David + Goliath

“David + Goliath”

EIGHT YEARS AGO 

MEYDENBAUER CENTER

Bellevue, Nebraska

Samantha saw the slap coming before Apollo did. Being his older sibling, she had learned the tells from her dad that Apollo still had, unfortunately, not been aware of yet. The tightened jaw, the shoulder movement, the hand moving away from the pocket… All of those motions were signals that she had learned written in blood and bruises.

She watched as her brother’s head turned to the side, blood already welling from a cut across his chin. Their father, Frank Douglas, the ‘Pride of Nebraska’, had been this way since Apollo was born. She had been four years old and still remembered his rage, the way he would come into the room wobbly, breath reeking of cheap corn whiskey, something that was too easy and too cheap to find out here in God’s country. 

‘Why did you make me hit you, son? You know I hate doing that.’ Frank, their father, spoke in a slurred speech that would’ve given away his inebriated state had Samantha not been able to suss it out before he had laid his hand on her brother.

Apollo pulled away, looking ashamed. He already moved to cover the right side of his face, his hand moving to his upper chin/bottom lip area. Samantha could see the blood beginning to trickle from the corner of his jaw, running along his jawline where his hand couldn’t contain the flow.

'Dad, what the fuck?' Samantha moved to pull Apollo back, pulling him back and shielding him at the same time.

This wasn’t a new move she had to pull from her arsenal. Instead, this was something that had been burned into her since they were young kids, shielding her younger brother from the violence of their father. For whatever Frank’s faults, it would always cause him to step away before striking his own daughter. Chivalry is a cold-hearted bitch.

‘Eh, to hell with both of ya’, I’ve got a match to get to.’

And with that, Frank turned and made his way down through the locker-rooms, behind the clustered together storage equipment, and out into the staging area to prepare to head to the ring when his music came on. Somehow, by the grace of God (or by some cruel trick, Samantha supposed), Frank was able to sway and wobble his way down the hallway without running into anything and make his way out to his position.

She turned Apollo to face her. His face was still bloodied, a ragged split running from the chin to the lip that would likely need stitches. ‘Apollo, are you alright? We need to get you to the EMS on hand.’

Apollo shook his head in defiance.

Samantha had always been proud of her brother, as he was truly the punching bag of the family. Yet, each time he took a blow he still held a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, like a man possessed on a determined outcome that he knew he could reach. Samantha likened it to what it must’ve been like to face Babe Ruth as a pitcher. It was impossible to think that you could keep Babe Ruth down. Sure, you could strike him out, get him to pop out, but sooner or later you know that, by the look in the eye and the grim determination there, Babe Ruth was eventually going to swing for the stands and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop him.

‘I want to watch the match.’ Apollo said, his speech sounded like he had blood and too much saliva built up.

‘That’s not a good idea right now…’ Samantha began to protest, but Apollo had already turned away. He began making the same trek down the hallway and towards the entrance way that his father had taken.

She saw it then: his future as a professional wrestler. Following, both literally and figuratively, in their father’s footsteps. She hated it with every bit of her being.

But, like Babe Ruth, eventually that ball was going to be knocked out of the fucking park and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Nothing, not the demons of their past or the uncertain future, was going to stand in Apollo's way.

—

When ya’ think about the biggest upsets in history, what do ya’ think about? ‘The Miracle on Ice’? How about Buster Douglas knocking Mike Tyson clean out? Do ya’ think about the three hundred Spartans that stood at the Hot Gates holding the retreat against the mighty Persian army? Or maybe the first thought that goes into ya’ head is that of the Biblical story of David and the mighty Goliath.

In the Midwest we all grew up on the stories of David and Goliath. From Sunday School to Wednesday night church services, to the stories passed around in the picture books in the early elementary grades; the stories of the mighty Goliath being felled by the unworthy, yet unrelenting, David. Just a stone and a sling. Just a man against a giant. Just the smallest of warriors standing against the thunderous champion of the Philistines. 

Thinking back to that wild event, what do ya’ think the Vegas bookies would’ve had the odds set at? Plus-one thousand for David to knock the big man to the ground? Minus-five hundred for Goliath to crush his skull? They would’ve done what they do best, they would’ve set the odds just enticing enough to make ya’ want to bet, but enough so that you most likely won’t win. Because that’s what they do: they create a scenario where it looks like the underdog might have a chance, giving you hope through those odds, no matter how small. But it turns out to be enough to separate a fool from his money. 

What do ya’ think the odds are for me? If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t bet on me.

Though, there’s something to the underdog, right? There’s something to be said about the fighting spirit of the man whose back is against the wall and he’s facing the world beating down at him. There’s something about the way the eponymous David lines up his sling to get ready to knock them dead.

And that’s where we stand now: the PRIME Wrestling world watches on as Apollo Douglas, the newest signee to PRIME, steps into the ring with a living meat statue. A man who has made his impact on this company already, posting his own theme music to the official PRIME website, going out of his way to make his presence known at Culture Shock. The man known as 'Prime Meat' Stronk. 

I guess the monkier really suits ya', Stronk. Ya' are a mountain of meat standing in PRIME Wrestling. Ya' are a man who has clambered up from the deep, some god-forsaken laboratory in the ground that creates genetic monstrosities like ya'self. And, of course, ya' are a former champion. But that doesn't mean anything here, does it Stronk? Ya' past accolades are nothing more than just a shiny footnote on a resume. We all have accolades, Stronk. Sure, I've never had a titled strapped around my waist. Sure, I've never stood at the top of the mountain of one of the most respected companies in the world. But that doesn't matter now, does it? If it did, ya' wouldn't be here, ya' wouldn't be in the greatest wrestling company in the world: PRIME Wrestling. Instead, ya' would still be back in whatever dungeon HOW kept you in, housing ya' like some contained beast to be unleashed on their roster. 

Instead, ya', not me, had the unfortunate pleasure of drawing the little engine that could in the first round of your World Title run. 

I may be smaller than ya', Stronk. But I've done things that no one else on this roster have done, I've lived through some of the worst times that anyone could image. I've sat and stared into the gates of hell with their fires burning my eyes and I still pulled myself away and landed here, in France, ready to step into the ring with the man who has claimed to pull himself from the ocean deep. A place where the sunlight can't touch. Well, unfortunately for ya', Stronk, the light of Apollo touches everything on this earth and it doesn't discriminate based on ya' size or ya' self-import.

Nah. Apollo's light stands in the face of darkness.

And overcomes.  —

MAY 2nd

ACCOR ARENA

Paris, France

Yet, here he stood, a testament to the will that Apollo had always held as his highest character trait. He had endured so much to get to this point, from a downtrodden home to the hard days of working, to trying to become his own person… His life had never been easy, and as he stood at the doorway to the locker-room, a locker-room in which he would change into his wrestling attire and walk down the entrance way like a man walking The Green Mile, he felt all of those moments coalesce into this single second. 

He took it all in.

Apollo removed his phone from his pocket and pointed it at the PRIME Locker-room sign and FaceTime called the only person in his life that had been there for him every step of the way: his sister Samantha. The call buzzed before Samantha picked up the call, obviously having been waiting for a phone call from her younger brother. She looked as she always did: like someone haunted by the sins of the past and of the present, like someone who had fought life tooth and nail and barely survived each encounter.

She smiled.

'You look like shit.' 

He laughed.

'That’s not what I was calling for. I wanted ya’ to see this…' Apollo tapped the button to rotate the camera to the rear-facing camera, pointing at the PRIME Wrestling signage. 'Can you fucking believe it?'

He could hear Samantha’s breath catch for a second, something that not many people would get to hear from her. Samantha had always had the rough outer exterior, but Apollo could read her. They had been bound in trauma and forged in fury together. Those small quirks were things they had learned to read from each other. Apollo turned the camera back to front-facing and smiled. He could see the pride on his sister’s face, but also the anguish, torment from their past writ large upon her features. 

'Well… I guess this is it, then? You’re really doing it.' She smirked, a sad thing that told of who she was. Just like Apollo, she still bore damage markers from their youth, when they were tormented to someone larger than life that they felt was their own personal Goliath to overcome. Hers: a broken front tooth that had never been corrected. His: a scar running along his chin up to his lip.

'I guess so. Did ya’ see the line-up?' Apollo knew the answer without having to ask, but it felt appropriate.

'Of course. First, what the hell is happening in that company that the first person you’re facing off against is some short ball of muscled meat? Second, he’s a former HOW Champion?! I can’t believe it. I thought maybe they would start you off with some sort of local talent, get your feet wet…'

'Nah, not here. Honestly Stronk is just another in a long line of beasts in this company. Sure, he’s big and looks like the Staypuff Marshallow Man ate a Barry Bonds’ worth of anabolics, but he is what he is: and that’s the next person in line to prove themselves in PRIME.'

'Yeah, but he’s a former HOW Champion…'

'Sure, but this is PRIME. Here he’s just another big dude that has to earn his shot. And if ya’ know me, ya’ know that I’m going to fight like hell to make sure he truly does earn it. I’ve faced scarier times in my life, ya’ know that. This muscled meat freak is another roadblock that I have to get passed… Another Goliath for David to slay.'