Post by Admin on May 2, 2017 22:57:36 GMT -5
Dream no small dream; it lacks magic.
Dream large. Then make the dream real.
— Donald Douglas
(the past: Phoenix)
March 25, 2009
"ONE MORE, SON! You said you wanted to keep up with the rest of 'em. Nobody else is doggin' today so you suck it up and you give me one more!" Arms folded across his chest, Wild Bill Reed glowered down at the kid – smaller than all the other guys in the class, he only towered over Kasey Summers.
Max Ironside was soaked in sweat, doing one-handed push-ups in the middle of a lake of his own sour fluids. He had no choice but to do them one-handed. His right wouldn't support his weight, the muscles always tensed in precisely the wrong way. "Trying," he muttered under his breath. Not only was he doing them one-handed; he also had a cinder block resting squarely in the middle of his back. It wouldn't have been so difficult to pull off that last set of ten, if he hadn't been shaking all over from exhaustion.
"MAX! Don't make me have to send you packing back to Momma!" WBR's voice was gruffer than usual, hoarse from the yelling at the students these past few days.
Have to find her first, Max thought, gritting his teeth, groaning as he forced himself up off the floor one last time. His chest was on fire, his left arm feeling like it was made of jelly – didn't matter – his back was numb, legs leaden but he felt like a million bucks.
It had been more than a week, and WBR hadn't let him rest for more than a few hours. He'd managed to sweat more than he had in his life, with the trainers standing over him, yelling like drill sergeants – they had a sort of good cop/bad cop system going between Reed and his counterpart Lady Lightning. He didn't mind that too much if they let someone like him stay.
Gasping, breathing like a bellows, Max twisted, letting the block fall. It crashed against the floor, cracking in half from the impact, drawing a sigh from between WBR's lips. Max winced, muttering, "sorry," and expecting a harsh reprimand. Instead WBR glanced down at his watch and then nodded, turning away. "Hit the showers. Tomorrow we're gonna teach you," WBR looked around at the other students, making it clear he wasn't singling Max out – for that he was grateful. "Tomorrow I'm gonna teach all of you lazy little shits how to bump and not get hurt." He let that sink in for a moment before he turned away, striding towards the office.
"You did it!" Kasey's voice came to his ears, bubbling over with pride.
"Barely," Max sighed, "still think he's waiting for me to wash out."
"Of course," she laughed, watching the other students shamble off towards the showers like zombies in some awful Romero flick. "That's what he does. We never have a full roster graduate. There's always at least one or two overconfident idiots who hit that brick wall when faced with putting in the work." She glanced down at his hand as he tried to hide it in his lap, shaking her head. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You're hanging with guys who aren't...." she trailed off, looking away.
"It's okay. You can say it."
"I won't." Kasey shook her head, "because you're not."
"Handicapped?" He paused for a beat, "Kasey, I am. No matter how hard I work, that's never gonna change. It's always gonna be the first thing they see."
"Hi."
The camera reveals a guy with blond hair (stubble on his face and all) sitting in a dark room. He's wearing a plain black tee with the word RESIST written in old English lettering. When he smiles, it lights up his blue eyes, making them sparkle.
"Everyone in this business has some sort of origin story, don't they? We're like comic book characters that way, aren't we? And I mean we all have that reason for getting into this one-ring circus in the first place. A lot of us start off telling that story in the hopes that'll make it easier – makes us relatable in a sense. I've got a story just like everyone else and mine isn't some tearjerker Hallmark channel movie-of-the-week. I guess people find that disappointing because they're looking for this to be some huge inspirational thing – first time I read an article where they called me a hero, I got mad. See, I'm not doing this for some twisted up angle like that. I..."
He shakes his head, laughing sheepishly.
"I loved wrestling when I was a kid. Used to watch it every week and those were the heroes and villains to me growing up. It was never about Metropolis or Gotham City or any sort of guy in a cape – sure, my heroes wore tights but they didn't have any super powers. They got their butts kicked week in and week out and they put their heart into it. I wanted to get out there and do that. I wanted to feel those highs and lows. I wanted to fly and fight and... well, I guess I wanted to be something bigger. I wanted to be in a TV screen, beamed directly into millions of households. And maybe someday that'll actually happen for me but I'm not going to lose any sleep if it doesn't."
He looks down at his lap, the camera following to show his right hand resting awkwardly, fingers rigid and curled slightly like claws. Max sighs.
"I never really saw myself as handicapped. Honestly, might actually be the first swear word I ever learned. I was born with cerebral palsy – affects the right side of my body. I always just adapted. I'm left-handed and that's just how it's always been. I mean, I never expected special attention. That was the way I tied my shoes, opened a bag of chips, flossed my teeth, you know? You compensate long enough and it just becomes habit. We all do it naturally. If you hear better with your right ear, you'll answer the phone on that side, turn that way towards someone you're talking to. Same kinda thing. Adaptation is part of the human experience. I'm not special in that approach. Not really."
He sighs, shaking his head.
"My hand, my arm... well it wasn't a thing until people went and made it one. So now it's the elephant in the room and I embrace it. I have the parking permit – gets me all sorts of shit from people until they see my hand and then they back down. 'Oh, sorry. Didn't see your screwed up hand'. You want a sure-fire way to piss me off? Treat me like I'm different. Look at me like I got any sorta special privileges breaking into this business 'cause I can assure you that's not how it worked at all. They don't have any 'special needs' quotas to fill. I've had to work twice as hard as anyone else. Had to adapt almost every move in my arsenal and I'm not telling you this for the pity or the props. I'm not expecting any standing ovation because I've overcome something. I put in the work same as everyone else. I busted ass to make it this far and it wasn't because someone felt bad that they pushed me through. I earned it the hard way. I'd draw a parallel between myself and some of the women in this business, but I don't really want to get sucked into that misogyny/misandry endless debate. I just want you to understand where I'm from, what I'm about. I just want you to know the truth before you feel the need to tear me down or sell me any shorter than I already am."
He pauses for a good ten, twenty seconds before flashing a wan smile.
"All jokes aside, time for a real introduction then. My name's Max Ironside. I'm returning from injury. I'm a pro wrestler. I'm handicapped. I've been idle too long; I'm hungry for the roar of a crowd of true wrestling fans. And on Wednesday the 29th of March, I'll be in Pensacola, Florida at the Pensacola Bay Center, looking to remedy that situation. I'll be in that ring against Ursula Areano, a woman who needs no hype surrounding her name because she's got a million followers on social media and has wrestled for pretty much every company out there. I'll be coming in hard, coming in strong because I need to get back out there. I need to renew my quest to one day work for one of the biggest wrestling companies in the world. There are still some tickets left at the box offices. If you can't make it, watch the live-stream on the Defiant Wrestling website. I guarantee you're not gonna want to miss this!"
