When is enough enough?

The line between pride and stubbornness can be so incredibly thin that someone can’t see it. Nowhere is this more evident than in professional sports.

Mohammad Ali. Joe Nameth. Jerry Rice. Sammy Sosa. All examples of folks who allowed their legacies to be stained because they couldn’t accept when it was time to walk away. At this current moment of his life, Centurion is wondering if he should be added to that list, as well.

We open up inside the Coffin Bar in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. There, we see Centurion seated at the bar, glass of scotch sitting in front of him. The place is sparsely occupied, and a look outside the windows shows that it’s in the middle of the day. Centurion glances at his watch, then takes a sip of his drink and taps his fingers against the bar.

“You know, the bartenders hate it when you do that.”

The voice of an older man booms from behind Centurion, who turns to see who is speaking to him. To his surprise, it is none other than Walter Crowe, Centurion’s former manager and business partner. Centurion cracks a smile and shakes his head as he stands up.

“You’re the surprise Nellie booked for me?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it makes it seem like I’m going to be dancing for dollars or something.” Walter responds in his cool demeanor. Centurion hugs the now 70 year old, gray haired man before pulling a bar stool out to help Walter take a seat next to him.

“You look great, Walter.” Centurion says as he reunites with his old friend.

“You don’t.” Walter says, plainly as possible as he adjusts himself into the seat. Centurion’s smile quickly fades as Walter continues to be brutally honest. “Is this who you are now? Crying in a goth bar with people half your age looking at you like you’re a pathetic old man?”

“Well…” Centurion just sort of shrugs his shoulders as he reaches for his drink. “It wouldn’t be an incorrect assumption on their part.”

“You want to know what your problem is?”

Walter asks this question, and leaves a pause. This gives Centurion the impression that he must answer. “Well…Age. A broken body. Lack of skills…”

“You are your own worst enemy.” Walter answers, cutting Centurion off. “You consistently set yourself up for failure. You win once, and you think you’re the best in the world. You lose once, and you think you should hang up the boots. You constantly think a wrestler you don’t know is unworthy to share the ring with you, so when they’re able to knock you off, you become a weepy mess.” As Walter is dressing down Centurion, the bartender approaches the two men. She places a cocktail napkin down on the bar, and Walter puts in his order before she even asks. “Glass of sauvignon, please.” The bartender nods and walks away as Walter continues his tough talk to Centurion. “Let me ask you this - what do you know about your next opponent?”

“Adam Garcia? I mean, he’s brand new to the XWF.” Centurion looks down at the bar, trying to recall everything he knows about the man he will be across from in a few days time. “I think he’s originally from OCW. He’s…Spanish.”

“He’s a modern ring technician with a leg based offense who specialized in strikes and owns two submission maneuvers, including one of yours.” Walter rattles off the facts as if he’s reading from a menu. “This is information I found out five minutes ago just by reading his bio page. What are his weaknesses? What does he normally attempt when he comes off the top rope? What is his theme song?” Centurion stares at Walter with a blank expression as the bartender places the glass of wine down in front of Walter. Walter shakes his head as he continues to stare a hole in Centurion. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I’ll admit I haven’t done the proper homework…” Centurion says, trailing off at the end of his statement.

“You haven’t done a damn thing.” Walter is quick to point out. “Just like you didn’t do any additional homework on Ned Kaye. Or Bobby Bourbon. And you knew those two were going to bring everything they had and send it at you. What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Well it’s not that easy!” Centurion snaps back, defensively. “My life is packed at the moment. I have a wedding to plan…”

“Don't blame Ruby for your shit.” Walter quickly yells, cutting Centurion off. “This was happening to you long before you and Ruby got together. Difference is, you always had the physical attributes to be able to just walk down the ring and beat whoever you were facing without any prep. You can't do that anymore. Now you actually have to do something.”

Walter takes a sip of his wine as Centurion sits there, pondering what was just said to him. “Am I still built for this? Should I still be doing this?”

“Of course you should.” Walter says without hesitation. “Things are difficult for you right now. Might be the most difficult time of your career, at least professionally. Guess what? Now you have something to strive for. You have a goal now. Get out of this slump, and START by beating Adam Garcia. This kid is going to try and make a career off of you.”

“Him and 200 others before him.” Centurion says as he rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his scotch.

“A lot of those folks were successful.” Walter points out. “And for others, their sole highlight in their career is beating you. Remember the pizza guy?”

“Yes, I remember the pizza guy.” Centurion sighs as he recalls a former foe that came in during the ill fated OCW invasion. “I bought that dude a moped.”

“I hear he dumped it into the Cleveland River. Point is, he did one thing - beat you. That's it, because that's all he wanted, and your lack of preparation allowed him to do so. You can still be a champion in this business. You have the experience and the talent. But it's not on Ruby or Nellie or anyone else to get you there. YOU have to do it. You have to make the conscious decision to dedicate your life to this business much like you did when you were 25. So, now I have to ask you…do you want it?”

At first, Centurion looks to respond that he does not; however, he stops himself. Something within him tells him that it's not over. He downs the rest of his drink before setting it down hard on the bar. He looks over at Walter and responds to him with steely determination.

“Yes. I want it.”

—---We’re dead, they'll know just who we are—---

I'll admit, Adam…you have me in a tough situation.

I haven't just been losing. I've been getting the absolute dog shit beat out of me. I've been skewered and tossed around so badly that I wasn't even in consideration for the Leap of Faith pay per view, and you know what's sad about that?

No one missed me.

There isn't a single person in the world who was clamoring for a Centurion match at Leap of Faith. I didn't get a trending topic. XWF didn't get a flood of emails. There weren't any talking heads screaming about the injustice of me missing out on the event. It just came and went without my prints being on the show at all.

It's humiliating, especially as someone as accomplished as I am. The XWF made the conscience decision not to book the all time wins leader for their show, and not a single person batted an eye. You know how that makes me feel, Adam? Of course you don't, you've NEVER been in that situation.

I'm feeling a lot of things right now, Adam. Sadness. Embarrassment. Anger. A sense of despair and an increased awareness of my own mortality. And I have to find a way to harness every single one of those emotions into a wrestling match.

And you, Adam? Well, all you have is joy, and optimism. You get to come at this completely fresh. No outside expectations, wrestling your first Warfare match, introducing yourself to a brand new audience. You're playing with house money, and you're going up against someone who is on the verge of bankruptcy.

What does that mean, Adam? It means I HAVE to win. It means every match from this moment on has become a “must win” scenario for me, because if I DON'T win, I'll be shuffling around in the indies fighting a 400 pound dude in clown makeup and an unusual amount of back acne. I become the wrestler they put on the posters at the local YMCA club in Dover in order to sell a couple more tickets to the benefit show taking place at the local high school. I promised myself I would never become that.

Which means I need to unleash a passion and fury upon you that hasn't been seen in me in years.

I can't just beat you, Adam. I can't fluke my way to a victory. Which puts a lot more pressure on me, because I know you're not a slouch. Granted, one of your biggest brags has been about your time in OCW which…I mean, if we're talking indie feds…but still, I watched you at Leap Of Faith and I saw the bursts of someone who could be holding gold in the XWF.

Still, I can't have “beat Adam Garcia in a 30 minute classic” as my claim to fame if I'm trying to work my way back up the rankings. No, I have to Imane Khelif your ass. I have to beat you so bad you decide to start an international debate over it. I need to beat you so bad that JK Rowling thinks it's unfair. I NEED to do this…

…because I don't have any other options. I'm out of lives, Adam. I've inserted all my coins, and I'm a long way from the final boss. You lose this match, and you shrug it off and move on to the next week. I lose this match, and there may not even be a next week.

Do you know what desperation does to a man, Adam? Do you know what happens to someone when they're pushed to their absolute limit? One of two things will happen - either they will crumble into a pile of dust, or they will lash back out in an unstoppable fury. You're in the unenviable position of not knowing which you're going to get. Sure, you can read all about me. Dissect my every word, watch every match, learn every move I have in my arsenal, but it's not going to help you, Adam…because you've never seen this side of me.

No one has.

Hell, I've never seen it. I don't know what's going to happen out there. Maybe we do find out that I'm some old, broken man who can't hang anymore. Maybe I put all my time and effort into beating you, and I still come up short. Maybe I give it everything I have, get beat, and Theo Pryce pulls me aside and goes “hey man, maybe it's time to walk away”. That might happen.

I could also absolutely batter you from post to post, show you the absolute worst time of your life, and leave you in a broken and bloody heap on the ground.

Aren't surprises fun?!

You have an extraordinary opportunity in front of you, Adam. Will you rise to the occasion, shut me up, and catapult yourself up the ladder? Or will you be the next to meet your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!