Posted in: The Eyes of a Monkey (US vs UK) The Eyes of a Monkey # 66: The Dream is Dead
By Doc Monkey
Jun 28, 2009 - 11:42:03 AM
The Eyes of a Monkey # 66: The Dream Is Dead
In Dreams
I used to have these dreams that made me feel different than everybody else. When others my age were dreaming of going to space or maybe even putting out fires, all I could think about was the thrill of performing in front of a live audience. Something about the yells of the crowd as they cheered your every move. It wasn't just the praise I wanted though, nor was it just the simple act of performing in front of a large group of people. No, my dreams were always very specific. The only thing I could ever envision myself as was a professional wrestler. As a young boy, I simply felt that they were these untouchable entities. They were larger than life and couldn't be stopped by anyone. I idolized Shawn Michaels, seeing him throw Marty through the Barbershop mirror will always remain one of my fondest memories. There was just something about taking control over your own destiny and that's how I viewed his actions. He could have remained in a tag team that was slowly falling apart but he decided to change his own fate. I don't think it's a coincidence that he would eventually become one of the best wrestlers of my generation, and that's what I wanted to accomplish.
People would laugh at my ambitions, even calling them childish. They simply couldn't understand why someone would set out to do something that is regarded as the black sheep of the sports world. Most just can't grasp how much true athleticism and skill goes into being a professional wrestler. They think it's just a bunch of brain dead idiots who couldn't cut it in the real world. The truth is that your typical wrestler can come from all walks of life.
The thought just wasn't something my parents were willing to accept. At first they just thought it was a phase, and I'd grow out of it. Over time though I started collecting and watching tapes, not just for recreational purposes but also as teaching tools. I spent more time studying the wrestling craft then I did my grade school books. It was around the time that I asked my father if we could build a ring in the backyard that they knew that this whole wrestling thing wasn't something that would just go away overnight. Of course this caused them to push back even harder and they even tried to forbid me from watching wrestling at all. There was no way I'd let that happen though and every time they went out, I would pull the shoe box out from under my bed and watch some old matches.
My parents practically forced me to go to college and while my grades were decent in school I wasn't scholarship bound. I guess they figured if they put the money forth that I'd put the degree to good use. On the contrary, I looked at it as a fallback plan to tide me over while I pursued my real dream. After all, nothing is free and I'd have to pay my way through wrestling school somehow. At least with a decent education I'd have more options open to me. Juggling the college life and the wrestler lifestyle would be tough but I was willing to do anything it took to make my dream come true.
Funny enough, for all the work my parents put in to keep me away from wrestling and pursuing my dreams; it would be their decision making that gave me my first big break. It happened one night when I was sleeping in my dorm room and my roommate came in. I didn't pay him any mind, figuring he had just got back from hooking up with some random bimbo. No, it wasn't until I heard the moaning. This wasn't moaning of pleasure, it was the sounds of a man in pain. Being the naturally kindhearted person that I am, I got out of my bed to see what was the matter. It was then that I saw him washing the blood from his face and the whelps on his chest. My first instinct was to ask him if he had been mugged but his reply was something I didn't expect at all. The only fight he had been involved in was in the middle of a squared circle. It was that night, during only my fourth night of college that I found out that my roommate had a secret life. A life that I craved for my own, he was a wrestler.
For the next few weeks I followed him around like a new puppy, trying to soak up any insight he could give me. I know I had to be annoying him but at the same time I hoped to break him down. Surely he'd tell me how to break in, or even a few tips. At first he didn't want to budge for the world but after seeing my persistence he couldn't help but give in. He may not have given me much but he gave me the name of the promoter he worked for and the two nights of the week that they worked. Suddenly only one thing mattered to me, and at all cost I was determined to be at that building on Friday night. Now that I had my foot in the door, there was absolutely no way I was going to let it slam in my face.
Shoot For the Stars
Joe my roommate had introduced me to his promoter Sal, and while Sal was very apprehensive about working with such a young kid Joe put in the good word for me. I didn't care what I had to do in order to prove that I deserved the job, I knew deep down nobody wanted to be a wrestler more than me. Maybe he saw the fire in my eyes, or maybe he just saw me as free labor. Either way Sal agreed to keep me around and even said he'd have some of the guys teach me some pointers. However I'd have to work with the crew on setting up the ring and tearing it down as well as setting up the building for each show. While I didn't get paid for any of that, I did get free lessons in exchange for it. Being a part of the show each night was everything I dreamed it would be, and often I found myself imaging myself in the ring with my hands raised.
Things didn't go as smooth as I would have liked at first with juggling school and wrestling but after the first year things got easier. In that time I still hadn't had an official match but I had still learned plenty. Joe even called me a natural at taking bumps, sense it was something I was able to pick up on right away. I felt my time was coming but didn't dare approach Sal because I didn't want him to think I was cocky. I knew that if I remained persistent eventually someone would take notice.
I remember the night when it all happened like it was yesterday. Much like every night working before it I spent the early hours working with some of the guys working somewhat of an empty arena dark match. The afternoon hours consisted of me setting up the ring and the chairs and then promoting the event on the streets. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I saw Joe entering the arena on crutches. Joe was supposed to play an important role that night, he was supposed to be the baby face in the opening match. As he approached me and the other guys he informed us what we already feared. He had rolled his ankle and wouldn't be able to work the match. What he said next took me by surprise though. He wanted to approach Sal about me taking his place. I was stunned but nonetheless knew I was more than ready.
I wanted to work the match so bad but deep down I figured Sal would never let a rookie work the opening match on his biggest card of the Summer. Yet when Joe informed me that he was able to convince Sal to let me work the card, I was too lost in the moment to even feel anything much less to feel surprised. I knew I had my work cut out for me, but this was the moment that my whole life had been building up to. With only three hours until the show started I had very little time to get ready and go over the match with my opponent. Hell I didn't even have a ring name, or even music. What the fuck was I even going to wrestle in. Clearly my emotions were starting to get the best of me and blur the confine of my thoughts.
Shortly after Joe gave me the news, Sal came in to make it official. Of course being the new guy there was no way I was going over and I respected the decision. The good news was that we were going to be given a full twenty minutes to work the crowd and best yet; I was even going to be allowed to get some solid spots in. Best of all, if everything went smooth in the match I would get future opportunities. Needless to say this night was do or die for my wrestling career. If I couldn't pull this off, it'd be hard to be given a second shot.
Finally with only two more hours until showtime the sickness started to sink in. I felt like I had literally puked my guts out and was now to the point of dry heaving. I wanted so bad to make this work and knew I was more than capable of doing so, yet also knew part of my fate lied within my opponent's performance. That's when I started thinking back to the boyhood dreams. Back when Shawn took control of his destiny by throwing Marty through the window. Sure, being grown I knew the whole thing was scripted now but that didn't mean I couldn't apply it to my current situation. In order to succeed, I had to take control of my own fate and make my own destiny. I had to put on a performance that was so good that I even looked like a million bucks when losing.
That's when Joe came in one final time. He asked me how I was doing and I couldn't help but lie. I told him that I felt like great and was ready to impress. He saw through the facade though and let me know that it was okay to feel that way I did. He'd been in the business for a few years now and still felt the same way every time he had a match. That's when the conversation shifted to the match itself. I had always been a fan of Joe's in ring work and admired his ability to work a crowd. "Joe, how do you do it? How do you make a crowd care about you?" The question was one that he couldn't properly answer. All he could offer for advice was one simple phrase. "Shoot for the stars kid." It meant nothing to me at the time, but the words stuck to the back of my mind all the same.
Down In a Crash
When it came time for my bout all I had no choice but to go down to the ring wearing the clothes I came in. A wife beater tank top and a pair of camo colored jean shorts. Sitting behind the curtain millions of separate thoughts begin to travel through my mind. I remembered the time when a heel Steve Austin got a standing ovation out of respect for his performance against Bret Hart. That's where I wanted to be at the end of this match. More than anything in the world I wanted the crowd to love me. When the match was over, they would give me the ultimate show of respect. While Steve had the advantage of being an established star going into his match, I had hoped to leave the same way though. Tonight was going to be the launchpad for me, and as Joe had said; tonight I would shoot for the stars.
Coming down to the ring I got a pretty quiet reaction as nobody knew who the hell I was nor knew of a reason to care. That would be my job tonight though, make them care. I was given the task of making these people give a shit about somebody whom they've never seen. I was meant to make them feel my pain and for them to want me to overcome the odds. I was here to live through their emotional connection to my character and use it to fuel my performance. Most of all though, I was here to finally live my dream. A dream that I had been ridiculed for even having but a dream that I was more than happy to finally have within my grasp.
When I entered the ring the abundance of weapons made it painfully clear to me that I hadn't been told all of the details of my encounter. I was of the understanding that I was to have a twenty minute wrestling clinic, not twenty minutes of barbaric beating. I then started to get why I was here now more and more. I was simply a lamb being led to his slaughter. My initiation into the wrestling world would be in the form of a twenty minute beating and my ability to withstand it would be what determined whether or not I had what it took to succeed. Never once had I even taken a chair shot, so to be put in a match that was full of various devices hellbent on my torture was a bit hard to take in. The task that now lie before me had grown from a steep incline to a full fledged mountain I would have to climb. As I stared into the eyes of the hundreds of people gathered here, I knew that they wanted my blood. They wanted to see a man's spirit be broken right before them. In some sick way, they would take enjoyment in my pain. I was beginning to second guess whether or not I could change their stance, whether I could turn this blood craving monsters into sympathetic beasts.
The match itself was nothing special. Maybe I'm being too hard but I was never a fan of the hardcore bouts. Give me Steamboat over Cactus Jack any day. At least that's how I felt at the beginning of the match. When we got to about the fifteen minute mark and my body was covered in blood and cuts I started to respect Foley. I understood that while some regarded Foley as a stuntman all he was doing was giving the fans what they craved. He had destroyed his own body and put himself through hell simply because it was what he knew best. He wasn't granted the physique to be the type of star that would be comfortable with a cross body, so he instead wrapped himself in barbwire. So I sat here, nearly in tears from the agony I had endured and I begin to feel much like Foley must have felt. I was the opposite though, I didn't know how to work this style of match, I had only done training in the old school mentality of a wrestling match. I did have the benefit of some of the younger guys showing me some extra stuff on the side but my repertoire was still far too small to pull this off. I knew I was in danger of losing the crowd and knew I had to do something drastic to make this night count. That's when I looked at the ladder standing upright in the ring and remembered the words that Joe had uttered to me before. "Shoot for the stars kid."
As I climbed the ladder I knew that I was perhaps doing something dangerous and maybe even something I shouldn't do but deep down I felt it was the only way to get the people to care. I had only successfully done a shooting star press about a dozen times but had also surprisingly only botched it once. Off a ladder was a completely different beast all together though, but the adrenaline wouldn't let me focus too much on that. I ascended the ladder and I could feel the electricity in the air, the crowd had turned to putty in my hands and their chant showed it. With my opponent down on the ground selling the chair shot I gave him I knew this was my one chance. Sure I wouldn't win the match following this move but it would surely have the people talking after the fact. Without second guessing myself I simply jumped off. I knew instantly I had messed up, there was no way I could get fully rotated.
I don't remember much about the impact other than instantly knowing that I had broken my neck. I felt myself drifting out of consciousness as I heard the crowd chanting "you fucked up." I wasn't sure if I was more disappointed that I had let myself down or whether I was disappointed whether I had let the fans down. I guess those thoughts shouldn't have even entered my head given the severity of the injury but I couldn't help it. The next several moments felt like an eternity and it was if I was watching the events unfold rather then actually live them out. I didn't even know how much time had passed but the time I became more conscious of it. It wasn't really until I realized I wasn't in pain anymore that I started to worry.
I consider myself to be a strong person when it comes to my emotions but seeing my mother and father break down and cry was enough to do me in. I felt the familiar sensation of needing to cry only there weren't any tears coming out. I started to wonder where I even was or how I got here. Once I saw the casket it became painfully obvious. I hadn't simply broken my neck when I took that fall, I had died. It's a hard thing to accept but it's the type of thing that you can't change and we all must face at some point.
In retrospect I don't really think the fact of my death had as big of an impact on me as it should have. While being so young it was far before I would have planned it, to be able to live my dream though made it worth it. Even if my moment in the sun only lasted for a brief matter of minutes, it was the best feeling ever. Few people can have the success of living their dreams like I did. That's actually the most upsetting part of the whole thing to me. All I had lived my life by was a dream, and now the dream is dead.
DEDICATED TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE LIVED THE DREAM AND DIED WHILE DOING IT.
As always I am the Monkey, and you've just seen the world through my eyes.
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