hand and followed the large man down the dark hallway and towards my first step towards glory.