Post by tony on Feb 26, 2024 19:57:32 GMT
“Wow, kiddo…who’s your new buddy?!”
The worst part about this wrestling life is the sheer amount of time you have to be away from your actual life. The things you miss out on being on the road start making you question whether or not what you’re doing is worth the damn trouble.
It’s 3 pm in Atlanta, my birth home and the place I’ve made my headquarters for this leg of the North American tour. Five time zones away, I’m watching my daughter Priya fawn over her new prize through an iPhone screen. My little girl’s doing amazing in school. In fact, for getting the best test score in her math class, Priya got to pick out a prize. This was a big deal for her; my daughter is six and she has NEVER won a prize in her life. This was her first trophy, and what a spoil of mathematical war she wrought.
A giant orange stuffed gorilla which she put sunglasses and a tie on, and has a little toy laser holstered on its side. That smile on her face that’s just as wide as it is an all-not-to-settle indication she’s proud, which she should be.
“That’s Agent Babu, Daddy!”
“Agent Babu?!”
I gotta hear this backstory. My kid’s got a helluva imagination!
“Agent Babu ate a space banana that made his fur orange and made him super smart!”
“You don’t say?”
“Uh-huh! He speaks multiple languages, can walk through walls, and he helps good aliens fight evil aliens that invade our planet and steal ice cream. Because stealing ice cream is wrong!”
Man, I miss being six years old! No wonder so many wrestlers still have that mentality.
“He does all that?! Wow.”
“Plus, he sells pizza and cotton candy out of his super secret submarine. And it flies, too!”
She’s so proud of her new friend’s origin story.
“Say, does Agent Babu know how to wrestle? Because he’d make a GREAT tag team partner in CULT!”
I’m not lying. An orange talking gorilla with a submarine would probably hit like crack with these CULT dweebs. Hell, I did a Star Trek spoof, they lost their minds. Bought more of my shoes. I introduce Agent Babu, I might as well set up a Venmo account. Just wire daddy that money directly.
“...Maybe…*starts giggling*
I honestly get the feeling Priya would be the kid who would make a career in the sport one day. She loves it all; the silly costumes, the over-the-top personas, the whole atmosphere of it. My son Robbie…pfft…absolute indifference. Thinks it’s corny. And frankly, that’s okay. Not every member of your family has to be involved in the industry. Shit, some people need to get their dusty ass relatives out of it. It’s okay to trim some branches from the wrestling tree. Nepo babies get on my nerves…
Sorry, I’m being grumpy. Y’all never mind me. Let’s get back to this wholesome moment.
“Mommy said you won another belt. Can I see it…pleeeease!”
“Since you asked so nicely…”
The TWA tag team belt. Frankly, I’ve been on a roll doing the team up thing. Which is weird, because in 12 years prior I only won 2 tag team belts. Last few months, I’ve won three, which is impressive for a guy who is NOTORIOUSLY bad at getting along with partners. Singles career is still hot as fuck, too. Classic title up for grabs, hot feud with Larry Tact. At TPW. I’m booking another wrestling and boxing PPV in March. My career is scorching right now, which isn’t a surprise. I’m REEL REEL GUD at this combat sports shit. It’s just…
I feel awful because I had to miss my little girl win her first trophy because of it. And my son’s first spring football league match, which he didn’t take so well. And other moments.
And folks wonder why I’m a chronic belt chaser. I have to make those moments I miss count for something.
I show her my new shiny, and she acts like she won it herself the way she celebrates. She never gets tired of dad inning. Neither do I.
“You’re coming home soon, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, daddy’s got to be in the States for a few more days. Then, we’re going to Monaco this weekend. Daddy’s hosting his wrestling show, and Mommy’s got her show that weekend, too. Plus you get to hand out with grandma on the beach.”
“But isn’t it too cold to swim in March?”
“Not in the south of France, it isn’t.”
Crap. I’m looking at the clock, and I have a meeting with a potential sponsor in an hour.
“Priya, I’m proud of you, honey. You did a real good job today, you and Agent Babu. And I can’t wait to see you guys again. You keep doing good, help Mom out until I get back, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Mujhe tumase pyaar hai! (I love you in Hindi)
Priya kisses the screen to end the call, and I’m back in this unremarkable hotel room with a cold cup of this establishment’s equally mid coffee I barely touched. Life on tour: check-ins, departures, food to go…
And missing out on things other parents take for granted being around for.
Wrestling may take your health, your sanity, and even your life. But it will always steal your time. Always. You’ll spend dozens of hours a week training, promoting, and going through transit to ensure that hour or two in the ring ends in your favor. Every moment you capture between those ropes means you lose experiencing a moment outside of it, maybe more. Getting your hand raised constantly means…
-Missing birthday parties
-Having to skip or abridge time with friends
-Sleeping and eating alone
-Your location and your bed changing every night
This is how championship sausage is made, I’m afraid to tell you. The main ingredient is time, and the recipe calls for a bunch of it. So, the next day, when a scheduling snafu at the boxing club knocked my training schedule out of whack, I got a bit ratty.
The next day at the gym…
“I reserved that fucking ring 2 weeks ago for THIS EXACT TIME. 10:30 am! Even paid upfront!But it’s 10:30, and what am I seeing?”
Same thing you’re probably seeing at home; a buncha kids hopped up on birthday cake running around like tweakers with party hats on making a mess. Tony is just shaking his head.
“Serious,” He continues his gripe to Davonte, the poor guy running the front desk. “Who the fuck books a boxing gym on a Monday morning to host a kid’s party? And most of these little bastards look like they’re skipping school.”
“Man,” Davonte chimes in. “They’re good with the owner, like cousins or something, so I guess he rescheduled shit.”
“The owner rescheduled a world championship boxing/wrestling entourage to throw a kid’s party. Wow, ratchet as fuck.”
Davonte agrees. “It really is. That’s why I insist on getting cash up front on payday. 2024, and dude’s still writing personal checks for payroll…Hey, NO FOOD IN THE RING!”
7-year-old Benny dropped birthday cake frosting side down on the canvas. Speaking of dropped, Tony and Davonte watch the guy they hired to play Spider-Man get legit two pieced by the birthday boy’s uncle because “Peter Parker”s breakfast was apparently vodka and bad attitude. Security starts breaking it up, and Davonte grabs the cleaning cart.
“Party’s over. Give me 20…” He notices one of the women at the party using the apron as a diaper-changing station. “30 minutes.”
Shit. Now Tony’s packed-like-a-sardine-can schedule is taking a hit. 30+ minute delays pushed his whole day back…
Moments like this you have to improvise. Plus, Tony was up to this point stressing because he blew too much company money on that last promotional, so they kind of cut him off a bit. “Fuck it” he thinks to himself. We’ll just do it here while I wait. Knocks it off the schedule and saves the bean counters a headache come invoice time. Functional adulting is useful at times. Hell, he doesn’t even need a cameraman. iPhone 15. LETS FUCKEN GO!!!
“Today’s lesson, children: time. We don’t have a whole lot of it on this Earth. And it gets more precious when DUMB SHIT LIKE THIS ROBS YOU OF IT!” He yells at that party as they get escorted out the door. Except for Spider-Man. Poor guy’s drunken Spider Senses didn’t detect getting concussed by a 50-year-old dude missing a leg because of diabetes. That combo work did make the fuck up somewhat entertaining.
“Anyways, wasn’t too long a ago, maybe half a year, I decided to get back into wrestling full time. CULT was the first stop. Liked the schedule, the vibe. Figured with all the goofballs and Halloween costumes around, maybe they figured a guy on the payroll that’s just a straight up fighting machine would make for a good novelty act.
“Only problem for everybody else is, turned out the square’s been turning the place upside down by..gasp…being good. Amazing. Quickly, too. I don’t like wasting time or opportunities. Last month I showed everybody a million reasons why waste doesn’t pay off. Now my wallet’s overweight and I’m the guy that many think can knock Datura off her champion’s perch.”
“Far be it for me to disagree with that opinion. If anybody in the sport’s the one to Deebo somebody’s chain off of them, I’m that guy. Granted, I’m not dealing with rookies and people who start to quake and call in sick when a big deal comes their way. No, she’s held a death grip on that belt since getting it. That’s when the differences between competitors narrow. Little discrepancies start becoming more important.”
“How we handle our time is the main divide between myself and our current champion. Even in her own words, it’s been her bane…”
“Wasting time.”
“Those near misses of hers over the years. The oh-so-close moments. What, six, seven years of chronic not quite there yet? That’s gotta be frustrating. Can’t relate all that well personally. When I do stumble, I don’t tend to give it too much credence. I adjust and move on. Her, pretty much her selling point she’s finally here when she should have been a lot sooner.”
“Didn’t pay me that much mind when we had that triple threat with Alice. Then a few seconds off her game taught her a lesson. Give me the slightest crack in the window I’ll break in. Then she had my name tattooed on her tongue. You of all people should know this is a game of seconds. How many moments of your career were robbed because you just couldn’t quite manage those few seconds here and there right. Didn’t see what could happen if you blinked too long.”
“That moment when you could have ended Gemini then and there…you blew it. And had to wait to finish her off as a shell of her former self. Too slow indeed…”
“Another moment was stolen. Firmly in my pocket, and you can’t get it back.”
“I hope the lesson was learned. When dealing with a man who values time more than ANYTHING on Earth, he won’t give you any more seconds than he has to. Very little time to breathe, to think. Who isn’t interested in any reaction from that crowd except the one they give when my name is called out by the announcer in the end. Who’s only interested in doing what it takes to win the match, not inflicting a little extra pain or getting a pearl clutch from the ticket buyers.”
“Who WILL steal your sunshine if you hesitate even for a second.”
“Time is a precious thing. Wrestlers lose so much of it, and other things they could be doing with it. For what I give to keep doing this shit, I can’t afford to squander it.”
“I hope Datura was instilled with that sense of urgency. She does have a habit of being lackadaisical with her time. Zigging when she should have zagged. Otherwise, I will take that belt off her.”
“Another moment is gone. Another oh-so-close.”
Watching this crew fumble around trying not to lose their deposit from Tony’s made him thirsty. They wasted his and their time, now it’s going to cost them. Tony goes behind the counter, grabs a protein shake without ringing it up, and cracks it open while leaning against the counter.
“See? Don’t handle your shit right, it’ll cost you. Clock management.”
He grabs some more shakes from the cooler. And some Gatorade. And a brown paper bag with the manager’s lunch in it. They all go in Tony’s duffle bag.
“You don’t respect your time, who knows? Some dick like me comes around and starts taking advantage!”
The worst part about this wrestling life is the sheer amount of time you have to be away from your actual life. The things you miss out on being on the road start making you question whether or not what you’re doing is worth the damn trouble.
It’s 3 pm in Atlanta, my birth home and the place I’ve made my headquarters for this leg of the North American tour. Five time zones away, I’m watching my daughter Priya fawn over her new prize through an iPhone screen. My little girl’s doing amazing in school. In fact, for getting the best test score in her math class, Priya got to pick out a prize. This was a big deal for her; my daughter is six and she has NEVER won a prize in her life. This was her first trophy, and what a spoil of mathematical war she wrought.
A giant orange stuffed gorilla which she put sunglasses and a tie on, and has a little toy laser holstered on its side. That smile on her face that’s just as wide as it is an all-not-to-settle indication she’s proud, which she should be.
“That’s Agent Babu, Daddy!”
“Agent Babu?!”
I gotta hear this backstory. My kid’s got a helluva imagination!
“Agent Babu ate a space banana that made his fur orange and made him super smart!”
“You don’t say?”
“Uh-huh! He speaks multiple languages, can walk through walls, and he helps good aliens fight evil aliens that invade our planet and steal ice cream. Because stealing ice cream is wrong!”
Man, I miss being six years old! No wonder so many wrestlers still have that mentality.
“He does all that?! Wow.”
“Plus, he sells pizza and cotton candy out of his super secret submarine. And it flies, too!”
She’s so proud of her new friend’s origin story.
“Say, does Agent Babu know how to wrestle? Because he’d make a GREAT tag team partner in CULT!”
I’m not lying. An orange talking gorilla with a submarine would probably hit like crack with these CULT dweebs. Hell, I did a Star Trek spoof, they lost their minds. Bought more of my shoes. I introduce Agent Babu, I might as well set up a Venmo account. Just wire daddy that money directly.
“...Maybe…*starts giggling*
I honestly get the feeling Priya would be the kid who would make a career in the sport one day. She loves it all; the silly costumes, the over-the-top personas, the whole atmosphere of it. My son Robbie…pfft…absolute indifference. Thinks it’s corny. And frankly, that’s okay. Not every member of your family has to be involved in the industry. Shit, some people need to get their dusty ass relatives out of it. It’s okay to trim some branches from the wrestling tree. Nepo babies get on my nerves…
Sorry, I’m being grumpy. Y’all never mind me. Let’s get back to this wholesome moment.
“Mommy said you won another belt. Can I see it…pleeeease!”
“Since you asked so nicely…”
The TWA tag team belt. Frankly, I’ve been on a roll doing the team up thing. Which is weird, because in 12 years prior I only won 2 tag team belts. Last few months, I’ve won three, which is impressive for a guy who is NOTORIOUSLY bad at getting along with partners. Singles career is still hot as fuck, too. Classic title up for grabs, hot feud with Larry Tact. At TPW. I’m booking another wrestling and boxing PPV in March. My career is scorching right now, which isn’t a surprise. I’m REEL REEL GUD at this combat sports shit. It’s just…
I feel awful because I had to miss my little girl win her first trophy because of it. And my son’s first spring football league match, which he didn’t take so well. And other moments.
And folks wonder why I’m a chronic belt chaser. I have to make those moments I miss count for something.
I show her my new shiny, and she acts like she won it herself the way she celebrates. She never gets tired of dad inning. Neither do I.
“You’re coming home soon, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, daddy’s got to be in the States for a few more days. Then, we’re going to Monaco this weekend. Daddy’s hosting his wrestling show, and Mommy’s got her show that weekend, too. Plus you get to hand out with grandma on the beach.”
“But isn’t it too cold to swim in March?”
“Not in the south of France, it isn’t.”
Crap. I’m looking at the clock, and I have a meeting with a potential sponsor in an hour.
“Priya, I’m proud of you, honey. You did a real good job today, you and Agent Babu. And I can’t wait to see you guys again. You keep doing good, help Mom out until I get back, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Mujhe tumase pyaar hai! (I love you in Hindi)
Priya kisses the screen to end the call, and I’m back in this unremarkable hotel room with a cold cup of this establishment’s equally mid coffee I barely touched. Life on tour: check-ins, departures, food to go…
And missing out on things other parents take for granted being around for.
Wrestling may take your health, your sanity, and even your life. But it will always steal your time. Always. You’ll spend dozens of hours a week training, promoting, and going through transit to ensure that hour or two in the ring ends in your favor. Every moment you capture between those ropes means you lose experiencing a moment outside of it, maybe more. Getting your hand raised constantly means…
-Missing birthday parties
-Having to skip or abridge time with friends
-Sleeping and eating alone
-Your location and your bed changing every night
This is how championship sausage is made, I’m afraid to tell you. The main ingredient is time, and the recipe calls for a bunch of it. So, the next day, when a scheduling snafu at the boxing club knocked my training schedule out of whack, I got a bit ratty.
The next day at the gym…
“I reserved that fucking ring 2 weeks ago for THIS EXACT TIME. 10:30 am! Even paid upfront!But it’s 10:30, and what am I seeing?”
Same thing you’re probably seeing at home; a buncha kids hopped up on birthday cake running around like tweakers with party hats on making a mess. Tony is just shaking his head.
“Serious,” He continues his gripe to Davonte, the poor guy running the front desk. “Who the fuck books a boxing gym on a Monday morning to host a kid’s party? And most of these little bastards look like they’re skipping school.”
“Man,” Davonte chimes in. “They’re good with the owner, like cousins or something, so I guess he rescheduled shit.”
“The owner rescheduled a world championship boxing/wrestling entourage to throw a kid’s party. Wow, ratchet as fuck.”
Davonte agrees. “It really is. That’s why I insist on getting cash up front on payday. 2024, and dude’s still writing personal checks for payroll…Hey, NO FOOD IN THE RING!”
7-year-old Benny dropped birthday cake frosting side down on the canvas. Speaking of dropped, Tony and Davonte watch the guy they hired to play Spider-Man get legit two pieced by the birthday boy’s uncle because “Peter Parker”s breakfast was apparently vodka and bad attitude. Security starts breaking it up, and Davonte grabs the cleaning cart.
“Party’s over. Give me 20…” He notices one of the women at the party using the apron as a diaper-changing station. “30 minutes.”
Shit. Now Tony’s packed-like-a-sardine-can schedule is taking a hit. 30+ minute delays pushed his whole day back…
Moments like this you have to improvise. Plus, Tony was up to this point stressing because he blew too much company money on that last promotional, so they kind of cut him off a bit. “Fuck it” he thinks to himself. We’ll just do it here while I wait. Knocks it off the schedule and saves the bean counters a headache come invoice time. Functional adulting is useful at times. Hell, he doesn’t even need a cameraman. iPhone 15. LETS FUCKEN GO!!!
“Today’s lesson, children: time. We don’t have a whole lot of it on this Earth. And it gets more precious when DUMB SHIT LIKE THIS ROBS YOU OF IT!” He yells at that party as they get escorted out the door. Except for Spider-Man. Poor guy’s drunken Spider Senses didn’t detect getting concussed by a 50-year-old dude missing a leg because of diabetes. That combo work did make the fuck up somewhat entertaining.
“Anyways, wasn’t too long a ago, maybe half a year, I decided to get back into wrestling full time. CULT was the first stop. Liked the schedule, the vibe. Figured with all the goofballs and Halloween costumes around, maybe they figured a guy on the payroll that’s just a straight up fighting machine would make for a good novelty act.
“Only problem for everybody else is, turned out the square’s been turning the place upside down by..gasp…being good. Amazing. Quickly, too. I don’t like wasting time or opportunities. Last month I showed everybody a million reasons why waste doesn’t pay off. Now my wallet’s overweight and I’m the guy that many think can knock Datura off her champion’s perch.”
“Far be it for me to disagree with that opinion. If anybody in the sport’s the one to Deebo somebody’s chain off of them, I’m that guy. Granted, I’m not dealing with rookies and people who start to quake and call in sick when a big deal comes their way. No, she’s held a death grip on that belt since getting it. That’s when the differences between competitors narrow. Little discrepancies start becoming more important.”
“How we handle our time is the main divide between myself and our current champion. Even in her own words, it’s been her bane…”
“Wasting time.”
“Those near misses of hers over the years. The oh-so-close moments. What, six, seven years of chronic not quite there yet? That’s gotta be frustrating. Can’t relate all that well personally. When I do stumble, I don’t tend to give it too much credence. I adjust and move on. Her, pretty much her selling point she’s finally here when she should have been a lot sooner.”
“Didn’t pay me that much mind when we had that triple threat with Alice. Then a few seconds off her game taught her a lesson. Give me the slightest crack in the window I’ll break in. Then she had my name tattooed on her tongue. You of all people should know this is a game of seconds. How many moments of your career were robbed because you just couldn’t quite manage those few seconds here and there right. Didn’t see what could happen if you blinked too long.”
“That moment when you could have ended Gemini then and there…you blew it. And had to wait to finish her off as a shell of her former self. Too slow indeed…”
“Another moment was stolen. Firmly in my pocket, and you can’t get it back.”
“I hope the lesson was learned. When dealing with a man who values time more than ANYTHING on Earth, he won’t give you any more seconds than he has to. Very little time to breathe, to think. Who isn’t interested in any reaction from that crowd except the one they give when my name is called out by the announcer in the end. Who’s only interested in doing what it takes to win the match, not inflicting a little extra pain or getting a pearl clutch from the ticket buyers.”
“Who WILL steal your sunshine if you hesitate even for a second.”
“Time is a precious thing. Wrestlers lose so much of it, and other things they could be doing with it. For what I give to keep doing this shit, I can’t afford to squander it.”
“I hope Datura was instilled with that sense of urgency. She does have a habit of being lackadaisical with her time. Zigging when she should have zagged. Otherwise, I will take that belt off her.”
“Another moment is gone. Another oh-so-close.”
Watching this crew fumble around trying not to lose their deposit from Tony’s made him thirsty. They wasted his and their time, now it’s going to cost them. Tony goes behind the counter, grabs a protein shake without ringing it up, and cracks it open while leaning against the counter.
“See? Don’t handle your shit right, it’ll cost you. Clock management.”
He grabs some more shakes from the cooler. And some Gatorade. And a brown paper bag with the manager’s lunch in it. They all go in Tony’s duffle bag.
“You don’t respect your time, who knows? Some dick like me comes around and starts taking advantage!”