The only noise I hear echoing through the hallways is the noise between my shoes and the concrete floor. I land on the “X” and slide my shoes as I pivot towards the camera. The slow swoosh made from the shoes make me smile. I haven’t done this in a while. I close my eyes and straighten up my jacket.

My eyes slowly open, “I’m back.”

The spotlight turns on and I’m standing in the middle of the spotlight in a navy blue tailored suit and tie. My eyes dart around the room. It’s just like I left it before. My eyelids get heavy as I shut my lids over my eyes and my smile is trying to fight as I dream about all the shit that I’ve done in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. I need to look tough. I haven’t done this in years. I peak just so I can look in the direction of the TV screen just off-camera to make sure I look damn good and stand directly in MY spotlight. I adjust my tie knot and run my fingers through my hair to make sure I look damned good for the people at home. It’s been years since I graced the public, and even more since I graced the X-Treme Wrestling Federation.

“Twenty years.” I pause and before I open my eyes, I imagine when I first started in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. I slowly open my eyes and smirk at the camera. “Twenty years of the X-Treme Wrestling Federation and a good majority of those years yours truly roamed the hallowed halls wherever they took me. From the bottom of the heap” I point down to the cold, gray ground, “...to the tippy-top of this federation” I move my hand and point to the spotlight, the warm light warms my index finger “...I was there. No matter where they stuck me in that order, I made sure that the spot on that card was the best spot every fucking time. And you know what I did whenever I was put in different spots? I did it with a sick sadistic smile on my sick sadistic face.”

I stop to think of the majority of my time there and I shake my head. “All of my time here...And, look back...I’ve been here for quite some time. I made sure to make the name ‘Big Tyme’ Zach Rizza mean a damn thing to the people of the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. The fans, the guys who liked me, the guys who hated me and everyone in between. I made sure to let them know...I’m here. The nicknames, the accolades and the titles that I’ve won weren’t just made up from me...they were hand-given. I earned every damn bit of attention that I got here.” I point up at the spotlight, “You see this? No matter when and where I roamed, YOU PEOPLE were the ones who wanted me. YOU were the ones who cheered. YOU were the ones who called me 'Big Tyme' and called me these nicknames that I'm about to spout off. REMEMBER! It was YOU...THE FANS...that stood there and NO MATTER WHERE I WAS ON THE CARD, THE MOST TALKED ABOUT MATCH, INDIVIDUAL, AND MOMENT...WAS RIZZA, RIZZA, RIZZA! I didn’t find this. IT FOUND ME!” I bring my hand down back and place it in my pants pocket, “I never stopped and said ‘You fuckers should call me this because…’. I stood there and heard your calls...King of Anarchy, King of Massacre...and…” I stop to think of the phrase that I am about to say, I shake my head to think of all the years of this moniker. “The X-Treme Icon.”

“Do you know the times SINCE I left the XWF that I get phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages and comments, Twitter replies, DMs, smoke signals, Morse code? Funny. I don’t. They kept coming. Month after month, year after year. No matter how angry I was with the organization, no matter the years I made a name for myself OUTSIDE the XWF, no matter how long I've been retired from professional wrestling...” I throw my hands up, “I didn’t need the X-Treme Wrestling Federation! I could care less about anything going on at this place. Y'all just kept poking and prodding and picking and...I didn't give two damns about them.” I rub the stubble on my chin and then point towards the camera, “You want to know why?” I chortle, “It’s because I did everything there was to do in the X-treme Wrestling Federation! HA!”

“The term ‘X-Treme Icon’ is what I’m known for the best...it’s the thing that put me on the map and is the reason why the X-Treme Title, whenever it was around MY waist was defended in main events of Anarchy, Massacre and Pay-Per-Views. I was the reason everyone and their damned mother came out of the woodworks just to get their hands on me. That title around my waist meant that whomever defeated me...was going to go places unbeknownst to the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. I AM THE GUY that made the X-Treme Title.”

“I say all of this because the one main thing that I have heard over and over. It just seemed like no matter when and where I was, this one topic came up and it started with a little tickle in my throat. Then after a while? It grew to an annoyance, like a nagging cough.” I rub my neck and just the thought of who I’m talking about I start walking around the circle that the spotlight had made...If I stayed in the center, I’m pretty damned sure I would charge at the camera knowing how seething mad I’ve become at my opponent. “At least once a month I got notifications about Peter Gilmour. ‘Hey did you hear what…’, ‘Hey he…’, ‘What are you going to do about…?’ and you know what?” I jump and land with my hands in the air. “I JUST DIDN’T CARE!”

“I’ll be honest with you, when I got the call that I was going to be one of the key figures in the XWF Hall of Legends, as I should be...he wasn’t even on my mind. I looked at the people on the list who I wanted to fight and noticed that James Raven had a match, Tomoko had a match, Dante Anglais had a match, Blizz versus Rizz, nobody really wanted to see Dangerous By Design implode, Boondock Saint isn't available then...” A deep sigh exits, as well as all the air, out of my body, “I see the moniker: ‘The King of X-Treme’. There is no possible way that anyone but Peter Gilmour and his imaginary friend call him anything to do with X-Treme, unless they’re talking about an X-Treme Waste of Space, an X-Treme Baby, an X-Treme Loser, an X-Treme Asshole, an X-Treme Annoyance, an X-Tremely Reasonable Excuse For An Abortion.

As someone who knows X-Treme, I should know that Peter Gilmour is not X-Treme and, honestly? I’m not going to go into the reasons as to why he isn’t in my league. It’s obvious! There’s not a damn thing I could or should say that would make you think anything differently than each and every single one of you believe that Peter Gilmour doesn’t belong in my league. I’ve said it before. I’ve said all that needs to be said. He doesn’t Today isn’t the day. My words will only do so much to that pea-brain of his. No. The real way to get to someone who just doesn’t get a hint is making sure he gets the hint by other means. I will be the first to tell you that when he and I get in that ring...he’s not going to be X-Treme. He’s going to do what he does every chance he gets...nothing. He’s going to sit there and bitch, complain and whine before the bell, get his ass beat and after the bell he’s going to make sure to tell everyone how he ‘ALMOST beat the X-Treme Icon of the XWF and that would make me the X-Treme Pariah’...or some strange Peter Gilmour bullshit. Peter Gilmour, among everyone else in the X-Treme Wrestling Federation.

Many think I’m just going to get to the arena, grab my Hall of Legends plaque and walk away.” That is actually not the worst idea. Man, why didn’t I think of that sooner? I wouldn’t have to deal with the shit that is Peter Gilmour, “It’s the exact opposite!” I loosen my tie and pop the collar buttons on my collar, the fresh air touches the neckline, feels pretty good. “Let me tell you, ever since I announced I was appearing at ‘XX’, I have had numerous tailors show me their ‘DIRECTION’ to what I am going to wear down to the ring. Nonstop! Everyone going ‘You should go classic! Here’s my sketch!’ or ‘You should wear the same gear you wore when you won enter-title-here so many years ago’ and...” I slide the jacket off my arms and down my back, holding the navy blue jacket in my left hand. “I told them the same thing I’m about to tell each and every single one of you: I’m not going to wear fancy things.” I spike the jacket to the floor, the tie is now hanging around my neck, untied, unkempt. “There’s not going to be anything flashy, anything glittery, anything leathery and bright. No. I already have my wardrobe picked out for the night. Fancy suit for the Hall of Legends,” I, then, grab the untied tie and begin to fold it in half multiple times, moving the tie between my index and middle finger. “...And once that is over?” I toss the tie behind my back undoing everything that I just did to make sure that tie is tied and listen for the flop of silk plopping on the cold concrete floor. “I brought my jeans, the international sign of someone who really doesn’t care what happens when they enter that ring, the blood, sweat and tears soaking in the fabric. Peter Gilmour needs to know that every time ‘Big Tyme’ Zach Rizza gets in that ring...it’s work. No matter the fanfare, no matter the moment, no matter what happened in the time before or after the the two bells...I will make damned sure that you know I’m coming in and to indirectly do the entire X-Treme Wrestling Federation a favor...to take Peter Gilmour out once and for all.”

The lights turn off.

“And I will expect my house to be filled with Edible Arrangements come Monday when I murder Peter Gilmour.”

---

“MUNCHKINS!”

Even though I do have a box of Munchkins I left on the table, I grab my two bags while I call down the empty hallway to the rooms of my boy Eddie and my wife Mia, “I'm about to leave for the weekend! You have everything you need here?” I grab the keys that are on the table...there’s no response. “Hey…” What are they up to? “You two okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie is barely audible over the video game that is blaring out of his room. “When are you coming back?”

I open the door and look at my son, hitting a growth spurt, playing Red Dead Redemption 2. “Why you ask, Ed? Are you going to ‘KICK MY ASS’ in Madden again?” He and I both chuckle at, possibly, two different reasons as to why we’re laughing. I’m laughing because I dominated the entire second half and he’s chuckling because...because...uh…”Eddie, I totally took your ass to school. You know this, man.”

Eddie pauses the game.

He slowly turns his head, the expression goes from joyous to just...anger. He stands up and he’s now waist size, “You. Got. Lucky.”

“How? When you throw it in double coverage multiple times, you’re bound to get picked at least twice.” I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, “It’s not my fault you got picked off four times, kiddo! Get good, dude.” I can almost feel that grasp on the Playstation controller get tighter in his grip and all of his muscles fighting each other to either continue to hold it or hurl it like a clunky boomerang at my junk. “Look! All I’m saying is you were good...I’m better. You can’t be mad at your old man, especially when you know full well that one day…” I poke him in the dead center of his forehead, “You will one day be the one who takes the reigns and with all of your training? I don’t see anything but amazing shit happening your way.” I tussle his mohawk a bit, “You are a bright kiddo, there’s nothing you can’t do. When you get done with your training, maybe one day you’ll be up there in the Hall of Legends with your pops.”

“I never call you pops, dad. I sometimes even don’t call you dad, Z-” I stop him mid-sentence. He knows I fucking hate it when he thinks that doesn’t annoy the fuck out of me, when it does. “Sorry dad. When are we heading out?”

“Oh,” I get excited knowing that my family is going to be front and center once I get inducted. “You guys are coming in Sunday morning. Bright and early. Well...not really bright and early...it’s still going to be really dark as hell whenever you two get in.”

“Why aren’t we going right away?”

“School, Eddie.” I turn around and Mia Rizza is standing in the doorway. She is now a teacher in the same school district that Eddie goes to. Her demeanor will always try to keep one very close Eagle Eye on her one baby boy that she’s got. “THAT is why. Speaking of school…why is this on?” She gestures towards the television screen. “You know you got school work to do…” She stares at me, “BEFORE ANYTHING.” She overheard our conversation about training and she still isn’t too thrilled I’m doing this to our son. She draws her attention to the unopened bookbag in the corner of the room, “Look...That bag has been in that same spot ever since you got home. I’m definitely sure you haven’t done any of your homework, or studied or even opened a damn page. You think you’re going to do ANYTHING out of this house?” She’s in the zone, “So before we leave, you better have all of your work DONE. Homework? DONE! Dishes? DONE! Room? DONE! Everything on your chore list? DONE! So when we come back EVERYTHING is back to where it was.”

“You,” She gestures towards me...not missing a beat. “Come here.” We both exit the room and as soon as we do, I hear the game turn back on. We both ignore it. She whispers in order to have me be the only one to hear it over the sound of the epic music and gunshots. “Slow down with this training thing, Rizz. He’s not your size. He’s not tall. He’s not a wrestler. He can’t do the things most people do now. What if he gets hurt? What if you get hurt? What if something happens and I have a parapalegic for a son or a husband? That shit would be crazy for my crazy life, and you know it.”


“I kn-”

“Damn right you know. School comes first, Zachary.”

“I know.”

The words “I KNOW” usually work but, for some strange reason it only speeds her up. I’m not even sure what she is saying anymore. There’s only one thing I can do, I place both of my hands on her shoulders and smile, “This is why I love you,” and I plant a kiss on her lips. The feeling of anxiety and angst begin to flush from her body. I let go and pull back, her eyes are still closed. The slowly open and we lock eyes, “You know I got this. Right?” She nods. “No, you know I got ALL of this.” I gesture wildly and ask for a fist bump...for my wife to complete...she does. “I know you care about his schooling, as do I. I stop whenever grades drop, don’t I?” She nods. “I make sure everything is caught up, right?” She nods again. “Plus YOU are the one who knows his grades even before he knows them, so maybe you should know that his old man got this.”

I kiss her on the forehead, “Oh,” I stop before exiting the door “I also got Peter Gilmour. I got this, too.”