Indescribable Pain

“It’s lonely at the top…” - Randy Newman

It’s funny, I’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable ass steel chair, watching each one of my teammates getting changed. No words are spoken amongst us, no pats on the back, no “we’ll get ‘em next time.” Simply seven individuals in a room, yet I feel like I’m all alone.

I keep thinking of that phrase, “It’s lonely at the top,” and I can’t help but feel the phrase is incomplete. It should finish with, “It’s even lonelier at the bottom.”

One moment we’re all enjoying a pleasure cruise across the seas, with lots of bondage and fun, only to then turn to annoyed side eyes and an overwhelming sense of silence. I keep thinking of ways I could break the oppressive silence but any time I begin to open my mouth my eyes happen to meet one of the others and I rethink it.

It doesn’t take long before they begin to trickle out the door, one after another, the faux Bandits take their leave until it’s just the original four, Cancer Jiles, Tony Gamble, Coral Avalon, and myself.

“Well, boys, at least we weren’t the first team to get eliminated, yeah?” What can I say, I’m a glass half full kind of guy. Oh and I also hate uncomfortable silence, the last thing I want to do is be trapped in a room with just the thoughts running through my head as my only company. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to see the thoughts in my head!

The locker door slams shut causing me to jump in my seat, as Cancer Jiles suddenly spins in my direction, pointing a menacing finger at me. His hand shakes as if he’s struggling to reign in his boiling anger. He opens his mouth, but then closes it without a word as I watch his jaw clench with tension. Without saying a thing Cancer turns and walks towards the door.

“Too soon, Bobbo, too soon,” Coral admonishes with a look of defeat still on his face.

After it’s all said and done I’m the only Bandit remaining, left in a room that was once full of joyous banter, camaraderie, and hope.

It’s definitely lonelier at the bottom.

—--------------------

The flight home seemed to take longer than the boat ride, but I guess when you’re a heavier set guy riding in the middle seat back in coach you’re basically in hell, and there isn’t a single silver lining to think of.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end, and so my daughter Annabelle and I find ourselves driving along the road, making the trek from the airport back to the house. My daughter singing along to some song by Sir Chloe, making me regret agreeing to her request of controlling the tunes.

A lingering thought has been driving me insane for the past few weeks, like a loose thread on a pair of blue jeans. I keep wanting to tug on the thread and rip it free but I’m afraid if I pull it those jeans will turn into a pair of daisy dukes.

I was never one known for my impulse control…

“Why are you having LT and Uncle CJ train you?” I finally blurt out, causing the car to go eerily quiet.

Dang there’s been a lot of silence lately. I’m noticing a trend…

“What?” my daughter asks, but not in the way that would lend me to believe she didn’t hear me, but rather in the way that she’s buying herself time to rapidly think of a way out.

“Why are you having LT and Cancer train you?” I reiterate, further elaborating with, “why not ask me?:”

“Uhm…” she stalls, knuckles tightening on the wheel, her eyes darting all around the car but refusing to meet mine. “Uhm, what?”

…

I simply sit and stare, waiting for her to answer. She fidgets uncomfortably in her seat, adjusting the rear view mirror as if it’s misaligned, running her hands back and forth along the steering wheel. Nothing is said as yet another Sir Chloe song plays from her Spotify list of favorites. I continue to wait.

“Come on Dad,” she pleads with me, still refusing to meet my eye. “Don’t make me say it, please.”

“Say what?” I ask, honestly confused as to what she could be so afraid to say.

“You’re an embarrassment,” she finally admits softly, a single tear dripping down her cheek.

“Oh.” I finally say, my body slumping in my seat. “I gotcha.”

Suddenly the car starts to turn into a parking lot for a Texas Roadhouse steakhouse. Don’t be impressed, it’s the McDonald’s of steak houses here in Texas. My daughter haphazardly pulls into a parking lot, crooked as all get out, but putting the car in park nonetheless, before shifting her body to face me head on, giving me her undivided attention.

“You’re the first to admit how you don’t take anything serious, I mean, look at this,” she says while grabbing her phone and scrolling through. It only takes her a moment before she turns her phone around and shows me an “Introduction Questionnaire” that I had posted in the PRIME Discord. “Look, you’ve filled this out when it wasn’t even meant for you. You fill it out with nothing substantial, just joke answers and nonsense that does nothing but make people shake their heads in disbelief. You carry yourself with an attitude that you don't have a care in the world, and I don't want that for myself. I don’t want to be a joke, Dad.”

I don’t say anything, I simply nod my head, dejected.

“I want to do well in this business, I want people to take me seriously, and not take one look at me and just think, “Oh there’s Bobby Dean’s kid.”” She says with passion in her voice, pleading with me to understand her point of view. “I want to be a champion one day like Uncle CJ, I want the next generation of wrestlers coming up in the business to come to me asking me to train them the same way I went to Lindsay Troy, begging her to train me. I want the accolades, I want the kids lining up and around the block waiting for my autograph. I don't want free buckets of chicken, or someone to give me an egg timer when I walk into a Chinese buffet.”

“But Cancer?” I can’t help but ask in disbelief.

Annabelle smiles, “Come on Dad, Cancer Jiles has been the front runner of the Bandits since its inception. Hell, just look at what all he’s accomplished in his current run in PRIME! He is the true Eggsecutioner, he just likes to call you that to help motivate you, like a true leader would.”

“I get it.” I answer simply. “I do, I really do understand, Belle. Lindsay Troy, and Cancer will both be excellent teachers for you, and they can definitely teach you in a way I never could. I mean, they are winners afterall, why wouldn’t you want someone as successful as them to teach you their ways?”

“You say you understand, but why then do I feel like I’ve completely crushed your spirit?” Annabelle asks, as more tears fall down her cheeks.

“Naaaaaaah,” I offer meekly, blowing off her concern as my stomach churns with a sudden indescribable pain.

The silence between us in that small confined car grows to become unbearable as the turmoil in my mind is running amok and my daughter’s leaky eyes begin to dry.

“Hey, since we’re here, why don’t we go inside and eat?” she asks, motioning towards the restaurant. “You can try the Big Texan 72 ounce steak again and see if you can’t get another free dinner out of it!”

I nod my head while opening the door and struggling to climb out wordlessly. My daughter follows along with a look of fear in her eyes, as if she just had her puppy put down.

That night I ordered a 72 ounce steak and left with a 70 ounce to go bag. I guess I’m coming down with a stomach bug, because my impressively vast appetite has simply disappeared on me.

—----------------------------

Match relevance you say, sure why not?

I have a confession to make. Someone literally had to remind me that you were in War Games, like seriously. I don’t remember you even being in the match! Then when Doozer enlightened me, I remembered, you were the gnat that I squashed.

But I guess when the gnat is friends with a murder hornet named Farthington the gnat ends up with a little more oomph behind them. That’s probably my only mistake in life, I don’t befriend murder hornets, I befriend a couple of woodlouses.

Regardless of War Games, you had a good point Anna Daniels. I *did* surprise myself with the Streak. I certainly wasn’t expecting it! And it did start to feel good after I won, and then won again, and hell, even drawing with Fred Dick still left me feeling great because I didn’t lose.

So yes, I began to hope. I walked around with my chest puffed out and my head held high, for the first time in a long time I had a confidence in myself that I don’t think I’ve ever had before. Hope is a more powerful drug than anything you can imagine, including caffeine. It makes you feel like Superman. Like you are invincible.

And then reality crashed the party and you start to realize, hope, like a drug, is fleeting.

Anna, you were wrong about one thing, there is no spark. Win, lose or draw, I don’t really give a fuck anymore. Why should I? I’m just an embarrassment. To you, to my friends, to this company. Fuck it.

The only thought running through my head right now is this…

If I make you hurt, the way that I hurt right now, will that make me hurt less?

Does that make sense? Because I just want the pain to go away. Honestly, I’d do anything to not hurt anymore, and if hurting you will do that then I only have one thing left to say.

Sorry Anna, but I’m going to have to hurt you now.