Twilight Zone - PROLOGUE

[Awesome Stick Labor]

Prologue
"SHADOW AND SUBSTANCE"

March 9, 2017 - 2:00 PM
Five months after the Harmony cruise...

...we find Johnny Gillmen, wearing his blue Trump-Pence T-shirt, blue jean shorts, and "Make America Great Again" red hat, stepping out of a green-hued Toyota Prius taxicab on the western sidewalk of Shoreline Boulevard, facing a white two-story building that occupies the site of the city's old Memorial Coliseum venue.  It was an unassuming location, for it had no visible signage on the front--only a gravel parking area with several beaten-up Fords and Chevys near the entrance.

The weather was quite tranquil, with seagulls flying overhead as JJ looked down at the "Twilight Zone" business card his buddy Tim Bowman had given him after the famous two-week Caribbean voyage.

He shook his head at first, thinking that he'd found the wrong place, but his guts told him otherwise.  Slowly but surely, he proceeded towards the front glass door, where he saw a large marker of granite and gold letters and numbers.  Taking off his sunglasses, JJ carefully read the marker's inscription...

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You are about to pass through these doors and into a world unlike any other--a dimension of sight and sound, a place where focus determines your destiny, a land of both shadow and substance of things and ideologies. You are about to cross over into a new frontier and explore new heights, where growth revolves not just around your own mind and body, but around the concepts of faith and family.

You are about to enter...

THE TWILIGHT ZONE
Gymnasium and Athletic Club - Corpus Christi, TX

Est. August 5, 1997
Founder: ROCKIN' RICKY GRAWN

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...and he smiled, knowing that, indeed, he'd found the place he was looking for.

Nodding his head, JJ slowly opened the door and walked into the lobby.  The lobby itself was bare-bones at best, with only an American flag hanging proudly on the wall.  He spotted a lovely receptionist, wearing a green ultra-conservative blouse, sitting behind a mahogany-finished desk.

RECEPTIONIST:  Can I help ya sweetie?

JOHNNY GILLMEN:  Yes ma'am...I'm here to see Mr. Grawn.

Johnny handed the woman the business card, and she lovingly grinned from ear to ear.

RECEPTIONIST:  Gymnasium's down at the end of the hallway darlin'.

JOHNNY:  Thank you ma'am.

RECEPTIONIST:  You're welcome--good luck hun.

The receptionist winked at JJ as he marched toward the end of the corridor.  He heard the thumping sounds of a Dolby Surround stereo system blaring classic rock as he inched closer, gazing above the open threshold to see a sign which read "WELCOME TO THE TWILIGHT ZONE - WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE, WHERE IDEAS ARE BORN. WHERE MEN AND WOMEN BECOME CHAMPIONS."  The Islander alum eventually found himself inside a large gymnasium, watching as men and women from all walks of life worked out on state-of-the-art equipment, spotting for and cheering for each other as they progressed through their respective regimens.

"Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far

Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
The place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far
Soon you will come to know,
When the bullet hits the bone
Soon you will come to know, when the bullet hits the bone..."

The sounds of Golden Earring's 1982 song, the apropos titular track "Twilight Zone," blasted from the stereo as JJ took a brief tour, taking in the club's warm, cheerful, fun-loving environment.  He soon found himself facing a six-sided wrestling ring, where two men are seen having a sparring session as a man, 61 years of age with a receding hairline, looks on from the apron.  JJ watched as the older man, sporting a white windbreaker jacket with black pants, yelled out at one of the younger men in the ring, wearing red tights, for taking a breather in the corner.

"What the heck are ya DOIN'?! You're KILLIN' me Smalls! Did I hear a bell--NO! I didn't hear no beepin' bell--get on with it!"

The trainer's booming voice echoed over the rock 'n' roll tunes that were playing on the stereo, and Johnny watched as the workout continued until a beeper sounded from a stopwatch.

MAN: Annnnd...TIME!  Good work you two.  Hit the showers gentlemen, ya earned it.

The wrestler in red high-fived his partner, a strapping African-American wearing blue tights, on a job well done before heading towards the men's locker room.  Their trainer turned his head around, catching Gillmen in the corner of his eye.

MAN: Ahhh...a visitor, we have.

The man hopped down from the apron and approached JJ.

MAN: No wonder why ya found yourself here, tryin' to survive the political bullcorn that constitues the biz of rasslin' in a nutshell yet failin' miserably.

JOHNNY: I'd say it's a l'il more about the ego than it is about politics...unless of course they go hand in hand, which I can see that comin' too.

MAN: Pfffft, riiiiiight...the way I see it ya gotta be one of two things--a female-chasin' liberal or a sadomasochistic nutball to sign up for the gig in the first place. Since I'm seein' a "Make America Great Again" hat and a Trump-Pence T-shirt on ya, I'd say that kinda narrows it down. You, bubba, are...the latter!

The older trainer offered his right hand, and Gillmen proudly shook it as he introduced himself.

ROCKIN' RICKY GRAWN: Name's Grawn, Rockin' Ricky. Call me whatever youse like, I could care less. I can tell you're gettin' a l'il nervous, ya should have a good reason to be. Ya found the TWilight Zone, where things are run very differently from your traditional gym.  For starters, the dudes in here work with the dudettes, and as you can hear...we're one of the most friendly joints in South Texas today.  I served my country proudly under President Ronald Wilson Reagan as a member of the United States Marines before makin' the Dallas to Memphis rasslin' run in the late-1980s, so the one thing I don't want ya to do is be a chicken-wuss, okie-doke? All ya gotta do is study these things on my white banner over yonder...

Mr. Grawn pointed over to the large banner hanging on the wall, which read the following:

1.  HAVE FOCUS AT ALL TIMES.
2.  HAVE ENERGY AT ALL TIMES.
3.  HAVE FUN AT ALL TIMES.

MR. GRAWN: ...these are the Twilight Zone Tenets. Either ya follow them or you're history, is that clear?

JOHNNY: Yessir.

MR. GRAWN: Louder sunshine!

JOHNNY: Yes, SIR!

Ricky nodded his head, the response much more to his liking as an ex-Marine.

MR. GRAWN: What's your name, dude?

JOHNNY: Gillmen...Johnny Gillmen, but most friends call me JJ.

Grawn chuckled.

MR. GRAWN: Well I ain't your dad-gum friend Mr. Johnny-JJ, so don't expect us be takin' hot bubble jacuzzi baths together...but I'd like to be the best buddy you ever had. I really would.

Johnny took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  It felt as if Mr. Grawn--at 6'8" and 265 pounds--looked and sounded like a tough guy, but deep down in his soul, there was a clean-cut, all-American persona that he could relate to.

JOHNNY: You see somethin' in me...?

MR. GRAWN: Darn right I see somethin' in ya that no one else, to be blunt, sees. I've heard about your work on the magazines and stuff, and lemme give ya credit where it's due. Takes a heckuva lot of guts to work in the rasslin' biz much less work with only one good eye, BUT...all that energy ya spend out there won't do ya no good unless it's refined, harnessed...'cuz quite frankly you're a bit reckless, unfocused out there. Catchin' my drift?

JJ sheepishly nodded his head.

MR. GRAWN: I can tell you've been dealin' with some personal problems and such, and that's very understandable--we deal with excess baggage in our lives every day, and as we get older, more and more gets piled onto you. But when I'm doin' my craft, in this gym...I try not to sweat the small things 'cos they add up over time--and that's not good for your soul. I know I have my off-days and you'll have yours, but let's be real...what you're gonna experience with me will go beyond anything you've ever known. And when you're done learnin' from me...I promise you, you'll not only have what ya need to succeed in a ring, but you'll be able to take care of yourself outside the confines too.  All ya need to do...is not sweat the little things, and you'll do great things.

Johnny sighed, eking out a smile.  Mr. Grawn's words were just the type of words that he had wanted to hear from somebody, and they gave him a sense of resolve to commit to the new opportunity that lied ahead.

JOHNNY: I appreciate it...ya know, wantin' to work with me.

MR. GRAWN: 'Not a problem. Come by tomorrow mornin'--8:30 AM--and we'll get the ball rollin'.

JJ gave his new trainer the thumbs up, to which Mr. Grawn responded in kind, before making his exit.  Yet he never turned his attention away from that banner on the wall, knowing darn well that his own love and passion for the gig would not mean a thing unless it was all tempered and polished.

~TO BE CONTINUED~

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JOHNNY GILLMEN'S LOG

April 4, 2017

Mike effing Laszlo...

You challenged myself and the lovely Fiona McFly to a mixed-tag at Open Fight Night, all 'cuz ya thought we were annoyin' and all that goober-headedness you've said on the Twitter feed recently.

Yet ya don't understand that the desire for acheivement in this gig HAS to start from somewhere...

...a place deep within your very conscience.

Come to think of it, there's lots of things we all strive for throughout our lives. Makin' the honor roll in school, gettin' a history degree from some college or university, becomin' President of the United States...no matter what your chosen line of work is, no matter what field ya play on...those are just SOME of the hallmarks of what I like to call "success." Those are just a few of the things we, as livin', breathin' souls, could POTENTIALLY be when we put our minds to it, through bustin' our butts with hard work, dedication, whatever ya call it. But success, no matter how ya slice it, doesn't come overnight.

It all begins...with a dream. When you were a little kid, you'd close your eyes, go to sleep...and imagine yourself that, one day perhaps, you could be whatever ya wanted to be in life. Ya wanted to become a wrestler? Good for you. You wanted to win goodies and accolades and stuff like that? Whoop-dee-bleepin'-doo! Yet here's the thing...you're waltzin' into that locker room, thinkin' to yourself "Jeezum Crow, lookie-lookie here, I'm successful! I'm GUARANTEED to be a winner, yadda-yadda-yadda!!!"

But if only ya knew...success AIN'T guaranteed.

You held the Joker in the Pack for an entire year, like how Zeke Elliot holds onto that football when scorin' a touchdown. Ya cashed it in at Night of the Immortals 2016, thinkin' that you were gonna reclaim a past glory ya had which stemmed from makin' Angel Blake cry "uncle" only to become a closet champion who threw it all away when it mattered the most--like your Cleveland Indians in the World Series. Long story short...did ya get your Imperial title back? ANNNNNNNT, ya didn't--Bertie screwed ya over (and Conway too if I did the homework right).

And now...ya get to deal with me.

I wanna tell ya somethin' that I think ya oughta know about me, yet you're too ignorant to sit back and actually LISTEN to anyone else but your own self."Dare to dream" ain't a phrase that I invented for the sake of keepin' some lousy gimmick--nahhh, it's more than that. It's much, MUCH more than that. It's somethin' my mother always told me, from the days in which I was a l'il kid to the day she died. It was about puttin' your mind into doin' somethin' special despite dealin' with the bullies and the trolls that say ya can't do this, or ya can't do that.

Fact of the matter's REAL simple...you don't respect me OR Fiona as human bein's.

You don't like me 'cuz I've only got one good eye, 'cuz I started in this business as a fan-turned-cubbie reporter that wanted to expand on a rudimentary knowledge of self-defense. You don't appreciate Fiona 'cuz she ain't a Hall of Famer unlike that bimbo servin' as your missus, but instead she's married to a guy who had to retire before he could TRULY be able to succeed in this biz. You don't respect US 'cuz you're so busy preachin' about what we're supposed to do instead of recognizin' what we are CAPABLE of doin' out there...

...and believe me, you truly underestimate and underappreciate what we believe we CAN do inside that sqared circle, and I dare ya to test them assumptions at your earliest convenience. Way I see it, ya got two options: get up off your high horse and fight like a real champ...

...or GET OUTTA MY DARN WAY!!!

'Cuz quite franky dude..I'm on a mission and ya wanna stop me from completin' it.

There's a monster out there, a real bad hombre, that owes me a butt-whoopin' from nearly three months ago, and it's overdue as all get out. I made it a solemn pledge that I wouldn't sit on my butt and allow another guy's career to be ruined by that man...even you 'cuz, deep down, I once respected you. But here you are, steppin' in front of me like you're some sort of saint or somethin', with your unmotivated, uninspirin' vow to beat me up for the sake of beatin' me up.

That's all what this is about--nothin' more, nothin' less. You think Fifi and I are weak, that we'll just sit there and fold with a straight flush in my hand. Newsflash bird-brain--Fiona and I, whether ya love us or ya don't, are warriors through and through...and we are NOT weak!

You can tweet all ya want to, about how YOU made an impact in the Roulette and yadda-yadda, but in the end...you're nothin' more than a guy spewin' hot air. 'Cuz this wrestlin' gig AIN'T about you...it's about me...

...it's about Fiona...

...and it's about The People.

#Dare2Dream