---

Standing against the wall of a chicken wire cage in the gym of my former high school. A crowd of 30 or so people drinking cheap beer getting restless hoping the 8 bucks they spent aren’t going to waste. I adjust my gloves as the announcer steps into the center of the ring reading from cards.

“In the red trunks. Standing at 6 foot 4 inches, weighing 212 pounds. Danny Moore!”

The dude across from me raises his right arm to the shallow pop of the scarce crowd. He’s bigger than me and more experienced than me.

“And in the black trunks. Standing at 6 foot 2 inches, weighing 197 pounds. Te- … Feebee Nwaa-dyke!”

That wasn’t even close.


Raising my right hand for the bump but receiving a swipe of his left instead, I step back with a duck of the head and throw a snap jab connecting to his chin; strafe left with hook and duck for a body jab. He’s bigger, stronger but got skinny ass legs, if I can take him down and get a lock on him he should tap like a bitch. I think this but don’t see a heavy right curving towards my dome.

<<<

I spit out toothpaste and look at my face in the mirror, placing a finger on my fading black eye and looking at the bloodshot white. I sigh turning the tap and splashing water on my face before exiting. I head into the kitchen passing my Grandaddy watching TV.

“Mornin’”

“Good afternoon.”

I throw open the fridge grabbing a bottle of water and walk to the back of the couch looking at the TV.

“Why you watchin’ golf?”

My grandad peeks over his glasses at the TV before going back to the papers in front of him.

“Gotta keep an eye on the white folk, make sure they’re not up to somethin’.”

I chuckle. I continue watching this bullshit as Pops grades papers, he's a history teacher for the high school cross the way; October is a big month for him, which isn't shocking. He scratches his head and removes his glasses with a sigh.

"I swear these kids are getting dumber by the minute, how do y'all have so much access to information and waste it?"

"All too busy doing devious licks, Pops."

He looks back at me with a raised eyebrow.

"The hell does that mean?"

"It's this thing where kids steal useless stuff from school, like soap dispensers and sh- ... That kinda thing."

He scoffs and places his glasses back on.

"So that's why our fire alarms are missing."

I breathe a laugh. "Pretty sure that's just funding, Pops."

He chuckles along. "Yeah you're probably right there, kid. Pass me the remo- ..."

His voice trails off as he stares at the TV, my smile fades as I look up and stare at the screen.

"Yo, is that our house?"

The face of my grandparent's house is on TV, a woman with a mic talking into the camera. And in the top right a picture of my face... Yo what the fuck.

"Thebe, why the hell is my house on television?"

I pat the couch and take a step away. "I don't know but I'll handle it, Pops, don't stress."

I walk away and swing open the door looking at the back of the reporter and a news fan with some ESPN bullshit printed on the side. I begin to walk down the steps.

"-And tensions between the companies have been rising and we're expected to see it come to a boiling point soon."

I take a step up behind the reporter and throw up a peace to the camera with a smile, she double takes and looks up to me.

"Speaking of I'm now joined by Thebe Nwadike!"

I look down at her a little surprised. "Ayo you got my name right."

"Ha, it's my job to try and be accurate. So, Thebe I was just speaking about your match against Centurion this Saturday and how it's the first official match between OCW and XWF talent."

She places the mic in front of me with a smile, I lean down a little and place a few fingers on the mic to pull it forward.

"Uh, yeah it's cool but why y'all at my house?"

"We have our sources and we felt it would be appropriate to have some relevant scenery."

"And you couldn't do this at the arena? Or even Cent's house?"

She speaks away from the mic.

"We couldn't get permission for either."

My brows jump up.

"Oh okay, cool. So y'all can dox me but couldn't get near a place open to the public and some rich fuck's house."

She forces a laugh with a fake smile.

"Please refrain from foul language! Let's change the subject anyway, you're a small part of history here any words on the situation?"

I think for a second. "Yeah uh, I'm glad to be a part of all this, representing OCW. Uhh... All I gotta say is I'm gonna win this match, prove to everyone that I'm not just some punk with a mouth that I can back it up. And lastly I gotta say-" I snatch the mic and get in the camera. "Fuck XWF! Fuck Centurion, y'all pussies and we gonna fuck you up!"

The reporter tries to claw at the mic as I wild out. The cameraman tilts the lens away.


I start laughing as the camera gets tucked under the arm, the reporter takes the mic and glares at me.

"Thanks for that. asshole."

She pushes past me as I scoff at her.

"Welcome for the views, now get the fuck off my street."

I throw out my hand to shoo them away and get 'that' look in return before walking back to the house, Pops is peeping out the blinds from the window. As I enter he walks up to me.

"The hell was that about?"

"Work thing, don't worry about it."

"Work thing, right. Best hope that van gets out of here before your Grandma comes home."

He walks away from me as I tilt my head back with an exhale; my phone pings from my room and I go to check it. Text from Jay. I look out into the hall.

"Yo, Pops, I'm heading out!"

"Okay! Don't bring a news team with you, alright!"

I snicker, slamming the bedroom door behind me.


Crashing to the mat with a thud that rattles every bone in my body, my right eye goes blurry as the swelling begins to blind me. Before I can react the dude's on top of me with an elbow to my brow, I manage to get my guard up quick enough and swerve the left. His fist explodes next to my ear, the crack of knuckles under the gloves deafening more than the rowdy drunks scattered past the octagon. My heart beats rapidly, I can feel the beat in my temples and the taste of blood in the back of my throat. Keep calm. I push my upper body up and hook my arm around my opponent's neck and throw myself back down, keeping him stuck in a bulldog choke. I hear his throat gargle, his breath against my ribs as he throws punches into my stomach. I roll my heel and gain some traction, pulling under the chin to loosen his footing.

With every punch he throws, I feel the mac n cheese my Grandma made move up my throat. I keep it down and focus on trying to pull this mother fucker's head clean off.

Fuck the pain, shit's temporary.

Fuck how big this bitch is, he's gonna tap.

Fuck the crowd booing me.

Fuck the experience this bitch has.

Fuck the hate this bitch has.

Focus on the win and that $80 that'll get thrown at me after this.

Focus on getting through this.

Focus on his hand slapping the mat.

**ding**

>>>

Sitting back at the porch. It's eerily silent, no sound of sirens, no shots in the dark, no dogs barking at intruders tip-toeing over grass. Just quiet. Clouds are back again, dark hues over the lingering smog. If you're gonna drop lightning just shit and get off the pot, y'know? Why just hang above pretending to be a threat? Makes no damn sense.

"30 years in the business."

"Give or take."

"30 long-ass, mediocre years and with all that experience I get called a girl's name and he said he fucked my moms."

I look dead ass ahead and throw up my hands, spluttering my lips.

"Dude, you are a 50-year-old grown, ass man talking like a dumb kid no-scoping on COD. 30 years in the business and you couldn't come up with anything better. 30 years in the business and you couldn't offer a single ounce of creativity? 30 years and you've been recycling the same tired shit that fell off when you peaked? Bro, this is why everyone hates your shit, this is why nobody gives a fuck anymore and you're not excluding yourself from the beef with OCW and XWF, nah my dude, you weren't invited. Change your name to Shawn Warstein because you're the real afterthought here, shit maybe then I'd get a half-decent promo out of you, maybe then we'd see a real run, maybe then people would give a single fuck about your dusty ass. Shit, I don't even wanna say your dumb name anymore because I don't want to go to the effort of washing the bad taste out my mouth. Any iota of respect I had for you before is gone my nigga. You crushed that shit between your fingertips and flicked it away, you shed any disguise you had as a professional in a single promo and took a steaming dump on your one fan still backing you from '01. How the fuck can one man be such a fucking letdown? You have more on the line than you've ever had before here, you have your pride on the line. That last bit of dignity that I'mma bout to rip away when you're holding back tears saying 'sorry' like the runt bitch you are. What the fuck are you trying to do, huh?"

"Oh."

"It's because you don't take me seriously? Well, shit, that would make sense if you didn't drop the bag like a punk. I mean, ha, you just didn't just prepare for me, you dropped a promo early for me! You had that mother fucker ready to go! Now, I know what you're gonna say here. 'Phoebe, my brother. I just wanted to get a promo done quick to get you out the way, homeboy.' Well, prick, why wasn't your second promo early too huh? I mean if I'm such an inconvenience why hold off? Because this doesn't look like someone brushing me off, this looks like someone acting scared. Scared that the 19-year-old pizza dude is gonna publicly embarrass a man-child crying about how he deserves respect. Scared that he has to apologize to some black kid who dared bite back. Scared that all those years of experience, all those wins he's accumulated, all those titles he won aren't gonna mean shit when he finally figures out that he can't hang anymore."

"30 years in the fucking business and you couldn't provide anything, empty words with minimum threat. Acting tough trying to hold a gun to my head with the chamber empty and your catheter bag full of piss; some used up bitch trying to grope his girl with one hand and stroking his shriveled up ego with the other. No fire, no passion just dead eyes staring at a camera then back to the Twitter home page trying to pull shade on me. Bro, if you're gonna do what you've been told not to do at least have it make me look bad! Fucking pulling up a tweet of me laughing at you? Are you for real, dog? Shit, go back on Twitter and grab the memes that have been clowning you, bitch. Maybe try and fight back, just a little you fucking joke. Just because you don't know how to talk shit doesn't mean you shouldn't try, doesn't mean you should just lay back and take it, shit, look at Robert Main! That dude is a joke and can't talk for shit but at least he fuckin' tries. At least he has a presence outside his own bubble. You? You mother fucker can't even commit to part of your job, you're fucking sad and when I actually thought you hit rock bottom you manage to find away to grab that shovel you like to think is for burying jobbers and turn in on your own grave, digging deeper and deeper into your own pit of irrelevance and disappointment. A hole of fecal matter and despair that you wallow in day in and day out only to come out looking clean in a suit with sewage dripping from that shit-eating grin. Wearing a mask of toxic masculinity and sexual repression, while pretending to be the dude in charge. Actin' like yo dick still work and the slap on the ass of a female fan is a compliment and not a case. You ain't Don Draper, nigga you're Kevin fuckin' Spacey."

"You a washed-up 'was once' acting like a 'still am.'"

"You think you're on prime time TV when you're the commercial for the little blue pill."

"You want to be the guy when you actually a manager at Five Guys."

"I can make jokes about regular jobs too, shit guess I'm in the Hall of Legends now! I wish I could fight you in your prime, not for the extra challenge I mean you ain't changed your style so I'm basically fighting the same dude with more wrinkles and less control of his bowel movements. But at least then you wouldn't have an excuse. Oh, that whippersnapper Phobe Nebraska only beat me because he young and spry, someone fetch me a switch so I could beat that little shit back to the plantation." I kiss my teeth. "Why you even mentioned your prime, man? Why put up that small defense when you got it in yo head that you're gonna beat me? Why say I already won before the match started? Why say you don't give a fuck but continue to talk about this fed beef you're not a part of? These points you're trying to make just fall apart, and I don't know whether you think it's smart or you're just that senile. You try and attack me but then jump back every inch you make it makes you look so desperate, bro. You can't commit, you can't talk shit and you sure as hell can't fight someone who is very clearly better than you even after one match. You're not the roadblock here, you're a stepping stone. You ain't shit."

"No, no, no, listen to me here and pay close attention."

"You. Ain't. Shit."

"You are here to open a door and say sorry."

"Nothing more, nothing less."

"And you fuckin' know that. That's why your trash is so weak. That's why you have zero fight in you and that's why your ass will be staring at the lights Saturday. But, you did want me to say thank you and you know what, I will because I'll be the adult here since you're clearly incapable of doing so."

"Thank you."

"Thank you for opening a door, thank you for being an easy win and thank you ever so much, sir, for getting me that tiny crumb of respect from your co-workers after I dismantle you in that cage so that I can focus on kicking unique shades of shit out of each and every dumb mother fucker that tries to call me out. So, that I can climb this stepladder of competition you got over here for them to realize I'm title worthy so I can snatch one up and take it to a place that actually has talent."

"Thanks for trying, man, I know walking to the ring can get exhausting for you but I appreciate the effort you're making. Don't worry though, at least your ass can take it easy while I scale a cage."

I step up and dust my khakis off.

"Oh, and before I forget to anyone dumb enough to square up, you know the name and you'll know where to find me."