Tale of the Nomad (Pt. II)

[Tommy Knox]

NOVEMBER 1ST, 2016

LONG BEACH, CA

[•REC]

Sitting at the head of a table covered in dust and surrounded by empty chairs, Tommy Knox looks over the remnants of a brotherhood. Debris covers the wooden floor. Filth clings to the walls creating a layered film protecting the imperfections beneath it. Tiny beams of light break through the tattered curtains concealing the confines from the outside world.

What was once ceremonial and symbolic to the pact made between allies, has now decayed into nothing more than a distant memory. Where bonds were forged within these walls, death sentences were written upon a majority vote.

In front of him, his laptop rests upon the oak and grunge. Beside it, a pack of cigarettes sit. Reaching forward, he rests his elbow upon the table as his finger moves along the mouse pad. Slightly moving his hand forward, his index finger then extends, pressing the enter button underneath. He then leans back in the chair, placing both hands onto the arm rests.

"Over the last few years, I've been labeled a tag-team wrestler, bein' forgotten when singles competition comes to mind. This was a choice I made, the route I decided to take while doin' the one-off appearance tour that I've become known for. It's not that I need someone in my corner at all times. I just prefer to fight side by side with the few who have earned my trust throughout the years.

When lookin' back over it all, the time spent outside of full active competition, there are two people who come to mind when I've been booked for a tag-team match. With one, there was nothing accomplished other than bein' a filler for the bigger picture. With the other, there was gold and a dominance presented to all those who stood across from us. Needless to say, the ties have been severed with one, given recent events and a feelin' of self righteousness that consumed him."

Reaching forward, he grabs the pack of cigarettes that sit beside the laptop. Flipping the top open, he slowly removes a hand rolled delight. He then leans back, getting comfortable in the chair before looking back into the camera of the laptop.

"In just two days, a little over forty-eight hours, I break the cycle and step into the ring with no partner in my corner. The comfort of havin' someone you trust watchin' your back, as you them, is lost and nowhere to be found in this particular match booked at Screamfest."

Placing the joint between his lips, his eyes shift in it's direction just in front of his nose. Pulling his hand away, his eyes then slowly rise, looking back into the camera.

"For this night in particular, I wouldn't want it any other way."

He says as he raises a lighter towards the end of the joint. Flicking his thumb, a flame then ignites as he takes a slow pull, engulfing the tip until a glowing ember is formed.

"Well... there could be one, but we'll see how things shake out."

Exhaling, the smoke travels through his nostrils before rising above the table and slowly dissipating.

"I first started in this business as a singles wrestler. The majority of my career has been centered around solo acts. For over ten years, I've been playin' this game on a professional level. Ten years, I've given every ounce of fight in me to this business. There have been hiccups along the way, I won't sit here and lie. No one is perfect, but it's how we move on from our defeats and low points that define us as a person."

Taking another drag from the spliff, he leans his head back, placing it upon the top of the chairs backrest. Slowly exhaling, a cloud forms above his head, lingering in their air.

"Since twenty-thirteen I haven't had a home, a steady paycheck from this business. Bouncin' around from place to place, show to show, it's as if I've become a side act. There comes a point in every man's life when they have to prove something to themselves. That time has risen once again for yours truly."

Leaning forward, he places his elbow onto his knees, looking down at his hands as he rolls the joint back and forth between his fingers. Looking upward, his eyes fixate on the camera.

"That's why I'm here. RSW has presented me with the opportunity to prove to myself that this old dog can still fight.

It's a long haul from Long Beach to San Francisco, a lot of road to be traveled. With thirteen other people booked in this free-for-all ladder match, this long haul up the coastline gives ample time to decipher a strategy goin' into this war zone.

That's exactly what this is.

I've done a lot over the course of my career. I've traveled the globe and seen a lot of places. Lookin' at the others placed in this match, it's become apparent that lack of experience inside of those ropes is a common ground for the majority. Although, there are a couple thrown into this recipe for chaos that have experience. Some would even go as far as to say that they're legends.

There are too many people to sit down and address one by one without goin' on and on. However, there is one thing that I would like to address.

Galveston, the shit stain of Texas, literally. Pay attention, bud. You know who you are.

When people look back on Galveston Island Wrestlin', they don't talk about the self written legacy you hold close and dear to your heart. I damn sure wouldn't label him as a savior by any means whatsoever, and the inhabitants would agree. The island of self made 'legends', frauds at best, turned into a joke around this time last year. And boy oh boy, did the shit hit the fan when the truth was revealed!

But hey, this is an entirely different playground where legacies can't be forged. Instead, we're all on the same playin' field with advantages and disadvantages alike.

The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it, because it's only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles, wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. At least that's what I read somewhere.

We'll see once we meet inside of those ropes. We all will.

Thirteen other people in this match, all with the same purpose of climbin' that ladder and grabbin' one of those briefcases. I'm no legend by any means, far from it. But I don't need to sit here and pretend to be one either. We'll leave that soap opera for the one's who need it for their self esteem."

Taking one last drag from the joint, he hotboxes it, rapidly burning the fiery cherry as smoke engulfs the picture. Pulling it away from his lips, his face then appears once more as he leans forward. Reaching for the keyboard, he then slams his finger down, abruptly bringing the live feed to an end.