Post by Nick Knight on Mar 18, 2021 9:08:31 GMT
Nick Knight is sitting alone in his Mustang looking at the front door of a cheap motel room.
Room 12 of The Beach Side Motel, this is where I was living one year ago. In the three months I was here there were three murders, a dozen drug busts, and I lost count of the number of overdoses. Every single day I was offered a blowjob from at least one of the other guests just hoping to make enough money to get their next fix. Hell I was so fucking lonely that I damn near took them up on the offer except I was too fucking broke to pay them the twenty bucks.
LA is a fucking expensive city to live in and I’ll be honest I wasn’t making ends meet on my minimum wage fast food job. You see the word had gotten out about what I’d done, it’s hard to hide when you’re a pseudo celebrity, and no one was interested in hiring a headcase. So I flipped burgers and survived on my free meal for the day and left over pizza from a place around the corner that the manager was a fan of who I used to be. Someone I never though I would be again, because I was broke and broken.
That was until the day I clocked out from working a double and saw that I had six missed calls from a number I didn’t recognize. I listened to the voicemail and started laughing so hard that I damn near pissed myself. It was someone claiming to be from the talent relations department at IWF, which had to be someone ribbing me. I was a broken down no body that would be lucky to be able to jerk the curtain on a bingo hall show.
When I was on the bus coming back to my glorious living arrangements my phone rang again and this time it was my brother Sam. I answered before it rang twice because through it all he was the only one that was by my side. He was there for the trial and actually visited me on Gator Island, or at least tried. They always came up with some bullshit reason that I was allowed visitors that day, but he at least wrote and took my phone calls. What he told me was something that I couldn’t believe, the calls weren’t a rib. Someone from IWF was actually trying to get in touch with me.
Somehow I found the patience to not call them back right there on the bus. I waited until I was back in my room and had even enjoyed my after work shower beer. Even Steel Reserve can taste pretty good after a sixteen hours working a grill. Once I was relaxed I made the call and was surprised when the person on the other end actually knew who I was. They wanted to talk about my career and ask how my life was going. It was a change from my experience working with big corporate wrestling companies where it was mostly talking heads that dealt with the talent. The kind of people that liked to blow smoke up your ass about the opportunities that you would get, but they had no say over booking. This time there was no false promises, in fact there was only one promise I would get a chance to make my own way in the Roulette.
The look of sadness was replaced with an ear to ear grin.
It was one hell of a way to bounce back after more than two years away from the ring. I have to admit I was a little bit rusty and a lot nervous, and drawing number twenty nine did nothing to help me out. You see they love to tell you that the later you enter the ring the better, but that ain’t always the case, especially when you’re dealing with nerves. Sitting around just waiting for your turn as the locker room empties is brutal and I think it showed in my performance. I looked like shit inside of the ring, but someone had a different opinion. I was offered a one year contract the very next day.
Most of the time signing your name on the dotted like of a contract with the biggest company in the world feels like the end of a journey. You have been busting your ass your entire life to get that point and here you are at the end of the road. Things were different for me because I had been kicked off the top of the mountain and was trying to crawl my way back out of hell. That contract was just the first step I had to take on my long road back out of a place so dark only a handful of people can possibly image what it’s like.
The climb has not been easy and I’m still trying to reach the top again, but things are looking up. Warren Kane and I made it to the finals of The Tag Team World Cup and I’ve held the Television Championship. I’ve watched my former student Gregor Winter grow into one hell of a hand and The Disciples are growing more and more every day. I’m even proud of Jayson Mathews despite his betrayal to the Church because he has become more of a man than he has ever been in his entire life, and I know one day he’s going to realize how he got to where he is and come back home.
Nick pulls the new contract out of the envelope and signs it with the pen from the pocket of his shirt.
Here’s to five more great years. Reach out and touch faith!
The engine of his custom Mustang roars to life and he pulls out of the parking lot of the fleabag motel.
Room 12 of The Beach Side Motel, this is where I was living one year ago. In the three months I was here there were three murders, a dozen drug busts, and I lost count of the number of overdoses. Every single day I was offered a blowjob from at least one of the other guests just hoping to make enough money to get their next fix. Hell I was so fucking lonely that I damn near took them up on the offer except I was too fucking broke to pay them the twenty bucks.
LA is a fucking expensive city to live in and I’ll be honest I wasn’t making ends meet on my minimum wage fast food job. You see the word had gotten out about what I’d done, it’s hard to hide when you’re a pseudo celebrity, and no one was interested in hiring a headcase. So I flipped burgers and survived on my free meal for the day and left over pizza from a place around the corner that the manager was a fan of who I used to be. Someone I never though I would be again, because I was broke and broken.
That was until the day I clocked out from working a double and saw that I had six missed calls from a number I didn’t recognize. I listened to the voicemail and started laughing so hard that I damn near pissed myself. It was someone claiming to be from the talent relations department at IWF, which had to be someone ribbing me. I was a broken down no body that would be lucky to be able to jerk the curtain on a bingo hall show.
When I was on the bus coming back to my glorious living arrangements my phone rang again and this time it was my brother Sam. I answered before it rang twice because through it all he was the only one that was by my side. He was there for the trial and actually visited me on Gator Island, or at least tried. They always came up with some bullshit reason that I was allowed visitors that day, but he at least wrote and took my phone calls. What he told me was something that I couldn’t believe, the calls weren’t a rib. Someone from IWF was actually trying to get in touch with me.
Somehow I found the patience to not call them back right there on the bus. I waited until I was back in my room and had even enjoyed my after work shower beer. Even Steel Reserve can taste pretty good after a sixteen hours working a grill. Once I was relaxed I made the call and was surprised when the person on the other end actually knew who I was. They wanted to talk about my career and ask how my life was going. It was a change from my experience working with big corporate wrestling companies where it was mostly talking heads that dealt with the talent. The kind of people that liked to blow smoke up your ass about the opportunities that you would get, but they had no say over booking. This time there was no false promises, in fact there was only one promise I would get a chance to make my own way in the Roulette.
The look of sadness was replaced with an ear to ear grin.
It was one hell of a way to bounce back after more than two years away from the ring. I have to admit I was a little bit rusty and a lot nervous, and drawing number twenty nine did nothing to help me out. You see they love to tell you that the later you enter the ring the better, but that ain’t always the case, especially when you’re dealing with nerves. Sitting around just waiting for your turn as the locker room empties is brutal and I think it showed in my performance. I looked like shit inside of the ring, but someone had a different opinion. I was offered a one year contract the very next day.
Most of the time signing your name on the dotted like of a contract with the biggest company in the world feels like the end of a journey. You have been busting your ass your entire life to get that point and here you are at the end of the road. Things were different for me because I had been kicked off the top of the mountain and was trying to crawl my way back out of hell. That contract was just the first step I had to take on my long road back out of a place so dark only a handful of people can possibly image what it’s like.
The climb has not been easy and I’m still trying to reach the top again, but things are looking up. Warren Kane and I made it to the finals of The Tag Team World Cup and I’ve held the Television Championship. I’ve watched my former student Gregor Winter grow into one hell of a hand and The Disciples are growing more and more every day. I’m even proud of Jayson Mathews despite his betrayal to the Church because he has become more of a man than he has ever been in his entire life, and I know one day he’s going to realize how he got to where he is and come back home.
Nick pulls the new contract out of the envelope and signs it with the pen from the pocket of his shirt.
Here’s to five more great years. Reach out and touch faith!
The engine of his custom Mustang roars to life and he pulls out of the parking lot of the fleabag motel.
Well howdy there pardner.