Normal = Boring

This writing is part of a series of pieces within a fictional online wrestling federation.



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I lay silently in the darkness, suspended completely naked in a couple of feet of lukewarm water. Just thinking. Questioning. Reliving. Countless unconnected thoughts swirled endlessly through my head, pieced together only by a warped mind and the face of a single individual who was unintentionally taking over every waking moment of my life.

I sighed.

For almost two solid months now, I had driven myself insane dreaming about the simplest of pleasure’s that I could enjoy with a woman who, at this particular time, was probably wishing unconsciously that The Blue Scorpion had never gotten involved in her life. Just the thought of talking to this beauty, sharing thoughts and opinions, gave me chills. Simple thinking about spending quality time with her, doing simple things like eating together and reminiscing about ‘the good old days’ would make me tingle like very little else could. And merely considering the possibility of physical contact? Forget it, the mere notion would send both my body and mind into overdrive.

OK, so to most people, the thoughts and feelings that I was having were hardly rational. They weren’t what many people would call normal. But then I’ve not been shy in making it known that I have, still do, and will always hate the concept of normality. Who is arrogant enough to believe that they can decide what is and isn’t normal? Does anyone deserve to be bestowed with that divine right? In my eyes, normality is a pretty perverse concept. To me, pretty much everything that is universally accepted as normal is, in actual fact, simply boring. By not being what is seen as normal, I didn’t see myself as being special in any way. No. I just couldn’t stand being boring. “Boring” doesn’t sell tickets to CWF live shows, or pay-per-views. “Boring” wouldn’t be remembered in a decade’s time by another generation of fans and wrestlers alike. Basically, it was very difficult for anyone in the wrestling business to be normal and boring and be good at what we do. And I always prided myself on being damn good at what I did…

By now, I’d decided that the water in which I was now residing was becoming unbearably cold; slowly, I stood, letting the water cascade down my body and into the bath in which I now stood. I stretched, yawning – thinking this much always took it out of me – before stepping out of the bath and grabbing a towel for myself, still thinking about normality in the wrestling world.

Now I’d gotten thinking about it, all of the principles that I’d applied to myself just now could easily be applied to my opponent for this week’s show – the bag-wearing freak that is Ataxia. Sure, his methods from day one here in CWF weren’t what you’d call ‘conventional’. He pushed the boundaries, he did things his way, and in the process, he’d pissed a hell of a lot of people off. But – and this was the crucial part – he’d always be remembered. Even in the short term, you could guarantee that ninety-nine percent of the things that people talked about as soon as they’d left a CWF show involved Ataxia. Looking further ahead, although Ataxia may not have been as successful as many others in terms of the tangible, measurable things like title belts and pay-per-view main events, he has what everyone in a promotion this size will always crave – notoriety. And I appreciated that.

So maybe we’d found some common ground? Maybe, some of you will be thinking, that I even respect my opponent for this week’s Massacre? Well… let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, eh?

Now, whilst I’d never take issue with Ataxia’s individuality and anarchistic attitude of wanting to overthrow the suits and take his position at the top of the tree, what I have always taken issue with is the methods that he’s used to get there. You see, Ataxia has been bestowed with some God-given gifts that allow him to do great things. Athleticism, charisma and a yearning to be the absolute best. All traits, I’m sure you’ll agree, necessary for someone to get to the top of this great sport. So why the bitterness on my part? Why the animosity? It’s simple…

He has these talents in abundance… yet he abuses them…

Looking at it in the simplest terms Ataxia looks like he would be destined to be able to achieve great, great things within the wrestling world, merely using the skills that have been bestowed upon him.

But no.

Instead, these key skills that are the very foundation of this business become secondary to him, in favour of cheap heat, second-rate practical jokes and three-on-one beatdowns to make sure that he gets his way. Now, I’m not taking a completely “holier-than-thou” attitude here – I appreciate that in my twenty-five year career, I haven’t always been whiter-than-white. Yet it physically sickens me when I’ll see a promising and talented guy, with all of the foundations of a great wrestler, get systematically embarrassed, abused and physically beaten by the Hooded Hooligan and his band of miscreants, just so that our ugly little friend can get his way.

Sure, it can be entertaining. But it also cheapens the product, and sends out the image that putting together a little group of thugs and trying to take over by any means necessary is a better route to take in this business than building a credible character based on solid mic skills and good in-ring abilities. There’s just something about that notion that won’t allow me to stand idly by and watch twenty-five years of effort be ruined by a few schoolyard bullies who cry when they don’t get their own way.

Yet despite all of this tension bubbling underneath the undercurrent of our professional relationship, this will actually only be the second one-on-one contest between yours truly and Baggy McControversy. And, by his own admission, the last one doesn’t even count, apparently. Oh yeah, forget that I cleanly defeated him to progress into the semi-finals of a World Title tournament that I would go on to win. Forget that I pretty much ended his chances of taking over the re-born CWF and truly prevented Ataxia making Steven Gamble’s life a living hell. Because it didn’t count, did it Tax? You “weren’t trying”

So how about I make a suggestion Tax – how about this time, you do try, eh? Novel idea, I know, but how about you put aside your plans for world domination and actually see what happens when you throw everything into a match with someone who’s spent twenty five years of his life honing his craft. Admittedly, sounds like a bit of a foregone conclusion when I put it like that… but you’ll never know, until you – and only you, Tax, not you and you’re pals or you and some innocent that you’ve brainwashed into helping you complete a task that’s beyond you. No, only you will truly know if you have what it takes to beat me, if you actually try.

But we’re getting sidetracked here.

As of right now, this deal with Ataxia seemed way off into the future. My mind was still focused on the same thing that it had been focused on for the best part of two months. The same body of beauty, the same breathtaking mind, the same unbelievable figure of perfection.

Caledonia Summers.

In the beginning, it was a simple crush, purely physical, a way for me to reclaim the innocence and freedom of youth. But when the feelings that I had for Caledonia were reciprocated, what we had started to grow. Yet Cali didn’t see it that way – she tried to end it, to cut me off. And I swear I tried to stop thinking or feeling, swear I tried to get rid of anything to do with her from my body and mind. But, as much as I tried, Caledonia kept worming her way into my life. Unconsciously on her part, yes. Unwillingly, almost certainly. But undeniably, it was there, somewhere inside me…

I needed her.

Again, before, I cared about what people thought, the image of this forty-something year old man pursuing a beautiful young woman like Cali, and the connotations that might have. But as the need for her grew inside me, so too did the urge to satisfy that need. And tonight… I dunno, I guess being in this reflective mood has got me thinking… maybe now… it’s time.

I nodded to no-one in particular, as the bathroom continued to darken around me. It was almost midnight now, Charlotte already tucked up in bed, subconsciously waiting for me to join her. But, right now at least, as upsetting a thought as this may be, beside my soon-to-be blushing bride was the last place I wanted to be. I had an urge, and it needed satisfying.

I mean, I’d contemplated this a million times, but kept coming back to the same conclusion – an unwanted approach would not be wise. There were a million different ramifications, none of them good. As blinkered as I may seem, I could still appreciate that I had a lot going for me in life, and as much as I felt I wanted and needed Caledonia, I recognised that she wasn’t worth throwing away everything that I had… not yet, anyway…

For now, at least, I had to be content with a bedtime spot right next to solid, dependable Charlotte, settling down with intermittent, dreamy thoughts of The Destruction of Ataxia and His Bully Boys, interspersed with images of me in the same bath that I’d just left not five minutes ago… but I wouldn’t be alone… and the temperature certainly wouldn’t have been ‘lukewarm’… What better beautiful, brilliant and violent juxtaposition could any man possibly wish for to send him to sleep?


See Ataxia? Told you I didn’t like ’normal’



To be continued...?