Journeyman

Journeyman

  Copyright 2014 Brad G. Moore

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  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About Brad G. Moore

  Other books by Brad G. Moore

  Connect with Brad G. Moore

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to all of the wrestlers on local and early cable TV who graced my television screen as a kid. Special thanks to Kay Fabe and Mark Smart.

  Chapter One

  Barely awake, Marc casually passed by his co-workers in the hall. “Another day at the office”, he thought as he opened the door to his lavish dressing room. The room was hardly lavish, but at least he had room to transform into a superhero in private. Superman he was not. In less than twenty minutes, however, he would be playing one on TV.

  The dressing room in which Marc transformed into The Magnificent Marc was actually a walk-in closet inside the rehearsal room of the local television studio. The studio produced local news, a morning children’s program, an afternoon talk show, and a weekly cooking show for Brighton, Georgia’s independent station, WMEM. On Saturday mornings, it was the home of wrestling.

  In a matter of minutes, Marc had changed from his Levi’s into his wrestling gear. His gear consisted of maroon tights, elbow and knee pads, and boots. He considered his getup stylish for a wrestler, but often wondered why wrestling tights couldn’t be more like boxing shorts, or anything more athletic looking. Instead of Muhammad Ali dancing around the ring, he often felt like Peter Pan in his Underoos. It didn’t help that it was the middle of winter and the heat in the old studio didn’t work. He’d thought about switching to longer tights, but his short, maroon tights with the small lightning bolt across the back had become his trademark. Fans wouldn’t recognize him in anything else.

  He thought about not wrestling today. He could just do an interview in his street clothes to promote his upcoming match against Predator, but the fans didn’t want to see plain, old Marc Fleming. They wanted to see The Magnificent Marc. He would go out there, wrestle some new kid for about five minutes, shake his fanny, and then tell the studio and television audience what he was going to do to Predator. It’s what the fans want. More than that, it’s what the promoter, Nick Hensley, expected.

  “Marco,” greeted fellow wrestler, Stu Harding. “How’s it hanging?”

  Marc had teamed with Stu on occasion. He didn’t really consider him a friend, but then again he didn’t consider any of the other wrestlers as a friend either. He’d rather be left alone to do his own thing. That wasn’t the way the wrestling business worked, though. When Johnny Handsome’s men were beating you down 3 on 1, you needed an ally. Here lately though, it seemed like he had been stuck in meaningless partnerships on the top of the cards.

  “It’s not right now. It’s freezing in here,” Marc replied sarcastically.

  “Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Stu asked.

  “No one. I guess I’m just not fully awake yet. It was 4 a.m. when I got home from the show in Gainesville last night. Then I had to listen to Alexis yell at me for an hour for getting home so late. Did I mention that I’m freezing my ass off?”

  “Yeah. You’d think that the station could afford to fix the heat. Cheap bastards. You’d think it’s enough that we provide free labor for their highest rated show. Oh well, maybe the FCC fine will teach them a lesson,” said Stu.

  “FCC fine? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Live TV, baby. It’s gonna be hard to censor my frozen, hard nipples,” Stu joked.

  “Jackass,” sneered Marc.

  Free labor. Marc had never really gave it much thought, but it was true. Tickets to the wrestling program were free. Hensley rationalized that the Saturday morning program was essentially an advertisement for their upcoming shows. "Gotta get them in the houses," the promoter would explain. That all sounded reasonable, but free admission meant that there was no gate percentage to pay the wrestlers with. Marc had shed a lot of blood in the studio ring for free.

  "Whatever kind of funk you're in, I hope you get it straightened out by Wednesday night," said Stu.

  Marc's upcoming match with Predator was Wednesday night at the Brighton City Arena. It wasn't going to be an ordinary match either. It would be a loser leaves town match. Marc wasn't too worried about Predator. He didn't belong in the same ring with Marc. Predator was 6'4'' (compared to 5'10 Marc) and 320 pounds of solid muscle, but he had the brains of a chimpanzee. He was just another thug of Johnny Handsome's. Without Handsome's interference, he would have never won the Central States Championship from Marc.

  Johnny Handsome was Predator's manager. Like every other manager and agent in the sports' industry, he had no actual talent of his own. At 150 pounds when he was soaking wet with long, thinning, greasy hair, he was hardly handsome. He was a parasite. Like a nasty tick, he latched on to whomever he could, while draining them of their resources. The best interests of his client were not what he had in mind; he was only concerned with how much money they could make him. Handsome had brought what seemed like hundreds of thugs into the territory over the years. Marc had helped run many of them from the region. As soon as one was gone, Handsome brought another one into the territory. Occasionally, Handsome brought in a legitimate wrestler that had been around the business traveling from territory to territory, but most of Handsome's clients were just thugs he found somewhere brought in to make the lives of Marc and the other fan favorites miserable.

  "Predator's a bum," snapped Marc.

  "The bum has beaten you twice," Stu reminded him.

  "He would have never beat me if it wasn't for that damn Johnny Handsome," Marc complained.

  "Handsome's a pain in the ass alright. He won't be any less of a pain in the ass Wednesday night. You need someone in your corner to keep him at bay. I'll gladly second you. I'd love to get my hands on that son of a bitch," offered Stu.

  Marc considered the offer for a moment. It would be nice to have someone there to make sure Handsome doesn't interfere. Marc's inner demons would never allow Stu to be his cornerman. He was a loner. Stu was an ok guy, but Marc didn't trust him any more than he trusted anyone else. He'd seen Handsome get in some of the guys' ears before. If Handsome were to pay Stu off, Stu would turn on Marc, and Marc would be gone from the territory.

  Stu had been in the territory for a few months working his way up the cards. He had been in the business for a few years spending time in California and the mid-west. He'd held a few titles, but nothing major. He came to the Brighton area looking to make a name for himself, and the fans seemed to love him. Stu was hungry. However, he wasn't going to make a name for himself at Marc's expense.

  "You don't have a manager's license," Marc pointed out. "Hensley will never let you do it without a license,"

  "You're probably right," replied Stu. "Just try not to preoccupy yourself with Handsome."

  "I'll figure something out," Marc promised.

  "Do you think Murphy will pull it off this time?" Stu asked.

  "Pull what off?" Marc questioned him.

  "Your head must real
ly be in the clouds. He's wrestling Nick Warren for the World Heavyweight Championship Wednesday night."

  "Again?" Marc questioned. "How many title shots has he had in the past year?" How the hell does Hensley afford to get Warren to keep coming back here?"

  "He's probably counting on a full house," Stu answered. "A loser leaves town match and a World Heavyweight Title match ought to do it. It's gonna be one hell of a night."

  "Yeah, one hell of a night," Marc repeated.

  Chapter Two

  Johnny Handsome's voice shrieked across the monitor of the studio's rehearsal room. He was interviewing with Brighton Championship Wrestling host, Art Manning. Handsome was his usual, obnoxious self as he hyped Predator's upcoming match against Marc.

  "The Magnificent One is going to be gone once and for all," Handsome swore to Art. I knew he was dumb, but I didn’t think he was this dumb. Signing to face my man, Predator, in a loser leaves town match when he's already left you bloody and beaten in the middle of the ring twice. I hope you got that U-Haul backed up to your house, your kids checked out of school, and your bags packed because Wednesday night you'll be hitting the road. You know, Art, maybe it would be easier if he just drove the U-Haul to the match."

  "I don't know, Johnny. The Magnificent One has been around a while. He always seems to find a way to beat the odds when the chips are down," Art replied.

  "There you go defending him again," Handsome accused. "Let me tell you something. The chips aren't down; they're gone! Just like Fleming will be after Wednesday night. If you need help packing, Predator and I don't mind giving you a hand. I can even use my connections to help get you a job somewhere. What do you think Predator? The name Magnificent Marc carries some weight. He could probably find a job as a magician or something."

  Predator exuded no emotion through his camouflage mask, but nodded in approval.

  "Don't be surprised if he finds a little magic Wednesday night," Art chimed in.

  "Yeah, he'll perfect the disappearing act because he is gone after Wednesday night. You people will never see Magnificent Marc Fleming again. He can pull rabbits out of hats, wash cars, shine shoes, but one thing he'll never be is the Central States Champion. Predator is going to destroy Magnificent Marc once and for all." Handsome let out a shrilling laugh as he and Predator left the interview area.

  Marc shook his head in disgust as he turned the monitor off.

  'Don't let him get to you," Stu warned.

  "Yeah, I know."

  "I need you to stick around a while anyway," Stu said.

  "Why's that?" questioned Marc.

  "I've got a number one contender match against Dirty Dan Wednesday night. Once I take care of Dan, I'll get a shot at the Central States Championship the next week. That will be either you or Predator. I'd much rather wrestle you."

  "You think you can beat me easier than you can beat Predator? Marc asked.

  "I'm saying that I'd rather have a fair shot against a friend than against someone I know is going to cheat."

  Marc stared at Stu expressionlessly. Stu had used that "friend" word. Did he really think that they were friends? He was just offering to be in Marc's corner a few minutes ago, and now he tells him that he wants him to stick around because he'd rather wrestle him than Predator. Marc wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

  "Marc, it's showtime," Hensley said he opened the door to the rehearsal room.

  Chapter Three

  Chills ran down Marc's spine when he stepped through the curtain into the studio. The fans' cheers never got old. For a few moments, he forgot about Handsome and Predator as he soaked in the adoration. He strutted to the ring, shaking as many hands as he could before he climbed in the ring. After climbing in the ring, he did a quick fanny shake as he waved to the fans.

  He took a lot of flak from the guys backstage, but the fans loved it. The fanny shake started out as a joke to aggravate his opponents when he had gotten the better of them. He received such a great reaction from the crowd whenever he did it that he incorporated it into his normal entrance routine.

  The guys backstage may have hated it, but the fans loved it. The fans' cheers rejuvenated him. It was like a shot of adrenaline. No longer was he feeling in a funk. He now felt like The Magnificent Marc Fleming again.

  After removing his sequin studded jacket, Marc walked to the middle of the ring for the customary referee pat-down. The routine seemed like a waste of time to Marc. He had never carried a foreign object to ring in his entire career. If he wanted to bring a weapon to the ring, he’d probably have no trouble hiding it. He had undergone this routine so many times that he knew exactly where the ref was going to check before they checked him. It’s not like the ref had found any of the chains or brass knuckles his opponents had used to bust him open over the years.

  Although the pat-down seemed like a waste of time, it gave him one last chance to psyche out his opponent before they locked up. Sometimes, that’s the mental edge he needed. It was easy to talk trash on TV, or have someone like Johnny Handsome do it for you, but the eyes often tell a different story when you’re face to face with your opponent. This was Marc’s opportunity to sense fear, uncertainty, and overconfidence. It was at this moment that Marc created his game plan for each match. This is where he decided if he was going to have to outfight, outwrestle, or outsmart his opponent. This is the reason many wrestlers wore masks. Although the common belief was that wrestlers wore masks to conceal their identity, most of them wore masks to confuse their opponents. Predator wore a mask, but Marc had wrestled him so many times that he knew his every move. Johnny handsome was Predator’s only advantage.

  Marc’s opponent, Ken Collins, was a local rookie with only a few years’ experience under his belt. Marc had been in Ken’s shoes before. Knocked around the ring on a nightly basis from the veterans making an example out of you while trying to send a message to their arch rival. Ego bruising, stitches, sprains, black eyes, and sometimes broken bones for little or no pay hardly seemed worth it. It was a tough road, but it was the only way to get experience and hone your craft if you planned on sticking with it. “If you couldn’t take it, you ain’t got no business in the wrestling business,” Marc’s mentor, Ben Barnett, had told him when he first started wrestling. Marc took it. He suffered his fair share of black eyes and broken bones. He had been busted open so wide once from a chain that he couldn’t see his way back to the dressing room because of the blood gushing from his forehead. Still, he never quit. Most never made it after their first bruised ego. Being magnificent wasn’t as easy as Marc made it look on TV.

  Ken looked down at the mat as the wrestlers were patted down in the middle of the ring. Marc felt sorry for him. Not looking at his opponent was a sign of weakness and lack of confidence. Ken would never make it in the business as long as he telegraphed his lack of confidence to his opponents. Maybe one day he'd wise up.

  After assuring that both wrestlers were clean, the referee signaled for Art to ring the bell. Marc twisted Ken's arm into a hammerlock after locking up. Unable to break the hold, Ken reached the ropes. Marc backed off and gave a clean break. Locking up again, Ken managed to get Marc in a headlock. Marc quickly slung Ken into the ropes to break free. Marc leapfrogged him on his return, but was meant by a flying body press from the opposite side as Ken ricocheted off the ropes a second time. Recovering quickly, Ken hip-tossed Marc back to the mat.

  Marc's temporary rejuvenation from the funk he was in earlier disappeared when he hit the mat a second time. The tarp covering the mat disguised the sheets of the plywood platform underneath it. Although most people thought that the mat was cushioned, the plywood had no give. It hurt like hell. The almost freezing room conditions only made the wood stiffer. Marc struggled to catch his breath as he recovered from the hip toss. He wasn't in the mood for this today.

  Capitalizing on Marc's slow recovery, Ken placed Marc in a hammerlock of his own. Marc worked his way out of it and slung him into the ropes again. As Ken rebounded,
Marc caught him with a dropkick to the side of the jaw. Wasting no time, Marc administered a stiff, flying forearm to Ken as he attempted to return to his feet. The blow almost knocked Ken out. For good measure, Marc grabbed a handful of Ken's hair and assaulted him with three more forearms to the side of his head. Sensing the kill, Marc climbed to the top turnbuckle and awaited Ken's recovery. Ken stammered to his feet, gazed from his groggy eyes at the top turnbuckle, and was crushed beneath Marc's flying body press.

  Marc didn't wait for the ref raise his hand after the victory. He didn't shake his fanny or acknowledge the fans' cheers for his victory. He was in a zone of his own. Now, more than ever, was the time to send a message to Johnny Handsome, Predator, and the world.

  Chapter Four

  "Big match coming up Wednesday night, Marc," Art emphasized to the television cameras zooming in on him and Marc.

  "We'll get to that in a minute," Marc said. "But first, I got to ask you something."

  "Ok, Marc. What's on your mind?"

  "I heard there's gonna be a World Heavyweight Title match Wednesday night. Is that right?"

  Art hesitated a moment before answering. "Uh, that's right, Marc. Nick Warren will be defending against Matt Murphy."

  "Murphy, huh?"

  "That's right." Art was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure where Marc was going with this.

  "Do you know who should be wrestling for the World Heavyweight Title?" Marc asked.

  Art didn't know what to say.

  "I ought to be wrestling Warren!"

  The exclamation shocked the crowd. A mixture of cheers and jeers filled the studio. Marc had been a favorite to Brighton fans ever since he entered the area in '75. His most loyal fans longed for the day he would get his shot at Warren, but it never seemed to happen. Warren usually faced Murphy when he came to town. Murphy was like royalty in Brighton. Hensley made sure Murphy wrestled in all the big matches. He was Hensley's main event.

  It wasn't always that way. There was a time when Marc and Murphy battled each other for Brighton supremacy. After shedding buckets of blood between them, they decided to work together to battle Johnny Handsome's thugs. While they were more popular than ever as a team, the duo was short lived. Although they were successful and extremely popular, the professional jealousy between them prevented them from coexisting behind the scenes for more than a few minutes at a time. Murphy eventually became Hensley's chosen one, while Marc settled for second place. He was still a top guy, but he wasn't the top guy. Now and then, Hensley would pair the two together, but it was usually just to draw a big house at an upcoming show, or to help Murphy out of a jam. It was never for Marc's benefit.