Everyone has their one shining moment, that time that defines not just their career but their life. I had mine back in 2016. I was a freshman in this business, and I was given the opportunity to perform under the brightest lights, on the biggest stage. I was given the opportunity to show that if you put in the hard work in this business, you can accomplish anything. I walked out of the Elimination Chamber at Wild Card Weekend as the Universal Champion, and my career in this business was just beginning. My elite career. Like it or hate it, no matter what Robert Main says, it has been elite. I am a top name on this roster, like it or hate it. Most hate it, but I don't care. You can say what you want about me, but that is all in the past. The ups, the downs, the things I have said, none of it matters. We live in the here and the now. I had to learn that, and I had to learn it the hard way. I will be honest, when I first heard the name March Madness as a Pay Per View, I thought the name was kind of gay. I thought it was generic, boring, and not really all that creative. Kind of like Robert Main.

Scratch that, exactly like Robert Main.

But now that I have had some time to think about it, it makes sense. Kudos to the XWF marketing department, because when you put two and two together it actually all makes sense. That is, if you are capable of understanding simple metaphors. I am not sure Robert Main is capable of understanding anything. I digress. This Pay Per View symbolizes more than just an opportunity for me, it symbolizes the career of Chris Chaos to a T. This is my moment, the glory I once had. A freshman champion to now a senior veteran with a quest for another. I know I don't have many shots left, and my time at the top is so precious. I have been in a tournament this entire time, call it my sophomore and junior years, and I haven't gotten the job done. Now, I have no choice but to look at this as one last opportunity. I have no choice but to look at this, and to approach this, as if it is my last match ever, win or lose. Robert Main has had a lot to say about me, but he is just masking his own insecurities and bottling them into the same played out insults that everyone before him has felt the need to sling. Robert has been coming at me, there is no denying that, but he has nothing original. He even had to resort to pulling up photos off the internet to resort to a loosely formed metaphor linking the Salem Witch Trials to whatever the hell point he was trying to make. Remember when people used to give me shit about Wikipedia because they were mad that I was smarter than they were? Yeah, Robert, there is no difference. You tried to make me look stupid by doing the same thing that people used to accuse me of to make me look stupid.

How do you feel?

I bet pretty stupid.

But you'd never admit it. Your entire career has been played out in the shadow of someone else, but you are taking all the credit yourself. I don't think you are capable of feeling stupidity because your ego gets in the way. I said it once and I will say it again, your talent doesn't match your arrogance. You even went as far as to DENY that you've been fighting nobodies, banking on the fact that the general populous wasn't paying attention, but it is so obvious Ray Charles could see it. You have never been challenged during your Universal Title reign. You claim you took out Jim in one match.........you mean the APEX and AX3 "brother" who looked at you like the baby bird he had to regurgitate success for and mouth feed? Jim didn't take that match seriously, it was strategic. 'Lets put Robert Main over'. It was a way of getting your nagging, ankle-biting persona out of his greasy hair. You've hung on that minor accomplishment, thrown it in my face whenever the opportunity presented itself, and hid behind the fact that you STILL are leaning on a support beam.

What do I mean?

Drew Archyle is your crutch. You guys are tag champs, but without him in your corner what is Robert Main? He has been there to cup your balls since day one, and is borderline insane so you feel safe that his crazy ass can protect you. Drew's only purpose is to break your fall.

Without Drew Archyle, you're just some dude in a biker cut.

Without Jim Caedus, you'd be watching March Madness on television.

Without Chris Chaos, you'd still be kicking the shit out of mid card filler talent and taking credit for slaughtering legends.

Facts are facts Robert. I can't believe how absolutely disappointing knowing you has turned out to be. When I infiltrated AX3, I thought you may have a shot. 'It's the quiet ones you've got to watch'. I saw how they kicked you around, didn't trust you, kept you in a cage. I saw how Graves and Jim immediately forgot you existed and turned all their attention to Jenny and myself. I don't blame them. Hell, Robert, you barely made the infographic.

Look at you over there in the corner, barely on the logo, with your pubic patch haircut and your 'fuck me' eyes. You were a basic bitch back then, and you really want us to think that because you grew your hair and started smoking cigarettes that you are a different person? No. You're a power bottom, Robert, and you always have been. Hell, even Micheal Graves had a bigger role in that infographic than you did.

Notice how I was in the center? Jenny and I? We demand attention. You demand nothing. You beg for it, and people give you sympathy pops. You don't get the complexity. You're the world's biggest single-celled organism. I am the one that got you this far you sentient enema, and Drew Archyle is the inflatable life vest to keep you afloat. Jim used to be, but your back door politics and finger-print covered dagger handle drove him off the deep end.

You have really gone at me, really tried to tear me apart, but your approach is bland and boring. It doesn't matter what you say about me, because all of that can end in the snap of a finger. One Equalizer.....boom, over. But you can claim all you want how original you are, how much of a trend-setter you are, how much you've laid the blueprint.....but in the end none of it matters because the truth is that you only became "successful" after you took your ball and went home because your previous gimmick didn't work and when you came back Jim Caedus was at the top. Shit, you've lived in his shadow your entire career, why not become his shadow? You've envied him since jump street, and they say if ya can't beat em, join em, right?

You are nothing compared to these men. James Raven, CYREN, Jack Nation. The names go on and on. The XWF is far from dead. No… It’s been reborn on a revolution APEX brought to light.

Well, your first name.....James Raven? Maybe you've taken one too many chair shots to the head Main, but I am 2-0 against Raven. He's never beaten me because he can't beat me. CYREN and Jack Nation.....best believe I'd beat them too. One sounds like a stripper and the other the protagonist in a bad comic book movie. Neither of them scare me. And James Raven? Please. You can do better than this, Main.

You spit in the face of evolution. You have failed to evolve yourself. Even to this day you are trying to shelter yourself with names bigger than your own. Did you ever think that the "golden age" is returning because they see now that the champion is vulnerable? They see now that they can take back over because the XWF Universal Champion is absolute weakest its ever been. Where were they when I was Champion? Jim? Engy? Hell, when Bruce Blingsteen was champion.......

You're bringing back an era of people according to you, but the funny thing is....they are all better than you.

You are the worst thing to happen to America since food in buckets, and maybe slavery.

The truth. You're just a terrible person. I know it. Your whole family knows it. Your parents know it. And deep down, you know it too. You bring nothing but misery to everyone around you. You're an embarrassment and one day your children will grow up and realize what a truly disgusting person you are. Your only contribution in life and to society now would be to go somewhere far away and die quietly so no one has to be reminded of you and the mental disappointment and anguish you embody. Seriously, fuck you Robert.

You look like you're going to spend your life having one epiphany after another, always thinking that you've finally figured out what's holding you back, and how you can finally be productive and creative and turn your life around.

But nothing will ever change.

That cycle of mediocrity isn't due to some obstacle. It's who you are.

The thing standing in the way of your dreams - is that the person having them is you.


The air was cold in Indiana in March. Such a bipolar month. It could be 70 degrees, but you could also get a snow storm, or several. On this particular March, it was sunny, but cold. The wind chill is what made it chilly, with small patches of once heavy snow banks still sitting on the road corners, pebbles of black salt and dirty speckled through them. The sun reflected off the dirty snow, causing glares, and the wind blew the still-dead trees in a swaying motion.

Outside a small, two story house with tan vinyl siding and brick accents was a basketball hoop, official style, with a glass backboard and a shiny white net that glittered in the sun. A Wilson basketball sat against the base, the orange rim shining and visible from down the street. As official as you can have as an outdoor hoop.

Inside the house, the TV blared. 4 adult men sat around the television, wearing red sweaters with white lettering. All of them were drinking beer and yelling at the television, swinging their arms and occasionally slapping the table. Among them was Timmy Clifton, 8 years old, who also wore red. His sport coat had a White IU on it, and he wore the same striped pants that the team wore in warmups. He was sitting under a signed photo of Bobby Knight, which hung on the wall in the basement by the Assembly Hall action-shot photo, and sipped his Coca-Cola out of a red cup. Indiana University Basketball was his life. When you grew up in this state, you really weren't given a choice. Sure, you could like Purdue, but they were mostly a football school and they wore black and gold, ew. Or you could like Indiana State, but only if you knew their history and liked Larry Bird. In Indiana, it was the Pacers and the Hoosiers. It was basically a religion.

The television was obnoxiously loud. There was an announcer on the television, dictating the action. Something about Duke and a school you've probably never heard of, Timmy certainly hadn't. He and his father, uncle, brother and the other adults in the room were watching the NCAA tournament games, waiting patiently for their beloved Hooisers to take the court.

Timmy wasn't quite sure why March Madness was such a big deal, but he knew that every march this few weeks was special. Timmy always loved basketball, but he never felt like it was something he could play. Not at this level anyway. These guys were glorified hero's. Reggie Miller for the Pacers, sure, he was a god, but Timmy, even in his young age, knew that the NBA was for a handful of people. The Hoosiers, however, drew him in because even though they were hero's to him, it seemed attainable. It seemed like they were kids just a bit older than him doing something that brought joy to so many..........

..........and pain to so many.

When the Hoosiers lost, it was like his world came crashing down all over again. When they won, it was like the single best moment of his life. Today, however, was only the first round. They had lost after winning a few games last season, and that quest for a national championship was still on. The glory days of the Bobby Knight era had long left this legendary program, and they had been struggling to get back ever since. Duke had won, as was expected, and Indiana took the court next. Indiana was playing Marquette. They didn't get the privileged of beating up on nobodies for the first few rounds like Duke always did. They didn't get the luxury of that because they weren't coddled for playing nobody all year. They had a brutal grind of a schedule and they took their lumps, but they were a mainstay in this tournament and always a tough out. Indiana USED TO BE a Duke type legacy, but nothing lasts forever. Indiana had to scratch and claw and fight for everything they earned, and if they were going to win, they were going to damn sure earn it.

Timmy watched the warm ups. The adults in the room drank beer and made jokes about how the Marquette players looked, calling them fairies and commenting on how they were soft.

In Timmy's eyes, the Hoosiers were immortal. He had never witnessed them lose a tournament game, as he could never watch a full game when it got bad---he would always leave the room and when the cursing began he knew what had happened. Timmy was determined to watch this one through, no matter what happened. Won or lose he loved this state, this school, this sport.....hell he even loved the color red. He sat in the corner, and couldn't help but feel butterflies. He was nervous. This was big. This was bigger than anything he had experienced before.

His attention was drawn away from the television by a familiar voice and a firm hand clamping down on his shoulder.

He jumped a bit.

"Timmy here is going to be next!" his increasingly intoxicated father said, "one day Timmy here will on the court for the Hoosiers and we will be watching him take IU to the national title!"

"HOORAH!" the other adults cheered.

Timmy gulped a bit, that was a lot of pressure to put on someone so young.

"You should see his jumpshot......he's killer".

Ahh, a fathers pride. Truth is, the jump shot wasn't lethal. Hell he could barely make anything but a layup, and even that was half the time. He appreciated his fathers faith in him, but he hated him for it also.

Before he knew it, the ball was tipped. He had been watching Indiana basketball since he was in the womb--if that makes any sense--but this time of year always felt different. He grabbed another soda and watched the players run up and down the court, always admiring their passion and athleticism, but he certainly never felt like he could BE one of them. Watching them was what he loved, having a hero to bank on. Some kids had comic book characters, superhero's, hell even video game characters they looked up to. Timmy had his Hoosiers.

The people in the room held on to every dribble, every shot came with baited breath, and every make came with a fist pump and high fives. To be honest, it got kind of annoying. Timmy was a quiet kid, and never took part in these cheers. He cheered internally, feeling his nails biting into his palms, but he never let out a roar or as much as a loud exhale. To him, this was a special moment and they were turning it into a social event.

"Indiana is locked in right now. The Hoosiers can't miss!"

The announcers voice came over the TV, his color commentator chiming in.

"IU rolling right now at the first media time out. This is March Madness, personified!"

Timmy always loved the commentary, the announcers. They could make anything sound interesting, if they were good at their job. Depending on who the announcer was, they could make eating a sandwich sound like the most interesting thing in the world.

This always fascinated Timmy.

As the game came back on, Timmy couldn't help but feel nervous. How many times had this team been on a roll and fallen apart? How many times had this team let him down........yet he still loved them.

Each rebound, each put back, his stomach lurched more.

Finally it was halftime, and Indiana was up by 4.

The adults went to get more beer. Timmy watched the halftime show, highlighting all the other games and scores. Looking out the window he saw that it had gotten cloudy out. The sun would be down soon.

Indiana got the ball for the second half.

After a dramatic come back, some free throws late, and a lot of alchohal induced yelling, Indiana was moving on. There would be another day, just like this, in two days time.

Timmy's father looked at him and mouthed the words "you" to him. Timmy smiled a sheepish smile and got up, setting his coke can on the table and walking outside. Turning on the garage light he picked up the basketball and began to dribble. The ball was a bit out of control while dribbling, and he looked down at the driveway while bouncing it. After a few minutes of this, he put the ball in both hands and took a shot. It clanked off the rim, bouncing a few times loudly on the driveway before Timmy caught it again. Another shot, another clank.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Finally, one went in. A smile crossed his lips, but when he turned he saw his father watching him from the window. He quickly looked away.

How could he ever live up to what was expected of him?

Two days later Indiana won again. It was close but they pulled it off. They were going to the Sweet 16. Again Timmy took to the driveway and tried to shoot. Tonight was colder, and his breath was visible in the what-should-be-spring-but-this-is-the-midwest-air.

Indiana would lose in the next round and like clockwork Timmy heard his father tell everyone within ear shot to "just wait until Timmy is old enough to be a Hoosier".

Indiana won the National Championship that season.

He remembered that song, One Shining Moment, and he told himself that Indiana would be in that video every year. He even had his father record it so he could watch it over and over if he wanted to. VHS would last forever as well, so he thought.

The years went by, and Timmy would use basketball to vent. Every day when he got home from school he would work on his dribbling, shooting, rebounds. He would throw the ball off the backboard and pretend to box out, then go get the rebound. It probably looked pretty goofy to the neighbors, but this is Indiana, they knew what was happening. This was Hoosier country, basketball was life.

Every year March would come, and every year Indiana would let him down. They either didn't make the tournament or they lost early on.

Every year he would go outside and shoot, getting discouraged when he couldn't make baskets. Every year he would pick up a basketball and wonder why he couldn't at least be decent, if he couldn't be good. Every year he wondered why not him?

Timmy was a roller-coaster of emotions, but every year he began to buy in more and more to becoming a Hoosier. That season they won the championship, when he was really young, he didn't think he could ever eclipse what he saw. What he witnessed. His own two eyes saw them hoist the trophy.

But they had a coaching change, some player scandals, and just some bad recruiting, and now as the years got closer Timmy saw himself being the one that could change it all. The one who could hoist the trophy. The one who would put Indiana basketball back to where it belonged....at the top.

Middle School came and AAU tournaments took up a lot of his time. High School brought college interest as Timmy got better and better, focused and determined to be the best player he could be. His father was in ailing health due to heart issues and diabetes....and the sad state of Indiana Basketball didn't help much either.

But when Freshman, JV and Varsity rolled around, Timmy became more and more concerned. He was receiving offers from schools, but IU wasn't one of them.

Why didn't they want him? After all he had given them over the years.

His father almost had the "big one" when he told them one morning, in his living room, that he was going to Ohio State. If he wasn't leaving for college already, they probably would have kicked him out.






........It wasn't the same. The campus, the gym, the color red, the tradition, it was all different. Ohio State made the tournament once in two years.......before Timmy decided to transfer.

He stuck with it. He stuck with his goal, his dream. He walked on at Indiana. At first he didn't play but he refused to be deterred..........

"3 seconds, Clifton comes off the screen, launches the shot.................."




"Bruce, I am not a wrestler."

Chris shoved the contract away from him. He was a boxer, an underground fighting champion, and the toughest son of a bitch in the state of Florida. He was not some fancy ass wrestler who floated around doing flippy tricks and taking fake dives for crowd pop.

"I think you should give it a try" his manager said again. "It will be good for you."

Chris had always enjoyed wrestling and if he had to be honest with himself (because he would never say it out loud) he didnt want to go into wrestling because he felt like he wouldn't be good at it. He felt like he couldn't do it. He always watched wrestling and was always in awe about the spotlight, the allure, the shiny titles, the fame. He always wanted to be the man, but he just wasn't sure if he could hack it.

"You have a unique set of skills, Chris, and it sure as hell beats fighting damn near to the death in dingy Florida basements. Think about it, you could be a celebrity. You could be a star."

"I'm not a wrestler Bruce, I can't do that shit".

Bruce sighed.

"Okay......whelp, I'll try again next year."

Chris huffed and got up from the television just as the match he was watching say Vinnie Lane win the Universal Title.

"That'll never be me" he said, "and I have much better hair."

He continued to fight in the clubs. Day after day, night after night, washing his bleeding body in the Gulf of Mexico and using the natural sun rays to relax and loosen his muscles. Bruce would approach him every six months or so about a new wrestling contract, but Chris would always vigorously decline. He was a fighter, and that is how he would stay.

One night he was in a particularly rough fight. He was watching wrestling earlier in the day--it wasn't for him but he was still a fan--and figured maybe he could apply some principles of professional wrestling to his fighting. Some holds, some locks, some slams. Anything to add to his arsonel.

That night, however, things went a bit haywire. Off the rails. His body was racked with pain, but there was another gear in him that was firing. Each punch, each time he would take a body shot just to deliver one, his entire body felt as though it was ripping apart. Blood covered the floor around him. Both his blood and the blood of his competitor. This was going to be a fight to the death, there was too much money on it not to be. There was no way that the makeshift, slightly buzzed, referee was going to stop this war due to medical reasons. He would be brought out to sea with cinder blocks on his feet if he did. He had to stand by and watch two men beat each other to death. Chris stumbled, ducked, then spun. He swept the legs out from his competitor and as soon as he heard the thud he pounced. Wrapping his legs around the man's head, he squeezed down. He was going to break this man's neck. He had no choice. Blood ran down his face, he could taste it in his mouth. His heart was racing. The man below him was fighting admirably, but Chris used what he saw on TV to apply more pressure to the man's skull.

He blacked out. When Chris awoke, he was outside, laying in the Florida night under a light mist.

Bruce was sitting on a tree stump near by him, smoking a cigarette. Chris propped himself on his elbows and looked at his mentor and best friend.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Chris said. "I killed a man tonight, my body is beat to shit, and I am getting zero recognition for being 33-0. Fuck man, I barely have enough money to buy food for the week.......where did all that gambling money go? I haven't seen a penny of that."

Bruce took a drag.

"So what are you saying?"

"I want to give this wrestling thing a try. I am the best in the world at what I do but I get nothing for this. I'll sign the contract."

Bruce took another puff.

"I will look into it, but you're body is beaten badly, you're getting older now, and you have the reputation of being a bit of a loose cannon. You will have to work at this harder than you've ever worked at anything in your life."

Chris nodded, wiping some blood from the side of his mouth. Looking down at his body, now stained maroon from dried blood, he nodded again.

"I am going to be the best in the world at that, too. No matter the cost."

Months passed, but Chris had trouble finding a fit. He would either be too much to handle and bookers simply wouldn't put him on cards anymore, or he was too out of shape to compete with some of the high fliers and the promotions just didn't seem to see the value in him.

Then he found the XWF.

"We accept everyone" he said to himself as he scrolled through the app, "like Wal-Mart". He applied, and he got accepted.

He rose up the ranks, winning matches early on and impressing against the bottom of the roster. As his win total began to climb, so did his motivation. Hours upon hours in the gym, just to become better every day. He wanted to be the best, but he also wanted to be recognized for being the best. He wanted to be like the hero's he had watched on TV his entire life. With each passing match, he felt like he could actually do this.

Then, he faced Doctor D'Ville. He faced a legend, someone who had been wrestling for almost as long as he had been alive. He was facing a man who personified success in the business. A man who Chaos respected, even if he didn't say it.

Chris won. My god, he won, he did it. Chris Chaos was going to the Elimination Chamber at Wild Card Weekend. Sure, this was amazing, but there was so much more work to do.

Chris had to win out. If he lost, he lost his opportunity at the match. He had to win every single night he competed until the Pay Per View.

Freshman.

Sophmore.

Junior.

Check.

Check.

Check.

This was all gravy, but it wasn't enough. You can be as good as you want, but without the payoff it doesn't matter. Days in the gym. Days that turned into nights. Nights that turned into early mornings.

Then, the day came. The day came, and Chris poured his heart, his soul, his very being into the match that nobody on planet earth can say he hadn't earned.

His one shining moment.

But time is short
and the road is long
in the blinking of an eye
ah that moment's gone
And when it's done
win or lose
you always did your best
cuz inside you knew...
(that) One Shining Moment, you reached deep inside
One Shining Moment, you knew you were alive

Feel the beat of your heart
feel the wind in your face
it's more than a contest
it's more than a race...

And when it's done
win or lose
you always did your best
cuz inside you knew...
(that) One Shining Moment, you reached for the sky
One Shining Moment, you knew
One Shining Moment, you were willing to try
One Shining Moment, you knew
One Shining Moment...

That one shining moment.........everyone has one.....

It comes again.
Indiana will win the national champion again one day.
Chris Chaos will win the Universal Title.
This is his one shining moment...........an opportunity to become the one thing that makes all the pain worthwhile.