Title: Once Upon a Time in Texaco
Featuring: Tchu
Date: August
Location: Ohio

In the spring of 2006, PRIME released a video game for the PS2 and Xbox. The game was called ReVolution 06 (no marketer of any sports gaming franchise has ever had much of an imagination).

It featured all the standards of any good wrestling game… multiple match types, a gigantic roster, an extensive CAW feature… and of course, each wrestler was rated in five categories, giving them a rating out of a possible 100 total points.

Clyde Walkins was a 79. Tchu was a 94.

A match up between the two was simulated 10,000 times and the results were recorded. Tchu won 100% of the contests in the following fashion:

7,439 via The Downfall
1,811 via FTW
344 via piledriver or german suplex
391 via count-out or DQ
7 via Clyde knocking himself unconscious
6 via Clyde never finding the ring (this was differentiated from the standard count-out)
2 via spontaneous combustion.

10,000 matches in one evening. The beauty of a game. Just replay it… again and again and again.

In real life, Clyde Walkins and Tchu squared off on 1 occasion. Walkins won 100% of the contests. Two conclusions were reached from the results of these scientific studies.

Video games are awesome. Real life is kinda shitty.





~Sunday, August 26th~
The Custody Thing





In unison, they walked up the driveway, arms swinging away, each child with a tiny hand clutched to one of his fingers. Their little legs carried them with deceptive speed and he struggled not to slam on the brakes or holler for them to slow down. Anything to prolong what was about to happen.

Handing over one’s own children was the cruelest punishment known to man, though he’d forfeited the right to complain and anguish the moment he’d been the one to ask for a dissolution of the marriage. Joint custody was the fairest decision, and now that he was back on the road from time to time, the only feasible one. Still, no matter how many times Matt walked up the driveway to his ex-wife’s new, and quite beautiful, house, he couldn’t help but taste the bile rising up through his insides.

"C’mon, Daddy. You’re fallin’ behind."

"Well, these old legs just aren’t as fast as they used to be. Besides, you and Hunter are like The Flash."

"We can’t both be The Flash, Dad."

"I like Batman!" Hunter made his contribution to the conversation with a giant hop-step, apparently leaping from some Gotham skyscraper to the next.

"Ok. The Flash and Batman. Make your mother buy you costumes for Halloween."

"The Flash is a boy, duh."

"Sorry, pumpkin. I don’t know any lightning-fast girl superheroes."

His confession came just as they arrived at the front door, Hunter stretching on his toes to reach the doorbell. Almost instantly, it opened, and he figured Mary had been waiting on the other side of the door. His instinct caused him to look at his watch, even though he knew they weren’t late.

"Hi." Her greeting struck him like tap-water straight from the faucet. Not hot. Not cold. Nothing to taste or make any note of.

"Hey. Sorry if we’re late."

"You’re not." Mary reached down and brushed her hand across the top of Hunter’s head, mucking up his hair. "Why don’t you kids go inside and see if you can finish that puzzle we started."

Matt dropped down to a knee and puckered his lips in comical fashion. Georgie followed his lead and gave him a kiss, following it with a loud "mwhuuuaaa"

"See ya in a few days, pumpkin." Matt turned to Hunter and give him a kiss on the forehead, then a light pat on the back. "Go easy on your mom, Champ."

Hunter nodded his head and both kids took off, squeezing past their mother on either side.

"So…"

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" Matt shoved his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable there on her front step.

"I heard about PRIME."

"Heard everything about PRIME?"

"Yeah. Pretty big deal."

"It’ll pay off in quick fashion, I think. And I’m retiring at Colossus. Dunno if you’d heard that."

"I did, and I was hoping maybe when it’s all over, maybe we could get some dinner, even just a cup of coffee or a beer, and talk about us a little bit."

He let his head drop briefly, then looked up. Biting at his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood, it seemed, he formulated the best response he could muster.

"Just because I retire, doesn’t change everything. This isn’t a video game or a movie. Can’t just restart or rewind. There’s no going back to the main menu and starting over like nothing happened."

"Forget it. You’re not even listening to me. I ask we can grab a beer, cuz, God forbid, it might be nice to say more than ten words to each other every week when we hand off the kids. And what do you do? Turn it into this whole deal where I want to start over, set things back the way they were like nothing happened."

"I’m just saying…"

"Saying what?"

"It’s not that easy."

"And it’s not that hard either. Its never as hard as you make it seem. It’s real nice to take this hard-line stand and say that real life isn’t like games and movies, but people start over every day, go back to the beginning. Doesn’t change what happened before, doesn’t have to."

"I…"

"Ever watch the same movie twice, Matthew? Ever screw up in a game, start over and do it right, armed with the experience of failing? You say it isn’t a video game? Maybe that’s exactly how you ought to treat it."

"I dunno. Maybe."

"I’ll see you next Sunday, Matthew."

Mary said something else before she closed the front door, probably just ‘take care of yourself’ or something to that affect, but he didn’t hear it. He was already digesting her words and they weren’t going down easy.

As he stepped off her front step, the familiar bitterness of bile danced up the back of his throat.





~Friday, August 31st~
Chillicothe, OH Gas Station





Matt stepped out of his BMW 335i and closed the door, checking the gas prices as he headed into the station. Not surprisingly, they made him shake his head and curse. As he stepped into the Texaco station, he went straight for the check-out.

"Forty on Pump Two, bud."

Matt pulled his wallet from his back pocket and grabbed two twenties, tossing them down on the counter as if they were hot to the touch. The old, skinny man behind the register scratched at two-day stubble on his cheek and scooped up the cash.

"Sure thing."

"Hey, could you tell me how to get to the Chillicothe High School?"

"You’re driving that Beemer sitting out there at my pumps?"

"Yeah."

"Don’t tell me that thing doesn’t have one of those Nav things. Why don’t you just pop the address in there and let your fancy car tell you where to go?"

"Didn’t have navigation in my car a dozen years ago."

"Fella, I dunno what you’re talkin’ about."

"Just… if you could tell me how to get there. I’ve got a gig and I’m running a little late."

"Gig?"

"Small little pro wrestling show in the gymnasium tonight. Ohio Heartland Championship Wrestling."

"I heard of ‘em." The man grabbed a pen and a paper towel sitting near the register. "They run shows here once every couple months or so. Don’t draw much of a crowd."

"Only so many people you can fit in a high school gymnasium."

"Only so many people who want to sit in a gym with no air-conditioning and watch a bunch of guys beat each other up in Speedos." The man finished scratching something out on the paper towel and handed it to Matt. "Directions to your gig. Oughta be pretty easy to find. And you’re good to go at the pump."

"Awesome."

"Listen, if ya don’t mind me askin’, what makes a guy want to go get pummeled in front of maybe a hundred people for not enough money to fill the tank in that car of yours?"

"I’ve got my reasons." Matt folded the paper towel and held it up. "Thanks."

"Don’t mention it."





~Friday, August 31st ~
Chillicothe High School





With a bag of his ring gear slung over his right shoulder, Matt walked into the locker room. It’d been a dozen years since he’d wrestled at a show in a gym or armory, and immediately, he was struck by just how cramped the quarters were.

When the guys saw him walk in, they all stopped in mid-sentence, some of them halfway thru lacing up a pair of cheap boots, and they applauded.

"Knock that shit off." Matt waved his hand dismissively as he dropped his duffle bag to the ground.

"Tchu!" A middle-aged man in a polo that read ‘OHCW’ on the left breast walked over and shook Matt’s hand. "Glad you made it. Can’t tell you how awesome it is to have you here. Looks like the crowd tonight is almost double what it usually is. Not bad for short notice."

"Sorry, Kevin."

"Next time gimme a little more time to promote the appearance of a six-time world champion still in his prime."

"I’m a hundred miles from being in my prime. And I’m not expecting there to be a next time."

"What the hell made you call me up and want to do this anyways? Don’t tell me PRIME doesn’t pay enough."

"Naw, it’s not about the money."

"Kinda figured when you didn’t ask for 90% of the gate. Not that I’m complaining."

"It’s a long story." As a couple of the other wrestlers slipped by they gave Matt a slap on the shoulder. He returned their gestures with a nod. "So who ya got me booked against tonight?"

"Young guy. One of the best we’ve got on the roster. Crowd hates the asshole. Name’s Nathan Clay." Kevin pointed over in the corner to a pony-tailed kid wearing a pair of headphones and white tights adorned with dollar signs. "You guys got main."

"Sounds good. Again, I appreciate you shufflin’ the card around last minute."

"Any time someone currently wrestling on national television wants to come and do a show for OHCW in front of 8 people, the pleasure is all mine. Send some more of your PRIME buddies my way, will ya?"

"Right." Matt laughed as he shook hands with the booker and headed across the room. "See what I can do."

Along the way, he stopped and shook hands with a few of the boys, exchanged pleasantries with two Samoans sporting identical haircuts undoubtedly a tag team. Finally, he arrived in the far corner.

"You Nathan?" Something about the kid seemed familiar, but he couldn't get his brain to rest on just what it was. "Hey."

There was no response.

"Nathan?"

Still nothing.

A quick kick to the shin caught the kid’s attention, causing him to practically jump off the bench he straddled.

"Huh? Oh shit…" Immediately, the headphones were tossed to the side and Nathan Clay rose to his feet, extending a hand. "This is a huge honor, man."

"For me or you?" Matt shook the kid’s hand and immediately thought he could feel two tons of fear and hunger in the handshake.

"For me. For me… I mean…"

"Good luck tonight, Lucious." The shout came from across the room. The kid nodded and pointed in the direction of the remark.

"Lucious?" Matt raised an eyebrow.

"My nickname. Kinda the gimmick. Nathan ‘Lucious’ Clay. Cuz I’m greedy as sin. Or so they say."

"No shit! Please tell me you trudge down to the ring to The Legend of Wooley Swamp."

"Damn straight. Can’t go wrong with CDB."

"Nice to know the younger generation still has good taste in music. Doesn’t mean I’m goin’ easy on ya tonight though."

"We’ll see what ya got in the tank after bein’ gone a year."

"You got it." Again, the two slapped hands before Matt headed back towards his back.

Taking a seat in the end of one of the benches, Matt unzipped his bag and pulled out a pair of beat-up old trunks. He made more in one night than any of the other boys made in a year; he could afford top-notch equipment. Hell, PRIME was always making him new gear in some new color, but before he’d left Columbus, he’d packed the exact trunks and boots he’d worn on his first night with the N4O federation, the same boots he’d worn for most of his career. They were worn, a bit faded, and they stunk. Christ, no matter how many washes, they stunk with a wretched odor that could never be vanquished. A constant, awful reminder of the sweat and blood it took to make things work. From the start.

"Good God. Poor Lucious. Dude has to get in the ring with that funk?"

Twelve years had ruined its fair share of ring gear, but the locker room was right as fresh-cut grass.





~Approximately 2hrs and 7mins later~
Chillicothe High School





He trudged through the curtain to a booming chorus of cheers and applause. Through the mask of sweat he wore, Matt could see Lucious Clay step forward, holding out his hand. Accepting the offer, he pulled Clay in and gave him a hug. Before he could say anything, one of the boys shouted out over the crowd.

"Crazy Fuckers!"

That felt about right, he thought. The ankle was throbbing, and he was gassed, but all things considered, it was better than he’d feared it might be.

"Not bad after twelve months and a gnarly car accident, huh?"

"Not bad, period." Clay gave a playful slap to the cheek.

"Alright. This old man needs to shower and get his ass back to Columbus. Past my bedtime."

As he pushed his way through the crowd, Kevin strutted up, envelope in hand, but before he could fork over the night’s pay, Matt waved him off.

"Give it to the kid, he earned it tonight. Or split it amongst the guys."

"C’mon, Champ. You earned it to."

"I’m fine. That’s not what I came here for."

Kevin shrugged it off, extended an open invitation for Matt to return any time he wanted, and headed off toward the Samoan siblings. With a zombie-like grunt, Matt leaned forward and just sat for a minute with his eyes closed. When he opened them, he began unlacing his boots. Before he could finish the first, Clay came over and plopped down on the bench beside him.

"Just wanted to say thank you one last time. Not every day I get to wrestle a guy who’s sold out arenas, let alone stadiums."

"My pleasure. It was a blast. And you’ve got the talent, I sure as shit wouldn’t bet against you selling out some arenas of your own."

"I appreciate it." Clay looked to the ground, as if there was something fascinating about his feet, then began tapping his toes, bouncing them like an anxious child. "Listen, man, Kev says you turned down the payday. Said you wanted me to have it."

"Yeah. You earned it."

"Think I’m gonna split it with the guys."

"Good deal."

"So… I was wondering." Clay kept his gaze to the floor, kept his leg bouncing like the needle on a seismograph. "You didn’t need the cash. I’m sure PRIME’s got plenty of rings they can set up and let you work off the rust without any cameras rollin’."

"They do."

"Then what are you doin’ here rollin’ around in the ring with a bunch of nobodies, in a high school gym that I’m pretty sure was about a hundred and four fuckin’ degrees. Why’d you do this?"

Matt thought about the same question he’d already brushed off several times that night. He was about to give the standard stock response, when something about the kid struck him. It was the ponytail, the same one he’d himself sported in high school, back when his days had been filled with quests to obtain alcohol, chasing after some girl named Mary, and lots of Super Nintendo.

"Tryin’ to hit the reset button."

He reached down and finished unlacing his boots, unfazed by the stench of twelve years.
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