Nothing Else Matters

“Harrison follows straight up with the pin for the three-count.”

Philip McDaniels paused; this wasn’t his first rodeo, he knew what was coming at this point.

Jackson Stevens took up from where McDaniels left off. “And then we have a quick ad break, before it’s Pyscho Berry time! The Barcelona crowd showed all the love for the new Alias Champion!”

McDaniels stared at Stevens in shock, he slowly turned to their other co-host; “Mister Monday Mornings” Mikey Bell. The confusion was mirrored in Mikey’s face as he looked back at Phil; it was as though Stevens was reading from a different script than the others.

“Uhh, Jackson?” Interrupted Bell.

His concentration broken by this, Stevens finally noticed the looks his co-hosts were giving him. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, knowing exactly why they’d been caught off guard. “Yeah?” he asked.

After another few seconds of awkward silence, Phil responded “You not got any thoughts on the O’Neill & Harrison match?”

“Yeah, sorry - decent match. Could’ve gone either way really I suppose. Good win for Harrison though, always good if you can get your hand raised in your first outing. So, as I was saying, RIA is out and she’s introducing the new stips for the Alias, or should I now call it, the Lockout Championship...”

Phil drifted off into his thoughts as Stevens’ laid out the details of how RIA will plan on defending her Championship. He allowed himself a smile; he thought he knew why Jackson hadn’t given one of his now legendary rants on the shortcomings of Seán O’Neill. It had caught him off-guard though, and clearly it had for Mikey too. He wondered how much of the comments section would be dedicated to discussing it, he decided he didn’t care if they lost a few viewers who maybe only watched for those rants. He was glad, he liked the Irishman, and defending him every few weeks had become very tiresome. Coming back to his surroundings he listened in as Jackson continued with the breakdown of the segment.

“Out comes Kerry Kuroyama! And boy does The Emerald Apex has something to say...”

****

Tuesday 7th July, 1998

Butlins Holiday Camp

Bognor Regis, West Sussex, England

Maybe I don't really wanna know

How your garden grows

'Cause I just wanna fly

Lately, did you ever feel the pain

In the morning rain

As it soaks you to the bone?

The unmistakable tone and characteristically over-enunciated Mancunian accent of Liam Gallagher blared out from the speakers. After arriving on the scene just a few years previously, Oasis had taken hold of the UK in a way not seen since The Beatles had, decades earlier. It was no surprise to find their singles being used as entrance themes by many wrestlers on the holiday camp circuit.

One look at Seán O’Neill was enough to confirm that the theme music playing hadn’t been his though. He sat on the bottom rope, his slim frame hunched forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands hung loosely. His long dark hair had fallen down over his face, but it wasn’t necessary to see it to know that disappointment was written in bold across it. His opponent stood on the middle ropes at the furthest turnbuckle from where O’Neill sat; his arms were raised in triumph as he took in the jeering of the audience in with relish.

Seán pulled himself to his feet and started undoing the tape around each wrist. As he stood, a smattering of applause broke out from the audience. He pushed his hair back, revealing an attempt at a goatee that only an eighteen year old could be proud of, it was sticky from a combination of sweat and quickly drying blood that’d run down from a gash below his right eye. He raised his hands in a gesture of thanks to acknowledge the applause from the seventy or so in attendance; his weak smile was almost apologetic.

He made his way out of the ring and headed up the short ramp, through the shabby curtain. He avoided making any eye contact with anyone.

“Good job kid, you’ll get him next time!”

He didn’t even look behind to see who’d spoken; he just wanted to get into the shower as soon as possible. From the corner of his eye, he spotted his girlfriend Erin. She was still dressed in her own ring-gear, she’d broken off from her conversation to look over at him, but she knew him well enough to know he’d want to be alone at the moment. He felt a jolt of anger as he saw she was looking at him with sympathy, or was it pity, in her eyes. He hated the feeling of disappointing her.

He stayed in the shower that evening for what felt like an eternity. He was angry about everything; he just couldn’t wrap his head around why he couldn’t get back to winning ways. He knew how good he was already, less than three years down the line from his debut in the sport. And it wasn’t just him, everyone talked about him as being a wrestling prodigy, the whole circuit knew ‘Jay’s kid’ was going to be something special. So why was he losing, again and again? It’d been weeks since he’d managed to pull out a victory - that may not seem a long time to most people, but when you were wrestling every evening and twice on weekends, he felt like a lifetime had passed.

“The boss’ll dock yer pay if you use up all the hot water lad.” Came the call from Jimmy Connors, one of the veteran journeymen wrestlers that made up the majority of the circuit, as he left O’Neill alone as the last man left in the showers.

“Fuck him”

Connors shook his head at the reply and departed. They all knew by this stage, there was no talking to Seán when he was like this. Another ten minutes passed, and O’Neill appeared oblivious as the once hot water had been replaced by luke-warm at best, but still he stood there with only his temper for company.

He hadn’t heard the door open; the first he knew she was there was when she spoke in that soft Scottish accent that drove him crazy at times.

“I’ll never get sick of looking at that arse! Room for a little one in that shower?”

He didn’t even turn around, “Not now Erin, I’m really not in the mood.”

“Well we both know I can change that right n’ quick.”

This time he did turn, “I said no! I’ll see you later.” Finally noticing the water had cooled, he turned the shower off and grabbed his towel. No point in trying to hide his modesty, she’d seen it all before, he started drying his hair as he walked out of the showers towards the lockers.

She couldn’t resist, so she playfully slapped his ass as he passed by. It didn’t have the desired effect though.

“You should go, I’m sure it won’t be long before the next lot are due back for their showers, and I doubt they’ll be too happy if you’re in here.”

No reply came, so he turned to glare at her. She was frowning as he looked at him, her head tilted slightly, and there it was again – the look of pity in those big brown eyes he’d got lost in a thousand times over the last two years.

“Seán...”

“Don’t...”

“Come on! It’s fucking Butlins babe, what ten families n’ their bairns out there. It doesn’t matter; you’ll no even remember this time t’morra. It’s only wrestlin’ babe it’s no the end o’ the world!”

She regretted the words before she’d even finished speaking them; she knew this was absolutely the worst thing she could’ve said to him. She scrambled to try and think of something else to say to hurry past it, but his temper was quicker. His face was red as he yelled at her.

“Only fucking wrestling Erin? The fuck is the point of all of this if not for fucking wrestling? That’s why we’re here in this fucking shithole to begin with, it’s the reason we even fucking met in the first place. These events are meant to be where we put the building blocks of our careers in place, and I’m fucking losing every fucking night to fucking nobodies! I’m better than this, I’m better than them!”

“Alright! Alright! I’m sorry, you know what I meant. It’s no like your losing in front of the whole world is it? This is where your meant’a make mistakes, where ya learn from them, that’s the buildin’ blocks you’re talkin’ about. Winnin’ n losin’ here doesnay matter Seán.”

She was right, of course, but if anything, that worsened his mood. He knew he was over-reacting, he knew she was trying to cheer him up; he knew she loved him, and that made it worse. He felt as though he was trapped inside his own body, watching on in horror, as the version of him in control pushed forward with a spiteful barrage that was going to ruin everything.

In that split second, he took in all of her. From the loose curls of her long dark hair, the way her forehead crinkled when she was annoyed with him, those amazing eyes, the body sculpted on Olympus itself. The way she spoke, her cute nerdiness, her good-hearted playful nature, all of it. If he was to sketch everything he wanted in a partner he’d end up drawing her - And she loved him.

They were only kids, neither had yet reached their nineteenth birthday – People search their whole lives for someone like her, and he was going to throw all of that away over absolutely nothing. He wanted to stop this, to apologise, to try and make it up to her. Instead he screamed at her.

“Of course it fucking matters, to be the best you have to improve every day, not go backwards, not lose to old fucking men who wasted their chances. Don’t you see? If you don’t push yourself to be better every day then that’s what lies ahead. I won’t be some old has-been, working fucking holiday camps and wondering what might have been if I’d just put the work in. So of course it fucking matters - Nothing. Matters. More!”

“Nothing matters more?” Her eyes were filling with tears now as she asked the question. That wasn’t what he’d meant, or was it? This was far from the first time he’d made her feel like this recently. Why couldn’t he see how hard she’d been fighting for them?

“Nothing! Surely you want this too? You’ve put the hours in; you’ve been training longer than I have. Are you just ready to let it all go to waste? We’ve got to push ourselves every moment of every day to be the very best. That’s how we escape these lives Erin, that’s how we get the stability, the security of making lives for ourselves, real lives!”

At least he’d stopped shouting, but the damage had been done. He looked at her pleadingly; surely she had to see the truth in what he was saying? When her response came, she shook with the anger every word was costing her.

“Life is wasted on you Seán O’Neill! You’re too fuckin’ busy worrying about the future that you let the present pass you by. When was the last time you just enjoyed the moment? You wanna escape these lives - Why? What difference would it make to you? What happened to that sweet boy I fell for? I don’t even know who you are any more. Say it again...”

He looked at her, confusion stinging his eyes, or were those tears.

“What?”

“Say it again! Tell me again that nothin’ matters more to you?”

He tried to answer, but words failed him utterly. The longer he struggled to find what he needed to say, the harder they both cried. After what felt like an eternity, he accepted he’d been defeated... again, and bowed his head.

Erin tried to fight back her own tears long enough to slap him, but she stopped short and dropped her hand. She suddenly looked calm, only betrayed by the tears still falling from her cheeks.

“Well, that says everything then doesn’t it. I hope you get everything you’re looking for Seán.”

With that, she turned and ran from the dressing room; the last he heard was her sobbing again. Seán watched her run out of his life, inside he screamed to chase after her, get her back, fix this, do something, anything! Instead, he sat down and staring blankly into the distance, he started to dry himself with his towel.

****

Eurostars Suites Mirasierra hotel

Madrid, Spain

Hindsight has a terrible clarity to it. He lowered his head and increased the intensity of the treadmill’s incline function, forcing him to push harder and harder. He’d been thinking about a night, almost thirty years ago, when he’d made one of the most important decisions of his life.

He’d chosen to dedicate every part of himself to being the best professional wrestler he could possibly be, regardless of the cost. Regardless of any cost.

How do you make peace with realising a horrible mistake, when it happened so many years before? How do you make peace with a decision that set your entire life down the wrong path? How do you make peace knowing you threw it all away?

He ran harder, faster as the tears started to sting his eyes. Within a few seconds his vision was completely obscured, but he pushed harder, faster still.

It wasn’t enough; he slowed the treadmill to a halt and turned his attention to the punch-bag in the corner. He pulled on a pair of boxing gloves nearby and without wasting a moment he let all the anger, all the pain flow into his hands. As he took it all out on the poor innocent bag, he screamed in frustration. He put every ounce of energy he had into each punch as he fired them off relentlessly.

A few moments later, he found himself on his knees, sweat and tears indistinguishable now. He thanked the heavens the hotel’s fitness suite was a small one, rarely used, no-one should see him like this.

He’d woken that morning to a message from Ally, a Scottish lad who’d been part of the same group of young trainees with Seán, Logan, and Erin in the late nineties. Ally still worked little shows from time to time, ‘keeping his oar in’ he called it. It turned out, he’d kept in touch with Erin throughout the years, Seán never knew that – he had never seen her again after she walked out of the dressing room that night.

“I know it was a long time ago mate, but I thought you should know. Erin passed away last week.”

The message had a link attached, Seán opened it in a daze. It was a website for a newspaper based in Ayrshire, the headline read ‘Popular local primary school teacher loses battle with cancer.’

It was the picture that broke him; it had been taken a few years earlier. Erin had been surrounded by young children, at a school sports day event; everyone was clearly having a great time. She could’ve easily passed for a girl still in her twenties; she looked even more beautiful than she had when they’d parted. It took him several attempts to read the article; he kept looking back up at the photograph.

So, she’d become a teacher, he’d always wondered what she’d done. The night he pushed her away had been her last as a wrestler, he didn’t know what career she’d made for herself afterwards. The article went on to mention she was survived by her husband and their young daughter. His heart broke for them; he knew that his hurt was nothing in comparison to what they would be going through.

****

Wednesday 8th July, 1998

M3 Motorway (Northbound)

Passing Basingstoke, Hampshire, England

“And you just let her go?”

Logan stared at Seán in disbelief from the passenger seat. O’Neill kept his eyes on the road; he took a moment before he answered.

“It was for the best mate, we were just going in different directions.”

“Bollocks bro, absolute Bollocks! Where has she gone?”

“I don’t know, she’d gone by the time I finished getting changed. Lisa wouldn’t say where she went.”

Logan was still shaking his head and looking at his friend like he was a complete stranger.

“You can’t just throw it away mate, you think girls like her grow on trees or something?”

“IT’S DONE. LEAVE IT.” O’Neill snapped in retort, his voice cracked as he continued. “She’s gone Logan; I said things I shouldn’t have said, and not for the first time. She deserves better than I can give her.”

“Don’t you think you should’ve let her decide that? Seán, I love you, you are my brother, and you know that. But brother, when you get inside your own head, you always jump to the worst case scenario. You need to learn to identify if what you’re feeling is irrational. It doesn’t always have to be you against the world. You can still make things right.”

“I did make things right... I let her go.”

****

Tuesday 3rd June, 2024

Eurostars Suites Mirasierra hotel

Madrid, Spain

He picked himself up off the ground and made his way over to his kit bag, he removed a towel and cleaned up his face. Several long deep breaths were needed to compose himself. The hotel had a lovely exterior swimming pool. He made up his mind to go and spend some time in the water, he always felt relaxed in a pool.

A few minutes later he climbed into the cool water and lay back looking up at the heavens. Just shy of twenty six years had passed since that night. The night he decided to put wrestling above anything else in his life.

He’d been so sure then that he was making the right decision. He was going to be a star, one day people would talk about him the way they talked about Jay. If that meant he left no time for anything else in life, then so be it.

Twenty six years.

He could say the injuries had played their part in his unfulfilled potential, but he knew that was just an excuse. Injuries were just part of the job, nobody got through this crazy lifestyle without getting beaten to shit.

He knew now, with absolute certainty, that letting her go had been the biggest of the countless mistakes he’d made. He’d done this to himself, there was no point in thinking about the life that could’ve been. His all-knowing eighteen year old self had made the decision, and he’d paid the price of it ever since. Everyone around him had tried so desperately to tell him what a mistake he was making, but what did they know? He’d been such a fucking idiot.

He thought about his upcoming match, Bembe Brightwell, another newcomer. He couldn’t help feeling he’d already become the ‘welcome mat’ for PRIME.

For a brief seconds, he let himself think that he ‘owed it to Erin’ to win the match. He quickly realised he was just repeating the same mistake he’d made whilst trying to come to terms with losing Jay. He didn’t owe anything to anyone. He didn’t need to try and justify that decision, what was done was done. No, he only owed it to himself, because he knew he couldn’t keep going on as things had been.

A week ago, he’d given a very honest interview, talked about his struggles with his mental health. But there was one thing sticking in his craw. He’d practically justified it being ok to lose, because the levels of competition in PRIME were so high.

That bit was true; the calibre of talent is unmatched. But that doesn’t mean its ok for him to keep on losing, how could he have even said those words? He’d lost again against Harrison, he’d been lucky to avoid a concussion in fact, that suplex was no joke.

But he’d upped his cardio training as soon as he’d heard about the match with Bembe. He was always concerned with faster opponents; they can be so much harder to keep grounded. He’d need his reflexes at their sharpest if he was to find an opportunity to make the opponent pay the price for the risks that come with the lucha style.

He felt like life had been a case of ‘one step forward, two steps’ back for far too long now. He needed to reverse that trend in the worst way. And it needed to start with Bembe Brightwell.