He pulled his old truck up to the glass front in the warehouse complex and put it in park. This Gracie-Barra affiliate was perfectly Spartan, nothing but mats, weights, and punching bags.

You wanted to get ready to hurt someone, this was the place you came to.

He pulled his duffel bag off the front seat with him as he exited the cab and pulled open the front door to his old addiction. He was greeted to a smile and a laugh.

"Well I'll be damned! If it isn't..."

He lowered his voice to a growl and started to shake violently, imitating perhaps the most famous professional wrestler of all time.

"Ronnie "The Deportation Man" Wilkins! He's gonna run wild on you Brother!"

The two old friends shared a laugh for a moment before Jeff got serious again.

"So what brings you back man?"

"Well money for one, and my match this week is Submission only, figured it would be good to shake some extra rust off. If you think you can handle it." He couldn't resist the jab at the man who when he felt like it, could flick a switch and have him in a position to tap out within seconds. He wasn't lying about the money either, memberships to gyms like this were expensive and had been the first thing he'd had to axe when he started collecting unemployment.

"Mother fucker please, I bet you're even less flexible now then you were ten years ago. Don't make me, make you sign a waiver so you don't sue me after class is done."

The two men continued trading good natured barbs for the next twenty minutes as the rest of the class trickled in. Finally it was noon and they got to business. A short warm-up to get the blood flowing and they dove right into it. As the class continued and people began to fatigue they sat out for breaks. Their backs leaving huge sweat marks as they sat against the padded walls. After an hour of rolling they put Ron in the "Shark Tank".

Everyone sat out in a line and one at a time they attacked Ron relentlessly until someone submitted. Sometimes it was quick and sometimes it took ten minutes but Ron always felt that familiar feeling of fingers smacking his body, the body they were connected to desperate for air, or relief for their straining joints and muscles.

He was exhausted by the time his final opponent, Jeff, stood across from him but he put up the best fight he could. For close to fifteen minutes they attacked and counter attacked each other, each almost inches away from securing that vital final step in a submission multiple times.

It was a combination of fatigue, mat rust, and Jeff's far superior grappling technique but eventually Ron left an arm hanging loose when he shouldn't have and with a flurry of motion he found his arm locked in a vise between Jeff's legs. A quick raising of his hips led to Ron tapping and Jeff immediately releasing the hold.

"Next time I take it home and put it on my mantle."

Salt in the wound, Ron slapped the mat in frustration but as he looked up he saw nothing but admiration in the faces of the other students. Hanging in there with someone like Jeff was something they couldn't even dream of yet.

He towelled off and hung around the gym for awhile, knocking out some squats and Deadlifts despite how tired he was from the almost two straight hours of rolling.

"You're a monster Ron, I feel bad for whoever they've got stepping into that ring with you."

Ron kept finishing his reps, surprised to hear the compliment. Jeff knew his students and knew that he didn't have to treat Ron with kid gloves. He racked the barbell and turned back to Jeff.

"Trust me I do too. It's not just submission only, he's gotta be "bleeding profusely" before I secure the hold and he taps."

"Hardcore."

The two friends chat a bit longer before Ron says his goodbyes, vowing to return in the morning.

The camera settles itself into the rear passenger seat of the Supercrew cab and for the first time Ron breaks the fourth wall with the camera crew.

Still no word from my opponent this week, I hope he realizes he has a match and isn't passed out in some back alley, covered in hobo piss and spilled Old English.

Which when you think of it is basically the same thing.

I feel bad for you Stagger, I've been places similar to where you are right now and it sucks. So I tell you what I'm gonna do to help you out. On Saturday Night when I get ahold of one of your limbs I'm gonna let you tap, but then I'm gonna give it a little something extra. Sure you'll suffer a loss in the ring to a superior athlete, along with the humiliation of being helpless in that same mans hands, completely at my mercy. But at least with the injury I inflict on you, you'll be out of action for a few months and have time to focus on yourself.

Or you could save yourself the pain and humiliation and not even show up. Your call pal, I get paid either way.