Post by Cliff of Doom on Sept 10, 2016 11:59:49 GMT -5
The alarm goes off.
It’s 4 AM.
I walk across the room and turn the alarm on my cell phone off. I carry it with me as I walk to the bathroom. I slightly stumble as I try to find the wall with my left hand so I know where I’m going. I make it to the bathroom, switch the light on, open the bowl, and take a seat. I don’t need to take a shit. In fact, I’ll probably just piss. I don’t care. It’s early in the morning. I’m tired. Why do I need to stand? I’m not in a rush. I’ve got time.
I am fucking tired. I only got four hours of sleep. Today is the first day of school and I was up late trying to get shit ready.
I keep my eyes closed as I sit and wait for my eyes to adjust to the light. When they’re ready, I open them and look down at my phone. I go to the WCF website just to entertain myself while I’m trying to muster up the energy to get up groom myself. I already know my match for this Sunday, a four-way. I guess the higher I move up the card, the less people I have to face.
I click on the word “Videos” on the main page to see if anything else has been uploaded.
Let’s see hear.
“Gemini Battle: Exclusive Interview After TV Title Win.” I don’t understand what he’s saying most of the time. Skip.
“Can Mikey eXtreme Win the Big One?” Who cares?
“Jaice Wilds Talks About His Fatal Four-Way This Sunday.” Hmm.
I click on the video and watch.
His big criticism of me is that he doesn’t like my name? Really? That’s what he’s concerned about? Ok, then. Maybe he needs to look at his own name. “Xtreme Aerialist.” Yeah, that’s original. Another guy who’s extreme. It’s so played out. Earth to Jaice: it’s not the 90s anymore. Guys who were extreme back then were unique. They were different. They were cool. Nowadays, there are so many No DQ matches and so many guys doing extreme things in the ring that calling yourself "extreme" makes you look dated. Besides, WCF already has enough extreme guys. How about Chaos? What about Mikey eXtreme? If names determined wins and losses, then my name must be the best name in WCF because I’ve won twice already.
Um, maybe this guy should do his fucking homework. I’m not a “former” teacher. I am CURRENTLY a teacher. God, at least I showed this guy some respect and did my research on the guy before our match this past Sunday. This is right up there with what he said at the beginning of the video: that the Fatal Four Way is going to be his first match. Um, Jaice, your first match was two days ago. You can’t just try to erase it from history because you lost.
He hopes my in-ring abilities supersede my name choosing abilities? Um, I think the last two weeks have proven that I can go, so there shouldn’t be any doubt about that. Maybe he needs to look at his own abilities since he didn’t, um, WIN.
I will say one thing: Jaice and I didn’t have the chance to go one on one. We didn’t get to see who the better man was. Hopefully, with one less guy in the match, Jaice and I will find ourselves face to face with each other; and when we do, I’m going to dump him right on his fucking head.
Whatever, he's a fucking douche. The guy spouts a bunch of lame shit about me that makes less sense than one of Bates’ tirades about the Constitution.
I suddenly get the urge to squeeze one out and drop a deuce into the water below. That one was for you, Jaice.
Alright, enough of this malarkey. I turn the video off, finish up on the bowl and get ready for day one of the next 180 school days.
Tina is nervous as usual. I try to stay out of her way while I walk around the apartment getting dressed, making lunch for her and I, and picking up around the apartment. Not only is it also the first day of school for her, too, but she’s also coaching junior varsity tennis for the first time and today is the first meet.
She sees me making her lunch.
Tina: I hope you can keep this up when you’re limping around the kitchen after one of your matches.
I smirk.
Cliff: You never eat the lunches I make you anyway.
She smiles back at me. She never made time for herself to eat her lunch during the day. I mean, she got 40 minutes to eat during the work day, but she always filled that time with lesson planning and grading and other shit that I set aside when I’m on my lunch break.
Tina: I promise I’ll eat during the work day.
I look at her skeptically. Her smile gets wider.
Tina: Maybe.
She kisses me on the forehead and continues about her business.
At around 5:40, I’m ready to go. I give her a nice long kiss on the lips and walk out to my car.
I haven’t had a normal morning routine for ten weeks. Most of the summer I woke up between 8 and 10, go on the computer, eat breakfast, watch TV, whatever I wanted to do. Sometime around midday I’d go to the gym and work out. I night I was either at LIWA or hanging out with Tina. It was a nice summer, but sometimes I felt like I could have been more deliberate with my non-wrestling and non-training time. It feels good to be on a strict early morning regiment again.
I turn on the radio. Sports talk? Nah. Most sports radio guys are douchebags. News? Most of its boring and I’m sick of the election. Morning zoo show? Too many irritating personalities talking about celebrity nonsense. I just need some music. I hit the second pre-set button for 94.3 The Shark, the only rock station on Long Island that isn’t playing fucking “Sweet Home Alabama” and fucking “Living On a Prayer” every fucking day. No, this station plays the shit I grew up with: STP, Pearl Jam, System of a Down, Tool, Metall---
Oh, shit. Metallica’s on right now! I turn the speaker way up.
Wish I may, wish I might, have this I wish tonight…
Yeah, “King Nothing!” I fucking love this song! I fucking love Load, period. I have more affection for that album than Master of Puppets (something I will never let Corey Black hear me say).
King Nothing would be an awesome fucking theme song.
Who’s got a king gimmick going on right now?
Jake Wakefield! Yeah! He should use it.
Oh, wait, he’s using that fucking Karmin song. Jesus Christ, he’s a man. Can’t he use a man’s theme song? Jesus Christ. When I hear that song playing in the arena on Sunday night, I’m not going to see a man walking down the aisle, I’m going to see a cunt with two legs walking down the aisle, and I’m not talking about Kandi Washington. “I’m Just Sayin’,” his theme song sucks.
You know what? “King Nothing” is more appropriate for him than he probably knows. “Uncrowned King of Pro Wrestling” my ass. Maybe he was the uncrowned king elsewhere, but he’s in the WCF, and the way I see it, WCF is truly where men become kings. As much as I may not agree with Thomas Bates’ politics or whatever Gemini Battle stands for, those men are truly kings because they beat the toughest of the toughest competition in our sport. Jake Wakefield hasn’t proven anything to anybody yet in the WCF locker room, yet he walks around preening and posturing like his shit don’t stink with that skanky-ass whore pulling him around by his dick while his brainless, meathead bodyguard follows in tow.
Careful what you wish
Careful what you say
Careful what you wish, you may regret it
Careful what you wish, you just might get it
Yeah, Jake Wakefield needs to think long and hard if he really wants to test the waters of the WCF. It isn’t some rinky dink promotion like 4CW or Xtreme Wrestling Federation. WCF is where the best in the world wrestle. It’s the major leagues. Calling yourself the king amongst king slayers is not looked upon well unless you can back it up. And maybe he can. I’ve seen him on YouTube. He’s got some nasty shit. Trust me, the gogoplata and the guillotine choke are not headlocks or collar and elbow tie-ups. But he was doing those on men far less talented than myself or anyone else on the WCF roster.
Then it all crashes down
And you break your crown
And you point your finger but there’s no one around
Just want one thing, just to play the king
But the castle’s crumbled and you’re left with just a name
Where’s your crown, King Nothing?
If he wants to be called the “Uncrowned King,” he’s got to prove it, and the only way he’ll be able to do that is if he wins.
And I’m not talking about winning by getting Ms. Bologna Tits or Drake the Flake to cause a distraction or interfere in the match. No, I’m talking about winning on his own merits. Who is going to respect a man who needs his woman to win matches for him, a woman, no less, who is manipulating him and will probably drop his ass at the first sign of trouble? Not this guy.
He really is just playing the king for right now. On Sunday, reality will set in. It’s all going to crash down on Jake, and his imaginary crown will break when I drop him on his fucking head with the Doomstone. He wants to play the king? He’ll see that I don’t play. When his castle crumbles, he won’t even be left with a name. He’ll hide his identity just to save himself from the embarrassment of someone recognizing him a year from now saying “Hey, didn’t you get pinned by Cliff of Doom?” Where is your crown, Jake? Where is it?
Absolutely nothing
Well said, James.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the school parking lot. Let’s do this.
After I sign myself it, I get to my classroom and hop on the computer. There are some last minute things I need to do before the first kids roll in at 7:55. My adrenaline is still pumping from “King Nothing,” but I need more to keep it going and get myself psyched. There’s a smartboard in my room that is hooked up to my computer. I play music through it real early in the morning and I blast it. I get the same feeling that I get when I walk through the curtain and my theme music is pumping throughout the whole arena. When I walk down that aisle, I am in the zone. I’m focused. I’m ready to fight. My mind goes to a different place, and in that place, I prepare for battle. It’s the same in my classroom. Music gets me ready for the challenge of teaching. I’m going to face a lot of tough challenges, just like every year. Figuring out how to teach the best way that I can. Managing a classroom. Dealing with the bureaucratic nonsense of a school district. I need to get my mind on the tasks that lay before me.
I go on YouTube and type in “Vulgar Display of Power.” I find a video that plays the whole album and start with “Mouth for War.” Listening to Pantera is like being injected with the same shit that Uma Thurman got injected with in Pulp Fiction to bring her back to life. It instantly perks you up, makes you feel alive, and convinces you that you aren’t going to take any shit from anybody, any time, anywhere.
I’m listening and I’m cruising through my preparations. The speed of the album doesn’t let up. The songs just blow by. “A New Level.” “Walk.” “Fucking Hostile.”
Yeah, “Fucking Hostile” kicks ass! The song is so goddamn fast. I remember hearing it for the first time and thinking that it was the fastest song I had ever heard in my life.
Phil Anselmo is a prick, but his vocals are bad-motherfucking-ass.
The snare is so loud but I love it. Each time it gets hit it sounds like a gunshot.
God, listen to that solo! Are those even notes? Is that guitar being played by two hands?
To be, to bleed, cannot be taught
No, it can’t! Tell em’ Phil!
It turn, you’re making us
I think I hear the door knob turn.
Fucking!
Is it opening?
Fucking!
I turn around to see if someone’s walking in.
FUCKING HOSTILE!!!
Oh, fuck, it’s Dr. Coleman.
He’s just standing there staring at me.
The opening notes of “This Love” start to play and I scramble to turn it off. I get up and walk over to him with my hand out.
Dr. Coleman: Good morning, Mr. McManus.
Fuck, he remembers my name. We shake hands. When I think the handshake is over, he doesn’t let up his grip. I immediately tighten my grip again. I hate that fucking shit. I call it the Uncle Jack handshake because my Uncle Jack, who worked in the corporate world, used to shake my hand like that. My dad told me it was a power move to show superiority. Now I got this guy doing it. Fuck that. I can shake hands just as long as you, Doc.
Cliff: Good morning, Dr. Coleman.
He finally loosens up.
Dr. Coleman: Interesting music you got playing there.
Cliff: Yeah, you know, some easy listening stuff.
Oh my God. Was that an attempt at a joke?
Dr. Coleman: The district’s computers are not to be used for your own private use, Mr. McManus, they’re for education. Besides, we have some students who have arrived early, and I don’t think you want them hearing…
He pauses like he doesn’t want to say the word “fucking.”
Dr. Coleman: ...those words.
Cliff: Yeah, of course, it won’t happen again.
Dr. Coleman: Good.
He scans my room with his eyes. Most of the room is decorated except for the back wall. I usually hang poster from it but they fall off most of the time. I’ve left it blank this year. No big deal. I’ve overcompensated on the rest of the walls and the bulletin boards. Man, he is staring at that blank wall for an awfully long time.
One of my old students from last year suddenly bursts in. He almost brushes Dr. Coleman’s arm but misses.
Rory: Mr. McManus!
He high-fives me.
Cliff: Hey, Rory! How you doing, man?
Rory: I’m good. How was your summer? I saw you on TV. I can’t believe you made it to the WCF!
Rory is a big wrestling fan. Last year, we talked about wrestling all the time after class. When he found out I was wrestling on the side, I became a god to him.
Cliff: Yeah, man, I can’t believe it either.
Rory: What was it like wrestling all those guys?
Cliff: It was tough. Those guys don’t pull their punches.
Rory: Yeah, but you’ve won both matches! I cheered so loud when I saw you on TV that my neighbours called my parents and complained. Are you ready for this Sunday. A four way! I think you’re going to win again!
Rory’s belief in me warms my heart. My eyes shift towards Dr. Coleman and I can see he has an puzzled look on his face. I chang the subject quickly.
Cliff: Rory, this is Dr. Coleman, your new principal.
Rory: Oh, hi.
The difference between Rory’s enthusiasm for my wrestling career and his enthusiasm for his new principal are like night and day. He shakes Dr. Coleman’s hand but doesn’t really look all that thrilled. Dr. Coleman can tell.
Cliff: Rory, why don’t you come back during lunch and we’ll talk some more about wrestling, alright?
Rory: Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later, “Cliff of Doom.”
Rory left. Dr. Coleman looks at me suspiciously, not sure what to make of me.
Dr. Coleman: You have a good first day, Mr. McManus.
Cliff: Thank you. You, too, sir.
He leaves.
So much for not taking shit from anybody.
More kids start pouring into the school as the time for first period to begin looms ever closer. More of my students walk by, saying hello, giving me high fives, telling me they miss me even before their new classes begin.
This is what I love about teaching. This is what makes it all worth it: the kids. I know it sounds cliché, but I really do love this job because of the kids. So many times Tina and I have sat at the dinner table and just swapped stories about the funny things they do all day. And they’re still innocent to the ways of the world. And curious. And they care about what goes on in the world. It blows my mind most of the time. Yeah, without these kids, what would be the point in coming here?
Maybe I was freaking out too much last week. Maybe I can do this for the next 24 years. Maybe not being able to wrestle after next August won’t be such a bad thing.
Then first period starts.
And I do the same lesson I have done every first day since 2009.
I introduce myself.
I put the kids in alphabetical order.
I go over the course syllabus.
I tell my new students what they’re learning this year.
I ask them to name one rule of the class before they leave for the next period.
I didn’t even have to think.
It wasn’t hard.
It was easy.
And I remember just why I became anxious last week.
Same, same, same.
And now I’m depressed again.
I hang out in the hallway during the passing time between first and second period. My mood has soured now that reality has checked in. I start recognizing all the kids in the school who cause a lot of problems. They’re mostly the ones from the north side of the railroad tracks, where the ghetto resides. It’s fucking scary in that part of the district. I’ve tutored some of the kids that live there, and let me tell you, I’ve been scared. I think that one of the kids I tutored lived in a house that dealt drugs. I saw people coming in and out during the entire session. I’ve been known to be naïve, but I was smart enough to recognize a bad situation when I saw one. After that, I only tutored kids if they met me at the local library or the local Boys and Girls Club.
A lot of the bad kids in the school belong to gangs, too. Bloods, Crips, Latin Kings, MS-13; really bad fucking people. Sometimes the gang rivalries lead to violence, and worse, death. In the time I’ve worked here, kids have been shot on street corners, robbed, beaten. Hell, one kid was doing homework in his kitchen when a bullet came through the back of the house and hit him in the neck, paralyzing him for the rest of his life. The bullet was shot by a guy who had a dispute with the kids’ dad over dog fighting. You have to be a special person to want to work in a place where this kind of stuff happens. I mean, it’s not all bad. Most of the kids are good. It’s just the few that can ruin things and give the community a bad name.
I’d like to see Jason O’Neal try to make it on the streets here. These kids would eat him alive. He passes himself off as some street wise guy from New Orleans, but, to paraphrase 50 Cent, he’s just a “wanksta” and he needs to “stop fronting.” I can’t think of any thugs who try to get attention by hacking into a TV show’s live feed and demanding a contract. If O’Neal were a real man, and a great wrestler like he claims to be, he would have put in the hard work and showed Seth that he was deserving of a contract by performing well in one of the four promotions we was supposedly in, not hold Seth’s show hostage until he got a contract.
But you know what? He’s proven that he’s not the best in the WCF. He had a chance to take the TV title from Bates and he failed. He was one of the last two men in the battle royal for the TV title this past Sunday and he failed. That’s what happens when you rely on using shortcuts to get ahead rather than train and perfect your craft. I’d rather die than lose to a guy like that.
“Real Deal” my left nut. You know who the real deals of the WCF are? The real deals are the guys who have been around one, two, three years, even longer than that, who have paved the way for guys like me to pursue my dream. I’m talking about Corey Black, Oblivion, Teddy Blaze, Zombie McMorris, Night Rider, Adam Young, Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, Mikey eXtreme, and Doc Henry. These are guys who can call themselves the “Real Deal.” They’ve been around. They’ve won titles. I don’t like all of them, but I respect them. I respect their accomplishments. O’Neal’s done nothing. He’s won a few matches. Big deal. He’s lost some, too. He hasn’t impressed me or anyone else in the locker room. He likes to refer to himself as “The Sensation.” The only things sensational about him are the tales he tells about himself. His ego needs to be popped like a fucking balloon.
O’Neal can fuck all the flight attendants he wants and hack all the feeds he wants. I’m going to hack his head off with a super kick this Sunday. That will be real. That will be sensational.
The next period, I have hall duty. It’s near the auditorium, one of the quieter parts of the building. Not a lot of action happens down here. I’ll be surprised if I find anyone down here. I bring a book with me to keep me occupied for 40 minutes.
The rest of the day goes pretty quickly. Towards the end of ninth period, the phone in my classroom rings. I answer it.
Cliff: This is Mr. McManus.
Roz: Hi, Cliff, it’s Roz from the main office. Dr. Coleman would like to see you as soon as ninth period ends.
Cliff: Yeah, no problem.
I hang up. Why does the principal want to see me? He already slapped me on the hand about the music. What else did I do wrong. I worry too much. I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably needs to talk about...shit, I can’t think of anything else. Maybe it is about the music. Shit, I knew one day it was going to get me in trouble. Alright, alright. Came down. You’ve still got five minutes of class yet. Keep it together. And stop sweating.
As soon as the bell rings and the last kid leaves, I walked down to the main office. Dr. Coleman’s door is wide open. I poke my head in and knock. Dr. Coleman looks up from his desk.
Cliff: You wanted to see me, Dr. Coleman?
Dr. Coleman: Yeah, Cliff, come in. Close the door.
I walk in and close the door.
Dr. Coleman: Have a seat.
I take a seat.
Dr. Coleman: So, you’re a wrestler.
Fuck. I put on a happy face.
Cliff: Yeah, I wrestle for Wrestling Champi....
Dr. Coleman: How often do you wrestle?
Okay, interrupting me was rude.
Cliff: Once a week.
Dr. Coleman: What day?
Cliff: Sunday.
Dr. Coleman: Is the venue that you wrestle in local?
Cliff: Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.
Dr. Coleman: I don’t understand.
Cliff: It’s a touring promotion. For example, I’ll be in Alabama this Sunday.
Dr. Coleman: Alabama? Is this show at night or during the day?
Cliff: At night.
Dr. Coleman: And how do you plan on getting to work on Monday?
Jesus Christ, this is a fucking interrogation. Should I tell him I want a union rep present for this meeting? No, no, I can handle this.
Cliff: I do a lot of research looking for red-eye flights that’ll get me back on time.
Dr. Coleman: And what if you get hurt and you have to miss work for an extended period of time?
It’s like talking to a big, black, male version of Tina.
Cliff: I would have to be killed to not show up for work. And if the injury really is that bad, I have a lot of sick days.
That last comment was half a joke, but he still wasn’t laughing.
Dr. Coleman: Look, to say that I’m not concerned would be a lie. I’ve never met anyone who has tried to pursue what you’re trying to be pursue while teaching at the same time. Another thing that concerns me is that wrestling has a certain…
He searches for the words.
Dr. Coleman: Negative connotation. All the violence and swearing and what not, it could set a bad example for the children of this school community.
Cliff: Dr. Coleman, I would never do anything to hurt this school. I love this place. I don’t do anything lewd on TV, I just go out there, have a good time, and wrestle.
Dr. Coleman: Is what you do wrestling? I mean, I looked up some videos of what you do. Is that wrestling is these days?
What the fuck does that have to do with anything? I grip the arms of my chair tighter. I’m slow to answer, and when my response comes out, it feels I talk slower, as if I’ll trip up if I get excited or angry.
Cliff: Yes.
Dr. Coleman: Alright, I guess. It’s your sport, if you can call it that. Anyway, I don’t approve of it…
You don’t have to.
Dr. Coleman:...and I don’t like it.
Or you just don’t like me.
Dr. Coleman: But, this is my first time as a head principal and I don't want to make a rash decision. I’m willing to give you the chance to show me you can “wrestle…”
He uses air quotes when he says “wrestle.” Fucking air quotes.
Dr. Coleman:...and do this job well.
Cliff: Trust me, I can, Dr. Coleman.
Dr. Coleman: Good.
He starts looking at his computer screen. 30 seconds goes by without a word or a glance from him.
Cliff: Was there anything else you needed to talk about?
Dr. Coleman: Nope that was all.
I get up to leave, but right before I open the door, he stops me.
Dr. Coleman: Oh, Cliff, one more thing.
With my back to him, I make an exasperated face, but turn around and look eager to hear what he has to say next.
Dr. Coleman: No more reading on hall duty.
How did he know I was reading? I look to the wall across from his desk and see a big flat screen TV that shows the feed from security cameras all across the building. Was this motherfucker spying on me? What the fuck? That’s not the point of the security cameras. The cameras are there to keep the building and the kids safe, not to play "gotcha with the faculty." If the prick wants to see what I’m doing, maybe he should get off of his fat ass and walk around the building, instead of acting like the fucking Gestapo.
Of course, I say none of this to him. I hold it in, fists clenched while I do it.
Cliff: Sure, sorry.
Yeah, a new level of confidence and power I have not reached.
Dr. Coleman gives one quick nod of his head and I leave. In addition to my fists clenching, my teeth are clenching, too. I walk straight to my room, grab my bag, and walk out of the building. I would go talk to Tina, but she’s already left for her tennis meet. I get into the car and slam the door as hard as I could. I sit there pondering what just happened and thinking of all the words I would have liked to say to him when I’m interrupted by the ringtone on my phone. I pick it up and see a number I have never recognized before. I answer it.
Cliff: Hello?
John Salmon: Hi, is this Cliff of Doom?
It’s weird to hear a stranger refer to me as that over the phone.
Cliff: Yeah, who’s this?
John Salmon: My name is John Salmon, I write for WCFwrestling.com. I’m writing a preview of Slam this Sunday and wanted to get your response to Jaice Wilds’ comments about you from the other day.
I pause before I speak. I know that I have to do these interviews if I’m called by the guys who work for the website. It’s part of my contract. I want to be diplomatic about my response but there is still so much anger in me from my meeting with Dr. Coleman that when the first words vomit from my mouth, I don’t even realize what I’m saying.
Cliff: JAICE WILDS IS STUPID ASSHOLE COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKING BRAZILIAN CUNT BITCH!
There’s a long pause.
John Salmon: You wanted that to be off the record, right?
I take a deep breath. I feel better now.
Cliff: Yeah.
John Salmon: Alright, let’s try again.
I say something generic. Probably something about Jaice being a great competitor or some other bullshit. I need to get home.
During dinner, I tell Tina about the meeting I had with Dr. Coleman. She leans her forehead up against her hand.
Tina: It’s happening already.
Cliff: Calm down. What are you talking about?
Tina: Wrestling for WCF is already affecting your job.
Cliff: Slam hasn’t even happened yet. How can you say it’s affecting my job?
Tina: The principal is already on your back about trying to wrestle and teach.
Cliff: Yeah, well, he doesn’t know shit either. You know when you and him can get on my case? When I actually miss a day of work due to wrestling.
Tina: Cliff, you need to be at work on Monday.
Cliff: I will.
Tina: I mean, is this going to be a habit? Are you going to miss every Monday because you have to wrestle.
Cliff: I SAID I’LL BE THERE, DIDN’T I?! FUCK, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO DRAMATIC AND MAKE A BIG DEAL OUT OF SOMETHING THAT HASN’T EVEN HAPPENED YET?!
We both stop. Now I feel bad that I yelled. I get up and go outside. I sit on the steps. I hate yelling, especially at her. I need to control myself better. I just hate when she gets like this. Why can’t she just trust me?
I hear the door open. I look up to find her coming outside, too. She sits beside me and puts her head on my shoulder.
Tina: I’m sorry.
Cliff: Me, too.
That’s usually how we resolve fights.
Tina: Just make sure you get home on time.
I pat her on the hand.
Cliff: I will, babe, I will.
We sit there for a little while saying nothing. It’s actually a pretty nice night out. The sun is setting, the air is cool. Everything is quiet. Nice and peaceful.
It’s just what I need right now, some calm before the storm. The sky is a little red. You know what they say: “Red at night, sailor’s delight.” Maybe things won’t be so tough in the next few months. Maybe I’ll be able to handle wrestling and teaching like it’s no problem.
But like I said, I’m not that naïve.
It’s 4 AM.
I walk across the room and turn the alarm on my cell phone off. I carry it with me as I walk to the bathroom. I slightly stumble as I try to find the wall with my left hand so I know where I’m going. I make it to the bathroom, switch the light on, open the bowl, and take a seat. I don’t need to take a shit. In fact, I’ll probably just piss. I don’t care. It’s early in the morning. I’m tired. Why do I need to stand? I’m not in a rush. I’ve got time.
I am fucking tired. I only got four hours of sleep. Today is the first day of school and I was up late trying to get shit ready.
I keep my eyes closed as I sit and wait for my eyes to adjust to the light. When they’re ready, I open them and look down at my phone. I go to the WCF website just to entertain myself while I’m trying to muster up the energy to get up groom myself. I already know my match for this Sunday, a four-way. I guess the higher I move up the card, the less people I have to face.
I click on the word “Videos” on the main page to see if anything else has been uploaded.
Let’s see hear.
“Gemini Battle: Exclusive Interview After TV Title Win.” I don’t understand what he’s saying most of the time. Skip.
“Can Mikey eXtreme Win the Big One?” Who cares?
“Jaice Wilds Talks About His Fatal Four-Way This Sunday.” Hmm.
I click on the video and watch.
His big criticism of me is that he doesn’t like my name? Really? That’s what he’s concerned about? Ok, then. Maybe he needs to look at his own name. “Xtreme Aerialist.” Yeah, that’s original. Another guy who’s extreme. It’s so played out. Earth to Jaice: it’s not the 90s anymore. Guys who were extreme back then were unique. They were different. They were cool. Nowadays, there are so many No DQ matches and so many guys doing extreme things in the ring that calling yourself "extreme" makes you look dated. Besides, WCF already has enough extreme guys. How about Chaos? What about Mikey eXtreme? If names determined wins and losses, then my name must be the best name in WCF because I’ve won twice already.
Um, maybe this guy should do his fucking homework. I’m not a “former” teacher. I am CURRENTLY a teacher. God, at least I showed this guy some respect and did my research on the guy before our match this past Sunday. This is right up there with what he said at the beginning of the video: that the Fatal Four Way is going to be his first match. Um, Jaice, your first match was two days ago. You can’t just try to erase it from history because you lost.
He hopes my in-ring abilities supersede my name choosing abilities? Um, I think the last two weeks have proven that I can go, so there shouldn’t be any doubt about that. Maybe he needs to look at his own abilities since he didn’t, um, WIN.
I will say one thing: Jaice and I didn’t have the chance to go one on one. We didn’t get to see who the better man was. Hopefully, with one less guy in the match, Jaice and I will find ourselves face to face with each other; and when we do, I’m going to dump him right on his fucking head.
Whatever, he's a fucking douche. The guy spouts a bunch of lame shit about me that makes less sense than one of Bates’ tirades about the Constitution.
I suddenly get the urge to squeeze one out and drop a deuce into the water below. That one was for you, Jaice.
Alright, enough of this malarkey. I turn the video off, finish up on the bowl and get ready for day one of the next 180 school days.
Tina is nervous as usual. I try to stay out of her way while I walk around the apartment getting dressed, making lunch for her and I, and picking up around the apartment. Not only is it also the first day of school for her, too, but she’s also coaching junior varsity tennis for the first time and today is the first meet.
She sees me making her lunch.
Tina: I hope you can keep this up when you’re limping around the kitchen after one of your matches.
I smirk.
Cliff: You never eat the lunches I make you anyway.
She smiles back at me. She never made time for herself to eat her lunch during the day. I mean, she got 40 minutes to eat during the work day, but she always filled that time with lesson planning and grading and other shit that I set aside when I’m on my lunch break.
Tina: I promise I’ll eat during the work day.
I look at her skeptically. Her smile gets wider.
Tina: Maybe.
She kisses me on the forehead and continues about her business.
At around 5:40, I’m ready to go. I give her a nice long kiss on the lips and walk out to my car.
I haven’t had a normal morning routine for ten weeks. Most of the summer I woke up between 8 and 10, go on the computer, eat breakfast, watch TV, whatever I wanted to do. Sometime around midday I’d go to the gym and work out. I night I was either at LIWA or hanging out with Tina. It was a nice summer, but sometimes I felt like I could have been more deliberate with my non-wrestling and non-training time. It feels good to be on a strict early morning regiment again.
I turn on the radio. Sports talk? Nah. Most sports radio guys are douchebags. News? Most of its boring and I’m sick of the election. Morning zoo show? Too many irritating personalities talking about celebrity nonsense. I just need some music. I hit the second pre-set button for 94.3 The Shark, the only rock station on Long Island that isn’t playing fucking “Sweet Home Alabama” and fucking “Living On a Prayer” every fucking day. No, this station plays the shit I grew up with: STP, Pearl Jam, System of a Down, Tool, Metall---
Oh, shit. Metallica’s on right now! I turn the speaker way up.
Wish I may, wish I might, have this I wish tonight…
Yeah, “King Nothing!” I fucking love this song! I fucking love Load, period. I have more affection for that album than Master of Puppets (something I will never let Corey Black hear me say).
King Nothing would be an awesome fucking theme song.
Who’s got a king gimmick going on right now?
Jake Wakefield! Yeah! He should use it.
Oh, wait, he’s using that fucking Karmin song. Jesus Christ, he’s a man. Can’t he use a man’s theme song? Jesus Christ. When I hear that song playing in the arena on Sunday night, I’m not going to see a man walking down the aisle, I’m going to see a cunt with two legs walking down the aisle, and I’m not talking about Kandi Washington. “I’m Just Sayin’,” his theme song sucks.
You know what? “King Nothing” is more appropriate for him than he probably knows. “Uncrowned King of Pro Wrestling” my ass. Maybe he was the uncrowned king elsewhere, but he’s in the WCF, and the way I see it, WCF is truly where men become kings. As much as I may not agree with Thomas Bates’ politics or whatever Gemini Battle stands for, those men are truly kings because they beat the toughest of the toughest competition in our sport. Jake Wakefield hasn’t proven anything to anybody yet in the WCF locker room, yet he walks around preening and posturing like his shit don’t stink with that skanky-ass whore pulling him around by his dick while his brainless, meathead bodyguard follows in tow.
Careful what you wish
Careful what you say
Careful what you wish, you may regret it
Careful what you wish, you just might get it
Yeah, Jake Wakefield needs to think long and hard if he really wants to test the waters of the WCF. It isn’t some rinky dink promotion like 4CW or Xtreme Wrestling Federation. WCF is where the best in the world wrestle. It’s the major leagues. Calling yourself the king amongst king slayers is not looked upon well unless you can back it up. And maybe he can. I’ve seen him on YouTube. He’s got some nasty shit. Trust me, the gogoplata and the guillotine choke are not headlocks or collar and elbow tie-ups. But he was doing those on men far less talented than myself or anyone else on the WCF roster.
Then it all crashes down
And you break your crown
And you point your finger but there’s no one around
Just want one thing, just to play the king
But the castle’s crumbled and you’re left with just a name
Where’s your crown, King Nothing?
If he wants to be called the “Uncrowned King,” he’s got to prove it, and the only way he’ll be able to do that is if he wins.
And I’m not talking about winning by getting Ms. Bologna Tits or Drake the Flake to cause a distraction or interfere in the match. No, I’m talking about winning on his own merits. Who is going to respect a man who needs his woman to win matches for him, a woman, no less, who is manipulating him and will probably drop his ass at the first sign of trouble? Not this guy.
He really is just playing the king for right now. On Sunday, reality will set in. It’s all going to crash down on Jake, and his imaginary crown will break when I drop him on his fucking head with the Doomstone. He wants to play the king? He’ll see that I don’t play. When his castle crumbles, he won’t even be left with a name. He’ll hide his identity just to save himself from the embarrassment of someone recognizing him a year from now saying “Hey, didn’t you get pinned by Cliff of Doom?” Where is your crown, Jake? Where is it?
Absolutely nothing
Well said, James.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the school parking lot. Let’s do this.
After I sign myself it, I get to my classroom and hop on the computer. There are some last minute things I need to do before the first kids roll in at 7:55. My adrenaline is still pumping from “King Nothing,” but I need more to keep it going and get myself psyched. There’s a smartboard in my room that is hooked up to my computer. I play music through it real early in the morning and I blast it. I get the same feeling that I get when I walk through the curtain and my theme music is pumping throughout the whole arena. When I walk down that aisle, I am in the zone. I’m focused. I’m ready to fight. My mind goes to a different place, and in that place, I prepare for battle. It’s the same in my classroom. Music gets me ready for the challenge of teaching. I’m going to face a lot of tough challenges, just like every year. Figuring out how to teach the best way that I can. Managing a classroom. Dealing with the bureaucratic nonsense of a school district. I need to get my mind on the tasks that lay before me.
I go on YouTube and type in “Vulgar Display of Power.” I find a video that plays the whole album and start with “Mouth for War.” Listening to Pantera is like being injected with the same shit that Uma Thurman got injected with in Pulp Fiction to bring her back to life. It instantly perks you up, makes you feel alive, and convinces you that you aren’t going to take any shit from anybody, any time, anywhere.
I’m listening and I’m cruising through my preparations. The speed of the album doesn’t let up. The songs just blow by. “A New Level.” “Walk.” “Fucking Hostile.”
Yeah, “Fucking Hostile” kicks ass! The song is so goddamn fast. I remember hearing it for the first time and thinking that it was the fastest song I had ever heard in my life.
Phil Anselmo is a prick, but his vocals are bad-motherfucking-ass.
The snare is so loud but I love it. Each time it gets hit it sounds like a gunshot.
God, listen to that solo! Are those even notes? Is that guitar being played by two hands?
To be, to bleed, cannot be taught
No, it can’t! Tell em’ Phil!
It turn, you’re making us
I think I hear the door knob turn.
Fucking!
Is it opening?
Fucking!
I turn around to see if someone’s walking in.
FUCKING HOSTILE!!!
Oh, fuck, it’s Dr. Coleman.
He’s just standing there staring at me.
The opening notes of “This Love” start to play and I scramble to turn it off. I get up and walk over to him with my hand out.
Dr. Coleman: Good morning, Mr. McManus.
Fuck, he remembers my name. We shake hands. When I think the handshake is over, he doesn’t let up his grip. I immediately tighten my grip again. I hate that fucking shit. I call it the Uncle Jack handshake because my Uncle Jack, who worked in the corporate world, used to shake my hand like that. My dad told me it was a power move to show superiority. Now I got this guy doing it. Fuck that. I can shake hands just as long as you, Doc.
Cliff: Good morning, Dr. Coleman.
He finally loosens up.
Dr. Coleman: Interesting music you got playing there.
Cliff: Yeah, you know, some easy listening stuff.
Oh my God. Was that an attempt at a joke?
Dr. Coleman: The district’s computers are not to be used for your own private use, Mr. McManus, they’re for education. Besides, we have some students who have arrived early, and I don’t think you want them hearing…
He pauses like he doesn’t want to say the word “fucking.”
Dr. Coleman: ...those words.
Cliff: Yeah, of course, it won’t happen again.
Dr. Coleman: Good.
He scans my room with his eyes. Most of the room is decorated except for the back wall. I usually hang poster from it but they fall off most of the time. I’ve left it blank this year. No big deal. I’ve overcompensated on the rest of the walls and the bulletin boards. Man, he is staring at that blank wall for an awfully long time.
One of my old students from last year suddenly bursts in. He almost brushes Dr. Coleman’s arm but misses.
Rory: Mr. McManus!
He high-fives me.
Cliff: Hey, Rory! How you doing, man?
Rory: I’m good. How was your summer? I saw you on TV. I can’t believe you made it to the WCF!
Rory is a big wrestling fan. Last year, we talked about wrestling all the time after class. When he found out I was wrestling on the side, I became a god to him.
Cliff: Yeah, man, I can’t believe it either.
Rory: What was it like wrestling all those guys?
Cliff: It was tough. Those guys don’t pull their punches.
Rory: Yeah, but you’ve won both matches! I cheered so loud when I saw you on TV that my neighbours called my parents and complained. Are you ready for this Sunday. A four way! I think you’re going to win again!
Rory’s belief in me warms my heart. My eyes shift towards Dr. Coleman and I can see he has an puzzled look on his face. I chang the subject quickly.
Cliff: Rory, this is Dr. Coleman, your new principal.
Rory: Oh, hi.
The difference between Rory’s enthusiasm for my wrestling career and his enthusiasm for his new principal are like night and day. He shakes Dr. Coleman’s hand but doesn’t really look all that thrilled. Dr. Coleman can tell.
Cliff: Rory, why don’t you come back during lunch and we’ll talk some more about wrestling, alright?
Rory: Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later, “Cliff of Doom.”
Rory left. Dr. Coleman looks at me suspiciously, not sure what to make of me.
Dr. Coleman: You have a good first day, Mr. McManus.
Cliff: Thank you. You, too, sir.
He leaves.
So much for not taking shit from anybody.
More kids start pouring into the school as the time for first period to begin looms ever closer. More of my students walk by, saying hello, giving me high fives, telling me they miss me even before their new classes begin.
This is what I love about teaching. This is what makes it all worth it: the kids. I know it sounds cliché, but I really do love this job because of the kids. So many times Tina and I have sat at the dinner table and just swapped stories about the funny things they do all day. And they’re still innocent to the ways of the world. And curious. And they care about what goes on in the world. It blows my mind most of the time. Yeah, without these kids, what would be the point in coming here?
Maybe I was freaking out too much last week. Maybe I can do this for the next 24 years. Maybe not being able to wrestle after next August won’t be such a bad thing.
Then first period starts.
And I do the same lesson I have done every first day since 2009.
I introduce myself.
I put the kids in alphabetical order.
I go over the course syllabus.
I tell my new students what they’re learning this year.
I ask them to name one rule of the class before they leave for the next period.
I didn’t even have to think.
It wasn’t hard.
It was easy.
And I remember just why I became anxious last week.
Same, same, same.
And now I’m depressed again.
I hang out in the hallway during the passing time between first and second period. My mood has soured now that reality has checked in. I start recognizing all the kids in the school who cause a lot of problems. They’re mostly the ones from the north side of the railroad tracks, where the ghetto resides. It’s fucking scary in that part of the district. I’ve tutored some of the kids that live there, and let me tell you, I’ve been scared. I think that one of the kids I tutored lived in a house that dealt drugs. I saw people coming in and out during the entire session. I’ve been known to be naïve, but I was smart enough to recognize a bad situation when I saw one. After that, I only tutored kids if they met me at the local library or the local Boys and Girls Club.
A lot of the bad kids in the school belong to gangs, too. Bloods, Crips, Latin Kings, MS-13; really bad fucking people. Sometimes the gang rivalries lead to violence, and worse, death. In the time I’ve worked here, kids have been shot on street corners, robbed, beaten. Hell, one kid was doing homework in his kitchen when a bullet came through the back of the house and hit him in the neck, paralyzing him for the rest of his life. The bullet was shot by a guy who had a dispute with the kids’ dad over dog fighting. You have to be a special person to want to work in a place where this kind of stuff happens. I mean, it’s not all bad. Most of the kids are good. It’s just the few that can ruin things and give the community a bad name.
I’d like to see Jason O’Neal try to make it on the streets here. These kids would eat him alive. He passes himself off as some street wise guy from New Orleans, but, to paraphrase 50 Cent, he’s just a “wanksta” and he needs to “stop fronting.” I can’t think of any thugs who try to get attention by hacking into a TV show’s live feed and demanding a contract. If O’Neal were a real man, and a great wrestler like he claims to be, he would have put in the hard work and showed Seth that he was deserving of a contract by performing well in one of the four promotions we was supposedly in, not hold Seth’s show hostage until he got a contract.
But you know what? He’s proven that he’s not the best in the WCF. He had a chance to take the TV title from Bates and he failed. He was one of the last two men in the battle royal for the TV title this past Sunday and he failed. That’s what happens when you rely on using shortcuts to get ahead rather than train and perfect your craft. I’d rather die than lose to a guy like that.
“Real Deal” my left nut. You know who the real deals of the WCF are? The real deals are the guys who have been around one, two, three years, even longer than that, who have paved the way for guys like me to pursue my dream. I’m talking about Corey Black, Oblivion, Teddy Blaze, Zombie McMorris, Night Rider, Adam Young, Thomas Bates, Gemini Battle, Mikey eXtreme, and Doc Henry. These are guys who can call themselves the “Real Deal.” They’ve been around. They’ve won titles. I don’t like all of them, but I respect them. I respect their accomplishments. O’Neal’s done nothing. He’s won a few matches. Big deal. He’s lost some, too. He hasn’t impressed me or anyone else in the locker room. He likes to refer to himself as “The Sensation.” The only things sensational about him are the tales he tells about himself. His ego needs to be popped like a fucking balloon.
O’Neal can fuck all the flight attendants he wants and hack all the feeds he wants. I’m going to hack his head off with a super kick this Sunday. That will be real. That will be sensational.
The next period, I have hall duty. It’s near the auditorium, one of the quieter parts of the building. Not a lot of action happens down here. I’ll be surprised if I find anyone down here. I bring a book with me to keep me occupied for 40 minutes.
The rest of the day goes pretty quickly. Towards the end of ninth period, the phone in my classroom rings. I answer it.
Cliff: This is Mr. McManus.
Roz: Hi, Cliff, it’s Roz from the main office. Dr. Coleman would like to see you as soon as ninth period ends.
Cliff: Yeah, no problem.
I hang up. Why does the principal want to see me? He already slapped me on the hand about the music. What else did I do wrong. I worry too much. I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably needs to talk about...shit, I can’t think of anything else. Maybe it is about the music. Shit, I knew one day it was going to get me in trouble. Alright, alright. Came down. You’ve still got five minutes of class yet. Keep it together. And stop sweating.
As soon as the bell rings and the last kid leaves, I walked down to the main office. Dr. Coleman’s door is wide open. I poke my head in and knock. Dr. Coleman looks up from his desk.
Cliff: You wanted to see me, Dr. Coleman?
Dr. Coleman: Yeah, Cliff, come in. Close the door.
I walk in and close the door.
Dr. Coleman: Have a seat.
I take a seat.
Dr. Coleman: So, you’re a wrestler.
Fuck. I put on a happy face.
Cliff: Yeah, I wrestle for Wrestling Champi....
Dr. Coleman: How often do you wrestle?
Okay, interrupting me was rude.
Cliff: Once a week.
Dr. Coleman: What day?
Cliff: Sunday.
Dr. Coleman: Is the venue that you wrestle in local?
Cliff: Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.
Dr. Coleman: I don’t understand.
Cliff: It’s a touring promotion. For example, I’ll be in Alabama this Sunday.
Dr. Coleman: Alabama? Is this show at night or during the day?
Cliff: At night.
Dr. Coleman: And how do you plan on getting to work on Monday?
Jesus Christ, this is a fucking interrogation. Should I tell him I want a union rep present for this meeting? No, no, I can handle this.
Cliff: I do a lot of research looking for red-eye flights that’ll get me back on time.
Dr. Coleman: And what if you get hurt and you have to miss work for an extended period of time?
It’s like talking to a big, black, male version of Tina.
Cliff: I would have to be killed to not show up for work. And if the injury really is that bad, I have a lot of sick days.
That last comment was half a joke, but he still wasn’t laughing.
Dr. Coleman: Look, to say that I’m not concerned would be a lie. I’ve never met anyone who has tried to pursue what you’re trying to be pursue while teaching at the same time. Another thing that concerns me is that wrestling has a certain…
He searches for the words.
Dr. Coleman: Negative connotation. All the violence and swearing and what not, it could set a bad example for the children of this school community.
Cliff: Dr. Coleman, I would never do anything to hurt this school. I love this place. I don’t do anything lewd on TV, I just go out there, have a good time, and wrestle.
Dr. Coleman: Is what you do wrestling? I mean, I looked up some videos of what you do. Is that wrestling is these days?
What the fuck does that have to do with anything? I grip the arms of my chair tighter. I’m slow to answer, and when my response comes out, it feels I talk slower, as if I’ll trip up if I get excited or angry.
Cliff: Yes.
Dr. Coleman: Alright, I guess. It’s your sport, if you can call it that. Anyway, I don’t approve of it…
You don’t have to.
Dr. Coleman:...and I don’t like it.
Or you just don’t like me.
Dr. Coleman: But, this is my first time as a head principal and I don't want to make a rash decision. I’m willing to give you the chance to show me you can “wrestle…”
He uses air quotes when he says “wrestle.” Fucking air quotes.
Dr. Coleman:...and do this job well.
Cliff: Trust me, I can, Dr. Coleman.
Dr. Coleman: Good.
He starts looking at his computer screen. 30 seconds goes by without a word or a glance from him.
Cliff: Was there anything else you needed to talk about?
Dr. Coleman: Nope that was all.
I get up to leave, but right before I open the door, he stops me.
Dr. Coleman: Oh, Cliff, one more thing.
With my back to him, I make an exasperated face, but turn around and look eager to hear what he has to say next.
Dr. Coleman: No more reading on hall duty.
How did he know I was reading? I look to the wall across from his desk and see a big flat screen TV that shows the feed from security cameras all across the building. Was this motherfucker spying on me? What the fuck? That’s not the point of the security cameras. The cameras are there to keep the building and the kids safe, not to play "gotcha with the faculty." If the prick wants to see what I’m doing, maybe he should get off of his fat ass and walk around the building, instead of acting like the fucking Gestapo.
Of course, I say none of this to him. I hold it in, fists clenched while I do it.
Cliff: Sure, sorry.
Yeah, a new level of confidence and power I have not reached.
Dr. Coleman gives one quick nod of his head and I leave. In addition to my fists clenching, my teeth are clenching, too. I walk straight to my room, grab my bag, and walk out of the building. I would go talk to Tina, but she’s already left for her tennis meet. I get into the car and slam the door as hard as I could. I sit there pondering what just happened and thinking of all the words I would have liked to say to him when I’m interrupted by the ringtone on my phone. I pick it up and see a number I have never recognized before. I answer it.
Cliff: Hello?
John Salmon: Hi, is this Cliff of Doom?
It’s weird to hear a stranger refer to me as that over the phone.
Cliff: Yeah, who’s this?
John Salmon: My name is John Salmon, I write for WCFwrestling.com. I’m writing a preview of Slam this Sunday and wanted to get your response to Jaice Wilds’ comments about you from the other day.
I pause before I speak. I know that I have to do these interviews if I’m called by the guys who work for the website. It’s part of my contract. I want to be diplomatic about my response but there is still so much anger in me from my meeting with Dr. Coleman that when the first words vomit from my mouth, I don’t even realize what I’m saying.
Cliff: JAICE WILDS IS STUPID ASSHOLE COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKING BRAZILIAN CUNT BITCH!
There’s a long pause.
John Salmon: You wanted that to be off the record, right?
I take a deep breath. I feel better now.
Cliff: Yeah.
John Salmon: Alright, let’s try again.
I say something generic. Probably something about Jaice being a great competitor or some other bullshit. I need to get home.
During dinner, I tell Tina about the meeting I had with Dr. Coleman. She leans her forehead up against her hand.
Tina: It’s happening already.
Cliff: Calm down. What are you talking about?
Tina: Wrestling for WCF is already affecting your job.
Cliff: Slam hasn’t even happened yet. How can you say it’s affecting my job?
Tina: The principal is already on your back about trying to wrestle and teach.
Cliff: Yeah, well, he doesn’t know shit either. You know when you and him can get on my case? When I actually miss a day of work due to wrestling.
Tina: Cliff, you need to be at work on Monday.
Cliff: I will.
Tina: I mean, is this going to be a habit? Are you going to miss every Monday because you have to wrestle.
Cliff: I SAID I’LL BE THERE, DIDN’T I?! FUCK, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO DRAMATIC AND MAKE A BIG DEAL OUT OF SOMETHING THAT HASN’T EVEN HAPPENED YET?!
We both stop. Now I feel bad that I yelled. I get up and go outside. I sit on the steps. I hate yelling, especially at her. I need to control myself better. I just hate when she gets like this. Why can’t she just trust me?
I hear the door open. I look up to find her coming outside, too. She sits beside me and puts her head on my shoulder.
Tina: I’m sorry.
Cliff: Me, too.
That’s usually how we resolve fights.
Tina: Just make sure you get home on time.
I pat her on the hand.
Cliff: I will, babe, I will.
We sit there for a little while saying nothing. It’s actually a pretty nice night out. The sun is setting, the air is cool. Everything is quiet. Nice and peaceful.
It’s just what I need right now, some calm before the storm. The sky is a little red. You know what they say: “Red at night, sailor’s delight.” Maybe things won’t be so tough in the next few months. Maybe I’ll be able to handle wrestling and teaching like it’s no problem.
But like I said, I’m not that naïve.
