The Definition of Insanity

[Nick Knight]

Nick Knight knocks on the jamb of the door before walking into the office of Dr. Phillip Goode. "I'm a little early, is that alright?"

"It's perfectly fine." The Doctor closes his laptop. "I was just working on a presentation I'm to give at a conference in Australia next week."

"Are they going to be streaming it?"

"I'm not sure, why do you ask?"

"I've been thinking about going back to school lately, and psychology interests me; so I've actually watched a few of your presentations." Nick takes a seat across from Dr. Goode. "I thought the one on rate of schizophrenia in the homeless population was very interesting, and the one on mortality rate of bipolar patients was fascinating for obvious reasons."

"You're the first patient I've ever had shown any sort of interest in my work outside these four walls."

"Their loss because both of your books are amazing, especially the one on abnormal psychology," Nick replies.

"Why are you reading college textbooks?"

Nick smiles. "I found your presentations so interesting, I ordered the books."

"You read two masters level textbooks for fun," Goode asks, obviously amazed.

"I have a lot of spare time, and I was tired of reading Stephen King books."

"Fair enough. Answering your question, my presentation is a study on your brother's condition. That doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Fuck no! I'm nutter than a squirrel turd, but he was completely fucked in the head." Knight puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"We talked last week about your MRI and brain scan coming back fine, yet I still have some concerns with your behavior. I've reviewed your blood levels and there are things that we can do to make you more comfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable, doc."

Dr. Goode removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's one of the things that has me concerned the most. I think you're underestimating the seriousness of your condition."

"Don't tell me that I'm underestimating anything because I'm the one that spent a year and a half locked up in that fucking place," Nick yells.

"Yeah, and if you keep walking down the path that you’re walking you just might end up back in one of those places, and neither one of us wants that to happen. So calm down and listen to what I have to say for one damn second.”

“Fine.”

“Three of the four meds that you are currently take, I had them check the levels on to give me an idea of where to begin. Your lamotrigine level is right in the middle of the therapeutic range, which, from what Penny has told me, you aren’t having any of the classic symptoms of depression. Your valproic acid and carbamazepine levels, however, are both well below the therapeutic range.”

“Which means what exactly,” Nick asks.

“It means that many of these feelings of paranoia you are feeling right now are probably to do with you being in the middle of a manic episode. We up the dosage on your meds a little bit, and you will probably start feeling a little bit more like your old self.”

Nick lets out an exasperated sigh. “Doc, I don’t feel any different than I did last time I was in here. Honestly, everyone keeps saying I’m paranoid, but they aren’t looking at the facts. Professional wrestling has been and always will be a cyclical business. It will see huge boom periods followed by the entire industry damn near imploding. I’m trying to prevent that from happening because last time we almost didn’t bounce back.”

“Alright, I’ll bite, what are these indicators that you’re seeing again?”

“Well, let's start with over saturation of the marketplace. You can’t turn on the TV, pull up YouTube, or get on any social media account without seeing something about a professional wrestler. You’ll see all the fans second guessing the decisions of people who actually know what they’re doing, sometimes. You’ll see the typical dirt sheet bullshit that is supposedly given the fans an inside look at the business, which they then use to second guess decision-making. Oh, and you see the wrestlers fucking everywhere on TV shows, on talk shows, in movies, I mean fucking everywhere.”

“I will openly admit that I don’t know a lot about professional wrestling.” Dr. Goode takes a sip from the bottle on his desk. “But isn’t having wrestlers on other things a good way to advertise business?”

“It is to a point. There are always going to be wrestlers that are larger than life and are just too big for the ring, but there comes a point where you have untalented fucks that think they’re funny doing sets at The Improv on a Friday night. I had a casting director call me a couple of weeks ago about trying out for a part in a musical based on The X-Men that they’re working on over at Marvel. I sing like an amputee, but they don’t care because having a wrestler in it will put eyes onto their shitty movie.”

“Sing like an amputee?”

“Yeah, I can’t hold a note or carry a tune.”

The doctor cracks up at Nick’t joke. “Alright, I guess I can see where over saturation can be a bad thing.”

“Especially when you have jerk offs like Matt Knox that goes out and works for five different companies at the same time, and I’m not talking little indy companies on the weekend to help out a buddy. No, I’m talking companies with major TV or streaming deals. I get he has a lot of mouths to feed, but he’s fucking over the business to get it done.”

“Alright, what else?”

“Well since we’re on the subject of Matt Knox how about we bring up this shit going on between him and Stephen Terrella. Personally, I don’t give a shit if they kill one another, two fewer assholes in the world, but the way that they’re going about things is bad for business. I mean Terrella and his goon squad set Knox’s house on fire live on the air and the last time things started going to that level the business went to shit. I know you’re not a wrestling fan, but do you remember when one wrestler pulled a gun on another one a few years back?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Yeah right, on live television. Damn near got the company thrown off of the air and cost them millions of dollars in ad revenue. They’re lucky that no one got killed then or now.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that we didn’t talk about last time. Angel Blake and his family still have way too much power in IWF, especially since Tara is always off sticking her finger in lots of other pies. Probably without washing her hands after playing with all of those fucking mutts of hers.”

“I thought I saw where you and Angel were a team last week?”

“We did, and we won. That doesn’t mean I like the guy anymore, although I do respect his ability to go shot for shot with me.”

“You know that you really shouldn’t be drinking with all the meds that you take, right?”

“I don’t drink very often, mostly stick to the gummies, but it was a team bonding exercise. We talked shit about Matt Knox and drank ourselves half blind. That doesn’t mean that I trust him any farther than I can throw him.”

“You seem to have something against pretty much everyone that you wrestle, what is it about this next guy?”

“Compared to the rest he’s pretty harmless.”

“I’m really surprised to be hearing you say that, Nick.”

“I told you that I’m not paranoid, doc.”

“Maybe you're not, but I want you to increase the dose on both your Depakote and Tegritol. Here are the new dose instructions, and I want to see you back in two weeks.”

“Sounds good.”

____________________________________________________________________________

{Nick Knight sits alone in his electric chair in a room lit only by a single naked bulb. He is dressed in a five-piece suit without the jacket and with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. The plague doctor mask that has become one of his trademarks his resting on his knee, his fingertips rapping across the stiff leather.}

Last week Angel Blake said I had no conviction, which honestly went in one ear and right out the other. I really couldn't care less what Angel thinks about me, but as the week went on it really started to piss me off because it's just more proof that no one understands what I'm trying to accomplish. He doesn’t get that I am trying to save this sport from the jackals like his family. Yes, I took the big paycheck because who knows how many of those multimillion dollar paychecks are going to be around the way things are going.

Just take a hard look at the Heir To The Throne Tournament and you will see the way that IWF is withering up and dying. One side of the bracket has James Gilmore who is not the same man that he used to be. I've spent countless hours training with him and the man that was World Champion died over in Japan, or maybe it's just that his ex won his balls in the divorce. Nick Danger isn't much better since losing his TV belt to Wraith. I don't know what it will take, but someone needs to get the rest of The Revolution to pull their heads out of their asses because they're embarrassing me.

Then on my side of things you've got Ace Sky, a guy that hasn't done enough in IWF to warrant a position in this prestigious event yet here he is taking a slot that would be better suited for someone like Stephen Terrella, Gregor Winter, or RAM. There is also Caleb Cannin, who I'll agree has earned a spot in the tournament with his microscopic run as Television Champion and winning Joker in the Pack, but the fact that he's "The Future" pretty much means the company is fucked.

{Knight pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts.}

One thing that I thought could possibly be a bright spot was the return of Pax Stormcrow. Here we have a legitimate athlete that turned his amateur training into a pretty decent little career. He wrestled for the World Championship just last year, and he had a nice little run as TV Champ. Hell he even picked up a win in The Extinction Event, but he’s so boring I had to look it all up on IWF.com.

He's the fucking longest reigning TV Champ, but it completely slipped my mind because his reign, like his entire career, is unimpressive. Now don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being boring. This business was built on a foundation of boring men with names like Lou Thesz and Orville Brown, but we moved on from that a long time ago because boring men don’t make any money for themselves or the promoters, and in professional wrestling that is the kiss of death.

Last week when I said that I respect you, Pax it was because I respect your talent. There is absolutely no denying that you're a legitimate shooter. If I was starting a carnival you'd be the first guy I'd hire to tie all the local hicks up into knots. Sadly we are no longer in the business of being a bunch of carnies, and it takes a little bit more to thrive in the professional wrestling business nowadays. I guess maybe I expected you to have that when you returned from a break, but instead you're still just a dumbass with a bad vlog.

I sorta get it, we all have to have something that sets apart from the pack. Angel Blake paints his face and acts like a self-righteous prick, Matt Knox impregnated women with his supernaturally high sperm count and acts like an asshole, and Stephen Terrella walks around looking like a submissive shaved ape that probably owns at least one collar that says 'Mommy's Pet that Portia used to drag him around the house.

{Nick chuckles at his own joke.}

You've decided to try some cutting edge Millennial bullshit to get over, and it just falls fucking flat to me. I'm sure there's someone in marketing jerking off every time you upload the next video because it's a hit with some made up target demographic. I bet if I were to give enough of a shit to look you up on social media that you’d have a couple of million followers, but none of that means a goddamn thing if you fucking choke in the big matches, which you do every single time.

Last year at Bloody Assizes you faced JC Keeton with an opportunity to become IWF World Champion, and you totally shit the bed. Fast-forward a few weeks, and you once again find yourself in a big time match, this time against me to become the number one contender for the World Television Championship. You could have been the first ever two time TV Champ with just a couple of wins, but you couldn’t get the job done. Hell I felt so sorry for you that a few weeks later I gave you another shot at the gold, and you took the big fat L.

I can’t go to catering to grab lunch without hearing that you’re a changed man, Pax. They’re all saying that you have come back more focused than ever, and that you’re hellbent on winning Heir To The Thrones. Bullshit, you came back because deep down inside you've accepted that you're a second tier professional wrestler. You've finally come to terms with the fact that despite your impressive amateur record and years of training you will never be on the level of men like Dean Harper, Angel, Matt Knox, Wraith, or even me.

Just look at last week if you don’t believe me because it is a perfect example of you choking on the big stage, yet again. You had the chance to show everyone that you have the balls to win Heir To The Throne, but you blew it. The old Pax Stormcrow that can never quite get the job done reared his ugly head once again, and don't even give me some shit about the ref taking that kick to the melon. You couldn't beat me, just like you aren't going to beat me this week.

I've heard it said that the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over and expecting a different result. If that's the case you have to be touched in the head to think that our match is going to end any way other than you staring up at the lights, Pax. Trust me, I know all about being fucking crazy, I've got the paperwork to prove it.

So this is how Sunday night is going to go. We're going to throw each other around the ring for about twenty minutes, because nobody loves the suplex game more than Pax Stormcrow and Nick Knight. Then just when you think you've got me wore down enough to drive the dagger into my heart you'll make a mistake, Pax. Maybe you'll get a little too cocky and try to show off for all your subscribers, or maybe you take your eye off the ball for just one second and I choke you the fuck out. We all know that it's just a matter of time before it happens and I leave Pittsburgh with points, and you'll leave as still a fucking loser.

I guess I have to give you credit for one thing Pax, you aren’t killing the business like most of this fucking company. That would mean that you matter to it to begin with, and I think you’ve more than proven that you don’t. See you Sunday.

{The scene fades to black.}