Post by Cliff of Doom on Aug 28, 2016 11:15:51 GMT -5
There it was- the advertisement that changed my life.
Well, it was supposed to at least, but we’ll worry about that later.
There it was- the advertisement for Gladiator University. Gladiator was the legal name of the wrestler known to little kids all over the world as The Extreme Gladiator. When I first started watching wrestling at the age of seven, he was one of my favorite wrestlers and one of the most popular stars of the American Wrestling Federation, more commonly known as the AWF. He was a big, muscled up dude with hair like William Wallace and neon colored face paint to match his neon colored trunks, boots, and tassels. When he spoke- I mean, yelled- he uttered incoherent monologues about stars and gods and planes, but it didn’t matter when I was that young. I was just transfixed at everything this man was about.
And then one day, he was gone. There were rumors that he had died or had been arrested. Of course, none of them were true. Four years later, he returned to the AWF and it was like nothing had changed. At least not at first. His first match back, he won in about two minutes, which was common for him. He ran around the ring, shaking the ropes, going absolutely nuts. The crowd in the arena loved it, and when I watched the match on TV, I felt a wash of nostalgia wash over me that was odd for an eleven year old.
Wrestling had changed since I first started watching it. Gladiator hadn’t been the only hero of mine to leave the sport. Many of the men that captivated me when I first started watching wrestling were gone. I had changed a lot, too. I was in second grade when I first started watching wrestling. I was an innocent and naïve little kid. I thought everyone was my friend and school was about coloring and recess. Now I was in sixth grade and life sucked. School was harder. I got picked on a lot. Seeing a familiar face from my brief moment of innocence, even one painted in bright green, made me wish for those days again. Funny how that always seems to happen no matter how old you are.
But even in wrestling, you can’t go backwards. In the weeks following the comeback match, I noticed that Gladiator had changed, too. He was a little smaller (code for “not juicing anymore”) and moved a little slower. I now recognized his incoherent talking deal for what it was, and it wasn’t even like it was cool anymore. He just wasn’t the same person.
Then my June issue of AWF Magazine arrived in the mail. When I grabbed it out of the mailbox, I immediately noticed that it felt a little thicker than usual. I sat on the front porch and flipped through it, only to find that inside was a supplement to that month’s issue. It was a comic book with the word “GLADIATOR” sprawled on the top of the cover in menacing letters and the snarling face of the man himself drawn under it. He had been promoting his new comic book on TV and I got the first issue for free for being an AWF Magazine subscriber. I wasn’t really into comic books, but I decided to read it anyway.
Talk about shit. It was like reading a transcript of all of his promos. Reading the words made less sense than hearing them. Take this gem, for example: “Through the powers of dreams, I have traveled beyond the painful ‘world of lost souls’ into a world within this galaxy where a ‘being’s’ [sic] only weapons are the cold, hard steel of his ‘self-belief’...and the essence of his ‘self’: the animal in us all.” At the age of thirty-one, I can interpret that to mean “I know who I am and don’t care what anyone else thinks.” But at the age of eleven, it might as well have been Chinese. I kept trudging along, not understanding a damn thing through the run on sentences with too many words and the drawings of a ridiculously jacked Gladiator traveling through a snow covered wasteland in whatever “galaxy” he ended up in. There was no clear plot that I could discern. Mercifully, it was short, so I finished reading it in about ten minutes. I turned the last page, ready to throw it out, when I looked at the inside of the back cover and finally saw the one thing in the comic book worth looking at. It was the advertisement for Gladiator University- a wrestling school.
I could go to wrestling school, I thought to myself. There was an actual place where I could learn to be a wrestler. In my head, right at that moment, I had planned my whole life. First, I was going to graduate from high school. Then I was going to move to Scottsdale, Arizona, where Gladiator’s school was located. Once he taught me everything he knew, I was going to wrestle for the AWF, be on TV, make a lot of money, and marry Sunshine, the hottest valet in the AWF (who now, unfortunately, is no longer easy on the eyes but charges $100 for any sucker who wants to stare at her cellulite ass).
I ripped the ad out of the comic book and tacked it to the wall next to my bed, that way it would be the first thing I saw every morning, a constant reminder that I had one goal in life: to wrestle. I proceeded to cover any bare space on my bedroom walls with pictures from the past issues of AWF Magazine that I had saved, because you could only be a wrestler if you surrounded yourself with images of wrestling. I had gone to bed that night, with the confidence that I had planned out my life and knew what I wanted to do with it.
And then I didn’t do it.
I’m not going to get into why I didn’t do it. Frankly, my story really isn’t much different than a lot of other people in their thirties who didn’t end up being what they thought they would be. You have doubts. You get doubted. You lose interest. You find other interests. You get sidetracked. You start a career. You get married. There are a million reasons why people don’t end up doing what they wanted to do. All you need to know is that I wanted to be a wrestler and that’s not what I ended up becoming.
Nope. Instead, I became a Social Studies teacher. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like teaching. At first, it was real hard and I came home depressed most days, but I stuck with it, worked on my shortcomings, and learned to really enjoy it. I like the challenge of figuring out how to be the best teacher I can be. And, of course, the kids are hilarious for a myriad of reasons. Yep, if you’d asked me before October 4, 2015 if I was happy as a teacher, I would have told you that I could teach for the next thirty years and be completely satisfied with my life.
If you’re a WCF fan, then October 4, 2015 might sound familiar to you. It was the date of War XIV, an event that changed my life more than the ad for Gladiator University. The day before was my wedding day.
Oh, I forgot to mention that. I’m married to a lovely woman named Tina. She’ll make herself known in this story later.
But yes, the day before War, I got married. If you’ve ever been married or in a wedding, you know that there’s a lot of waiting before the ceremony starts. I was a nervous wreck that day, maybe even more nervous than Tina. I had to read my vows, my innermost feelings about my wife, in front of two-hundred-fifty people. It scared the shit out of me and now I was just standing in the bridal suite with nothing do it, waiting for the maitre’d to line us up and bring us to the room where the ceremony would take place. I had to stop taking shots so I wouldn’t stumble down the aisle and puke all over my wife’s dress. I didn’t want to gorge on crackers and cheese and be too full. All the groomsmen were talking to each other. Tina and the bridesmaids were taking selfies. I was alone with my thoughts, which is a bad place to be when you’re nervous or under stress.
Anthony, my best man, did what any good best man does. He noticed the serious look on my face and could tell that I had a lot on my mind. To get my mind off of the wedding, he walked over to me and started talking to me about something that had absolutely nothing to do with what I was about to go through.
Anthony: Hey.
Cliff: Hey.
Anthony: You remember a guy named Daniel Dexter?
Cliff: Yeah. Wasn’t he that kid that was always getting to fights and shit in school?
Anthony: Yeah. Did you know he became a wrestler?
Cliff: What?
In addition to not pursuing wrestling as a career, I also stopped following wrestling. The AWF folded in 2002. It went out of business after its most popular star, Stone Stevens, aligned himself with Ken Titan, the dickhead owner of the AWF, a man that he had publicly feuded with for years. WCF was one of many wrestling promotions that were created to fill the void left behind by AWF’s downfall. By that point, I was entering college. I didn’t have time to follow any new wrestling promotions. But now, the thought of someone that I went to high school with wrestling for one of the biggest promotions in the country intrigued me.
Anthony: There’s a pay-per-view on tomorrow night called War. The main event is this huge battle royal and he’s in it. I think I’m going to watch it.
Anthony was a lapsed fan himself. He and I used to wrestle in the backyard. When he felt like being less dangerous, we’d combine our wrestling actions figures and have one big super-promotion in his basement. You could tell which toys were his because he had an infatuation with setting them on fire.
Cliff: Maybe I’ll watch it, too. I’ll see how I feel after today. I still have to go to work on Monday, so I might just want to rest.
Herb the maitre’d walked in at that moment and assembled the wedding party to bring us to the ceremony. The wedding was wonderful. My wife, of course, looked stunning in her dress and her vows were beautiful. I had to fight back tears when reading mine but I got through it. The nervousness washed away and was replaced by happiness. Towards the end of my vows, I said this:
Cliff: I will work the rest of my life to make you as proud of me as I am of you. You will never have to feel alone. You will never have to wonder if I will take care of you. Just as yesterday and today, I will devote my life to your happiness and be the man that you deserve. This is my strongest desire, and it is eternal.
I meant those words, too, and I still mean them today. However, I would soon find out that I would have to work even harder to fullfill that promise.
The reception and after party were a blast. Everyone had a good time. Anthony’s best man speech was heartfelt. Tina was so happy. It really was the best day of my life.
The next day, Tina and I came back to our apartment exhausted. I started thinking about the pay-per-view that was on later that night.
Cliff: Babe, there’s a wrestling pay-per-view on tonight. Do you mind if we watch it?
Tina: Wrestling? You’re watching that again?
Cliff: A guy I went to high school with is wrestling.
Tina: Yeah, sure. Wow, wrestling, huh? I haven’t watched wrestling since Stone Stevens was big. He was so hot.
I stared at her with a blank face.
Cliff: We just got married.
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
Tina: But you’re hotter. Now, are we going to Burger King or what?
Our plan was to go to Burger King the day after the wedding. We had lost so much weight in preparation for the wedding that we really wanted to indulge in some whoppers and milkshakes when the whole thing was over. We brought the food back to the apartment, stuffed our faces, and predictably fell into a food coma on the couch. I woke up three hours later and looked at the time on the DVR box. 8:00.
Cliff: Oh, shit!
Tina shot up from her slumber.
Tina: What, what?!
Cliff: War’s about to start!
Tina: Oh, Jesus, was that it?
I had a habit of waking up in a panic and it annoyed her a bit. She fell back asleep. I turned to channel 500 and was just in time for the beginning of the event. It’s funny. Even though I had never watched WCF before and had no idea who 99.9% of the wrestlers were, I felt that same feeling of nostalgia from the time Gladiator returned to the AWF. No other form of entertainment had ever made me feel like I was a kid again. My mind went back to the first days of watching wrestling, sitting on the floor in front of the TV on Saturday mornings and seeing guys like Gladiator and Corporal Carnage tussle in the ring; or lying on my bed as a teenager watching Stone Stevens and The Bull fight to the death to claim the AWF Championship. No other form of entertainment had excited me or captivated me so much. In the first few minutes of War XIV, as some crackhead looking guy named Zombie McMorris was winning the Internet Championship (there’s something that hadn’t been around twenty years ago), I remembered clearly why I loved wrestling.
The rest of the undercard didn’t disappoint. A fan favorite named Teo Del Sol had won back the Television Championship and created an alliance with Spencer Adams and Vic Venable to fight against a group known as #BeachKrew, who clearly were a pack of wild douchbags. Next up was the World Title match. I could tell from the video package that the two participants, Joey Flash and the champ, Dune, did not like each other. And they certainly showed that in the match. They kicked the shit out of each other from bell to bell. At one point, Dune (an impressively scary looking dude) threw Joey Flash into the crowd. It was a bloody brawl, and it didn’t end when Joey Flash won the title. He hated Dune so much that he dragged him to the top of the ramp and suplexed down to the floor, taking himself out as well. For my first show back since I went into a wrestling hibernation, this was awesome.
Then the boss Seth Lerch came out and announced right then and there that Joey Flash was being stripped of the title due to his injuries and the main event, the War match, was going to be for the World Title. Holy crap. It was like the 1992 Brawl n’ Maul when the AWF Championship was up for grabs (won by “Playboy” Dic Blaze, by the way). This show couldn’t get any better.
I was really interested to see what Daniel had looked like. I hadn’t seen him since high school. It’s not like he and I were friends. In fact, I don’t think he had any friends. He had gotten picked on a lot and then I think he just couldn’t take it anymore. He started picking fights with everybody. Luckily, I wasn’t one of them because he seriously hurt a few people, and I mean, like, injuries and shit. Broken bones. Concussions. He didn’t fuck around. I guess it was appropriate that he became wrestler. It’s just that I would have never thought that a guy who was suspended from school every other week would have the discipline to make it to the highest level of anything, let along wrestling.
The announcers went over the rules. I sat there urging the announcers to talk faster so that the match could start. It felt like forever. Then, Freddie Whoa asked who the number one participant could be.
“SO SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSELF!”
It was a guy named Wolf, a guy with red hair, a horseshoe mustache, and muttonchops who walked down to the ring in a trance, as if nothing could unfocus him.
Wait a minute.
It was Daniel! He was wrestling by the name “Wolf!” I don’t know why I got so excited. It’s like I didn’t know he was a wrestler. And it’s not like guys didn’t wrestle under their given name regularly. I just think I hadn’t believed Daniel was a wrestler until I actually saw it. I was instantly his fan and at that moment he needed all the support he could get. He was entering War at number one.
He had a great showing. He eliminated three guys in a short amount of time and hung in there until a little past the two hour mark. When he was eliminated, the crowd applauded him. Shit, I applauded him from my living room.
The rest of the match was great. There was a big twist when the match was over when the new World Champion, Jay Omega, was betrayed by his friend Jayson Price. It was everything you wanted in a wrestling match. It was everything you wanted in a wrestling show. Good wrestling. Compelling drama. It was the perfect show to reintroduce myself to the sport after being gone for so long.
What a great weekend it had been. It started with my wedding and ended with a fun wrestling show. Still, I couldn’t get to sleep, even though it was midnight by the time I laid my head down on my pillow. Despite all the great things that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, there was something gnawing at me.
I was thinking about Daniel Dexter. Here was a kid who was a fucking loser in high school. He got in fights all the time. None of the teachers liked him. Everyone thought that he wasn’t going anywhere in life, including me. I, on the other hand, got along with everybody, did well in class, and could have done anything that I wanted with my life.
Which guy became the wrestler? Daniel Dexter.
Which guy became the teacher? Cliff McManus.
Like I said, I like teaching, but something about my decision to make it my career felt so...ordinary. When I was a kid, I wanted to do something unique, something that not a whole lot of people did. What I ended up doing was something that a lot of people do, especially people who can’t figure out what they want to do with their life. Teaching is such an easy thing to fall back on. It’s not easy to do, but it’s easy to decide to do it.
It just didn’t seem right. It just didn’t seem fair. Wrestling was my love, my passion, and if I’d stuck with that dream to compete in the squared circle, I would have been in Daniel’s spot; but, alas, I was going to wake up in a few hours and be a lowly teacher.
The rest of the week I was in a funk. My tolerance for the kids’ antics, which was usually pretty high, was now at almost zero and I lost my temper a few times. I didn’t talk to anyone except my wife, who worked in the same building as me, but even the amount of words I spoke to her were minimal. Every night was a struggle to sleep as all I did was think about the decisions I had made and how much I was starting to regret them.
That weekend, Tina and I went to New York City for a mini-honeymoon. We couldn’t go on a long honeymoon since we were both teachers, but it was Columbus Day weekend, so we got a hotel room in midtown Manhattan for a few days. The first night in the city we walked to an Irish pub to watch the Mets play the Dodgers in the first round of the Major League Baseball playoffs. We sat at the bar and ordered some food and drinks. I tried to enjoy myself but my thoughts were still filled with bitterness. It was like trying to get off while watching Sunshine’s first porno. Tina couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore.
Tina: Honey, can you tell me what’s wrong with you?
I didn’t want to. How ridiculous would it sound? “I wanted to be a wrestler, honey, and now I hate myself.” She would either laugh at me or tell me I was being ridiculous and snap out of it. Either way, she’d dismiss my self-loathing; but I knew I had to tell her what was on my mind if I ever wanted to enjoy this weekend we were having and not make her completely miserable. Besides, it’s not like I hadn’t opened up to her before. I decided I had to say it and be done with it. No more of this depression shit.
Cliff: You know how I used to watch wrestling as a kid?
Tina: Yeah.
Cliff: Well, I didn’t just want to watch wrestling. I wanted to be a wrestler.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t dismissive.
Tina: So why didn’t you?
I struggled to find the words to answer her question.
Cliff: I don’t know. Things change. Life changes. I had different priorities, different things I was interested in.
Tina: You don’t like being a teacher?
Cliff: No, I do. I just think that...I could have done something else. Becoming a teacher, it feels like I just settled.
Tina: Have you been feeling like this for a long time?
Cliff: No, not really, but watching War last Sunday got me thinking.
Tina: Oh, God, you think too much.
It was the first time that she started not taking me seriously on this topic.
Cliff: No, really, I saw the guy from high school wrestling and I thought that could have been me.
Tina: Cliff, how could that have been you? You’re not an athlete. You didn’t even play any sports in high school.
Cliff: Hey, I played football...until tenth grade.
Tina: Yeah, and by your own account, you weren’t very good at it.
Cliff: Well, that’s football. It’s a completely different sport. And besides, Daniel Dexter never played any sports in high school either.
He did know how to kick the shit out of people, though.
Tina: Well, you’re not a wrestler. Are you going to beat yourself up over it the rest of your life?
Was I? I mean, no, I couldn’t. Who wants to go through life like that?
Cliff: I mean, I could try, right?
Tina: What?
Cliff: I could still try to become a wrestler.
Tina: How?
Cliff: There’s a few wrestling schools on Long Island. I could join one of them and learn how to wrestle.
Tina: But you’re thirty years old. Don’t wrestlers start when they’re younger?
Cliff: Yeah, typically, but I wouldn’t be the first to start this late.
Tina: You’re not in shape to be a wrestler.
Cliff: Hey, I lost twenty-five pounds for our wedding. I have the discipline to get in shape.
Tina: What about the cost? How much is it to take a wrestling class?
Cliff: Probably a couple hundred a month. But I wouldn’t use the money that we’ve been saving together to pay for it. It’d come out of my own savings.
Tina put her hand on her head. She either couldn’t think of any more questions or didn’t have the will to fight me on this issue during our mini-honeymoon.
Tina: Okay, well, if you want to try it, go for it.
Cliff: Really?
Tina: Yeah.
My mood immediately brightened. I took a swig of my beer and felt the crushing weight of regret leave my shoulders.
When we got home from the weekend in the city, I hopped on the Internet and researched the different wrestling schools on Long Island. I decided on Long Island Wrestling Alliance (LIWA), a school run by Johnny Shipwreck, a legend from Hardcore Championship Wrestling (HCW), a promotion from the 90s known for matches involving garbage cans and barbed wire but also produced great technical wrestling as well.
It wasn’t easy at first. No matter how in shape you think you are, you are never in the shape you need to be when you first start learning how to wrestle. I was drilled in the fundamentals. When I mastered those, Johnny told me that I had to work on my showmanship. Professional wrestling, like all other sports, is a form of entertainment. You had to wrestle well and put on a good show for the people. It was a lot like learning how to become a good teacher. Any person could stand in front of a group of kids and spout facts about World War I to them. A good teacher could do that and be able to keep the kids attention. It took time to develop a personality as a teacher. It would be the same way with wrestling, too.
One thing that Johnny thought was holding me back in terms of developing my personality was my name.
Johnny: Cliff McManus sounds like an old man’s name. You think anybody would have given me a chance if I wrestled by the name Don Watson? No, and no one is giving you the time of day if you go by the name Cliff McManus. You need something else.
Right then and there, I had a flashback. It was one month after I had seen the Gladiator University ad. I was at the rehearsal dinner for my Aunt Katie’s wedding. I was an usher. Everyone was eating their meal when my dad started talking to a guy named Marty who was dating my aunt’s maid of honor. With his bald head and blond mustache, he was a dead ringer for Stone Stevens. Eventually, my dad started talking about me and told Marty looked my way.
Marty: Cliff, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Dad: Oh, he wants to be a professional wrestler.
Marty: Really? What’s your name going to be?
I had my heart set on calling myself Brass Knuckles. That was the name I always used when Anthony and I wrestling in the backyard. I was even thinking about replacing the two “S’s” with “Z’s.” Still, I was already embarrassed that Dad had told a total stranger that I wanted to be a wrestler. I wasn’t about to say that I wanted to be called “Brazz Knuckles.” I just shrugged my shoulders. Marty studied me for a second and then a light bulb went off in his head.
Marty: I got it. Cliff of Doom! That’s gonna be your name. Cliff of Doom!
He then impersonated a wrestling announcer.
Marty: “Here comes CLIFF OF DOOM!”
I laughed and went along with the fun, but I wasn’t too high on the name.
Two days later at the wedding reception (why are all of my wrestling memories tied to weddings?), everyone was having a good time. “Last Dance” by Donna Summer came on to close out the party. Everybody was on the dance floor. Marty, who I later found out had a little too much to drink, decided to get fresh and lifted my aunt’s wedding dress up. He didn’t lift it that high. Nothing underneath was revealed, but in my eleven year old brain, I still thought it wasn’t right. I walked over to my new uncle, Scott, who himself was drunk, and reported what I had seen. He shouted over the loud music.
Scott: Well, go punch him then!
Dutifully, I walked back to Marty and motioned for him to bend down so he could hear what I was saying.
Cliff: Scott said I have to punch you for lifting Aunt Katie’s dress up.
Without hesitation, he told me to do it. Equally without hesitation, I cocked my fist back and gave him a stiff shot right to his left cheek bone. My dad saw the whole thing go down.
Dad: Clifford!
Cliff: What? Scott told me to do it!
That was probably the only thing that saved me from being slapped right upside the head. It wasn’t a stretch to think that amongst all the drinking that was going on that day, somebody had told the impressionable eleven year old kid to punch someone.
While people were gathering their things and leaving the catering hall, I was standing near the exit looking down at the ground and feeling bad about what I had done. Out of nowhere, Marty walked up to me. There was a read mark next to his left eye where my knuckle collided with his flesh.
Marty: Cliff, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t expect anything less from CLIFF OF DOOM!
Suddenly, Cliff of Doom didn’t sound so stupid anymore. Cliff of Doom was associated with defending his aunt’s honor by punching a grown man right in the face! Cliff of Doom sounded cool. Cliff of Doom sounded tough. Cliff of Doom stood for what was right, and if you messed with Cliff of Doom and his family, you were...DOOOOOOMED!
My flashback over, I looked at Johnny.
Cliff: What about Cliff of Doom?
He thought about it for a second.
Johnny: Cliff of Doom? That’s kind of a weird name, but you’re a weird guy. It works.
I didn’t think “Cliff of Doom” was weird but he liked it and I liked it, so that’s what I went with.
Johnny also ran a wrestling promotion using the guys from the school. I was nervous the first time I was in front of a crowd just like I was nervous the first time I was in front of a class of thirty students. I was a quick learner, though,and with repetition, I perfected my skills in the ring and on the mic. I was creating a ring style and persona all my own.
Then, one month ago, Johnny called me into his office.
Johnny: A talent scout from the WCF that I’m friendly with called and said he’s going to be at the next show. He asked if I had any students that he should look out for. I gave him your name.
Cliff: Really?
Johnny: Yeah. I’m not saying they’ll offer you a contract, but I think you’re good enough for them to at least consider you. The other guys, they need more work, but you’ve picked this up pretty quickly. You’re not the best in the world but you could be if you keep applying yourself like you’ve done here, and if WCF doesn’t want you yet, there are plenty of other indy promotions out there where you can practice your trade.
Our next show was a week later. I was in the second to last match against Caleb Ronan. He had been in the WCF for a few months but quit abruptly after not being able to find success, and now was in LIWA with the hope of honing his skills. He was an athletic kid, but he really frustrated Johnny all the time with his whining and constant breaks to take selfies. I won the match, needless to say, but more importantly than that, I impressed the talent scout, who happened to be Sars Sanderson of the famous Sanderson wrestling family. We met in Johnny’s office after my match.
Sars: Nice job out there tonight.
Cliff: Thank you, Mr. Sanderson.
Sars: Call me Sars. Now you’re name in the ring, what is it, Cliff of...
Cliff: Doom.
Sars: Dune? No, no, we already had a guy named Dune.
Cliff: No, DOOM.
Sars: Oh, Cliff of Doom? Alright. Not something I would have chosen in my day, but you’re of the new generation. Now listen, there are some little things I think you need to work out, but you can fix those as you go along. Right now, I’d like to give you a tryout match at our next pay-per-view, Revenge, on Sunday. Seth has booked a six pack challenge and right now he’s got five guys, Chaos, Mark Gallagher, Logan Buress, Greg St. Matthews, and Nicky O’Reilly. I’ve been authorized to find the sixth guy, and I’m going to recommend you. You want it?
Cliff: Yes, definitely!
I tried to act cool, but I couldn’t help but smile.
Sars: It’s not going to be a hell of a lot of money, but if you do well, Seth might offer you a contract. You’ll be offered at least the minimum for showing up and wrestling, but if you start winning matches and winning titles, you can make a lot of money with us.
Cliff: That’s great.
We shook hands.
Sars: Alright, Cliff. It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you on Sunday at the Izod Center.
Cliff: Thanks, Mr. Sand...I mean, Sars.
In the car on the way home I called Tina, but she didn’t answer.
Cliff: She must be sleeping.
I called Anthony instead. There was a good chance he was sleeping, too, but damn it, I needed to talk to somebody. I just got offered a spot on WCF’s next big card!
Anthony: Hello?
He sounded groggy.
Cliff: Hey, brother. Did I wake you?
Anthony: Yep.
Cliff: Oh, shit. Never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Anthony: Nope. You already woke me up. What’s going on?
Cliff: I met Sars Sanderson tonight.
Anthony: No shit.
Cliff: Yeah, and it turns out he’s a talent scout for the WCF. And guess what? He wants me to wrestle at Revenge.
Anthony: That’s great, man.
Anthony started watching wrestling again after War XIV, too.
Anthony: Who are you facing?
Cliff: It’s a six pack challenge against Chaos, Mark Gallagher, Logan Buress, Greg St. Matthews, and Nicky O’Reilly.
Anthony: Nicky O’Reilly? The YouTube kid?
Cliff: Yeah, have you watched his videos?
Anthony: Yeah, I’ve seen a few. He’s alright.
Cliff: Some of the moves he demonstrated look like they need some work, like his moonsault and his Frankensteiner. The damn kid nearly broke his neck trying that. It’s cool that he trained himself and all, but I think you need to be trained by a professional before you step into the ring. How else are you going to get better if you don’t have a second pair of eyes critiquing you? Plus, there’s no record of him ever actually wrestling a match, just a bunch of videos doing a bunch of moves and shit. I know I haven’t been in the game that long, but I’ve been trained by an experienced wrestler and I’ve worked in the ring with opponents in front of a crowd. This guy is going into what I believe is his first match, and it’s against five people. I hope he does well for himself, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he fell flat on his face his first time out.
Anthony: Well, don’t get too cocky. It might be his first match ever, but it’s your first match in an arena in front of thousands of people, not some gym in Deer Park in front of one hundred. It’s a different dynamic.
Cliff: I’m confident that I can perform well in any venue in front of any amount of people. Plus, the competition doesn’t really rise too high above Nicky O’Reilly. I take Logan Buress less seriously than O’Reilly, actually. Did you see him?
Anthony: The Joker looking asshole?
Cliff: Yeah. I mean, it’s all well and good to paint yourself. I get it. You have to create a persona in this business. That was one of the things that took me the longest to get, but not at the expense of wrestling well. I mean, he came out to the ring with his flames and shit. It was a cool entrance. But when the entrance was over, what happened? He ate the fall. The funny thing is, Dion Neucrat had the option of pinning Chaos. Like, Chaos was a sitting duck. It would have been a three count, but Neucrat decided he’d rather make Logan Buress tap instead! I guess he thought it would be easier to make Buress submit than to pin the guy who was already knocked out. Buress looked like a chump. It reminded me of the time when we were in JV football and I painted my face before the game so I would look intimidating. Then I was the drizzling shits the whole game and Coach Nook pulled me to the side and chastised me for worrying more about painting my face than actually memorizing the plays. That’s what Buress did. He painted himself and didn’t worry about actually wrestling well.
Anthony: Chaos didn’t eat the pinfall in that match?
Cliff: No, but he’ll eat it at Revenge if I drop him on his head with the Doomstone.
Anthony: Doomstone?
Cliff: Yeah, my finisher. You saw it the last time you saw me wrestle.
Anthony: You’re calling your version of the Tombstone the DOOMstone.
Cliff: Yep.
Anthony: You’re an idiot.
Cliff: Well, either way, if I use it, it’s going to mean the end.
Anthony: Chaos is a bad dude. I wouldn’t take him lightly. He’s the most experienced guy in the match.
Cliff: You’re right, but he’s experienced in the hardcore style. I’m not taking anything away from that. Hell, that was Johnny’s bread and butter in his prime, but I think I have the edge when it comes to the fundamentals. I haven’t had to use one weapon or any other kind of foreign object in the ring yet, and I’ve done pretty well for myself. I won’t say that I never will. I think it’s inevitable that I’ll be booked in some kind of No DQ or Hardcore match, but I’ll at least have made a name for myself as a wrestler first. Chaos, his whole schtick is that he’s hardcore. Anyone can be “hardcore” and swing a weapon. Not everyone can be a good wrestler.
Anthony: He considers himself a technical wrestler, too.
Cliff: What was technical about anything he did in his last match? Swinging a ring bell at Dion Neucrat’s head? Pushing Logan Buress to the ground? Yeah, real technical.
Anthony: Mark Gallagher’s more technical than Chaos.
Cliff: He’s crazier, too. I feel bad for the guy. I think he’s got PTSD from his time in the Royal Air Force.
Anthony: That doesn’t worry you at all?
Cliff: Not really. If he actually won a match, it probably would, but for all of his MMA-style moves, and his explosive anger, it hasn’t translated to success in the ring. In fact, I think the whole anger thing for him has been a hindrance. He started arguing with the ref after Captain WCF kicked out of a pin in his last match and where did it get him? Rolled up for the three. The guy should take all the psychiatric help that’s offered him. I don’t think he can win until he resolves his issues.
Anthony: Have you ever seen his promos? That motherfucker laughs all the time. Every time I hear him yell “HAHAHAHA,” I want to reach through the screen and punch him in the fucking face.
Cliff: I’ll do it for you.
Anthony: Thanks.
I heard a little girl’s voice in the background.
Bailey: Daddy, what are you doing?
Anthony: Alright, I gotta go. Bailey woke up. I’ll be up for the next two hours trying to get her to fall back asleep.
Cliff: Alright, man, do what you got to do.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I drove home thinking about my match and how I would overcome my opponents. Maybe they’d ask me to cut a promo at the event itself. Perhaps they’d ask me to come to an autograph session beforehand. No, I was getting ahead of myself. I had to focus.
When I got home, I went right into my office and started watching videos of my opponents on any website I could find, including YouTube and the WCF Network. I was in the middle of watching a Greg St. Matthews match when Tina came in.
Tina: Oh, you’re home.
Cliff: Yeah, sorry, babe. I didn’t want to wake you.
She peaked over my shoulder to see what I was watching.
Tina: Who’s that?
Cliff: Greg St. Matthews.
Tina: Is he any good?
Cliff: He’s alright. He and I have similar styles. We’re both high flyers. The difference is that he takes some unnecessary risks and doesn’t always pay attention to what’s happening around him when he wants to execute an impressive looking move. On Slam last Sunday, he was looking to go for a moonsault but didn’t see his opponent coming at him to chop his leg. He ended up losing. I would have made sure my opponent was out for the count before going for a high risk move. He also almost injured himself at Ultimate Showdown last month. He went for a swanton suicide dive over the top rope to the outside, which is similar to my Cliff Dive, but he barely made contact with his opponent and ended up paralyzing himself.
Tina: Is the Cliff Dive the move that made me scream when I saw you wrestle for the first time? I hate that move.
Cliff: It is. It’s a risk to do that move, but I’ve perfected it enough where I don’t almost kill myself like this guy did.
Tina: So are you facing this guy at the next LIWA show?
Cliff: No, I’m facing him at my first WCF show.
Tina stared at me for a second. She turned the light in the room on and sat in the chair across the room from the desk.
Tina: The talent scout offered you a contract?
Cliff: No, he offered me one match, but if I do well, he thinks the owner of the promotion will offer me a contract.
Tina put her face in her hands.
Cliff: Honey, what’s wrong?
She lifted her head back up.
Tina: I don’t want you to be a wrestler!
Cliff: Why, because you think I’m going to get hurt?
Tina: No, I just don’t want you to be a wrestler!
I was starting to get irritated.
Cliff: Wait a minute. When I told you that I wish I had become a wrestler, you told me to do it.
Tina: Yeah, because it was our mini-honeymoon and you were acting miserable. I wanted you to be happy the rest of the weekend. Plus, I didn’t think you’d be that good at it and once you saw that and got it out of your system, you could finally put wrestling behind you and come back to the real world. The problem is you’re actually good at it!
She stormed off into the bedroom. I wanted to yell but I held it in. I sat at the desk for a few seconds and composed myself and then went to the bedroom. I found Tina lying on the bed with her back to me. I lied down next to her and put my arm around her stomach.
Cliff: Honey, I’m on the verge of competing in the one of the biggest wrestling promotions in the country, maybe even the world. Why aren’t you happy for me?
She rolled on to her back and looked at me.
Tina: I’m sorry. I am happy, but I’m also worried. This isn’t you driving a few miles to Deer Park for a class or a show. If you get a permanent job with WCF, you’re going to have to travel and pay for your own hotel and flights. You’ll be in cities across the country. I mean, what’s the money going to be like?
Cliff: If I get a contract, they’ll pay me the minimum. If I win matches and titles, I’ll get paid more.
Tina: And what if you don’t win? Will the money you’ll be spending on getting to these shows and training and paying for God knows what else you need be worth it?
Cliff: Well, that’s the risk I’ll have to take.
Tina: It’s a big risk and it affects you and me. My salary alone won’t support me, you, and your wrestling career.
Cliff: I know that. You think I’m going to quit teaching right now? I don’t even have a contract yet. Maybe one day I’ll make enough where I can just wrestle, but that ain’t right now.
Tina: How long?
That question confused me.
Cliff: How long what?
Tina: How long are you going to give wrestling? You’re thirty-one years old. You have less than a year’s experience. I know you. You try to juggle a lot of things at one time, and trying to balance wrestling and teaching is going to be a big struggle. I mean, the teaching job is the one that gives you benefits. If you start neglecting that job or miss too many days of school because you got hurt wrestling, they may fire you. Then what? Then what are we going to do? I mean, we’ve talked about starting a family and we can’t do that as long as we’re in this tiny apartment. If you’re teaching during the week and then traveling and wrestling on the weekend, when are we going to have the time to do any of that stuff. Hell, if you lose your teaching job and don’t make good enough money wrestling, how are we going to pay for a new house and a family?
Yikes. Many things to think about. Everything she was saying was true. I was starting out on the wrong side of thirty. I was putting my primary career at risk for my dream job. I wanted a house and a family, too. Pursuing wrestling put all of that at risk. However, this whole thing started because I regretted not becoming a wrestler. What would have Gladiator done? I thought back to one of his old promos.
Gladiator: Dreams are the lifeblood that forces its way through the veins of the strong minded and I want all of my gladiators out on the battlefield of destiny to dream about the day that all the gladiators in the universe can achieve the highest maximum destiny that they want to reach beyond the stars and the planets and the galaxies and the…
Well, you get it. He was encouraging all the little gladiators to follow their dreams and I needed to follow mine. But I had to do right by Tina, too. I loved her more than wrestling.
Cliff: I’m going to make a deal with you. If I get a contract with the WCF, give me one year to...
I didn't mean to stop myself. It just happened. One year to what? Win a match? Make a lot of money? What did I want to accomplish in one year? What would satisfy her? What would satisfy me? I had to go for broke. I had to set the ultimate goal, something that she couldn’t counter, something that neither her nor I could top.
Cliff: Give me one year to the day of my first match...to win the WCF World Championship.
She just stared at me with her mouth wide open.
Tina: What day is your first match?
Cliff: August 28.
Tina: Okay, so let me get this straight: if you don’t win the WCF World Championship by August 28, 2017, you will quit wrestling for good.
Cliff: Yes. I promise you.
She looked at me as if she didn’t want me to set such a high goal for myself, as if she herself wouldn’t have set that condition for me.
Tina: Deal.
We shook hands and kissed. I undressed and climbed underneath the sheets.
Cliff: Good night, honey.
Tina: Good night.
I kissed her on the forehead and laid my head down on the pillow. A lot of people would probably think I was crazy for making such a deal with my wife, but I love her and if it came down to losing her or losing wrestling, I’d lose wrestling ten times out of ten.
At least I think I would.
Well, it was supposed to at least, but we’ll worry about that later.
There it was- the advertisement for Gladiator University. Gladiator was the legal name of the wrestler known to little kids all over the world as The Extreme Gladiator. When I first started watching wrestling at the age of seven, he was one of my favorite wrestlers and one of the most popular stars of the American Wrestling Federation, more commonly known as the AWF. He was a big, muscled up dude with hair like William Wallace and neon colored face paint to match his neon colored trunks, boots, and tassels. When he spoke- I mean, yelled- he uttered incoherent monologues about stars and gods and planes, but it didn’t matter when I was that young. I was just transfixed at everything this man was about.
And then one day, he was gone. There were rumors that he had died or had been arrested. Of course, none of them were true. Four years later, he returned to the AWF and it was like nothing had changed. At least not at first. His first match back, he won in about two minutes, which was common for him. He ran around the ring, shaking the ropes, going absolutely nuts. The crowd in the arena loved it, and when I watched the match on TV, I felt a wash of nostalgia wash over me that was odd for an eleven year old.
Wrestling had changed since I first started watching it. Gladiator hadn’t been the only hero of mine to leave the sport. Many of the men that captivated me when I first started watching wrestling were gone. I had changed a lot, too. I was in second grade when I first started watching wrestling. I was an innocent and naïve little kid. I thought everyone was my friend and school was about coloring and recess. Now I was in sixth grade and life sucked. School was harder. I got picked on a lot. Seeing a familiar face from my brief moment of innocence, even one painted in bright green, made me wish for those days again. Funny how that always seems to happen no matter how old you are.
But even in wrestling, you can’t go backwards. In the weeks following the comeback match, I noticed that Gladiator had changed, too. He was a little smaller (code for “not juicing anymore”) and moved a little slower. I now recognized his incoherent talking deal for what it was, and it wasn’t even like it was cool anymore. He just wasn’t the same person.
Then my June issue of AWF Magazine arrived in the mail. When I grabbed it out of the mailbox, I immediately noticed that it felt a little thicker than usual. I sat on the front porch and flipped through it, only to find that inside was a supplement to that month’s issue. It was a comic book with the word “GLADIATOR” sprawled on the top of the cover in menacing letters and the snarling face of the man himself drawn under it. He had been promoting his new comic book on TV and I got the first issue for free for being an AWF Magazine subscriber. I wasn’t really into comic books, but I decided to read it anyway.
Talk about shit. It was like reading a transcript of all of his promos. Reading the words made less sense than hearing them. Take this gem, for example: “Through the powers of dreams, I have traveled beyond the painful ‘world of lost souls’ into a world within this galaxy where a ‘being’s’ [sic] only weapons are the cold, hard steel of his ‘self-belief’...and the essence of his ‘self’: the animal in us all.” At the age of thirty-one, I can interpret that to mean “I know who I am and don’t care what anyone else thinks.” But at the age of eleven, it might as well have been Chinese. I kept trudging along, not understanding a damn thing through the run on sentences with too many words and the drawings of a ridiculously jacked Gladiator traveling through a snow covered wasteland in whatever “galaxy” he ended up in. There was no clear plot that I could discern. Mercifully, it was short, so I finished reading it in about ten minutes. I turned the last page, ready to throw it out, when I looked at the inside of the back cover and finally saw the one thing in the comic book worth looking at. It was the advertisement for Gladiator University- a wrestling school.
I could go to wrestling school, I thought to myself. There was an actual place where I could learn to be a wrestler. In my head, right at that moment, I had planned my whole life. First, I was going to graduate from high school. Then I was going to move to Scottsdale, Arizona, where Gladiator’s school was located. Once he taught me everything he knew, I was going to wrestle for the AWF, be on TV, make a lot of money, and marry Sunshine, the hottest valet in the AWF (who now, unfortunately, is no longer easy on the eyes but charges $100 for any sucker who wants to stare at her cellulite ass).
I ripped the ad out of the comic book and tacked it to the wall next to my bed, that way it would be the first thing I saw every morning, a constant reminder that I had one goal in life: to wrestle. I proceeded to cover any bare space on my bedroom walls with pictures from the past issues of AWF Magazine that I had saved, because you could only be a wrestler if you surrounded yourself with images of wrestling. I had gone to bed that night, with the confidence that I had planned out my life and knew what I wanted to do with it.
And then I didn’t do it.
I’m not going to get into why I didn’t do it. Frankly, my story really isn’t much different than a lot of other people in their thirties who didn’t end up being what they thought they would be. You have doubts. You get doubted. You lose interest. You find other interests. You get sidetracked. You start a career. You get married. There are a million reasons why people don’t end up doing what they wanted to do. All you need to know is that I wanted to be a wrestler and that’s not what I ended up becoming.
Nope. Instead, I became a Social Studies teacher. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like teaching. At first, it was real hard and I came home depressed most days, but I stuck with it, worked on my shortcomings, and learned to really enjoy it. I like the challenge of figuring out how to be the best teacher I can be. And, of course, the kids are hilarious for a myriad of reasons. Yep, if you’d asked me before October 4, 2015 if I was happy as a teacher, I would have told you that I could teach for the next thirty years and be completely satisfied with my life.
If you’re a WCF fan, then October 4, 2015 might sound familiar to you. It was the date of War XIV, an event that changed my life more than the ad for Gladiator University. The day before was my wedding day.
Oh, I forgot to mention that. I’m married to a lovely woman named Tina. She’ll make herself known in this story later.
But yes, the day before War, I got married. If you’ve ever been married or in a wedding, you know that there’s a lot of waiting before the ceremony starts. I was a nervous wreck that day, maybe even more nervous than Tina. I had to read my vows, my innermost feelings about my wife, in front of two-hundred-fifty people. It scared the shit out of me and now I was just standing in the bridal suite with nothing do it, waiting for the maitre’d to line us up and bring us to the room where the ceremony would take place. I had to stop taking shots so I wouldn’t stumble down the aisle and puke all over my wife’s dress. I didn’t want to gorge on crackers and cheese and be too full. All the groomsmen were talking to each other. Tina and the bridesmaids were taking selfies. I was alone with my thoughts, which is a bad place to be when you’re nervous or under stress.
Anthony, my best man, did what any good best man does. He noticed the serious look on my face and could tell that I had a lot on my mind. To get my mind off of the wedding, he walked over to me and started talking to me about something that had absolutely nothing to do with what I was about to go through.
Anthony: Hey.
Cliff: Hey.
Anthony: You remember a guy named Daniel Dexter?
Cliff: Yeah. Wasn’t he that kid that was always getting to fights and shit in school?
Anthony: Yeah. Did you know he became a wrestler?
Cliff: What?
In addition to not pursuing wrestling as a career, I also stopped following wrestling. The AWF folded in 2002. It went out of business after its most popular star, Stone Stevens, aligned himself with Ken Titan, the dickhead owner of the AWF, a man that he had publicly feuded with for years. WCF was one of many wrestling promotions that were created to fill the void left behind by AWF’s downfall. By that point, I was entering college. I didn’t have time to follow any new wrestling promotions. But now, the thought of someone that I went to high school with wrestling for one of the biggest promotions in the country intrigued me.
Anthony: There’s a pay-per-view on tomorrow night called War. The main event is this huge battle royal and he’s in it. I think I’m going to watch it.
Anthony was a lapsed fan himself. He and I used to wrestle in the backyard. When he felt like being less dangerous, we’d combine our wrestling actions figures and have one big super-promotion in his basement. You could tell which toys were his because he had an infatuation with setting them on fire.
Cliff: Maybe I’ll watch it, too. I’ll see how I feel after today. I still have to go to work on Monday, so I might just want to rest.
Herb the maitre’d walked in at that moment and assembled the wedding party to bring us to the ceremony. The wedding was wonderful. My wife, of course, looked stunning in her dress and her vows were beautiful. I had to fight back tears when reading mine but I got through it. The nervousness washed away and was replaced by happiness. Towards the end of my vows, I said this:
Cliff: I will work the rest of my life to make you as proud of me as I am of you. You will never have to feel alone. You will never have to wonder if I will take care of you. Just as yesterday and today, I will devote my life to your happiness and be the man that you deserve. This is my strongest desire, and it is eternal.
I meant those words, too, and I still mean them today. However, I would soon find out that I would have to work even harder to fullfill that promise.
The reception and after party were a blast. Everyone had a good time. Anthony’s best man speech was heartfelt. Tina was so happy. It really was the best day of my life.
The next day, Tina and I came back to our apartment exhausted. I started thinking about the pay-per-view that was on later that night.
Cliff: Babe, there’s a wrestling pay-per-view on tonight. Do you mind if we watch it?
Tina: Wrestling? You’re watching that again?
Cliff: A guy I went to high school with is wrestling.
Tina: Yeah, sure. Wow, wrestling, huh? I haven’t watched wrestling since Stone Stevens was big. He was so hot.
I stared at her with a blank face.
Cliff: We just got married.
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
Tina: But you’re hotter. Now, are we going to Burger King or what?
Our plan was to go to Burger King the day after the wedding. We had lost so much weight in preparation for the wedding that we really wanted to indulge in some whoppers and milkshakes when the whole thing was over. We brought the food back to the apartment, stuffed our faces, and predictably fell into a food coma on the couch. I woke up three hours later and looked at the time on the DVR box. 8:00.
Cliff: Oh, shit!
Tina shot up from her slumber.
Tina: What, what?!
Cliff: War’s about to start!
Tina: Oh, Jesus, was that it?
I had a habit of waking up in a panic and it annoyed her a bit. She fell back asleep. I turned to channel 500 and was just in time for the beginning of the event. It’s funny. Even though I had never watched WCF before and had no idea who 99.9% of the wrestlers were, I felt that same feeling of nostalgia from the time Gladiator returned to the AWF. No other form of entertainment had ever made me feel like I was a kid again. My mind went back to the first days of watching wrestling, sitting on the floor in front of the TV on Saturday mornings and seeing guys like Gladiator and Corporal Carnage tussle in the ring; or lying on my bed as a teenager watching Stone Stevens and The Bull fight to the death to claim the AWF Championship. No other form of entertainment had excited me or captivated me so much. In the first few minutes of War XIV, as some crackhead looking guy named Zombie McMorris was winning the Internet Championship (there’s something that hadn’t been around twenty years ago), I remembered clearly why I loved wrestling.
The rest of the undercard didn’t disappoint. A fan favorite named Teo Del Sol had won back the Television Championship and created an alliance with Spencer Adams and Vic Venable to fight against a group known as #BeachKrew, who clearly were a pack of wild douchbags. Next up was the World Title match. I could tell from the video package that the two participants, Joey Flash and the champ, Dune, did not like each other. And they certainly showed that in the match. They kicked the shit out of each other from bell to bell. At one point, Dune (an impressively scary looking dude) threw Joey Flash into the crowd. It was a bloody brawl, and it didn’t end when Joey Flash won the title. He hated Dune so much that he dragged him to the top of the ramp and suplexed down to the floor, taking himself out as well. For my first show back since I went into a wrestling hibernation, this was awesome.
Then the boss Seth Lerch came out and announced right then and there that Joey Flash was being stripped of the title due to his injuries and the main event, the War match, was going to be for the World Title. Holy crap. It was like the 1992 Brawl n’ Maul when the AWF Championship was up for grabs (won by “Playboy” Dic Blaze, by the way). This show couldn’t get any better.
I was really interested to see what Daniel had looked like. I hadn’t seen him since high school. It’s not like he and I were friends. In fact, I don’t think he had any friends. He had gotten picked on a lot and then I think he just couldn’t take it anymore. He started picking fights with everybody. Luckily, I wasn’t one of them because he seriously hurt a few people, and I mean, like, injuries and shit. Broken bones. Concussions. He didn’t fuck around. I guess it was appropriate that he became wrestler. It’s just that I would have never thought that a guy who was suspended from school every other week would have the discipline to make it to the highest level of anything, let along wrestling.
The announcers went over the rules. I sat there urging the announcers to talk faster so that the match could start. It felt like forever. Then, Freddie Whoa asked who the number one participant could be.
“SO SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSELF!”
It was a guy named Wolf, a guy with red hair, a horseshoe mustache, and muttonchops who walked down to the ring in a trance, as if nothing could unfocus him.
Wait a minute.
It was Daniel! He was wrestling by the name “Wolf!” I don’t know why I got so excited. It’s like I didn’t know he was a wrestler. And it’s not like guys didn’t wrestle under their given name regularly. I just think I hadn’t believed Daniel was a wrestler until I actually saw it. I was instantly his fan and at that moment he needed all the support he could get. He was entering War at number one.
He had a great showing. He eliminated three guys in a short amount of time and hung in there until a little past the two hour mark. When he was eliminated, the crowd applauded him. Shit, I applauded him from my living room.
The rest of the match was great. There was a big twist when the match was over when the new World Champion, Jay Omega, was betrayed by his friend Jayson Price. It was everything you wanted in a wrestling match. It was everything you wanted in a wrestling show. Good wrestling. Compelling drama. It was the perfect show to reintroduce myself to the sport after being gone for so long.
What a great weekend it had been. It started with my wedding and ended with a fun wrestling show. Still, I couldn’t get to sleep, even though it was midnight by the time I laid my head down on my pillow. Despite all the great things that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, there was something gnawing at me.
I was thinking about Daniel Dexter. Here was a kid who was a fucking loser in high school. He got in fights all the time. None of the teachers liked him. Everyone thought that he wasn’t going anywhere in life, including me. I, on the other hand, got along with everybody, did well in class, and could have done anything that I wanted with my life.
Which guy became the wrestler? Daniel Dexter.
Which guy became the teacher? Cliff McManus.
Like I said, I like teaching, but something about my decision to make it my career felt so...ordinary. When I was a kid, I wanted to do something unique, something that not a whole lot of people did. What I ended up doing was something that a lot of people do, especially people who can’t figure out what they want to do with their life. Teaching is such an easy thing to fall back on. It’s not easy to do, but it’s easy to decide to do it.
It just didn’t seem right. It just didn’t seem fair. Wrestling was my love, my passion, and if I’d stuck with that dream to compete in the squared circle, I would have been in Daniel’s spot; but, alas, I was going to wake up in a few hours and be a lowly teacher.
The rest of the week I was in a funk. My tolerance for the kids’ antics, which was usually pretty high, was now at almost zero and I lost my temper a few times. I didn’t talk to anyone except my wife, who worked in the same building as me, but even the amount of words I spoke to her were minimal. Every night was a struggle to sleep as all I did was think about the decisions I had made and how much I was starting to regret them.
That weekend, Tina and I went to New York City for a mini-honeymoon. We couldn’t go on a long honeymoon since we were both teachers, but it was Columbus Day weekend, so we got a hotel room in midtown Manhattan for a few days. The first night in the city we walked to an Irish pub to watch the Mets play the Dodgers in the first round of the Major League Baseball playoffs. We sat at the bar and ordered some food and drinks. I tried to enjoy myself but my thoughts were still filled with bitterness. It was like trying to get off while watching Sunshine’s first porno. Tina couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore.
Tina: Honey, can you tell me what’s wrong with you?
I didn’t want to. How ridiculous would it sound? “I wanted to be a wrestler, honey, and now I hate myself.” She would either laugh at me or tell me I was being ridiculous and snap out of it. Either way, she’d dismiss my self-loathing; but I knew I had to tell her what was on my mind if I ever wanted to enjoy this weekend we were having and not make her completely miserable. Besides, it’s not like I hadn’t opened up to her before. I decided I had to say it and be done with it. No more of this depression shit.
Cliff: You know how I used to watch wrestling as a kid?
Tina: Yeah.
Cliff: Well, I didn’t just want to watch wrestling. I wanted to be a wrestler.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t dismissive.
Tina: So why didn’t you?
I struggled to find the words to answer her question.
Cliff: I don’t know. Things change. Life changes. I had different priorities, different things I was interested in.
Tina: You don’t like being a teacher?
Cliff: No, I do. I just think that...I could have done something else. Becoming a teacher, it feels like I just settled.
Tina: Have you been feeling like this for a long time?
Cliff: No, not really, but watching War last Sunday got me thinking.
Tina: Oh, God, you think too much.
It was the first time that she started not taking me seriously on this topic.
Cliff: No, really, I saw the guy from high school wrestling and I thought that could have been me.
Tina: Cliff, how could that have been you? You’re not an athlete. You didn’t even play any sports in high school.
Cliff: Hey, I played football...until tenth grade.
Tina: Yeah, and by your own account, you weren’t very good at it.
Cliff: Well, that’s football. It’s a completely different sport. And besides, Daniel Dexter never played any sports in high school either.
He did know how to kick the shit out of people, though.
Tina: Well, you’re not a wrestler. Are you going to beat yourself up over it the rest of your life?
Was I? I mean, no, I couldn’t. Who wants to go through life like that?
Cliff: I mean, I could try, right?
Tina: What?
Cliff: I could still try to become a wrestler.
Tina: How?
Cliff: There’s a few wrestling schools on Long Island. I could join one of them and learn how to wrestle.
Tina: But you’re thirty years old. Don’t wrestlers start when they’re younger?
Cliff: Yeah, typically, but I wouldn’t be the first to start this late.
Tina: You’re not in shape to be a wrestler.
Cliff: Hey, I lost twenty-five pounds for our wedding. I have the discipline to get in shape.
Tina: What about the cost? How much is it to take a wrestling class?
Cliff: Probably a couple hundred a month. But I wouldn’t use the money that we’ve been saving together to pay for it. It’d come out of my own savings.
Tina put her hand on her head. She either couldn’t think of any more questions or didn’t have the will to fight me on this issue during our mini-honeymoon.
Tina: Okay, well, if you want to try it, go for it.
Cliff: Really?
Tina: Yeah.
My mood immediately brightened. I took a swig of my beer and felt the crushing weight of regret leave my shoulders.
When we got home from the weekend in the city, I hopped on the Internet and researched the different wrestling schools on Long Island. I decided on Long Island Wrestling Alliance (LIWA), a school run by Johnny Shipwreck, a legend from Hardcore Championship Wrestling (HCW), a promotion from the 90s known for matches involving garbage cans and barbed wire but also produced great technical wrestling as well.
It wasn’t easy at first. No matter how in shape you think you are, you are never in the shape you need to be when you first start learning how to wrestle. I was drilled in the fundamentals. When I mastered those, Johnny told me that I had to work on my showmanship. Professional wrestling, like all other sports, is a form of entertainment. You had to wrestle well and put on a good show for the people. It was a lot like learning how to become a good teacher. Any person could stand in front of a group of kids and spout facts about World War I to them. A good teacher could do that and be able to keep the kids attention. It took time to develop a personality as a teacher. It would be the same way with wrestling, too.
One thing that Johnny thought was holding me back in terms of developing my personality was my name.
Johnny: Cliff McManus sounds like an old man’s name. You think anybody would have given me a chance if I wrestled by the name Don Watson? No, and no one is giving you the time of day if you go by the name Cliff McManus. You need something else.
Right then and there, I had a flashback. It was one month after I had seen the Gladiator University ad. I was at the rehearsal dinner for my Aunt Katie’s wedding. I was an usher. Everyone was eating their meal when my dad started talking to a guy named Marty who was dating my aunt’s maid of honor. With his bald head and blond mustache, he was a dead ringer for Stone Stevens. Eventually, my dad started talking about me and told Marty looked my way.
Marty: Cliff, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Dad: Oh, he wants to be a professional wrestler.
Marty: Really? What’s your name going to be?
I had my heart set on calling myself Brass Knuckles. That was the name I always used when Anthony and I wrestling in the backyard. I was even thinking about replacing the two “S’s” with “Z’s.” Still, I was already embarrassed that Dad had told a total stranger that I wanted to be a wrestler. I wasn’t about to say that I wanted to be called “Brazz Knuckles.” I just shrugged my shoulders. Marty studied me for a second and then a light bulb went off in his head.
Marty: I got it. Cliff of Doom! That’s gonna be your name. Cliff of Doom!
He then impersonated a wrestling announcer.
Marty: “Here comes CLIFF OF DOOM!”
I laughed and went along with the fun, but I wasn’t too high on the name.
Two days later at the wedding reception (why are all of my wrestling memories tied to weddings?), everyone was having a good time. “Last Dance” by Donna Summer came on to close out the party. Everybody was on the dance floor. Marty, who I later found out had a little too much to drink, decided to get fresh and lifted my aunt’s wedding dress up. He didn’t lift it that high. Nothing underneath was revealed, but in my eleven year old brain, I still thought it wasn’t right. I walked over to my new uncle, Scott, who himself was drunk, and reported what I had seen. He shouted over the loud music.
Scott: Well, go punch him then!
Dutifully, I walked back to Marty and motioned for him to bend down so he could hear what I was saying.
Cliff: Scott said I have to punch you for lifting Aunt Katie’s dress up.
Without hesitation, he told me to do it. Equally without hesitation, I cocked my fist back and gave him a stiff shot right to his left cheek bone. My dad saw the whole thing go down.
Dad: Clifford!
Cliff: What? Scott told me to do it!
That was probably the only thing that saved me from being slapped right upside the head. It wasn’t a stretch to think that amongst all the drinking that was going on that day, somebody had told the impressionable eleven year old kid to punch someone.
While people were gathering their things and leaving the catering hall, I was standing near the exit looking down at the ground and feeling bad about what I had done. Out of nowhere, Marty walked up to me. There was a read mark next to his left eye where my knuckle collided with his flesh.
Marty: Cliff, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t expect anything less from CLIFF OF DOOM!
Suddenly, Cliff of Doom didn’t sound so stupid anymore. Cliff of Doom was associated with defending his aunt’s honor by punching a grown man right in the face! Cliff of Doom sounded cool. Cliff of Doom sounded tough. Cliff of Doom stood for what was right, and if you messed with Cliff of Doom and his family, you were...DOOOOOOMED!
My flashback over, I looked at Johnny.
Cliff: What about Cliff of Doom?
He thought about it for a second.
Johnny: Cliff of Doom? That’s kind of a weird name, but you’re a weird guy. It works.
I didn’t think “Cliff of Doom” was weird but he liked it and I liked it, so that’s what I went with.
Johnny also ran a wrestling promotion using the guys from the school. I was nervous the first time I was in front of a crowd just like I was nervous the first time I was in front of a class of thirty students. I was a quick learner, though,and with repetition, I perfected my skills in the ring and on the mic. I was creating a ring style and persona all my own.
Then, one month ago, Johnny called me into his office.
Johnny: A talent scout from the WCF that I’m friendly with called and said he’s going to be at the next show. He asked if I had any students that he should look out for. I gave him your name.
Cliff: Really?
Johnny: Yeah. I’m not saying they’ll offer you a contract, but I think you’re good enough for them to at least consider you. The other guys, they need more work, but you’ve picked this up pretty quickly. You’re not the best in the world but you could be if you keep applying yourself like you’ve done here, and if WCF doesn’t want you yet, there are plenty of other indy promotions out there where you can practice your trade.
Our next show was a week later. I was in the second to last match against Caleb Ronan. He had been in the WCF for a few months but quit abruptly after not being able to find success, and now was in LIWA with the hope of honing his skills. He was an athletic kid, but he really frustrated Johnny all the time with his whining and constant breaks to take selfies. I won the match, needless to say, but more importantly than that, I impressed the talent scout, who happened to be Sars Sanderson of the famous Sanderson wrestling family. We met in Johnny’s office after my match.
Sars: Nice job out there tonight.
Cliff: Thank you, Mr. Sanderson.
Sars: Call me Sars. Now you’re name in the ring, what is it, Cliff of...
Cliff: Doom.
Sars: Dune? No, no, we already had a guy named Dune.
Cliff: No, DOOM.
Sars: Oh, Cliff of Doom? Alright. Not something I would have chosen in my day, but you’re of the new generation. Now listen, there are some little things I think you need to work out, but you can fix those as you go along. Right now, I’d like to give you a tryout match at our next pay-per-view, Revenge, on Sunday. Seth has booked a six pack challenge and right now he’s got five guys, Chaos, Mark Gallagher, Logan Buress, Greg St. Matthews, and Nicky O’Reilly. I’ve been authorized to find the sixth guy, and I’m going to recommend you. You want it?
Cliff: Yes, definitely!
I tried to act cool, but I couldn’t help but smile.
Sars: It’s not going to be a hell of a lot of money, but if you do well, Seth might offer you a contract. You’ll be offered at least the minimum for showing up and wrestling, but if you start winning matches and winning titles, you can make a lot of money with us.
Cliff: That’s great.
We shook hands.
Sars: Alright, Cliff. It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you on Sunday at the Izod Center.
Cliff: Thanks, Mr. Sand...I mean, Sars.
In the car on the way home I called Tina, but she didn’t answer.
Cliff: She must be sleeping.
I called Anthony instead. There was a good chance he was sleeping, too, but damn it, I needed to talk to somebody. I just got offered a spot on WCF’s next big card!
Anthony: Hello?
He sounded groggy.
Cliff: Hey, brother. Did I wake you?
Anthony: Yep.
Cliff: Oh, shit. Never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Anthony: Nope. You already woke me up. What’s going on?
Cliff: I met Sars Sanderson tonight.
Anthony: No shit.
Cliff: Yeah, and it turns out he’s a talent scout for the WCF. And guess what? He wants me to wrestle at Revenge.
Anthony: That’s great, man.
Anthony started watching wrestling again after War XIV, too.
Anthony: Who are you facing?
Cliff: It’s a six pack challenge against Chaos, Mark Gallagher, Logan Buress, Greg St. Matthews, and Nicky O’Reilly.
Anthony: Nicky O’Reilly? The YouTube kid?
Cliff: Yeah, have you watched his videos?
Anthony: Yeah, I’ve seen a few. He’s alright.
Cliff: Some of the moves he demonstrated look like they need some work, like his moonsault and his Frankensteiner. The damn kid nearly broke his neck trying that. It’s cool that he trained himself and all, but I think you need to be trained by a professional before you step into the ring. How else are you going to get better if you don’t have a second pair of eyes critiquing you? Plus, there’s no record of him ever actually wrestling a match, just a bunch of videos doing a bunch of moves and shit. I know I haven’t been in the game that long, but I’ve been trained by an experienced wrestler and I’ve worked in the ring with opponents in front of a crowd. This guy is going into what I believe is his first match, and it’s against five people. I hope he does well for himself, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he fell flat on his face his first time out.
Anthony: Well, don’t get too cocky. It might be his first match ever, but it’s your first match in an arena in front of thousands of people, not some gym in Deer Park in front of one hundred. It’s a different dynamic.
Cliff: I’m confident that I can perform well in any venue in front of any amount of people. Plus, the competition doesn’t really rise too high above Nicky O’Reilly. I take Logan Buress less seriously than O’Reilly, actually. Did you see him?
Anthony: The Joker looking asshole?
Cliff: Yeah. I mean, it’s all well and good to paint yourself. I get it. You have to create a persona in this business. That was one of the things that took me the longest to get, but not at the expense of wrestling well. I mean, he came out to the ring with his flames and shit. It was a cool entrance. But when the entrance was over, what happened? He ate the fall. The funny thing is, Dion Neucrat had the option of pinning Chaos. Like, Chaos was a sitting duck. It would have been a three count, but Neucrat decided he’d rather make Logan Buress tap instead! I guess he thought it would be easier to make Buress submit than to pin the guy who was already knocked out. Buress looked like a chump. It reminded me of the time when we were in JV football and I painted my face before the game so I would look intimidating. Then I was the drizzling shits the whole game and Coach Nook pulled me to the side and chastised me for worrying more about painting my face than actually memorizing the plays. That’s what Buress did. He painted himself and didn’t worry about actually wrestling well.
Anthony: Chaos didn’t eat the pinfall in that match?
Cliff: No, but he’ll eat it at Revenge if I drop him on his head with the Doomstone.
Anthony: Doomstone?
Cliff: Yeah, my finisher. You saw it the last time you saw me wrestle.
Anthony: You’re calling your version of the Tombstone the DOOMstone.
Cliff: Yep.
Anthony: You’re an idiot.
Cliff: Well, either way, if I use it, it’s going to mean the end.
Anthony: Chaos is a bad dude. I wouldn’t take him lightly. He’s the most experienced guy in the match.
Cliff: You’re right, but he’s experienced in the hardcore style. I’m not taking anything away from that. Hell, that was Johnny’s bread and butter in his prime, but I think I have the edge when it comes to the fundamentals. I haven’t had to use one weapon or any other kind of foreign object in the ring yet, and I’ve done pretty well for myself. I won’t say that I never will. I think it’s inevitable that I’ll be booked in some kind of No DQ or Hardcore match, but I’ll at least have made a name for myself as a wrestler first. Chaos, his whole schtick is that he’s hardcore. Anyone can be “hardcore” and swing a weapon. Not everyone can be a good wrestler.
Anthony: He considers himself a technical wrestler, too.
Cliff: What was technical about anything he did in his last match? Swinging a ring bell at Dion Neucrat’s head? Pushing Logan Buress to the ground? Yeah, real technical.
Anthony: Mark Gallagher’s more technical than Chaos.
Cliff: He’s crazier, too. I feel bad for the guy. I think he’s got PTSD from his time in the Royal Air Force.
Anthony: That doesn’t worry you at all?
Cliff: Not really. If he actually won a match, it probably would, but for all of his MMA-style moves, and his explosive anger, it hasn’t translated to success in the ring. In fact, I think the whole anger thing for him has been a hindrance. He started arguing with the ref after Captain WCF kicked out of a pin in his last match and where did it get him? Rolled up for the three. The guy should take all the psychiatric help that’s offered him. I don’t think he can win until he resolves his issues.
Anthony: Have you ever seen his promos? That motherfucker laughs all the time. Every time I hear him yell “HAHAHAHA,” I want to reach through the screen and punch him in the fucking face.
Cliff: I’ll do it for you.
Anthony: Thanks.
I heard a little girl’s voice in the background.
Bailey: Daddy, what are you doing?
Anthony: Alright, I gotta go. Bailey woke up. I’ll be up for the next two hours trying to get her to fall back asleep.
Cliff: Alright, man, do what you got to do.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I drove home thinking about my match and how I would overcome my opponents. Maybe they’d ask me to cut a promo at the event itself. Perhaps they’d ask me to come to an autograph session beforehand. No, I was getting ahead of myself. I had to focus.
When I got home, I went right into my office and started watching videos of my opponents on any website I could find, including YouTube and the WCF Network. I was in the middle of watching a Greg St. Matthews match when Tina came in.
Tina: Oh, you’re home.
Cliff: Yeah, sorry, babe. I didn’t want to wake you.
She peaked over my shoulder to see what I was watching.
Tina: Who’s that?
Cliff: Greg St. Matthews.
Tina: Is he any good?
Cliff: He’s alright. He and I have similar styles. We’re both high flyers. The difference is that he takes some unnecessary risks and doesn’t always pay attention to what’s happening around him when he wants to execute an impressive looking move. On Slam last Sunday, he was looking to go for a moonsault but didn’t see his opponent coming at him to chop his leg. He ended up losing. I would have made sure my opponent was out for the count before going for a high risk move. He also almost injured himself at Ultimate Showdown last month. He went for a swanton suicide dive over the top rope to the outside, which is similar to my Cliff Dive, but he barely made contact with his opponent and ended up paralyzing himself.
Tina: Is the Cliff Dive the move that made me scream when I saw you wrestle for the first time? I hate that move.
Cliff: It is. It’s a risk to do that move, but I’ve perfected it enough where I don’t almost kill myself like this guy did.
Tina: So are you facing this guy at the next LIWA show?
Cliff: No, I’m facing him at my first WCF show.
Tina stared at me for a second. She turned the light in the room on and sat in the chair across the room from the desk.
Tina: The talent scout offered you a contract?
Cliff: No, he offered me one match, but if I do well, he thinks the owner of the promotion will offer me a contract.
Tina put her face in her hands.
Cliff: Honey, what’s wrong?
She lifted her head back up.
Tina: I don’t want you to be a wrestler!
Cliff: Why, because you think I’m going to get hurt?
Tina: No, I just don’t want you to be a wrestler!
I was starting to get irritated.
Cliff: Wait a minute. When I told you that I wish I had become a wrestler, you told me to do it.
Tina: Yeah, because it was our mini-honeymoon and you were acting miserable. I wanted you to be happy the rest of the weekend. Plus, I didn’t think you’d be that good at it and once you saw that and got it out of your system, you could finally put wrestling behind you and come back to the real world. The problem is you’re actually good at it!
She stormed off into the bedroom. I wanted to yell but I held it in. I sat at the desk for a few seconds and composed myself and then went to the bedroom. I found Tina lying on the bed with her back to me. I lied down next to her and put my arm around her stomach.
Cliff: Honey, I’m on the verge of competing in the one of the biggest wrestling promotions in the country, maybe even the world. Why aren’t you happy for me?
She rolled on to her back and looked at me.
Tina: I’m sorry. I am happy, but I’m also worried. This isn’t you driving a few miles to Deer Park for a class or a show. If you get a permanent job with WCF, you’re going to have to travel and pay for your own hotel and flights. You’ll be in cities across the country. I mean, what’s the money going to be like?
Cliff: If I get a contract, they’ll pay me the minimum. If I win matches and titles, I’ll get paid more.
Tina: And what if you don’t win? Will the money you’ll be spending on getting to these shows and training and paying for God knows what else you need be worth it?
Cliff: Well, that’s the risk I’ll have to take.
Tina: It’s a big risk and it affects you and me. My salary alone won’t support me, you, and your wrestling career.
Cliff: I know that. You think I’m going to quit teaching right now? I don’t even have a contract yet. Maybe one day I’ll make enough where I can just wrestle, but that ain’t right now.
Tina: How long?
That question confused me.
Cliff: How long what?
Tina: How long are you going to give wrestling? You’re thirty-one years old. You have less than a year’s experience. I know you. You try to juggle a lot of things at one time, and trying to balance wrestling and teaching is going to be a big struggle. I mean, the teaching job is the one that gives you benefits. If you start neglecting that job or miss too many days of school because you got hurt wrestling, they may fire you. Then what? Then what are we going to do? I mean, we’ve talked about starting a family and we can’t do that as long as we’re in this tiny apartment. If you’re teaching during the week and then traveling and wrestling on the weekend, when are we going to have the time to do any of that stuff. Hell, if you lose your teaching job and don’t make good enough money wrestling, how are we going to pay for a new house and a family?
Yikes. Many things to think about. Everything she was saying was true. I was starting out on the wrong side of thirty. I was putting my primary career at risk for my dream job. I wanted a house and a family, too. Pursuing wrestling put all of that at risk. However, this whole thing started because I regretted not becoming a wrestler. What would have Gladiator done? I thought back to one of his old promos.
Gladiator: Dreams are the lifeblood that forces its way through the veins of the strong minded and I want all of my gladiators out on the battlefield of destiny to dream about the day that all the gladiators in the universe can achieve the highest maximum destiny that they want to reach beyond the stars and the planets and the galaxies and the…
Well, you get it. He was encouraging all the little gladiators to follow their dreams and I needed to follow mine. But I had to do right by Tina, too. I loved her more than wrestling.
Cliff: I’m going to make a deal with you. If I get a contract with the WCF, give me one year to...
I didn't mean to stop myself. It just happened. One year to what? Win a match? Make a lot of money? What did I want to accomplish in one year? What would satisfy her? What would satisfy me? I had to go for broke. I had to set the ultimate goal, something that she couldn’t counter, something that neither her nor I could top.
Cliff: Give me one year to the day of my first match...to win the WCF World Championship.
She just stared at me with her mouth wide open.
Tina: What day is your first match?
Cliff: August 28.
Tina: Okay, so let me get this straight: if you don’t win the WCF World Championship by August 28, 2017, you will quit wrestling for good.
Cliff: Yes. I promise you.
She looked at me as if she didn’t want me to set such a high goal for myself, as if she herself wouldn’t have set that condition for me.
Tina: Deal.
We shook hands and kissed. I undressed and climbed underneath the sheets.
Cliff: Good night, honey.
Tina: Good night.
I kissed her on the forehead and laid my head down on the pillow. A lot of people would probably think I was crazy for making such a deal with my wife, but I love her and if it came down to losing her or losing wrestling, I’d lose wrestling ten times out of ten.
At least I think I would.
