Finishing Strong

[Nick Knight]

{Nick Knight is sitting in his electric chair with the single light naked bulb hanging overhead. The bulb is turned off and the room is brightly lit by large windows in the background overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Gone is the five piece suit of ‘The Savior of Professional Wrestling’ has become known for and in its place is a pair of purple board shorts and a sleeveless Revolution Academy LA t-shirt. The plague doctor mast that he has been wearing to the ring the past few weeks is hanging up on the wall behind him.}

I am a broken man.

{A sad smile comes onto the face of ‘The Hollywood Butcher.’}

That feels pretty good to be able to say out loud.

{Knight lets out a long sigh.}

I know that I shouldn’t be ashamed of what I’m going through, but it’s pretty fucking hard not to be because there is still such a stigma against men admitting that there’s anything wrong. My old man dealt with this shit every single day of his life, but he wouldn’t even admit that it existed until the first time I was put in the hospital for a seventy-two hour evaluation. I guess there was something about visiting me in a locked psych unit that made it real for him, or course not to the point that he took the time to go out and get any kind of help.

The IWF Galaxy seems to be super supportive of wrestlers that struggle with mental health issues. I mean, when Warren Harper returned they seemed to accept him with open arms, which I’m happy to see because Warren deserves to be happy. There aren’t too many people in this business that I like, but he and I have always just clicked. That’s the reason we damn near won the last Tag Team World Cup to become the first Tag Team World Champions, and it’s also the reason that I agreed to marry Dean and Him.

The thing is, that even seeing the love that Warren is getting from the fans it takes everything that I have to be open about my mental health issues. Hell I let my appointments with Dr. Goode be recorded sometimes just so I don’t have to talk about it. My wives tell me all of the time that keeping shit bottled up isn’t healthy and it’s going to give me a heart attack or some shit, but it’s hard to just stop doing something that you’ve been doing for forty years.

{Nick’s leg begins to jiggle. He is noticeably jittery, and uncomfortable.}

Just like it’s hard to do the one thing that has put food on your table for the past twenty-four years, wrestle. I came up in the kind of environment where if you didn’t work you didn’t get paid, so you worked through anything and everything. I’ve wrestled with a stomach bug and shit my pants mid-match, I’ve wrestled with a fever so high I ended up in the ER later that night, Hell I’ve even cut off a cast back in the dressing room just so I could wrestle that night. There was no way I was going to let a little depression get in my way, which was a massive fucking mistake.

This was supposed to be my year to win HTTT and now I’m all but eliminated with two weeks left to go. My matches against Pax Stormcrow and Angel Blake were both fucking pathetic because I just don’t have the energy to properly train. My diet has gone to absolute shit and all I’ve had the oomph to do it lay on the couch and binge watch The Simpsons, which doesn’t exactly help you win World Championships. How else do you explain Pax beating me, since he’s pretty much been my bitch since I came to IWF three years ago.

Angel is a different story because we all know that I have to be on top of my game to even have a prayer of beating him, which has been proven every single time I’ve ever faced him. That’s the reason I should have just said I was injured and stayed home and let him have the points. It’s really a fucking miracle that I even made that match look competitive because I was one second from being seriously hurt the entire fucking time. Last Tuesday night is probably the closest I will ever come to knowing how a bull rider feels, except my ride lasted a whole lot longer than eight seconds.

{He stands and turns towards the windows and pauses to look at the waves breaking on the beach. Once he has collected his thoughts he turns back towards the camera and once again speaks.}

The only good thing that I can say about Heir To The Throne this year is that I have pretty damn good chance of finishing off hot because I’m facing the man that has been the weakest all the way through the tournament in Ace Sky. I’m going to be completely honest, when I first heard that Sky was going to be in HTTT I was a little bit excited because in the near twenty-five years we’ve both been in the business we’ve never crossed paths, but sadly now that it’s time for the match I just feel let down. Instead of this great wrestler that was supposed to be pushing guys like Pax Stormcrow, Angel Blake, and myself to our limits we got a guy that is taking up a spot that could have been given to Gregor Winter, RAM, or Stephen Terrella.

Now I have no doubt that once upon a time I would have had a great fucking match with Ace Sky, but that time has long since past. Maybe had we locked horns back in Japan in the early 2000s we could be remembered as having an all time great match. Hell maybe we still could have a great match if he’d just come back down to Earth long enough to remember how to fucking wrestle because this philosophic cosmology bullshit just isn’t getting the job done for him.

So, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to help you out, Ace. I’m going to tell you exactly how I plan to beat your ass and leave godforsaken West Virginia with a little bit of my dignity in check. My plan is really simple: If you want to fly I’m going to ground your ass, if you want to try to mat wrestle I am just going to kick the shit out of you, and if you really think you want to throw hands…

{Nick laughs.}

…Well you better pack a lunch because, I don’t care how long you’ve been training martial arts, you will be in for a long fucking night. The thing that you need to remember above all else is that I’m sure as Hell not going to fight fair, and it’s not going to matter what you’ve got up your sleeve.

The question that is really hanging heavy on my mind is, what’s next for ‘The Hollywood Butcher?’ I would be a fucking liar if I told you that I knew because there are way too many fucking options to consider. I see that my old buddy Chris Diamond is done licking his wounds and has decided to come crawling back to IWF after a year away, maybe I could go after Wraith or our new Invictus Champion and bring some gold back to California, or maybe I’ll just sit back in my big ass house and try to get my shit together.

Whatever it is I decide to do I guarantee that my goal is going to stay the same, to cut on the cancer that is corrupting this business from the inside out. Men like Angel Blake and Matt Knox who put their own ego ahead of this great sport and are satisfied to suck it dry. It is my promise to every single person watching this right now that I will go to my grave doing everything in my power to save professional wrestling.

{Knight stands up and walks over to the plague doctor mask hanging on the wall. He slowly pulls it down and prepares to slip it onto his head.}

Now if you’ll excuse me, this doctor has to get ready to make a house call.

{He pulls the mask on over his face as the scene fades to black.}