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Thaddeus Duke · (11-25-2023)

Baltimore, Maryland - Monday Night Madness

Stepping through the curtain into Gorilla, I felt groggy and my vision was shaky at best. He got me. I let my guard down and he got me. What Sean Parker doesn’t realize is now I know he’s soft. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great performer, but it’s clear he took the lesson I tried to teach him at the Porter Games too personally. Let me be clear, I did not expect him to roll over and thank me for kicking him in the face in Los Angeles, but I did expect him to remain rational and at least hear me out before he knocked me out.

He didn’t.

I thought he was better than that.

I thought he was bigger than that.

I was wrong.

Sean Parker is as weak minded as 95% of the industry and that’s a huge reason I don’t do this full time anymore. I made a career out of operating differently. I made a career out of treating this business like a business and not a be all, end all to my life. I made a career out of being the anti-try hard, anti-twitter keyboard warrior like Parker is. I made a career out of being one of the goddamn best to ever do it and I don’t need lists or any other sort of validation to know that that’s true. It has served me well with eleven championships, countless marquee victories and winning at better than a seventy percent clip.

On the other side of Gorilla, I’m met with a bombardment of doctors and medics trying to get a look at me. Before I had a chance to refuse, they had me against the wall shining those stupid penlights in my eyes, blinding me and sending my slight headache into the stratosphere of migraine status. That’s when the tinnitus began.

”Guys,” I tried to intervene as I fended them off. ”ENOUGH!” I shouted angrily.

”Mr. Duke, we need to check you out for concussion,” protested the lead Madness physician. ”Your own doctrine dictates that.”

”I don’t give a damn about the doctrine,” I said as I forced my way through the crowd. ”I am fine, I will be fine.”

Making my way to my office, I closed my door behind me. Usually I leave it open, but now I just wanted time away from people. Instead of spending the evening in Gorilla producing the show, I spent it in a dark office with the muted show on a monitor on my desk. At one point a doctor came in, once again trying to check me out. I refused again but he insisted I place a cold pak on my head just for precaution. Naturally, I relented. Partially to get him the hell out of my face, partially because my head hurt and the tinnitus wouldn’t stop.

Later in the evening, my wife came inside. To be honest, I remember her but nothing else.

You could turn on any wrestling program and there’s a fair chance you’ll see Sean Parker. Madness, Zion, the Porter Games, Pro Wrestling Valor. He was good. I’d never deny that. If he wasn’t good, if he wasn’t capable of beating me, I’d never have entertained the idea of facing him at Fire & Ice. Gone are the days of the Lionheart having easy matches that I have to dumb myself down for just to make them look competitive on XWF television that are used simply to keep whatever title I had relevant until the next pay per view challenge. That ship sailed a year and a half ago.

When I beat my father, it was the death knell of my career.

Why?

Because all of my goals had been achieved.

When I started at 17, my goal, like my father before me, was to amass a resume that was littered with gold. But I wanted to do it differently than he did. Sebastian Duke was a protected entity in his day. He amassed a stellar win-loss record that put him in the Hall of Legends but he did it with very few truly competitive matches. You could argue that he was so good that it didn’t matter who stood across from him, but I know that isn’t true. Anytime he faced someone of merit, he normally lost.

In contrast, I too have a stellar win-loss record. Difference is, I made a career, especially over the latter half, of beating main event caliber talents. From Chris Page to Doc D’Ville. From Corey Smith to Alias to Robert Main to Sebastian Duke himself. I’ve notched wins over all of them.

I’ve had my world title, had stellar runs in the midcard ranks, tag team titles. I have done everything I set out to do and the suggestion has been raised on numerous occasions since the dust settled on my full time career that I should come back and chase another world title.

Why?

I’m not a whore for glory. If I was, I’d have chased those trinkets in other places, but there ain’t no place like home. There is no world title that means as much to me than the one here in the XWF. Even still, I’ve passed on more than one opportunity to challenge for it. Why? Because I don’t need it. I don’t want it.

I’m not Chris Page, I’m not Matt Knox, I’m not Sean Parker, I’m not any of the traveling whores that sell themselves to the highest bidder. I didn’t then and don’t now eat, sleep or breathe this business. I have other things in my life that I wanted and I don’t need gold around my waist, I don’t need the validation of my peers to feel whole.

My resume is full of white whale’s, Mr. Parker. Where’s yours?

Tuesday - Paradise Ridge - Long Island, New York

After the short flight home from Madness, Lauren and I went to bed almost right away. When I woke up at five on Tuesday morning, I sat up with my head throbbing. It felt like someone was inside banging drums and I nearly threw up immediately. Once I showered I felt much better and my headache had started to dissipate. After I was dressed, I went downstairs to the kitchen and started to peruse my phone. Emails, business inquiries, twitter and the like, all demanded my attention in one way or another.

Unexpectedly, I found a pic that my wife sent me entitled ‘the playgirl spread.’ It was from the master bedroom on board our plane. In it, I was posed upon the bed wearing nothing but one of the Madness tag belts covering my junk.

”What the fuck?” I said to myself as I saw the pic. “Why am I wearing a tag belt?”

Filling a cup of black coffee, I started to browse on twitter when I stumbled upon a celebratory tweet from my lovely wife.

”Son of a bitch… LAUREN!?” I called out and started back upstairs. Once in our room, I saw my naked wife enter the bathroom. All I saw was her glorious backside and a pair of voluptuous sideboobs and I momentarily forgot why I was mad to begin with.

Forgive me. I’m still a man.

The door closed slightly and I remembered why I came upstairs. Across the room sitting on a chair in the corner is Lauren’s travel bag. On it rests the tag title belt. Placing her bag on the floor, I sat in the chair with the belt in my hand.

What the hell is wrong with me? I thought. Why can’t I remember?

Try as I might, I was drawing blanks as to how my wife ended up with a tag belt after a non-title match on Madness. Did Icon Statys steal them from the kissing brothers from DUUUVALLLL!?

Pulling up the XWF website, the streaming replay of Madness wasn’t online yet. What I did see was that on the right side of the page, Icon Statys was recognized as tag champions and it came flooding back. Lauren was in my office a night ago. While I can’t remember the conversation, I must’ve agreed to something.

Rolling my eyes, I laid the title on her bag and noticed something on my hand. The flight was only a couple hours ago and considering the nature of the pic she sent me, I can pretty much guarantee what that ‘something’ was. You could probably guess what it was without me explicitly stating it. My only surprise was that it was still somewhat fluid and not dried and crusty.

Taking the belt with me I entered the large master bathroom where Lauren was in the jacuzzi tub.

”Good morning,” Lauren said happily as I ran water in the sink. ”What are you doing?”

”Cleaning the damn belt off,” I answered. ”What the hell happened?”

”What do you think happened?” she chuckled.

I stopped and turned my head toward her. ”Not this,” I said as I wiped the belt clean of… residue. ”I figured that part out. How do you have it?”

”You agreed to make the match for the belts,” she answered.

I thought hard as I shut the water off and laid the title out to dry on the counter.

”I don’t remember that,” I said with a confused look on my face.

The rest of the day was more of the same. On twitter, I started making fun of some of the edgelord try-hards from Pro Wrestling Valor without mentioning names. Specifically, Seb Bryce’s opponent for saying something about killing him. That shit has always made me laugh. There’s so much to say about opponents and the weak always go to the same well. Imma kill you. It’s not ‘haha’ funny, it’s not creative and it certainly isn’t original.

It’s the weaks way of sounding threatening. Just so few are willing to call it out. I had people coming at me from all angles, even Sebastian himself, wondering who I was talking about or what I meant. The reason I didn’t name names was because it’s Sebastian’s fight. Not mine. I am not a member of PWV nor would I ever be. No offense to my bestie, but fighting with meaningless words and ‘big brained’ poetry from small minds on twitter is weak shit that I physically cringe over.

Who’s free on November 25th, Sean?

Sean Parker is a lesson in futility. The man is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I call it over-saturation. Yeah, I’ve spent time in places that aren’t the XWF but I question how anyone takes a man seriously when he’s everywhere all at once. If you wanna be an independent wrestler, Mr. Parker, I’d dare not stand in your way. There’s a lot of money to be made on the independent scene and you’ll be an indy darling without a doubt.

But how will you ever be great?

Who’s free on November 25th, Sean?

You’re about to embark on the biggest match of your career, and I know that’s a cliche thrown around this business because we always want to make things seem bigger than they are, but in this case, in this place, it’s actually true.

Why?

The quick answer is because it’s me. It’s more than just that though, Sean.

Fire & Ice might be in Scotland. It might be a half hour from where you live. It could be right there in your backyard but none of that matters, because this is the XWF and it is still my house. It has always been my house. It will always be my house until I’m in the fucking ground.

This is an opportunity for you to make a statement. It’s an opportunity for you to step into my house and beat me one on one. I know you have the ability but do you have what it takes to actually get it done? It requires more than just moves. It requires more than just being good. It requires more than just cheers from your Union Jack waving friends. It requires another gear that you have yet to prove that you have.

Who’s free on November 25th, Sean?

You have time to kill? The day between Pro Wrestling Valor’s TwitterFest SuperCard #9 and Fire & Ice, you have time to kill for Erik Holland’s show, Sean? If you think you have time then you’ve already lost. You do not have time. I’m not a Strader. I’m not in TwitterFest. I’m as real as it fucking gets. Or did you learn nothing when I kicked you in the face at Porter Games after you lost to a man I’ve beaten three times?

Wednesday - Paradise Ridge - Long Island, New York

In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, Lauren tricked me. What I didn’t know was that I had been tweeting a lot. Sometimes randomly, but I was forgetting the conversations within those threads nearly immediately. Though I see clearer now, in the moment, I wasn’t aware.

”Where we goin’?” I asked as we headed from the house to her Wrangler.

”You said you wanted Arby’s,” she replied.

”What I said was I wanted Good Burger,” I corrected her.

”And only Arby’s has them,” she informed me.

A little while later, she pulled up in the EMERGENCY lane of a hospital on Long Island.

”Babydoll,” I said as I looked out the window. ”I don’t think this is an Arby’s.”

”You need to get your head checked out,” she said as she stepped from the car and came around to my side and opened up. ”I thought you were just screwin’ around like normal. But Tyler said something and it made me think.

“You’re not yourself. It’s been like you’re drunk without the booze.”

”Nuh uh, you lyin’,” I said as I stepped out onto the curb.

”Where we at?” she asked for clarity’s sake.

I couldn’t respond at the time. I knew but I couldn’t process it.

”Exactly,” she replied to us both. ”Tyler thinks you have a concussion.”

Inside, we sat at intake for what seemed like an hour. The lady checking us in asked numerous questions relating to concussions and general medical history that for the most part I drew blanks on. Lauren, naturally, would step in when I stumbled.

”Full name?” she asked.

”Thaddeus Leander Duke,” I answered with a pause before throwing up a peace sign like I was Richard Nixon. ”The second!”

’Height?”

”Eight inches,” I replied. The nurse laughed as Lauren backhanded my shoulder. ”You know, “fully,”” I said with finger quotes.

”Leander!’

”What!?”

”I meant your physical height,” the lady said with a laugh. ”He serious though?” she asked Lauren. Lauren nodded as the lady exchanged glances between us. ”He don’t look it.”

Lauren agreed.

”History of concussions?”

”Several,” I answered emphatically. ”At least six.”

”He was in the military,” Lauren filled in the gaps. ”None until now happened because of wrestling.”

”Symptoms?”

I drew a blank so Lauren answered. ”Dizziness, short term memory is almost non-existent except for fleeting moments, tinnitus, confusion… he has ‘em all.”

A while later, we were ushered into a room. Inside the MRI room I was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown as I laid back on the slab with my cell in hand.

”I’m afraid your followers will have to wait,” said the tech as she held her hands out for my phone.

”Don’t look up my dress,” I joked.

”You’re not wearing shorts?”

”No and it’s very freeing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Eventually I was diagnosed with a grade 4 concussion and medicated to cope with headaches and bouts of nausea. Fire & Ice and Sean Parker were now in serious jeopardy.

Between his arrogance and self righteousness, Sean Parker found time to smirk and celebrate my concussion. I have no problem playing the villain, but like many that have stood before me in the past, they dig down deep and pull their most villainous tricks from their bag just to match me tit for tat. Sean Parker isn’t alone in that regard.

Chris Page? Once upon a time, he and his bestie Robert Main tried to end my career because… they couldn’t beat me.

Ned Kaye? He sent all his henchmen after me… because he couldn’t beat me.

Corey Smith? He cashed in his 24/7 briefcase on me and my Supercontinental title immediately after I completed a 60 minute iron man match with Mark Flynn. He did it because he couldn’t beat me otherwise and in fact, nobody could beat me for that title.

In OCW, good guy Easton Alexander kidnapped my oldest son because… he couldn’t beat me.

You refused to heed the warning, you refused to see what I was trying to teach you and that's all it was in Los Angeles was a teachable moment and you failed, Sean. You’re not special, you’re not different. You’re just more of the same and that’s not what the XWF needs. What this company needs, Mr. Parker, is more people like me that are willing to push the envelope, willing to grate nerves and stand out above the fray. People like me, that are willing to pass on lessons to the next generation of XWF competitors without burning the bridges they crossed.

Friday - XWF Training Center

With a great deal of rest and relaxation over the last couple days, my concussion symptoms had subsided significantly. My only side effect now was recurring headaches. Thanksgiving had come and gone and the desire to rest and relax even more was there. Business stops for nothing and no one.

There was a deal in the works. As the head of Monday Night Madness, I am obligated to scout and scour the industry for talent. While it’s important to fill your main event scene with major talents, and I’ve done that without question, it’s also important to consider the future. Myra Rivers, Penelope and Sahara will not be around forever and to ensure that Madness continues to thrive the way it has since I took over the brand, new blood needs to find their home upon the fastest rising brand in all of wrestling.

That led myself and the man that controls the purse strings of the XWF, Theo Pryce, to a scheduled tryout for someone that has stolen my attention. A young man at just 19 years old by the name of Bobby Vincent, known professionally as Bobby Vicious.

Sitting on the edge of a table, I sat sipping on bottled water as Theo entered the building. Across the way, Bobby Vicious was in the middle of his first tryout session against XWF trainers while Theo approached.

”This him?”

”Yeah,” I nodded.

”He doesn't look like much,” he thought aloud.

”Maybe not, but I’ve watched tapes and he reminds me of somebody,” I said as we continued to watch the kid work. ”He’s the most naturally gifted heat magnet I’ve seen in seven years.”

”Are you talking about yourself again?”

”Yes,” I said with a smile. ”I want you to give him the deal you gave me when I started.”

Theo says nothing immediately and elects only to look over at me. It was Theo who made me a made man. I was 17 years old and he signed me unproven. He saw me in training and in tryouts, but he had no way of knowing what I’d turn out to be. Nepotism surely played a role in that signing too, but eventually, his major monetary investment in his nephew paid off when at 20 years old, I was the world champion of the deepest, most heavy hitting roster the XWF had arguably ever seen in its near 25 year history.

”Why would I make that mistake again?” he asked.

That deal was not without its hiccups. I was young, brash, arrogant as fuck. Eventually it led to me being very hard to deal with. I make no excuses for that, but I’ve learned and grown as a man since that time.

”Because it’s not a mistake if it’s handled properly,” I argued. ”It was the first deal of its kind and you weren’t a babysitter.”

”Who’s his?”

”There’s only one person we both know that started young like he is, that is a heat magnet like he is, that is arrogant and cocky like he is,” I paused to look at Theo. ”You didn’t give me that deal because I was your nephew.”

”That made it easier to greenlight,” he argued. ”But I saw enough to know you had the it factor.”

”I was a blue chip prospect… same as Bobby.”

Looking away from me, he turned to watch Bobby in the ring.

”That kid right there is the future of Monday Nights, Unc.”

”Structure it in a language that protects the company and I’ll sign the deal,” Theo relented. ”There’s something else we need to talk about.”

I hope it preys on your conscience, Sean Parker. No matter what you think of me, you took pleasure in knowing you concussed me with your stupid elbow. I don’t imagine you lose any sleep knowing you took pride in giving a man a head injury.

Like I said… you’re not different, just more of the same. That’s why you fit in with Valor.

You focused too much on whether or not you could, and not enough on whether or not you should. You’ve spent month after month alongside me and yet you still know so little. That’s why you’ll lose.

See, I know that just about everyone talks a good game and they talk about how they’re the best fuckin’ thing goin’ and how no one is as good or as ready as they are. So few are as good as they say they are. You will one day end up in the hall of very good, Sean. But until you slow down and focus, you’ll never be great, you’ll never catch that white whale.

Why?

Who’s free on November 25th, Sean?

You have your focus split so much that you think you have a day between Valor and Fire & Ice to wrestle someone else. You don’t have that kind of time, Sean. You need a full court press to catch me. You should’ve been using that day all along to study up one last time, to learn me one last time, to try and catch the white whale one last time but you’ve missed the point entirely.

While you’re out there chasing white whales, you neglected to notice the great white shark stalking you like the prey that you will inevitably be on Sunday night in Scotland.

I have never been a whale, Sean, but a shark.

I have eaten meals just like you before and asked for seconds.

That’s the difference, Sean.

You’re too busy chasing your white whales, when you could be mounting the apex predator on your mantle. Instead, you were too short sighted to see it. You were too consumed with seeking the validation from the industry at large that you’ll never truly receive and now the shark has opened his jaws and is ready to snap you in two.

At Fire & Ice, you’ll learn firsthand just as 73 others before you have learned the hard way.

Simply put…

I’m better than you.

”What?” I asked.

I knew it was coming. Initially I debated even disclosing the injury at all. It wouldn’t be right. Instead, I knew I needed to set a better example for my roster and any of the other wrestlers in the industry that’ll never publicly admit out loud that they look up to me.

They should.

That’s not arrogance, just truth.

”Your concussion,” he answered. ”You’re not cleared and from what I’ve heard from your doctors, there’s zero chance you will be by Sunday.”

”I’ll sign a release from liability waiver,” I said quickly. ”I’m not missing Fire & Ice.”

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