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Travis McCoy · (03-18-2016)

It's the early 2000s, the noughties if you will. Travis is 18, his hair is long and shaggy he's wearing baggy jeans he designed after seeing the hardy boys and his offense looks like the jeans weren't the only thing he stole. His face is without scars, he's clean shaven and handsome in a pretty boy sort of way. He's about forty pounds lighter and cut to shreds. He's in the ring against someone none of you of heard of. Travis moves quickly, his offense coming in bursts of flash and flare. He's dominating in front of a bingo hall barely full of people.

He's not grinding in his offense. His punches connect but they're more pretty than heavy. No forearms, no knees, and he hasn't grabbed a single submission. No interest. His father is at ringside and furious.

“CUT THE FLASHY SHIT YOU FUCK!”

Travis looks at his father before, not dismissing him, but with a hint of hurt in his eyes. Travis runs to the ropes and springboarding back towards his opponent doing a back flip over the poor shlub catching him with a beautiful inverted DDT.

“Fucking hell boy, I'm tired of watching this shit! Pin him so we can go home!”

“Fuck you!”

Travis moves towards the corner and climbs.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING BOY?”

Travis ignores him and perches himself on the top rope his back towards the ring. He prepares to leap when Chuck throws an empty beer bottle at him. It connects with Travis's head and shatters Travis is rocked and loses track of where he is. As he tries to clear his head his opponent stands and charges the corner pushing Travis with a running start.

Travis flies off the turnbuckle and lands awkwardly neck first on the barricade. The small crowd pops for the huge spot but becomes quiet when Travis doesn't move. Chuck wheels himself over to his prone son as paramedics rush to the young man. Travis is still not moving and obviously struggling to breathe.

“That's why you don't fuck around boy. Better hope you're paralyzed. It's the only thing that's gonna save your ass.”

Present Day

“There are a lot of reasons for the way I am. Plenty of reasons why I don't think our business is a place for laughs. We're trying to kill each other. You realize that right? All of you understand that when we step in the ring we're really trying to murder each other. Go ahead, and tell me it's just violent competition. The head injures, the head drops, the complete lack of management caring about our bodies. It's all because wrestling is attempted murder.

Thanks for the invite to hit you.

I was planning on doing it often.

Am I supposed to be bothered? Am I supposed to fly off the handle because you mentioned my family? Making fun of my family is like me telling you your country is shit. It does nothing. It's why I'm not going to spend the next few minutes making fun of your dick because if I'm going to come at you I'm going to do it in a way that stings.

You speak total truth, I am the product of generations of losers and abuse. There's something you don't understand though. You see my history as the inevitability that I'll fail myself. You see the upbringing I had as a detriment. I'd think someone who came up like you would understand what hardship does. You'd get how that can drive a man. It hardened me. It turned me into the undefeated XWF superstar you see in front of you, and you want to call me out? What does winning this match do for me? Besides add another W to my record? No one see's me defeat you and thinks. 'Oh wow, that kids got chops!” You're a joke.

You're Asian Santino. You're Eugene.

But yet you want my good shit.

You want fire breathing piss and vinegar Travis McCoy but at the end of the day the most I can give you is a shrug. The only thing that drives me against you is that I can't really afford to lose to someone of your kind. No, not Asian. I can't afford to lose to a joke. Because at the end of the day that's all you are. A punchline. If I allow this week to pass without lighting you up then some day someone will remind me that I lost to you.

I'll just blame it on Petey.

Isn't this more his thing anyway?

I want to hate you, I really do but mostly I feel indifference.

And isn't that worse?

I feel indifferent with just the smallest hint of respect.

Yep. Respect.

Because you've found my weakness. You fucking got it. My biggest weakness is an opponent who is a joke and a good one. Try as I might to find some way to give you my best I can't because you're not fucking real. You're based in some bullshit fairy land. You're a brain washed Korean when the rest of the world knows your country is shit, full of famine and run by a dictator.

And I can say that over and over and everyone else will nod along but it doesn't get to you because you just stomp your foot like a toddler and say

'Nope, North Korea is dope. We know it's awesome and the rest of the world is full of propaganda pushing idiots'

There is nothing for me to do.

But to hand you you're own ass.

And I fucking like you!

Jesus Christ I enjoy your shit. It kills me, to admit it but at the end of the day I like what you do. A long time ago I saw the fun in this business, and it nearly killed me. Now you come around and make me enjoy bullshit filler.

Fuck you for being entertaining.

Fuck you for making me laugh.”

FADE

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