9 to 5

[maddog]

It’s 5am and Mad Dog is driving down the back roads of Southern WV to his job at Alpha Coal. Hostess Powdered donuts, black coffee, and a Black & Mild are breakfast today and almost every day of the week. Mad Dog rubs his eyes, trying to wake up. To help himself wake up, Mad Dog turns the volume up on the radio, and the sweet sounds of Dolly Parton come through the speakers.

Workin’ 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by, it’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind and they never give you credit

It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it

Coal mining is dark, dirty, and dangerous work. It’s not for everyone, it’s for the few who love to descend into the bowels of the Earth to extract “black gold”. Even as they face the risk of mines collapsing, or catching fire, or long-term health threats like black lung.

Mad Dog is a third-generation Coal Miner. He had seen his grandfather and father break their backs in the mine. Then, he saw his grandfather die of black lung, his father gets laid off, the mines go bankrupt, and his father lose his pension. Mad Dog didn’t want to be a coal miner, but in this part of the state, it was the mines, Walmart, Dollar General, or Welfare.
Mad Dog began coughing, a heavy and deep cough. He covers his mouth with his hand, and when he finishes coughing, he notices his hand as he moves it away from his mouth. As he moves his hand away from his mouth, he notices a fresh, wet, black powder covering his palm.

They let you dream just to watch ‘em shatter
You’re just a step on the boss-man’s ladder
But you got dreams he’ll never take away

Mad Dog stares at his hand, thoughts of his grandfather and father running through his head. Is this what he wanted out of life? He knew the answer was “no”, so why not chase his dream of professional wrestling? Mad Dog had grown up around the sport and had been a “weekend warrior” for years now, but he had been afraid to go all in and throw away his steady income, benefits, and 401k... after all., he has mouths to feed.

The sound of a blaring car horn snaps Mad Dog out of his daydream. He looks up and sees he has drifted into the other lane. Mad Dog whips his F-150 back into his lane, narrowly avoiding a collision. The passing vehicle continues the blow the horn and stops only to give Mad Dog the middle finger.

Mad Dog pulls off to the side of the road, his leg burning from the coffee that spilled onto his thigh from swerving the truck. “Ah, f**k”, Mad Dog mumbles as he reaches into his glove box to grab some McDonald’s napkins to dry off with. There, in the glove box, buried behind the napkins, is a flyer from a previous event, “Crusher Charly Wright Memorial Cup”, it reads at the top. The annual memorial event for his grandfather, where the proceeds go to helping his grandmother pay for her assisted living home. Mad Dog drops the napkins and picks up the flier. He looks at the old photo of his grandfather in his prime. He had always looked up to him, even though he was a superhero. As a child, Mad Dog thought that Crusher had hung the moon.
“F**k it, just do it, Mad Dog,” Wright says out loud to no one but himself. Mad Dog grabs his phone, scrolls to a name, “Sunny Jim”, and hits dial.

Ozempic, brother, your name is everywhere nowadays. You like to say you ain’t notable, but all do ladies down at the trailer park been talken about ya and how you helped them lose. Well Ozee I’m gonna help you become a loser at Coliseum.

Mark, his name isn’t Ozempic, it’s Ozura.

Sunny baby, what the heck did you just say?

Ozura, this man is a luchador who has traveled all over the world as a solid hand.

Well, why ain’t I ever heard of him then?

Because Mark, he’s a scrub. Ozura can’t win the big one. He’s spent his whole life stuck in the middle of the pace. He’s become complacent, and as we know, complacency kills. Ozura, the message may not have reached you down there in Mexico, so I’ll drop the knowledge for you here. Comfort is a slow death. You are comfortable with your station of mediocrity, and that is what is slowly killing your career and the little shred of legacy that you once had.

Your career is like a fruit on an unkempt plant, slowly dying. Your small star status and good-hand journeyman reputation are slowly withering up and wasting away. At Coliseum, my client Mad Dog Mark Wright is going to put you out of your misery. Your days of suffering will come to an end when the man who isn’t happy in the middle of the pack uses your neck as a stepping stone to the front of the pack.

Ah, now Sunny baby, I ain’t gonna step on old Ozempic’s neck. Na baby, old Mad Dog got respect for the old times, for the journeyman. See, ya can’t have a good house without a good carpenter. Ozzy boy, it sounds like you been one heck of a carpenter throughout ya career, much like my grandpappy was. Men like him and you laid the foundations for what will be my house. Course, I gotta wrestle the keys away, and that’ll come in due time.

Ozzy, like my grandpappy, you got a real hungry up and comer nipping at your heels. Thing is, though, you ain’t my grandpappy. You ain’t half the man, nor half the wrestler old Crusher Charly Wright was. Don’t feel bad about it. There ain’t nobody in the IWF that could measure up to that man. I’m the closest you could get to him, and I couldn’t lace old Crushers’ boot.

What I can do, though, Ozzy, is lace your head up, leaving you looking like a baseball with all them stitches. Lace them boots up tight, but lace ya mask up even tighter Ozzy, cause when old Mad Dog gonna hit ya so hard I’ll knock ya mask and ya head straight off. I’d say it’s time to go back or go home Ozzy, but old Mad Dog is the one who is going on to the big time. And you, well Ozzy the only place you are going is to GO MAD!