Post by Joey Flash on Dec 27, 2015 10:21:20 GMT -5
‘The Pain of War – The tragedy of the man who conquered the world’
a report by Scoops Callahan
On the morning of Saturday 3rd October the world was at Joseph ‘Flash’ Malignaggi’s feet. He was to wed his long time betrothed Alessandra Malignaggi (née Allegri) his childhood sweetheart and a week later have his honeymoon in the ring in what was billed as the biggest and most lucrative World Title match in modern history. (The 4.7 million pay-per-view buys making it the biggest selling event in North American professional sports history surpassing Mayweather vs Pacquiao which clocked in at 4.6m) By the time the sun had set on the wedding day of 3rd October Malignaggi’s life was thrown into chaos.
The terrorist attack on St Patricks Cathedral, Manhattan, caused eleven people to lose their lives as gunmen launched an assault on the Cathedral first with several explosive devices and then indiscriminately firing assault rifles among the wedding party. Since the attack no organisation has explicitly claimed responsibility but word from the lead investigator Agent John Mullins, he believes the attack to be “an isolated incident” and “gang related”, also Mullins said that the CIA are “pursuing several leads” for the attack. In what was the largest terrorist act in the city of New York since the September 11th attacks of 2001, the city, and the nation have rallied behind the man at the epicentre of this tragedy, Joseph Malignaggi. A man who lost everything that day, a man who received the most horrific wedding present of all, Christian, the four year old son of Malignaggi and Allegri was caught in the attack and passed away before ambulances could reach the scene.
The six days following the tragedy, a city mourned, a mother held a proud and dignified public face of hope, and a father disappeared. Alessandra Malignaggi spoke in depth about that day many times to the media, her first public speech being the most poignant.
“I want you to know, I don’t hate you. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I am feeling sorrow, I am feeling regret, I am feeling angry, I am feeling hopeless, helpless…but I do not feel hate. I plead with every mother in the world, love it, cherish it, motherhood is the most experience in the world. The bond between the little being that was once just a beating heart in your womb and you is worth more than anything. I will mourn, I will cry, but I will not be broken. My son, my friends, my family, all the ones you hurt, you killed will always be in my heart, and that, is something you can never take away.”
Her display of defiance was in stark contrast to her newlywed husband who after seven long solitary days he emerged from the shadows to compete in his World Heavyweight Title match at War. What would have made fascinating documentary footage, seeing Malignaggi in the locker room before the match was jarring if not surreal. The fierce warrior touted as the next ‘Golden Boy’ of WCF Wrestling seemed just a shade of what he was once, as if his aura and confidence had been ripped straight from his core. The once languid and carefree warm ups of the Malignaggi locker room, the laughter and the loose stretching routines in front of all the cameras were replaced by a lone man lost inside himself as he simply remained seated with a towel hanging across his thick black mane of hair. Neither of us spoke in the twenty minutes I was given to interview him prior to the match, no words were needed.
That night Joey Flash met Dune in one of the most intense, hellacious match-ups in WCF history a match that saw both men put out of action, that night, for all of his suffering that week, for everything that had been and everything that would come, at the end of the night Joey Flash would be able to say one thing.
‘Son, I’m the Champion of the World’.
Then, the ether of the waiting game consumed Malignaggi. A concussion is not an issue that a prognosis can easily be laid out for the patient and a date circled in the calendar, yet in Malignaggi’s mind there was only ever one date circled in permanent marker, December 27th and one name running through his mind, Dune. When I caught up with the former Champion I felt like in the space of five minutes I had traversed two completely different worlds, and that the man who answered the door to me with a meek smile on his face was a completely different man than the one I spoke to moments later. The Malignaggi mansion is as impressive, opulent and grand as one would expect from a persona as self-gentrifying as its owner, to even make the approach I was tasked with a curt conversation with a security guard who on confirmation opened the gates to the kingdom.
The meandering drive to the front door took all of ten seconds but those ten seconds were enough to remind you, perhaps intentionally, the world you are about to enter. Even in the heart of coldest December the hedgerows are pristine and the lawns look like a groundsman worthy of Yankee Stadium was slaving it to the very early hours of this morning. Upon the resounding and regal sounding of the bell the door swung open to reveal my humble host for the day, or forever how long he would have me.
If first impressions are forever lasting, where Joey Flash seemed to exude an aura of, call it a writer’s crutch for having no other word for it…but he had ‘it’. If you’ve seen ‘it’, you understand. Joseph Malignaggi on the other hand with his sunken, drawn face and dark bags around his eyes looked every bit the opposite. His long scraggly hair was as uncouth as his facial hair. As he welcomed me into his home he looked so out of place in the palatial estate.
We made small talk over coffee, as I glanced around the kitchen it gave a painful reminder about how the man in front of me was suffering. A child’s mug, a child’s knife and fork and most heartbreakingly a child’s sloppy drawing of a man holding a big gold belt with ‘GOOD LOOK DADDY’ written underneath. It was only then I began to understand the hell the former Champion was living in. We spoke briefly on this subject.
“It’s a process. ‘Every day is another healing step across the ocean of happiness’” Malignaggi shook his head and spoke as if he had already damned his recovery “I know already though, I knew from the start. It’s an ocean I can never be baptized in.”
The silence and the uncomfortable feeling I got from Joseph was all I needed, he seemed to sense this and with a forced smile asked if I wanted to watch him train for a bit. “You can have your interview down there.” The ‘down there’ he spoke about was, as I was soon to find out, his ‘Sanctuary’ as he called it. The smell of leather infused with sweat hits you instantly as you descend into ‘The Sanctuary’. It’s a small room, reminiscent of the Hart Dungeon it barely looked big enough for one man, let alone both of us down here. A lone heavy bag hung languidly from the ceiling as you entered, with a worn and tattered speedbag mounted in the corner to the left. A skipping rope and a pair of maroon boxing gloves were strewn below the heavy bag with their hand wraps trying to escape from within. The other side of the room, a single thin mat, it looked like he had just pilfered a childhood Gym mat from a local school and thrown it down saying ‘You can be my wrestling area’. For this to be the training room of the most accomplished technician in the world of professional wrestling was almost laughable, though within five minutes he had turn the scoffing into awe.
“This is where the magic happens” Malignaggi told me with a smile, this time it seemed every bit genuine as he began taping his hands. “You’re the first person I’ve let down here, honoured?” I was. He acknowledged the odd nature of his training regime. “It’s different for different people right? Some people need sparring and competition, some people need the rigours of lifting and technique drills. I mean shit, I’ve tried it, for sure, but I know what works for me.” I pressed him on this. “So my shit is pretty simple. Three steps, right?
1) Roadwork, THE most important part of any professional combat athlete, you can have all the skill in the world but if you get sloppy because you’re tired then what good are all the hours you spent drilling?
2) Speed, fluidity and movement.”
This one, he demonstrated. He fired a couple of jabs into the pit of the stomach of whatever invisible opponent he was imagining as the heavy bag before stepping inward and unleashing a combination of punches so crisp and powerful it felt like each crack on the bag were his hands going supersonic, the final crack of leather on leather seemed to happen by the time he had already taken two steps to the other side of the bag. This dance, and that’s all I can describe it as, continued for around three or so minutes, but I didn’t care, it could have lasted for three hours and it wouldn’t have bored me once.
Watching Malignaggi here was nothing like watching Flash in the ring, in the ring you could see the boredom seeping from his pores; his movements were sloppy and often took the scenic route to every attack when directness would have been more efficient. The person in front of me looked like every muscle twitch was the correct one, every step, every slight movement of the head had purpose and was done with the deliberate precision and repetition of a neurosurgeon. This was like watching a metronome.
Finally taking a step back he turned to me with a grin, sweat dripping from his brow onto the mat. I was speechless, he wasn’t even breathing heavily. When asked how long he could do that for he simply gave another grin “Not a clue!” The fan in me wanted to make him keep doing it until he dropped, but the journalist in me made me not push the question. However, he had only given me two of his steps. I asked what the third was. He licked his lips and plonked himself down with a sweaty splat on the high school gym mat and closed his eyes and with a deep breath gave his answer.
“Meditation”
Meditation. Joey Flash, the most savage striker, the most vicious submission specialist in the WCF relied on...Meditation? He opened his eyes and laughed. “You’re sceptical.” I was. “Aight, so it’s not meditation as such, I dunno, maybe it is, but like…say I’m facing Du-“he was going to say Dune, he hesitated. “Dustin Beaver. I sit down in front of my computer and for four, five, six hours straight I watch nothing but his matches. I watch nothing but him. I don’t so much as look at the opponent. What I’m looking for are patterns. How a wrestler moves when they’re on the front foot, on the back foot, pushing off the left, pushing off the right, the hitch in the stance before they shoot for a takedown, how their right hand is positioned when they throw their left…everything. I’ve got a memory like a fuckin sieve, but this stuff, I just…remember. So I sit here, I close my eyes and I fight the match. I fight the match dozens of times, sometimes more in my mind, how they’ll attack me, what they will do if in a certain situation, their mental state, their physical state. I walk into the ring every time with the fight already won, because I’ve already won it a billion times up here” with a finger tapping his temple he gives another smile before continuing. “I tell anyone who listens that a wrestling match is 90% mental and 10% physical.” It was easy for him, an Olympic level athlete to say, but I understood his point. Though in truth this experience with him, his training, his mindset, it was a complete surprise. This wasn’t the arrogant, dismissive man who competed every Sunday; this was the uber-prodigy who honed his craft and perfected his skills from Monday to Saturday.
It was then I brought up the elephant in the room. December 27th. Dune. Malignaggi’s happy demeanour changed almost instantly. “It’s a match I have to win.” He said with a steely matter of fact determination. “It’s not a Deathmatch out of hype, this isn’t a publicity stunt, this is…it for me. I have to win this match, everything I am as a person, as a man, my family, my future, this is everything.” The rumours that Dune was seen present at the Malignaggi massacre grow stronger every day, a look at Joseph talking about this subject almost as much as confirms this. “One of us is a dead man walking; this match isn’t going to end with a pinfall or submission. This isn’t how this story goes. We are no longer a fairytale of man slays beast, or tormented beast finally slays man, this is real life. This is where the consequences to our actions are very much real, there are no erasers and no previous save games to revert to in the real world. This match will end up with either me leaving in a hearse, or you Dune. However the difference between us is…I don’t care. I am willing to sacrifice everything to drag you down to hell with me; if it comes to it, we are going to burn together Dune. Who is going to survive the hell we put each other through? Will I? Maybe, maybe not, but I am going to ensure that you burn in your own inferno of hate. The prophecy was right Firestarter.
“Into the wastes a child is born, the second to his Mother.
He knows nothing of innocence, for he is molded by tragedy.
And always the Reaper follows with its scythe above his neck.”
Well guess what Dune, the reaper is here, the scythe is across your throat, and on Sunday he’s going to collect what he’s owed” I left the Malignaggi estate shortly after. I left with empathy for the man, I left with respect, I left with a feeling like the training I witnessed for those five minutes was the most inhuman display of speed, precision, timing and raw talent I’d ever seen up close in person. Mostly though, I left with the impression, with the knowledge that on Sunday 27th December we would witness something special, something special indeed. When my children ask me, ‘Where were you for Dune-Flash II?’ I’m going to be able to answer.
‘I was there.’
Sanctuary
It had been the Sunday following Joey’s World Title triumph that they had buried Christian. The cold chill of winter had begun as the Malignaggi’s and Allegri’s marched the coffin through the graveyard. Joseph and his new father in law, Bernardo Allegri led the pall bearing. In his time Joey had attended many funerals, seen countless friends die, helped carry them to their final resting place. Why was it then, that this smallest of caskets weighed the heaviest?
The rest of the day had been a blur to him, a nonstop ride of alcohol, tears and ‘I’m sorry’s’. He didn’t like to ever think about that day. He didn’t like to think at all. He had spent the better part of the next two months with a bottle in one hand and a knife in the other. As if one day he prayed he gained enough drunken courage to finally introduce the knife to his wrist. As great as his pain was, as terrible as his nightmares, he still had one shining light. One bastion of hope in this world, Alessandra.
She had saved him from the darkness that had its hands wrapped solidly round his throat and was dragging him deeper and deeper. Sometimes in life all you need is someone to take you by the hand, look you in the eyes and tell you ‘I’m here, everything will be alright’. Well, it was all he needed anyway. A few kind words, a hug and some support and almost overnight he was off the booze and back in training. She was his guardian angel, his muse, his-
His daydream came to an abrupt end as he slid inside her. Alessandra Malignaggi screamed and then bit her lip in toe curling ecstasy. Joey grabbed her hair and pulled her head upward before running his tongue down her neck before sinking his teeth into the nape. She moaned once more as he released her and continued to pound away his rhythmic tune of flesh on flesh. They hadn’t so much as said a word to each other all night, they barely talked at all since their wedding day, still every night - without fail, they fucked. He looked at the raven haired beauty below him, through all this, all the doubts about he ever had about her had vanished. She had been the pillar of strength while he crumbled, she had been the candle illuminating his shadow, she had been the guiding hand helping him through all the pain. He pulled her hips toward his as he climaxed. They remained in stasis for a moment as the orgasmic breaths normalised, Joey slid himself free and flopped down next to her.
They didn’t discuss this; they didn’t discuss much of what happened that fateful day, but he knew as well as she did. This wasn’t an act born of carnal desire; this was an act of trying to replace the hole in their life. A child to replace the loss of a child, sure if you were to try explain it to someone else it might seem pathetic and selfish but to these two drifting souls nothing else made more sense. Dabbing at the hot seed running down her inner thigh, Alessandra looked at her husband. He was an emotional being, he always had been, it was his biggest weakness. She felt the loss of her son, the disappearance from her life, the lack of his presence but for Alessandra, she never…felt. The speeches she gave to the media-
“I want you to know, I don’t hate you. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I am feeling sorrow, I am feeling regret, I am feeling angry, I am feeling hopeless, helpless…but I do not feel hate”
Felt so false even to her, the tears and the breaking voice convinced everyone else. Even Joseph. She didn’t feel regret, she didn’t feel hopeless, she didn’t feel helpless…he felt only hate. Hate in the way that if someone took an important piece of property from you, hate in the way as if someone walked into your house and brazenly disrespected you. Not hate for the death of a child. Not hate like Joseph had. She had immediately dispatched three of her finest men to the Mojave Desert to eliminate the man responsible but found nothing but death for themselves. Joseph had begged and pleaded for her to stop, to let him ‘deal with it’. She turned her gaze to the man next to her. On Sunday he was set to face the very man who threw their son from the rafters of St Patrick's Cathedral to his demise. She had thought about having Dune simply assassinated as he entered the building, before the match, during the weigh in…sneak a pistol in, step up as a reporter and give him that Hyman Roth treatment. Joseph had been steadfast in his refusal. She spoke to him for the first time this evening.
Alessandra: What are you thinking?
Joey glanced at her before looking away.
Alessandra: What’s going through that head of yours?
Joseph: Nothing.
Alessandra: Nothing?
Joseph: What do you want me to say that I-
Alessandra: That you’re going to kill him.
This stopped Joey mid-sentence, he seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.
Joseph: That’s the plan.
Alessandra smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Alessandra: Do you need anything? I can help.
Joseph: I’m sorry.
Alessandra: What?
Joseph: I’m sorry Al. This, all this is my fault. I’ve been selfish, I’ve been stupid, I wish I could just rewind time and never even have started down this stupid fucking road.
Alessandra: What road, what are you-
Joseph: DUNE! Don’t you get this? He didn’t come after me; he didn’t pick a fight with me. It was me, it was always me. I’ve done it with everyone, but this time…this one time, someone fought back. I never intended any of this. I only wanted a wrestling match, that’s all. They wouldn’t give me a wrestling match, so I had to push, I had to prod, I had to hit, I had to hurt. So then we end up…where we are, I mean what…next time it could be you.
Alessandra: Joseph, don’t be ridiculous I’m-
Joseph: You’re only human. Dune he’s…something else. Money, power – these things mean nothing to him.
Alessandra: And he’s not human? Joseph you’re bring idiotic.
Joseph: Am I? You haven’t seen, you haven’t felt it Al, it’s like you’re watching a demon just walk through humans knowing that there are no repercussions, no comebacks, that there is no harm that can come to them.
She could see him shaking as he spoke, his lips quiver, his olive skin whiten.
Alessandra: You’re scared.
Joey paused for a moment.
Joseph: Yes. I’m scared.
He had never said those words before.
Joseph: I’m scared about what happens if I don’t end this on Sunday. If I fail then what happens? What happens to you? I cannot fail here. I am the only person able to so much as put a scratch on this guy; I am the only person who can beat him. I cannot fall here, it is not an option. So yeah I’m scared. I’m scared my training won’t be enough, that my skill won’t be enough, that maybe he really IS a demon and no matter what I do he’s going to keep coming.
She had certainly never heard these words from him before.
Alessandra: Joseph, you’re the best. You’re untouchable in the ring-
Joseph: Is that going to be enough?
Alessandra was silent.
Joseph: Promise me something.
These words never ended up being followed with ‘Buy me cake’ or anything pleasant. She agreed.
Alessandra: Go on.
Joseph: Whatever happens on Sunday, don’t turn your head. No matter what you see, no matter what happens to me you need to watch. This is going to be my last stand.
Alessandra: What are you saying?
Joey just smiled at her.
Joseph: That I want my Queen to watch as I slay the monster.
It isn’t what he meant. She knew. This was it, wasn’t it? He was willing to die. He was willing to die to beat this man, to protect her, to avenge their son. Joseph slid out of bed, stood up and began to dress. She watched as the man she loved slipped his familiar grey hoodie over his head. Since when was Joey so strong? Since when was he so determined? She had never seen that look before, such calmness and serenity before a match. Usually he was a jittery restless mess, but now it looked as if he was taking a beautiful sunny walk through Central Park.
He left the room to train once again, now she knew what he reminded her of. This looked like a man with such absolutely confidence in himself that the outcome was a formality, or, and this sent a cold chill down her spine, a man who had accepted his fate and was smiling in the face of a firing squad.
Eulogy
St Patricks Cathedral, the site where his world crumbled. This place that would have been buzzing with Christmas ceremony and cheer was nought but a relic of happiness, hope and joy. The winds whipped around him as he stepped through the incinerated, once grand, doorway. Scorch marks gave way to marble as he entered. The Cathedral for the most part was intact; any structural damage was only superficial at best. This was a place built to last. Still, everywhere Joey turned was another horrific reminder of his wedding day. Each step dragged him deeper into a waking nightmare. Bullet holes riddled a tapestry into the walls, it was enough to almost make him vomit. Then, he did.
This was the place; this was where his son had died. He ran the sleeve of his grey hoodie across his mouth and relived every second.
“For the sins of the father”
He continued forward, this was not the time, this was not the time for weakness.
Joey finally finds the destination of his pilgrimage, in front of the altar. The place where Malignaggi and Allegri were to be forever joined in happiness and sadness, in health and malady, two against the world. Where the love of his life swore hers to his and they would rule as king and queen, the empire was a vast one, Joey had sworn to bring the crown back to her. Now he sat the throne, he sat as the ruler of all that he surveyed. The king paid the ultimate price for his throne, the young prince, his progeny, his heir, his son was now but a memory. Memories were an interesting thing, what was so real, the feelings, the love, the happiness and joy is now just a picture burned into the brain. Love, happiness and joy, these were things he had a memory of, but since the day Christian passed Joseph had not felt even the embers of these feelings flickering inside his hollow husk of a heart. As he took his place on the altar once more, he thought of being declared the World Champion…then of his baby’s lifeless, unmoving body. The Kingdom was not worth the price it cost to deliver.
Joseph: I’ve had so many whispers in my ears these past two months, so many false words of condolences, so many false words of care. I’ve heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ more than enough than any man needs for a lifetime, people that I’ve barely spoken to and barely even know have been front and centre offering their support…but the second the cameras disappear so do the words, so do the people. People gravitate to tragedy, it’s like a drug, you sense the chance for some self or public gratification and you pounce. Hounds to a slab of fresh, dripping raw meat. It’s pathetic.
Is this a good show for you people?
Joey runs a hand through his coarse, thick black hair and takes a deep breath.
Joseph: These people, so full of great advice, so full of ‘good intentions’, want to know one of the things they told me?
‘Return to where it happened, make peace with the situation’.
So here I am. Do you know how hard this is? Do you know what this took for me? Do you people know what it’s like to every night pass out from exhaustion while your stomach churns and all your mind is kind enough to show you is that one moment you never want to see again on repeat, on repeat, on repeat? That’s what they said to me though, ‘Make peace’…so, here I am. I look around and I see people I knew and cared for getting gunned down and hunted like a pack of wild dogs, I see the scorch marks of where the fires consumed my life and my future, I see the ruin of my happiness, I see my beautiful baby boy-
A tears begins rolling down Joey’s cheek, he pays no mind. It’s as if this was a clockwork occurrence of regularity, where once he would have done anything to dab and claim ‘Something was in my eye’, now the sadness just fell with a force of a hundred megatons to the stone floor without him as much as blinking.
Joseph: -and I don’t feel at peace.
He turns to the camera.
Joseph: I feel (*BROKEN* *HOLLOW* *ALONE*)…at war.
Joey throws his arms out by his side and looks skyward through the broken rooftop and up toward the stars as he begins to speak, no, shout. His voice cracking every other word as the tears fall.
Joseph: Is this what I deserve? Is this my penance? Is this the consequence for all the choices, all the mistakes I’ve made? What do you think? I’m not a good person, I know, I know what I’ve done, I know the choices I’ve made…but…does it have to be…does it have to be this hard?
He runs his sleeve across his nose and then dabs at his swollen puffy eyes.
Joseph: Dune. It’s finally here. This is the match that we want, the match we need. We have mutual demons that need an exorcism, but only one is going to be cleansed in this match, the other is heading into an early grave. This is what this match is. This is not a wrestling contest, this not a grudge match, this is the end of everything.
This is a match between the two best wrestlers in the world who need for their mind, body and soul to win this match. There is nothing else after this; this is the end of it all. Let me ask you Dan, what do you see? What do you see when you close your eyes at night? Do you see what I see? Do you see a little boy crying, a little boy screaming, then silence, then absolute nothingness, then the erasure of everything you are and ever have been as a person? Do you? What do you see? Do you sleep, do you dream? What do you dream of? Do androids dream of electric sheep? Do monsters dream of even greater monsters hiding in the shadows? Are your dreams of Pinky’s forever barren womb, of her vapid, thoughtless, dreamless mind? Of the unnamed, blank features of the fetal life that was growing in her womb? Of Chief’s mangled, destroyed skull? Do your bones ache with the memory of the person you once were, that they are now creaking and hurting with every step you take because of the weight of the sins you have compiled since?
What do you want me to say? That I’m going to hunt you, I’m going to destroy you, I’m going to kill you? I don’t blame you. Do you understand Dune? I don’t blame you.
He sniffles and then faces the camera once more.
Joseph: This…
He motions the camera to scan the destruction of the Cathedral.
Joseph: All this. It’s me. Dune and Flash, these are my sins. I have broad shoulders…and I’m going bear this cross. Fate is a funny thing Dan, if things would have happen just a little bit differently for either of us this year, we could both be happy, we could both be settling down for Christmas with our families but your fate, and thus, my fate was decided long before The Jackal, before you became World Champion, before anything else. You drew the attention of Joey Flash.
For the few months in this federation we had nothing to do with each other, I didn’t care for you, you didn’t care for me, and we got on with business. Then…something happened. We both exploded out of the blocks in our career, people were already calling Joey Flash the next big thing, the next dominant World Champion, the next dynasty. Who was Dune? Dune was a super rookie, he was an elite by every standard, but he lost. He lost, and he lost, and he lost. Joey Flash just won. Dune lost and Joey won, yet who was the one who got all the opportunity? All the chances? Was it the winner? Or was it the loser? Did I get what I deserved?
A slap from his own hand flashes across his own face as Joey tries to steady himself.
Joseph: I hate that I’m this person, I hate it Dune. I hate that-
Joey takes another deep breath and dabs his eyes once more.
Joseph: You…you had everything I thought I deserved. Every step I took you were one ahead of me. Trilogy Cup? I didn’t even get a look in. I was 13-0; I was the greatest prospect in WCF history. This tournament told me everything I needed to know about the threat these people felt from me. It was practically oozing from each and every one of the ‘main eventers’. So, let’s see who participates in this: Jackson White, Occulo, Jay Omega, Deuce Murdock, Alex Richards, DVS, Jayson Price, Chelsea Armstrong and…Dune. What is missing here Dune? Can you tell me?
The man who would have swept that tournament without so much as breaking a sweat, but no, see…you were that step ahead weren’t you? I won a battle royal to become the first alternative to the tournament, I tried week after week to injure someone, anyone, I didn’t care, would you? I wanted what was owed. However during the finals I made a decision that would destroy both of us. I decided to attack Dune.
I remember the day that we first met in the ring, there had been nothing between us, we hadn’t met, we hadn’t talked, we hadn’t as so much shared a glance. Yet as I brought that shovel down on your head, again and again…I knew. I knew it wouldn’t be enough. You won that match, you won the title shot. It was only a matter of time then.
You were going to take my crowning moment away, I had paved the way, I had laid all the groundwork, Imperium was my road to the crown, our idiotic champion didn’t even realise it…but while I was working in the shadows, you stood proud in the light and just ripped the crown away from him. All my hard work, my months of planning just…
He blows imaginary dust from his hand.
Joseph: Gone. It was that day you were no longer a sideshow to me, you became my prey. How can this happen? How can a man with not even half the wrestling talent of me be doing this? You marched through DRG like they were nothing; you annihilated every possible challenger who even crossed into your realm. It was a World Title reign worthy of all the accolades, all the plaudits, you were nigh on unprecedented in your dominance…yet here I was, watching, waiting. I systematically destroyed everything around you; I lit your world on fire until you were backed into a corner and had nowhere to go.
I beat one of your best friends into semi-retirement.
I snapped your other best friends arm into pieces.
I assaulted the closest thing you had to a father…
…and guess what Dune? It worked. It fucking worked. Finally, I had you. Then things took a turn beyond my expectations, beyond my reasoning. If it had been just Dune and Joey Flash, we would have had our match, I’d have beaten you and that would have been that…but it seems I wasn’t the only one who had settled on you as the prey. That was the one thing I couldn’t account for. I couldn’t account for The Jackal.
He takes a deep breath and speaks again.
Joseph: Whoever he is, no, whatever he is, I promise you, I will do right by Pinky, by Chief, by everyone he has ever exploited or hurt. I understand you Dune, I understand you so much it hurts. I was right there when he…did what he did to Pinky, to Chief. Same reason you understand me, you were there when he…did what he did to Christian. I know, Dune. I know, and I understand. You’re a wronged man with only one outlet for the rage he feels in this world, me, and at One I’m going to be stood right in front of you and you are going to try to snuff my existence out. I don’t blame you for anything, I pushed and I prodded, I walked into the monsters lair and I dared it to unfurl its wings and try to ravage my village so that I could sweep in as the big hero and be the one to have killed the monster in front of the world. Everything that has been done, that we’ve gone through is on me. Do you get it? Do you understand? I’m fighting to exorcise my own demons and my own sins, like Luke in the cave I’ve fought you and killed you so many times in my mind but when it comes to ripping that mask off the only thing staring back are my own cold dead eyes gazing into my soul with my lost humanity and innocence.
If this shit could be resolved any other way then I’d do it, believe you me. If I could sit down inside a small room on a leather couch and talk away my demons then I’d be doing that. I’ve tried Dune, I’ve tried everything. But this…fighting, war, pain, death – it’s all I know how to do. I don’t hate you Dune. I don’t want to kill you…
He turns to the camera and we finally see a flash of his old self.
Joseph: …but I’m going to anyway. It’s not a game of forgiveness, of understanding this isn’t how this game works, you know as well as I do. This is where our roads merge, and one of our roads comes to an end. It is the final battle, in our game you win, or you die.
A thin smile creeps across his face and he seems to loosen up a little, cracking his neck from side to side and licking his lips.
Joseph: You are my greatest rival, Miyamoto Musashi vs Sasaki Kojiro, Goku vs Vegeta, Billy vs a salad – I think you’ve got me fucked up Dune, Dan my old cunt. This is Christmas, what’s coming next is your gift. You think I was going to walk through this promo crying and philosophising? Asking ‘why me?’ and talking like we’re even remotely on the same level? Like since what happened here I’ve somehow lost my balls? That I’m going meander through a long, winding, boring, aimless, venomless, bland and generic promo? Let me reiterate, I am not you.
Every week you remind me of a display at a museum tour, you press a button and here comes a booming voice full of emotion and conviction, of truth and reality telling the who, where and when, when the same sounds have blasted from the speakers over three hundred times that very day. Each week is the same story; each week is the same sad sombre sobering dogshit tale.
This is where I put a stamp on the year Dune. This is where I take your soul before I take your body on Sunday. I’m not content with squeaking out a pinfall, or simply beating you. I’m coming for EVERYTHING you are. I’m going to dissect you; I’m going tear bone from sinew and I’m going to rend your self-worth from your mind you fucking basic automaton.
He pauses for a moment and takes a long deep breath.
Joseph: Here is where we separate Dune. Here is where you lose this match. You dance to everyone else’s whim and now by god you are dancing to mine. Here is where we separate a great wrestler…and a fucking god. This is where everything starts coming out of the woodwork, motherfucker you’re about to get this good work, before? That was a check swing. This next shit is violent, time to open up on him like an X-Wing pilot.
You think I respect you as a man? Well I don’t, you’re a fucking worthless scumbag who can protect nothing in his life,
Brother? Dead.
Fiancée? Braindead.
Father in law? Dead.
Unborn child? Dead.
If I were Freeman or your dog I’d be hiding under a table just wondering when a bomb is gonna drop on the house at this rate. You attract death, anyone bearing your last name or becomes remotely close to you is destined to be snuffed, welcome to the Dune’s, the Kennedy’s of WCF. Where is your pride as a man? But no, you put all the blame at my door:
“It’s that Italian guy, it’s all him…it’s certainly not my fault, it’s never my fault, I could never be weak or pathetic enough to never be able to protect the ones I love, I live my life by a prophecy that talks about my greatness.”
You’re a naïve fucking child. You run around screaming for answers, the first person to say ‘Well we don’t know who did it, what their motives were…but they look like this, and did it for this reason’ your dumb ass walks off the short pier straight into whatever plot the next person who decides to manipulate you has. You’re the perfect tool, the perfect weapon, big, dumb and ignorant. It makes me sick to think I even have to deal with this match right now, to deal with you right now.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, don’t blame me: I was only the bullet in the gun”
Right? Like you should be absolved because you let yourself be controlled or fooled into doing something against your will? Is that what you’d say about clerks who worked at Auschwitz? About the men who simply drove the trains back and forth to the death camp? Well it happened. Fucking own it.
I broke Occulo – That was me.
I broke Howard – That was me.
I beat Freeman senseless – That was me.
I blew Chief’s head clean off while he was begging for his life - …that was me.
I own my crimes, I own my mistakes, and I own my horrors. I am standing in that ring on Sunday night ready to atone for everything Dune. You? Holocaust denier, ‘it never happened’ right?
Joey starts pacing up and down growing in anger and volume.
You collaborating with an evil force to wipe out my family – That wasn’t you, right?
You committing one of the biggest acts of terror in recent history in this country – That wasn’t you, right?
You holding my son above your head and throwing him to his death? That wasn’t you?
Is that the narrative you’re going to run with? So you’re a coward as well as a big dumb ignorant naïve tool. I don’t care what you think, what your warped take on our feud is. So take your fucking prophecy and slam it straight up your cunt, remember the Reaper with the blade across ya neck? Well bitch I’m right here, on Sunday you get to meet him. You’ll get that Slash in your throat like you’re a Guns n’ Roses groupie.
Do I respect you as a wrestler?
Let’s think about this one for a second. Before our match at War you were so adamant on how dominant you were, so vehement you were the greatest ‘big match’ wrestler in the company. How you’d defended the World Title so many times, how you entered Ultimate Showdown as champ and by god you left as champ, that’s a great feat…
…Clap, applause.
You pinned Jonny fuckin Fly god dammit. You were undefeated at PPV’s, madness. Then you finally faced Joey Flash…and your whole fucking world changed. You are the best in the world, a world where I don’t exist. In this world? You are #2. You will forever be #2, no amount of hard work, dedication can help, I could be on a five day coke binge, show up on Sunday and still dispatch you Dune. You have come into both our matches with chest out and balls swinging and left a beaten, broken man. I beat you in a Trios match, your excuse after that one? ‘It wasn’t a one on one match Joey, if it was you would have been annihilated’.
Then we got our one on one match and what happened? You lost again. ‘Big match wrestler’ eat a dick. What type of big match wrestler gets routinely bodied by the same opponent time and time again? LeBron in the finals, Dune vs Joey Flash. Fans might hype you when you go on big winning runs, might see the dominance out there in the ring, but when I cross your path you just seem to shake and disappear like an etch-a-sketch.
There is an inescapable talent gap between us; a gap that you think has what? Somehow closed over the three months I’ve been out? While I’ve been sat in bed unable to eat, my eyes red fucking raw and exhausted of tears you have been fighting, while I’ve been recovering from my concussion and unable to train you have been dominating the competition back here. You can look down from your place on the mountain and laugh at little old me having to start from the bottom again. So this will make the difference will it Dune?
Joey shakes his head and smiles again.
Joseph: You’re the author of your own demise and you don’t even know it. While you’ve been trying to plough away at some misguide campaign to regain the World Title, while you’ve been going after #BeachKrew and fighting a different person every week I have been doing what little training I can, resting, recovering…I mean shit, I’m in better shape now than when I left. The aches? All gone. The niggles? All gone. For these three months while you’ve been so distracted I’ve only had one name in my mind and one head ready to display on my wall.
Dune.
You think I’m coming back a weaker man? A broken man? Shit it’s the exact fucking opposite. You’ve gone and turned Megatron into Galvatron, Gandalf from Grey to White, Joey Flash into your own personal angel of death. For this I’ve hardened my heart, shit’s so black it could be called Aunt Vivian 1. You’ve strengthened my resolve beyond my mortality; do you understand what that means Dune? Do you have any idea? Of course you don’t, how could you? Well on Sunday I’m going to show you.
I am going to show you Dune why for our entire careers here you have been second best to me.
I am going to show you no matter what hard work you put in, the gap between us is only growing and growing. Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard, but what happens to Mr Hard Work when Mr Talent works hard? You’re going to find out.
I am going to show you who the best wrestler in the Wrestling Championship Federation is, I was anointed the heir almost immediately, people thought I would burn out, people thought I wouldn’t last the year, now we end and I’ve had the most dominant debut year in recent memory. My record is obscene, I’m a Triple Crown winner already…this year ends with me butchering the closest person people consider to my level and leaving absolutely no doubt that this has been my year.
He takes a deep breath and stands back next to the altar.
Joseph: I am going to show you Dune, just what it is you’ve done to me. Every tear, every sleepless night, every time I walk through my front door without hearing ‘Daddy!’, every present that is sat under my Christmas tree that is never going to be opened, every smile, every goodnight kiss, every day I have to continue living knowing that I couldn’t save the most important thing in the world to me. You’re going to feel every bit of my pain, I’m going to break you in every possible way, we can talk about wrestling all we like but this is no wrestling match. I’m going to leave you a broken, battered, bloody mess. Your life is in my hands, I’ll hold you over the precipice and I will make you beg, I will make you plead for mercy…
…and I will give you none.
Malignaggi drew the sign of the cross on his chest and kissed his right fist before pointing it skyward. He took in the destruction of the Cathedral once more, he remembered the fire, and he remembered the gunshots, the cries, the screams. He remembered the bodies; he remembered the helplessness of the people…no not just people, his friends, his family. He began to walk toward the exit, with each step it seemed to echo louder. The steps that brought him into the nightmare were now leading the way into the future, each step adding renewed purpose, renewed vigour.
I guess they were right after all, Joey mused to himself. Facing the nightmares, facing the demons, accepting them, accepting yourself. I guess this is what peace feels like. On exiting the building it had already become dusk, the sun was setting through the buildings casting a beautiful red hue across the Cathedral.
Joseph: Dune. Never once confuse yourself with who I am. You may think you have broken me, you may have thought you’ve destroyed my home, my life, my happiness. You look at me and what do you see? An emotional wreck who can barely keep his head together? A man who has nothing left? A man who has nothing to fight for, a man who will just roll over and show you his stomach. Since War you have held yourself in some state of superiority over me, you act like you’ve made me weak and submissive. Through all of this I think you’ve lost sight of something, you’ve got something fucked up Dan. You seem to be confusing emotional with weak, I will slit your throat while a tear is rolling down my cheek.
I am not a broken man; I am not a weak submissive bitch who is going to roll over. I am the end of you, I am the one who will turn you to dust and throw you to the wind.
Joey pulls he hood over his head, his face looking almost feral with the unkempt stubble across his jawline and wild black hair curtaining the sides of his face.
Joseph: I am Joey…fucking…Flash.
a report by Scoops Callahan
On the morning of Saturday 3rd October the world was at Joseph ‘Flash’ Malignaggi’s feet. He was to wed his long time betrothed Alessandra Malignaggi (née Allegri) his childhood sweetheart and a week later have his honeymoon in the ring in what was billed as the biggest and most lucrative World Title match in modern history. (The 4.7 million pay-per-view buys making it the biggest selling event in North American professional sports history surpassing Mayweather vs Pacquiao which clocked in at 4.6m) By the time the sun had set on the wedding day of 3rd October Malignaggi’s life was thrown into chaos.
The terrorist attack on St Patricks Cathedral, Manhattan, caused eleven people to lose their lives as gunmen launched an assault on the Cathedral first with several explosive devices and then indiscriminately firing assault rifles among the wedding party. Since the attack no organisation has explicitly claimed responsibility but word from the lead investigator Agent John Mullins, he believes the attack to be “an isolated incident” and “gang related”, also Mullins said that the CIA are “pursuing several leads” for the attack. In what was the largest terrorist act in the city of New York since the September 11th attacks of 2001, the city, and the nation have rallied behind the man at the epicentre of this tragedy, Joseph Malignaggi. A man who lost everything that day, a man who received the most horrific wedding present of all, Christian, the four year old son of Malignaggi and Allegri was caught in the attack and passed away before ambulances could reach the scene.
The six days following the tragedy, a city mourned, a mother held a proud and dignified public face of hope, and a father disappeared. Alessandra Malignaggi spoke in depth about that day many times to the media, her first public speech being the most poignant.
“I want you to know, I don’t hate you. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I am feeling sorrow, I am feeling regret, I am feeling angry, I am feeling hopeless, helpless…but I do not feel hate. I plead with every mother in the world, love it, cherish it, motherhood is the most experience in the world. The bond between the little being that was once just a beating heart in your womb and you is worth more than anything. I will mourn, I will cry, but I will not be broken. My son, my friends, my family, all the ones you hurt, you killed will always be in my heart, and that, is something you can never take away.”
Her display of defiance was in stark contrast to her newlywed husband who after seven long solitary days he emerged from the shadows to compete in his World Heavyweight Title match at War. What would have made fascinating documentary footage, seeing Malignaggi in the locker room before the match was jarring if not surreal. The fierce warrior touted as the next ‘Golden Boy’ of WCF Wrestling seemed just a shade of what he was once, as if his aura and confidence had been ripped straight from his core. The once languid and carefree warm ups of the Malignaggi locker room, the laughter and the loose stretching routines in front of all the cameras were replaced by a lone man lost inside himself as he simply remained seated with a towel hanging across his thick black mane of hair. Neither of us spoke in the twenty minutes I was given to interview him prior to the match, no words were needed.
That night Joey Flash met Dune in one of the most intense, hellacious match-ups in WCF history a match that saw both men put out of action, that night, for all of his suffering that week, for everything that had been and everything that would come, at the end of the night Joey Flash would be able to say one thing.
‘Son, I’m the Champion of the World’.
Then, the ether of the waiting game consumed Malignaggi. A concussion is not an issue that a prognosis can easily be laid out for the patient and a date circled in the calendar, yet in Malignaggi’s mind there was only ever one date circled in permanent marker, December 27th and one name running through his mind, Dune. When I caught up with the former Champion I felt like in the space of five minutes I had traversed two completely different worlds, and that the man who answered the door to me with a meek smile on his face was a completely different man than the one I spoke to moments later. The Malignaggi mansion is as impressive, opulent and grand as one would expect from a persona as self-gentrifying as its owner, to even make the approach I was tasked with a curt conversation with a security guard who on confirmation opened the gates to the kingdom.
The meandering drive to the front door took all of ten seconds but those ten seconds were enough to remind you, perhaps intentionally, the world you are about to enter. Even in the heart of coldest December the hedgerows are pristine and the lawns look like a groundsman worthy of Yankee Stadium was slaving it to the very early hours of this morning. Upon the resounding and regal sounding of the bell the door swung open to reveal my humble host for the day, or forever how long he would have me.
If first impressions are forever lasting, where Joey Flash seemed to exude an aura of, call it a writer’s crutch for having no other word for it…but he had ‘it’. If you’ve seen ‘it’, you understand. Joseph Malignaggi on the other hand with his sunken, drawn face and dark bags around his eyes looked every bit the opposite. His long scraggly hair was as uncouth as his facial hair. As he welcomed me into his home he looked so out of place in the palatial estate.
We made small talk over coffee, as I glanced around the kitchen it gave a painful reminder about how the man in front of me was suffering. A child’s mug, a child’s knife and fork and most heartbreakingly a child’s sloppy drawing of a man holding a big gold belt with ‘GOOD LOOK DADDY’ written underneath. It was only then I began to understand the hell the former Champion was living in. We spoke briefly on this subject.
“It’s a process. ‘Every day is another healing step across the ocean of happiness’” Malignaggi shook his head and spoke as if he had already damned his recovery “I know already though, I knew from the start. It’s an ocean I can never be baptized in.”
The silence and the uncomfortable feeling I got from Joseph was all I needed, he seemed to sense this and with a forced smile asked if I wanted to watch him train for a bit. “You can have your interview down there.” The ‘down there’ he spoke about was, as I was soon to find out, his ‘Sanctuary’ as he called it. The smell of leather infused with sweat hits you instantly as you descend into ‘The Sanctuary’. It’s a small room, reminiscent of the Hart Dungeon it barely looked big enough for one man, let alone both of us down here. A lone heavy bag hung languidly from the ceiling as you entered, with a worn and tattered speedbag mounted in the corner to the left. A skipping rope and a pair of maroon boxing gloves were strewn below the heavy bag with their hand wraps trying to escape from within. The other side of the room, a single thin mat, it looked like he had just pilfered a childhood Gym mat from a local school and thrown it down saying ‘You can be my wrestling area’. For this to be the training room of the most accomplished technician in the world of professional wrestling was almost laughable, though within five minutes he had turn the scoffing into awe.
“This is where the magic happens” Malignaggi told me with a smile, this time it seemed every bit genuine as he began taping his hands. “You’re the first person I’ve let down here, honoured?” I was. He acknowledged the odd nature of his training regime. “It’s different for different people right? Some people need sparring and competition, some people need the rigours of lifting and technique drills. I mean shit, I’ve tried it, for sure, but I know what works for me.” I pressed him on this. “So my shit is pretty simple. Three steps, right?
1) Roadwork, THE most important part of any professional combat athlete, you can have all the skill in the world but if you get sloppy because you’re tired then what good are all the hours you spent drilling?
2) Speed, fluidity and movement.”
This one, he demonstrated. He fired a couple of jabs into the pit of the stomach of whatever invisible opponent he was imagining as the heavy bag before stepping inward and unleashing a combination of punches so crisp and powerful it felt like each crack on the bag were his hands going supersonic, the final crack of leather on leather seemed to happen by the time he had already taken two steps to the other side of the bag. This dance, and that’s all I can describe it as, continued for around three or so minutes, but I didn’t care, it could have lasted for three hours and it wouldn’t have bored me once.
Watching Malignaggi here was nothing like watching Flash in the ring, in the ring you could see the boredom seeping from his pores; his movements were sloppy and often took the scenic route to every attack when directness would have been more efficient. The person in front of me looked like every muscle twitch was the correct one, every step, every slight movement of the head had purpose and was done with the deliberate precision and repetition of a neurosurgeon. This was like watching a metronome.
Finally taking a step back he turned to me with a grin, sweat dripping from his brow onto the mat. I was speechless, he wasn’t even breathing heavily. When asked how long he could do that for he simply gave another grin “Not a clue!” The fan in me wanted to make him keep doing it until he dropped, but the journalist in me made me not push the question. However, he had only given me two of his steps. I asked what the third was. He licked his lips and plonked himself down with a sweaty splat on the high school gym mat and closed his eyes and with a deep breath gave his answer.
“Meditation”
Meditation. Joey Flash, the most savage striker, the most vicious submission specialist in the WCF relied on...Meditation? He opened his eyes and laughed. “You’re sceptical.” I was. “Aight, so it’s not meditation as such, I dunno, maybe it is, but like…say I’m facing Du-“he was going to say Dune, he hesitated. “Dustin Beaver. I sit down in front of my computer and for four, five, six hours straight I watch nothing but his matches. I watch nothing but him. I don’t so much as look at the opponent. What I’m looking for are patterns. How a wrestler moves when they’re on the front foot, on the back foot, pushing off the left, pushing off the right, the hitch in the stance before they shoot for a takedown, how their right hand is positioned when they throw their left…everything. I’ve got a memory like a fuckin sieve, but this stuff, I just…remember. So I sit here, I close my eyes and I fight the match. I fight the match dozens of times, sometimes more in my mind, how they’ll attack me, what they will do if in a certain situation, their mental state, their physical state. I walk into the ring every time with the fight already won, because I’ve already won it a billion times up here” with a finger tapping his temple he gives another smile before continuing. “I tell anyone who listens that a wrestling match is 90% mental and 10% physical.” It was easy for him, an Olympic level athlete to say, but I understood his point. Though in truth this experience with him, his training, his mindset, it was a complete surprise. This wasn’t the arrogant, dismissive man who competed every Sunday; this was the uber-prodigy who honed his craft and perfected his skills from Monday to Saturday.
It was then I brought up the elephant in the room. December 27th. Dune. Malignaggi’s happy demeanour changed almost instantly. “It’s a match I have to win.” He said with a steely matter of fact determination. “It’s not a Deathmatch out of hype, this isn’t a publicity stunt, this is…it for me. I have to win this match, everything I am as a person, as a man, my family, my future, this is everything.” The rumours that Dune was seen present at the Malignaggi massacre grow stronger every day, a look at Joseph talking about this subject almost as much as confirms this. “One of us is a dead man walking; this match isn’t going to end with a pinfall or submission. This isn’t how this story goes. We are no longer a fairytale of man slays beast, or tormented beast finally slays man, this is real life. This is where the consequences to our actions are very much real, there are no erasers and no previous save games to revert to in the real world. This match will end up with either me leaving in a hearse, or you Dune. However the difference between us is…I don’t care. I am willing to sacrifice everything to drag you down to hell with me; if it comes to it, we are going to burn together Dune. Who is going to survive the hell we put each other through? Will I? Maybe, maybe not, but I am going to ensure that you burn in your own inferno of hate. The prophecy was right Firestarter.
“Into the wastes a child is born, the second to his Mother.
He knows nothing of innocence, for he is molded by tragedy.
And always the Reaper follows with its scythe above his neck.”
Well guess what Dune, the reaper is here, the scythe is across your throat, and on Sunday he’s going to collect what he’s owed” I left the Malignaggi estate shortly after. I left with empathy for the man, I left with respect, I left with a feeling like the training I witnessed for those five minutes was the most inhuman display of speed, precision, timing and raw talent I’d ever seen up close in person. Mostly though, I left with the impression, with the knowledge that on Sunday 27th December we would witness something special, something special indeed. When my children ask me, ‘Where were you for Dune-Flash II?’ I’m going to be able to answer.
‘I was there.’
Sanctuary
It had been the Sunday following Joey’s World Title triumph that they had buried Christian. The cold chill of winter had begun as the Malignaggi’s and Allegri’s marched the coffin through the graveyard. Joseph and his new father in law, Bernardo Allegri led the pall bearing. In his time Joey had attended many funerals, seen countless friends die, helped carry them to their final resting place. Why was it then, that this smallest of caskets weighed the heaviest?
The rest of the day had been a blur to him, a nonstop ride of alcohol, tears and ‘I’m sorry’s’. He didn’t like to ever think about that day. He didn’t like to think at all. He had spent the better part of the next two months with a bottle in one hand and a knife in the other. As if one day he prayed he gained enough drunken courage to finally introduce the knife to his wrist. As great as his pain was, as terrible as his nightmares, he still had one shining light. One bastion of hope in this world, Alessandra.
She had saved him from the darkness that had its hands wrapped solidly round his throat and was dragging him deeper and deeper. Sometimes in life all you need is someone to take you by the hand, look you in the eyes and tell you ‘I’m here, everything will be alright’. Well, it was all he needed anyway. A few kind words, a hug and some support and almost overnight he was off the booze and back in training. She was his guardian angel, his muse, his-
His daydream came to an abrupt end as he slid inside her. Alessandra Malignaggi screamed and then bit her lip in toe curling ecstasy. Joey grabbed her hair and pulled her head upward before running his tongue down her neck before sinking his teeth into the nape. She moaned once more as he released her and continued to pound away his rhythmic tune of flesh on flesh. They hadn’t so much as said a word to each other all night, they barely talked at all since their wedding day, still every night - without fail, they fucked. He looked at the raven haired beauty below him, through all this, all the doubts about he ever had about her had vanished. She had been the pillar of strength while he crumbled, she had been the candle illuminating his shadow, she had been the guiding hand helping him through all the pain. He pulled her hips toward his as he climaxed. They remained in stasis for a moment as the orgasmic breaths normalised, Joey slid himself free and flopped down next to her.
They didn’t discuss this; they didn’t discuss much of what happened that fateful day, but he knew as well as she did. This wasn’t an act born of carnal desire; this was an act of trying to replace the hole in their life. A child to replace the loss of a child, sure if you were to try explain it to someone else it might seem pathetic and selfish but to these two drifting souls nothing else made more sense. Dabbing at the hot seed running down her inner thigh, Alessandra looked at her husband. He was an emotional being, he always had been, it was his biggest weakness. She felt the loss of her son, the disappearance from her life, the lack of his presence but for Alessandra, she never…felt. The speeches she gave to the media-
“I want you to know, I don’t hate you. Do you want to know what I’m feeling? I am feeling sorrow, I am feeling regret, I am feeling angry, I am feeling hopeless, helpless…but I do not feel hate”
Felt so false even to her, the tears and the breaking voice convinced everyone else. Even Joseph. She didn’t feel regret, she didn’t feel hopeless, she didn’t feel helpless…he felt only hate. Hate in the way that if someone took an important piece of property from you, hate in the way as if someone walked into your house and brazenly disrespected you. Not hate for the death of a child. Not hate like Joseph had. She had immediately dispatched three of her finest men to the Mojave Desert to eliminate the man responsible but found nothing but death for themselves. Joseph had begged and pleaded for her to stop, to let him ‘deal with it’. She turned her gaze to the man next to her. On Sunday he was set to face the very man who threw their son from the rafters of St Patrick's Cathedral to his demise. She had thought about having Dune simply assassinated as he entered the building, before the match, during the weigh in…sneak a pistol in, step up as a reporter and give him that Hyman Roth treatment. Joseph had been steadfast in his refusal. She spoke to him for the first time this evening.
Alessandra: What are you thinking?
Joey glanced at her before looking away.
Alessandra: What’s going through that head of yours?
Joseph: Nothing.
Alessandra: Nothing?
Joseph: What do you want me to say that I-
Alessandra: That you’re going to kill him.
This stopped Joey mid-sentence, he seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.
Joseph: That’s the plan.
Alessandra smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Alessandra: Do you need anything? I can help.
Joseph: I’m sorry.
Alessandra: What?
Joseph: I’m sorry Al. This, all this is my fault. I’ve been selfish, I’ve been stupid, I wish I could just rewind time and never even have started down this stupid fucking road.
Alessandra: What road, what are you-
Joseph: DUNE! Don’t you get this? He didn’t come after me; he didn’t pick a fight with me. It was me, it was always me. I’ve done it with everyone, but this time…this one time, someone fought back. I never intended any of this. I only wanted a wrestling match, that’s all. They wouldn’t give me a wrestling match, so I had to push, I had to prod, I had to hit, I had to hurt. So then we end up…where we are, I mean what…next time it could be you.
Alessandra: Joseph, don’t be ridiculous I’m-
Joseph: You’re only human. Dune he’s…something else. Money, power – these things mean nothing to him.
Alessandra: And he’s not human? Joseph you’re bring idiotic.
Joseph: Am I? You haven’t seen, you haven’t felt it Al, it’s like you’re watching a demon just walk through humans knowing that there are no repercussions, no comebacks, that there is no harm that can come to them.
She could see him shaking as he spoke, his lips quiver, his olive skin whiten.
Alessandra: You’re scared.
Joey paused for a moment.
Joseph: Yes. I’m scared.
He had never said those words before.
Joseph: I’m scared about what happens if I don’t end this on Sunday. If I fail then what happens? What happens to you? I cannot fail here. I am the only person able to so much as put a scratch on this guy; I am the only person who can beat him. I cannot fall here, it is not an option. So yeah I’m scared. I’m scared my training won’t be enough, that my skill won’t be enough, that maybe he really IS a demon and no matter what I do he’s going to keep coming.
She had certainly never heard these words from him before.
Alessandra: Joseph, you’re the best. You’re untouchable in the ring-
Joseph: Is that going to be enough?
Alessandra was silent.
Joseph: Promise me something.
These words never ended up being followed with ‘Buy me cake’ or anything pleasant. She agreed.
Alessandra: Go on.
Joseph: Whatever happens on Sunday, don’t turn your head. No matter what you see, no matter what happens to me you need to watch. This is going to be my last stand.
Alessandra: What are you saying?
Joey just smiled at her.
Joseph: That I want my Queen to watch as I slay the monster.
It isn’t what he meant. She knew. This was it, wasn’t it? He was willing to die. He was willing to die to beat this man, to protect her, to avenge their son. Joseph slid out of bed, stood up and began to dress. She watched as the man she loved slipped his familiar grey hoodie over his head. Since when was Joey so strong? Since when was he so determined? She had never seen that look before, such calmness and serenity before a match. Usually he was a jittery restless mess, but now it looked as if he was taking a beautiful sunny walk through Central Park.
He left the room to train once again, now she knew what he reminded her of. This looked like a man with such absolutely confidence in himself that the outcome was a formality, or, and this sent a cold chill down her spine, a man who had accepted his fate and was smiling in the face of a firing squad.
Eulogy
St Patricks Cathedral, the site where his world crumbled. This place that would have been buzzing with Christmas ceremony and cheer was nought but a relic of happiness, hope and joy. The winds whipped around him as he stepped through the incinerated, once grand, doorway. Scorch marks gave way to marble as he entered. The Cathedral for the most part was intact; any structural damage was only superficial at best. This was a place built to last. Still, everywhere Joey turned was another horrific reminder of his wedding day. Each step dragged him deeper into a waking nightmare. Bullet holes riddled a tapestry into the walls, it was enough to almost make him vomit. Then, he did.
This was the place; this was where his son had died. He ran the sleeve of his grey hoodie across his mouth and relived every second.
“For the sins of the father”
He continued forward, this was not the time, this was not the time for weakness.
Joey finally finds the destination of his pilgrimage, in front of the altar. The place where Malignaggi and Allegri were to be forever joined in happiness and sadness, in health and malady, two against the world. Where the love of his life swore hers to his and they would rule as king and queen, the empire was a vast one, Joey had sworn to bring the crown back to her. Now he sat the throne, he sat as the ruler of all that he surveyed. The king paid the ultimate price for his throne, the young prince, his progeny, his heir, his son was now but a memory. Memories were an interesting thing, what was so real, the feelings, the love, the happiness and joy is now just a picture burned into the brain. Love, happiness and joy, these were things he had a memory of, but since the day Christian passed Joseph had not felt even the embers of these feelings flickering inside his hollow husk of a heart. As he took his place on the altar once more, he thought of being declared the World Champion…then of his baby’s lifeless, unmoving body. The Kingdom was not worth the price it cost to deliver.
Joseph: I’ve had so many whispers in my ears these past two months, so many false words of condolences, so many false words of care. I’ve heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ more than enough than any man needs for a lifetime, people that I’ve barely spoken to and barely even know have been front and centre offering their support…but the second the cameras disappear so do the words, so do the people. People gravitate to tragedy, it’s like a drug, you sense the chance for some self or public gratification and you pounce. Hounds to a slab of fresh, dripping raw meat. It’s pathetic.
Is this a good show for you people?
Joey runs a hand through his coarse, thick black hair and takes a deep breath.
Joseph: These people, so full of great advice, so full of ‘good intentions’, want to know one of the things they told me?
‘Return to where it happened, make peace with the situation’.
So here I am. Do you know how hard this is? Do you know what this took for me? Do you people know what it’s like to every night pass out from exhaustion while your stomach churns and all your mind is kind enough to show you is that one moment you never want to see again on repeat, on repeat, on repeat? That’s what they said to me though, ‘Make peace’…so, here I am. I look around and I see people I knew and cared for getting gunned down and hunted like a pack of wild dogs, I see the scorch marks of where the fires consumed my life and my future, I see the ruin of my happiness, I see my beautiful baby boy-
A tears begins rolling down Joey’s cheek, he pays no mind. It’s as if this was a clockwork occurrence of regularity, where once he would have done anything to dab and claim ‘Something was in my eye’, now the sadness just fell with a force of a hundred megatons to the stone floor without him as much as blinking.
Joseph: -and I don’t feel at peace.
He turns to the camera.
Joseph: I feel (*BROKEN* *HOLLOW* *ALONE*)…at war.
Joey throws his arms out by his side and looks skyward through the broken rooftop and up toward the stars as he begins to speak, no, shout. His voice cracking every other word as the tears fall.
Joseph: Is this what I deserve? Is this my penance? Is this the consequence for all the choices, all the mistakes I’ve made? What do you think? I’m not a good person, I know, I know what I’ve done, I know the choices I’ve made…but…does it have to be…does it have to be this hard?
He runs his sleeve across his nose and then dabs at his swollen puffy eyes.
Joseph: Dune. It’s finally here. This is the match that we want, the match we need. We have mutual demons that need an exorcism, but only one is going to be cleansed in this match, the other is heading into an early grave. This is what this match is. This is not a wrestling contest, this not a grudge match, this is the end of everything.
This is a match between the two best wrestlers in the world who need for their mind, body and soul to win this match. There is nothing else after this; this is the end of it all. Let me ask you Dan, what do you see? What do you see when you close your eyes at night? Do you see what I see? Do you see a little boy crying, a little boy screaming, then silence, then absolute nothingness, then the erasure of everything you are and ever have been as a person? Do you? What do you see? Do you sleep, do you dream? What do you dream of? Do androids dream of electric sheep? Do monsters dream of even greater monsters hiding in the shadows? Are your dreams of Pinky’s forever barren womb, of her vapid, thoughtless, dreamless mind? Of the unnamed, blank features of the fetal life that was growing in her womb? Of Chief’s mangled, destroyed skull? Do your bones ache with the memory of the person you once were, that they are now creaking and hurting with every step you take because of the weight of the sins you have compiled since?
What do you want me to say? That I’m going to hunt you, I’m going to destroy you, I’m going to kill you? I don’t blame you. Do you understand Dune? I don’t blame you.
He sniffles and then faces the camera once more.
Joseph: This…
He motions the camera to scan the destruction of the Cathedral.
Joseph: All this. It’s me. Dune and Flash, these are my sins. I have broad shoulders…and I’m going bear this cross. Fate is a funny thing Dan, if things would have happen just a little bit differently for either of us this year, we could both be happy, we could both be settling down for Christmas with our families but your fate, and thus, my fate was decided long before The Jackal, before you became World Champion, before anything else. You drew the attention of Joey Flash.
For the few months in this federation we had nothing to do with each other, I didn’t care for you, you didn’t care for me, and we got on with business. Then…something happened. We both exploded out of the blocks in our career, people were already calling Joey Flash the next big thing, the next dominant World Champion, the next dynasty. Who was Dune? Dune was a super rookie, he was an elite by every standard, but he lost. He lost, and he lost, and he lost. Joey Flash just won. Dune lost and Joey won, yet who was the one who got all the opportunity? All the chances? Was it the winner? Or was it the loser? Did I get what I deserved?
A slap from his own hand flashes across his own face as Joey tries to steady himself.
Joseph: I hate that I’m this person, I hate it Dune. I hate that-
Joey takes another deep breath and dabs his eyes once more.
Joseph: You…you had everything I thought I deserved. Every step I took you were one ahead of me. Trilogy Cup? I didn’t even get a look in. I was 13-0; I was the greatest prospect in WCF history. This tournament told me everything I needed to know about the threat these people felt from me. It was practically oozing from each and every one of the ‘main eventers’. So, let’s see who participates in this: Jackson White, Occulo, Jay Omega, Deuce Murdock, Alex Richards, DVS, Jayson Price, Chelsea Armstrong and…Dune. What is missing here Dune? Can you tell me?
The man who would have swept that tournament without so much as breaking a sweat, but no, see…you were that step ahead weren’t you? I won a battle royal to become the first alternative to the tournament, I tried week after week to injure someone, anyone, I didn’t care, would you? I wanted what was owed. However during the finals I made a decision that would destroy both of us. I decided to attack Dune.
I remember the day that we first met in the ring, there had been nothing between us, we hadn’t met, we hadn’t talked, we hadn’t as so much shared a glance. Yet as I brought that shovel down on your head, again and again…I knew. I knew it wouldn’t be enough. You won that match, you won the title shot. It was only a matter of time then.
You were going to take my crowning moment away, I had paved the way, I had laid all the groundwork, Imperium was my road to the crown, our idiotic champion didn’t even realise it…but while I was working in the shadows, you stood proud in the light and just ripped the crown away from him. All my hard work, my months of planning just…
He blows imaginary dust from his hand.
Joseph: Gone. It was that day you were no longer a sideshow to me, you became my prey. How can this happen? How can a man with not even half the wrestling talent of me be doing this? You marched through DRG like they were nothing; you annihilated every possible challenger who even crossed into your realm. It was a World Title reign worthy of all the accolades, all the plaudits, you were nigh on unprecedented in your dominance…yet here I was, watching, waiting. I systematically destroyed everything around you; I lit your world on fire until you were backed into a corner and had nowhere to go.
I beat one of your best friends into semi-retirement.
I snapped your other best friends arm into pieces.
I assaulted the closest thing you had to a father…
…and guess what Dune? It worked. It fucking worked. Finally, I had you. Then things took a turn beyond my expectations, beyond my reasoning. If it had been just Dune and Joey Flash, we would have had our match, I’d have beaten you and that would have been that…but it seems I wasn’t the only one who had settled on you as the prey. That was the one thing I couldn’t account for. I couldn’t account for The Jackal.
He takes a deep breath and speaks again.
Joseph: Whoever he is, no, whatever he is, I promise you, I will do right by Pinky, by Chief, by everyone he has ever exploited or hurt. I understand you Dune, I understand you so much it hurts. I was right there when he…did what he did to Pinky, to Chief. Same reason you understand me, you were there when he…did what he did to Christian. I know, Dune. I know, and I understand. You’re a wronged man with only one outlet for the rage he feels in this world, me, and at One I’m going to be stood right in front of you and you are going to try to snuff my existence out. I don’t blame you for anything, I pushed and I prodded, I walked into the monsters lair and I dared it to unfurl its wings and try to ravage my village so that I could sweep in as the big hero and be the one to have killed the monster in front of the world. Everything that has been done, that we’ve gone through is on me. Do you get it? Do you understand? I’m fighting to exorcise my own demons and my own sins, like Luke in the cave I’ve fought you and killed you so many times in my mind but when it comes to ripping that mask off the only thing staring back are my own cold dead eyes gazing into my soul with my lost humanity and innocence.
If this shit could be resolved any other way then I’d do it, believe you me. If I could sit down inside a small room on a leather couch and talk away my demons then I’d be doing that. I’ve tried Dune, I’ve tried everything. But this…fighting, war, pain, death – it’s all I know how to do. I don’t hate you Dune. I don’t want to kill you…
He turns to the camera and we finally see a flash of his old self.
Joseph: …but I’m going to anyway. It’s not a game of forgiveness, of understanding this isn’t how this game works, you know as well as I do. This is where our roads merge, and one of our roads comes to an end. It is the final battle, in our game you win, or you die.
A thin smile creeps across his face and he seems to loosen up a little, cracking his neck from side to side and licking his lips.
Joseph: You are my greatest rival, Miyamoto Musashi vs Sasaki Kojiro, Goku vs Vegeta, Billy vs a salad – I think you’ve got me fucked up Dune, Dan my old cunt. This is Christmas, what’s coming next is your gift. You think I was going to walk through this promo crying and philosophising? Asking ‘why me?’ and talking like we’re even remotely on the same level? Like since what happened here I’ve somehow lost my balls? That I’m going meander through a long, winding, boring, aimless, venomless, bland and generic promo? Let me reiterate, I am not you.
Every week you remind me of a display at a museum tour, you press a button and here comes a booming voice full of emotion and conviction, of truth and reality telling the who, where and when, when the same sounds have blasted from the speakers over three hundred times that very day. Each week is the same story; each week is the same sad sombre sobering dogshit tale.
This is where I put a stamp on the year Dune. This is where I take your soul before I take your body on Sunday. I’m not content with squeaking out a pinfall, or simply beating you. I’m coming for EVERYTHING you are. I’m going to dissect you; I’m going tear bone from sinew and I’m going to rend your self-worth from your mind you fucking basic automaton.
He pauses for a moment and takes a long deep breath.
Joseph: Here is where we separate Dune. Here is where you lose this match. You dance to everyone else’s whim and now by god you are dancing to mine. Here is where we separate a great wrestler…and a fucking god. This is where everything starts coming out of the woodwork, motherfucker you’re about to get this good work, before? That was a check swing. This next shit is violent, time to open up on him like an X-Wing pilot.
You think I respect you as a man? Well I don’t, you’re a fucking worthless scumbag who can protect nothing in his life,
Brother? Dead.
Fiancée? Braindead.
Father in law? Dead.
Unborn child? Dead.
If I were Freeman or your dog I’d be hiding under a table just wondering when a bomb is gonna drop on the house at this rate. You attract death, anyone bearing your last name or becomes remotely close to you is destined to be snuffed, welcome to the Dune’s, the Kennedy’s of WCF. Where is your pride as a man? But no, you put all the blame at my door:
“It’s that Italian guy, it’s all him…it’s certainly not my fault, it’s never my fault, I could never be weak or pathetic enough to never be able to protect the ones I love, I live my life by a prophecy that talks about my greatness.”
You’re a naïve fucking child. You run around screaming for answers, the first person to say ‘Well we don’t know who did it, what their motives were…but they look like this, and did it for this reason’ your dumb ass walks off the short pier straight into whatever plot the next person who decides to manipulate you has. You’re the perfect tool, the perfect weapon, big, dumb and ignorant. It makes me sick to think I even have to deal with this match right now, to deal with you right now.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, don’t blame me: I was only the bullet in the gun”
Right? Like you should be absolved because you let yourself be controlled or fooled into doing something against your will? Is that what you’d say about clerks who worked at Auschwitz? About the men who simply drove the trains back and forth to the death camp? Well it happened. Fucking own it.
I broke Occulo – That was me.
I broke Howard – That was me.
I beat Freeman senseless – That was me.
I blew Chief’s head clean off while he was begging for his life - …that was me.
I own my crimes, I own my mistakes, and I own my horrors. I am standing in that ring on Sunday night ready to atone for everything Dune. You? Holocaust denier, ‘it never happened’ right?
Joey starts pacing up and down growing in anger and volume.
You collaborating with an evil force to wipe out my family – That wasn’t you, right?
You committing one of the biggest acts of terror in recent history in this country – That wasn’t you, right?
You holding my son above your head and throwing him to his death? That wasn’t you?
Is that the narrative you’re going to run with? So you’re a coward as well as a big dumb ignorant naïve tool. I don’t care what you think, what your warped take on our feud is. So take your fucking prophecy and slam it straight up your cunt, remember the Reaper with the blade across ya neck? Well bitch I’m right here, on Sunday you get to meet him. You’ll get that Slash in your throat like you’re a Guns n’ Roses groupie.
Do I respect you as a wrestler?
Let’s think about this one for a second. Before our match at War you were so adamant on how dominant you were, so vehement you were the greatest ‘big match’ wrestler in the company. How you’d defended the World Title so many times, how you entered Ultimate Showdown as champ and by god you left as champ, that’s a great feat…
…Clap, applause.
You pinned Jonny fuckin Fly god dammit. You were undefeated at PPV’s, madness. Then you finally faced Joey Flash…and your whole fucking world changed. You are the best in the world, a world where I don’t exist. In this world? You are #2. You will forever be #2, no amount of hard work, dedication can help, I could be on a five day coke binge, show up on Sunday and still dispatch you Dune. You have come into both our matches with chest out and balls swinging and left a beaten, broken man. I beat you in a Trios match, your excuse after that one? ‘It wasn’t a one on one match Joey, if it was you would have been annihilated’.
Then we got our one on one match and what happened? You lost again. ‘Big match wrestler’ eat a dick. What type of big match wrestler gets routinely bodied by the same opponent time and time again? LeBron in the finals, Dune vs Joey Flash. Fans might hype you when you go on big winning runs, might see the dominance out there in the ring, but when I cross your path you just seem to shake and disappear like an etch-a-sketch.
There is an inescapable talent gap between us; a gap that you think has what? Somehow closed over the three months I’ve been out? While I’ve been sat in bed unable to eat, my eyes red fucking raw and exhausted of tears you have been fighting, while I’ve been recovering from my concussion and unable to train you have been dominating the competition back here. You can look down from your place on the mountain and laugh at little old me having to start from the bottom again. So this will make the difference will it Dune?
Joey shakes his head and smiles again.
Joseph: You’re the author of your own demise and you don’t even know it. While you’ve been trying to plough away at some misguide campaign to regain the World Title, while you’ve been going after #BeachKrew and fighting a different person every week I have been doing what little training I can, resting, recovering…I mean shit, I’m in better shape now than when I left. The aches? All gone. The niggles? All gone. For these three months while you’ve been so distracted I’ve only had one name in my mind and one head ready to display on my wall.
Dune.
You think I’m coming back a weaker man? A broken man? Shit it’s the exact fucking opposite. You’ve gone and turned Megatron into Galvatron, Gandalf from Grey to White, Joey Flash into your own personal angel of death. For this I’ve hardened my heart, shit’s so black it could be called Aunt Vivian 1. You’ve strengthened my resolve beyond my mortality; do you understand what that means Dune? Do you have any idea? Of course you don’t, how could you? Well on Sunday I’m going to show you.
I am going to show you Dune why for our entire careers here you have been second best to me.
I am going to show you no matter what hard work you put in, the gap between us is only growing and growing. Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard, but what happens to Mr Hard Work when Mr Talent works hard? You’re going to find out.
I am going to show you who the best wrestler in the Wrestling Championship Federation is, I was anointed the heir almost immediately, people thought I would burn out, people thought I wouldn’t last the year, now we end and I’ve had the most dominant debut year in recent memory. My record is obscene, I’m a Triple Crown winner already…this year ends with me butchering the closest person people consider to my level and leaving absolutely no doubt that this has been my year.
He takes a deep breath and stands back next to the altar.
Joseph: I am going to show you Dune, just what it is you’ve done to me. Every tear, every sleepless night, every time I walk through my front door without hearing ‘Daddy!’, every present that is sat under my Christmas tree that is never going to be opened, every smile, every goodnight kiss, every day I have to continue living knowing that I couldn’t save the most important thing in the world to me. You’re going to feel every bit of my pain, I’m going to break you in every possible way, we can talk about wrestling all we like but this is no wrestling match. I’m going to leave you a broken, battered, bloody mess. Your life is in my hands, I’ll hold you over the precipice and I will make you beg, I will make you plead for mercy…
…and I will give you none.
Malignaggi drew the sign of the cross on his chest and kissed his right fist before pointing it skyward. He took in the destruction of the Cathedral once more, he remembered the fire, and he remembered the gunshots, the cries, the screams. He remembered the bodies; he remembered the helplessness of the people…no not just people, his friends, his family. He began to walk toward the exit, with each step it seemed to echo louder. The steps that brought him into the nightmare were now leading the way into the future, each step adding renewed purpose, renewed vigour.
I guess they were right after all, Joey mused to himself. Facing the nightmares, facing the demons, accepting them, accepting yourself. I guess this is what peace feels like. On exiting the building it had already become dusk, the sun was setting through the buildings casting a beautiful red hue across the Cathedral.
Joseph: Dune. Never once confuse yourself with who I am. You may think you have broken me, you may have thought you’ve destroyed my home, my life, my happiness. You look at me and what do you see? An emotional wreck who can barely keep his head together? A man who has nothing left? A man who has nothing to fight for, a man who will just roll over and show you his stomach. Since War you have held yourself in some state of superiority over me, you act like you’ve made me weak and submissive. Through all of this I think you’ve lost sight of something, you’ve got something fucked up Dan. You seem to be confusing emotional with weak, I will slit your throat while a tear is rolling down my cheek.
I am not a broken man; I am not a weak submissive bitch who is going to roll over. I am the end of you, I am the one who will turn you to dust and throw you to the wind.
Joey pulls he hood over his head, his face looking almost feral with the unkempt stubble across his jawline and wild black hair curtaining the sides of his face.
Joseph: I am Joey…fucking…Flash.
