If You Don't Know Me By Now

“I’ve read your story, Cecilworth. An obscenely wealthy boy who became obsessed with this carnival barker profession we find ourselves in. You spent ages watching us roll and mire in the muck thinking that you could condescend upon the rest of us.”  - The Reverend Father Don Winters, Definitely.

Now you may be wondering how our ears and eyes could hear such a quotation, one that oozes with a mixture of certitude, confidence and contempt in a murky soup of condescension, which is ironic. Well, the answer for that is simple: we are in a room. Not an empty room, that wouldn’t let us hear the voice from the light, no we appear to be in some form of television studio. In the corner of the room, there’s a small CRT screen playing a hissing version of the interaction between Cecilworth Farthington and Don Winters at the last ReVival show. The old screen emits a warm hum, but appears to only play the same quote from Winters over and over again in a maddening loop.

As the camera zooms away from the screen, we get to see the rest of the studio, it is adorned with the curiosities of wrestling history past. A shrub of the Farthington Manor hedge maze, the couch that once belonged to Melvin Beauregard, which had unspeakable acts done upon it. A selection of tasteful War Games team scarves. The list goes on, I mean it really goes on. I have no idea how you even get the massive joint that Johnny and Nova rode down upon in a massive television studio, but it’s there.

The camera continues to pan around, until it stops its focus on a sturdy large oak desk, two candelabras, rich with dripping wax, sitting on either side of the behemoth of a table. The desk has a few other souvenirs scattered around, a fountain pen that appears to be stabbing a skull in the hole where an eye should be, another skull bites down on a piece of rope.

It’s a scene that provokes questions.

It’s a scene that invites a sense of… mystery.

Oh, what’s that? Is that music I hear?

"Whenever there’s a crime or trouble

That no one can solve at all it seems

He’s always right there on the double

The Cecilworth Farthington Mysteries"

Ah, the hasty redub on a cartoon involving a talking cat and bird solving murders or whatever it was they did. Something about a dracula? Well, in this case, the song can only mean one thing, the newest Ace Network exclusive, finally out of years of rights hell.

Cecilworth Farthington: Folks, they said it couldn’t be done. They said it shouldn’t be done! Yet, here we are in the Farthington Investigation Studios once more, and tonight, we’re in for a very special treat. Thanks to Donovan Winters, blessings upon him, The Cecilworth Farthington Mysteries are going to tackle our greatest challenge yet…

Cecilworth pulls on a cord that is hovering just above the skull laden table on which our host now sits about in a very casual and relaxed manner, if I do say so myself. As the cord gets tugged down upon, we see the reveal of a screen with a charming photo of our very protagonist pasted upon it. Cecilworth looks back at the picture of himself and smiles what many doctors would brand as a “concerning” smile.

Cecilworth Farthington: Yes folks, on this Ace Network exclusive edition of the Cecilworth Farthington Mysteries, we shall be investigating Cecilworth Farthington, in an episode I fancy calling “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”.

The screen suddenly smash cuts to a montage of Cecilworth’s career in PRIME to date, highlighting a variety of chokes and arm snaps that he has inflicted upon many of the rosters finest athletes - your Youngbloods, your Avalons, your Sad Big Ass Man, you know the sort. As we see the manic glee in the pain inflicted upon his opponents that Cecilworth takes, it is juxtaposed with the much more mellow tones of the song “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” by that guy with the red hair. Oh, that’s why they called it Simply Red. Because of hair.

The opening package slowly fades out on the scene of the Winters and Farthington standing face to face across The Father’s merch table, and the reverberation of the words “I’ve read your story.” As the package fades, we return to the studio, where ace presenter of the Ace Network, Cecilworth Farthington now sits at his desk, behind the candelabras. He looks over at the CRT, which is now playing the end of the opening package, he nods and smiles.

Cecilworth Farthington: You’ve read my story? Have you Don? Have you really? See, I don’t think you have. I think you’ve got lazy, this idea of being an unbeatable Five Star Champion is already ordained in your addled brain, am I right my friend?

Cecilworth unfreezes the quote once more “you spent ages watching us in the muck”. Unusual for the typically unflappable Farthington, a sneer begins to crawl up the left side of his luscious lips.

Cecilworth Farthington: I’m actually getting a bit tired of the cliche, that’s why I put this special together, because hey, what else is going to air on the Ace Network at 2am on a Tuesday? I want to spend tonight making a few things clear about me, and therefore about us, Don.

Cecilworth glances over to the skull currently surviving pen based injuries, a skull that reminds Cecilworth of the past, of the pit he once had to climb out of, a pit full of the same comments fired in his direction that the dear Father continued to perpetuate.

Cecilworth Farthington: It’s the oddest thing, never quite understood it because I’ve been open about my life, and yet tots of people say they know me, they say they know my story. They look at the surface, they look at the aloof goof with a ton of technical talent and assume that I was given everything I wanted in life. It’s the equivalent of thinking that “To Kill a Mockingbird” is a nice novel about the trees of America based on the cover. All of my career I’ve had to hear people talk about me and they always have the audacity to believe that I have never known want, that I have never had to struggle to survive, uncertain where my next meal may come from. I mean, I should be honoured, they think my wrestling talents are so natural that they must be god given, but hey, as a man of faith, if they were god given, should that be of concern to you, Father Winters?

Cecilworth begins to pull himself out of his chair and begins to walk to a new area of the studio he has kindly been provided.

Cecilworth Farthington: I think it’s time for me to confront some of my past, and hey, maybe you can learn along the way, Don, maybe you can learn about what you will actually be facing to break the record. I have a theory, see, you let me know how far you've fallen, but was that not through choice, oh Father? Bit of a classic juxtaposition we'll find ourselves in next week. Me? I’m a victim of circumstance. Fate has brought my suffering. Don’t believe me? Well, let’s go to story one for tonight’s show, shall we?

With the opening monologue complete, we fade to black for a few seconds, until a title screen on a jaunty white font pops up informing us that we are about to view “The Child of Farthington Manor.”

Our heroic narrator and host steps back into frame, a set of a child’s bedroom to his back, currently shrouded in darkness.

Cecilworth Farthington: No matter how much I talk about my childhood, this idea that I was a silver spooned fool, with every need taken care of, just because I had the unfortunate pleasure of being the one seed of Lord Farthington's to swim right into Lady Farthington. As if by the virtue of slipping and sliding out into the world, I would never need to fight for anything for the rest of my days. Well, I guess we should put that to the test. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Farthington Manor, some point in 1993.

Farthington walks off shot as the lights go up on the set of the bedroom. As we get our first glimpse of the creation of Cecilworth’s childhood bedroom, we see a small child cowering behind a rocking chair in the corner of the room, a small teddy bear in a bowtie has been placed in front of the chair, perhaps in the attempts to give the boy a sense of safety and protection. As the excellent child actor shakes and shudders behind the chair, we hear the sniffling of a snottery nose and the pitter patter of tears falling gently to the floor in the silence of the night time scene we find ourselves in.

The reason for the setting becomes very apparent as a booming voice is heard but not yet seen.

BOOMING VOICE: WHERE IS THAT LITTLE SHIT?

A man walks into the bedroom, adorned in a waistcoat and a loose tie, he looks to be easily in his 40s, salt and pepper hair without a single strand out of his place. He’s red faced and irate as he storms in, a large tumble of whiskey sits in his palm, spluttering out the glass as he staggers into the room. It’s immediately clear through his imposing figure that this man must be Lord Farthington.

Lord Farthington: Another dinner ruined by your inane babbling, you idiotic child. I’ve had enough of your talk of lariats from the Americas and the falling suplays, that is not the kind of conversation you have in polite company, it’s certainly not the kind of conversation that the sole heir to the Farthington name should be indulging in, even at a young age. HOW COULD YOU BE SO UNGRATEFUL TO ME? HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?

Lord Farthington continues to sway around the room, his head swiveling around, seeking his own son. He looks down and sees Teddyworth Farthingbear and it’s not long after he hears the sniffling of young Cecilworth. He hoists the rocking chair out of the way and stands over his own child, his hand outstretched…

Thankfully we’re saved seeing what would happen next in this scenario, as the lights once again dim and Cecilworth walks back into a central position.

Cecilworth Farthington: Fuck me, even with actors, that’s hard to relive. I thought I’d be okay with using it to prove a point but… hoo… that’s, wow. My heart is doing some weird things right now.

Cecilworth looks back as the two actors leave the set, he puts particular focus on the small child, almost believing what he just created was real.

Cecilworth Farthington: Actors, Cecilworth, actors. Get it together, you’re making live television here.

Cecilworth looks down to the ground, takes in a big deep breath and claps his hands, centring himself as he does so.

Cecilworth Farthington: Wow, what a glorious life, am I right? For having a hobby, for having an interest as a seven year old child, I was… well… I was not taken good care of. That was the last night I was allowed to interact with any of my father’s friends, it’s the last time I got to eat in the Manor’s dining room. That day was when I basically became the Quasimodo of Farthington Manor, banished to my little room, my only company being a small, albeit adorable, teddy. I suffered for having the audacity to be passionate about something viewed down upon in the class I was supposed to be part of. Wrestling was gauche, for the poors, beneath the high end up British society and if I liked it, well I must be a broken monster of a child. To be hidden from others, to not bring the family more shame.

The show is brought to darkness once more, as a second title card pops up on the screen, this little ditty entitled “The Backyard Banishment”.

The lights go back-up on the show, this time the set piece appears to be grass-laden, a facade of Farthington Manor is painted on the background. Atop the grass sits a makeshift wrestling ring, constructed mostly of cardboard and dreams. An older child, maybe around the age of 16 years old stands in the middle of the ring, the whole thing has collapsed around him. The washing lines he had used as ropes have long since fallen to the ground, the bits of PVC pipes in the corner are askew at different angles.

The child looks around the scene of mild carnage in front of him and looks absolutely stunned. He looks down on the grass just outside of the cardboard circle, another child is clutching his arm, screaming out in pain. Not sure what to do, the child in the ring looks around, hoping something, anything will be there to help him out in this rather unfortunate situation. That’s when he hears something he definitely didn’t want to hear.

CLICK

The combination of the loud click and the flash of a light, it doesn’t take the child much to work out what has just happened. He looks off to the distance and sees a man clutching a camera dashing away. His friend continues to cry out in agony as this young man collapses to the ground under the weight of the situation, likely a panic attack taking hold of him. As he curls up into a ball, rocking back and forth, the lights dim once more and Cecilworth walks back into view.

Cecilworth Farthington: Kids make mistakes, right? Their understanding of risk and reward is very different from adults, their brains basically put them in the position to try things outside of their comfort zones. It’s curious behaviour but backed by science, you can look it up in your nearest medical journal! So, a teenage kid acts like a teenage kid… that’s not the worst thing in the world, surely?

Cecilworth is once again engulfed in darkness as the camera quickly spins over to another set. The lights go up quickly on this one, as the same actor who had previously played Lord Farthington sits in a large leather recliner, his hair more gray this time, a little bit thinner, but still very much the same man with a face of thunder and an aura of menace. A large tumbler of whiskey is once again clutched in the more wrinkled hands of the Lord. In the background sit bookshelves full of many fancy leather bound books.

The man’s solitude study is interrupted by young master Cecilworth rushing into the room.

Lil Teen Cecil: DAD…. sorry… YOUR LORDSHIP… errr… well… me and Kenneth were playing in the back garden and, well… there… emm… there was an accident and then I think a man took a photo of it and…

If you predicted that the next thing to happen would be a tumbler of whiskey to be launched at a teenager’s head, well done, you win at the cost of a clean soul. Thankfully, Teen Cecilworth is nimble enough to dodge the weaponised whiskey and it crashes against some of the very fine books. Lord Farthington doesn’t seem to care much one way or another if he maimed his own child’s skull as he pulls himself off his recliner and staggers towards Cecilworth, leaning into, and over him, his index finger pointed straight into the chest.

Lord Farthington: You fucking idiot! You were wrestling in the garden again, weren’t you? The prick paparazzo who’s been following you around caught the whole thing I bet. Oh this is going to be all over the Sunday papers. Do you hate me? Why, why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you keep pulling the family name straight into the mud?

Cecilworth's head starts violently shaking, clearly not sure how to respond, very much still concerned by his friend still injured and screaming in the garden. There’s so many thoughts running through his head that although he tries to reply to his father, he just can’t, all that comes out when he opens his mouth is gulps and guttural noises.

Lord Farthington: This time you got caught, this time we can’t hide this. Your face will be the splash of the News of the World. No, I can’t have you ruining a lifetime of my work with your vulgar acts. I need to take action and I need to let the newspapers know how serious this situation is to me. Now…

Lord Farthington takes a step back from his son, barely able to look him in the eye.

Lord Farthington: Get the fuck out, I have some calls to make…

Cecilworth manages to pull himself together to muster the courage to respond, still very much in a panicked tone.

Lil Cecilworth: But what about Kenneth?

Another tumbler flies towards his skull, successfully evaded once more.

Lord Farthington: FUCK KENNETH!

This scene too falls to darkness, as a spinning mock up of the News of the World headline spins into view.

GOTCHA! Farthington Family Scandal

The screen quickly scrolls through the highlights of the article. It paints Cecilworth as a deranged child who clearly injured his best friend just because he could. Lord Farthington for his part comes across as a stern but concerned father who announces he is sending his son to the finest New York facility that can deal with a boy of his age who is so troubled. Following the image of the article is images of Lord Farthington shaking hands with the British political leaders of the day shortly after the incident.

Away from the past, we find ourselves back at home base, the skull laden desk and the mementos of wrestling past still present. Our narrator walks back into the scene and casually sits at the edge of the table, it’s clear viewing events of his own past have left him a bit unsettled as he rocks back and forth a little on the edge of the desk before he’s able to face the camera lens once more.

Cecilworth Farthington: I didn’t realise how much this special would hit me. When it’s the memories you’ve had in your head for years, you just sort of live with them. They become a part of you to the point they exist as nothing more than background noise. Yet, even though these people were actors, even though I scripted this, even though I planned everything that happened on tonight’s show… when you actually see it all again, you feel it. You feel everything that you had buried down, everything that you had tried to forget.

In perhaps a rare display of emotion from the former Five Star champion, Cecilworth uses his index finger to wipe away a few drops of the wet stuff from the ever increasing bags under his eyes.

Cecilworth Farthington: All my life, the world of wrestling has been who I am. It was what I lived and breathed, day in and day out. It was my only comfort in a world that viewed me as the fuck-up kid of a distinguished member of British society. At sixteen years old, I was kicked out of Farthington Manor and there was no “New York Facility for the Wayward Teen”, there was a plane ticket and five hundred dollars to my name. I worked every hour I could, every part-time opening I could find, just to afford the money to make it in the grapple mecca, America. No Lord Farthington pennies to support me, I lived in closets, on couches, in warehouses, whatever it took to learn this game. I have never been a tourist, I have never used this sport for means other than sporting competition, I certainly haven’t used it to defraud others of their hard earned cash.

Cecilworth stands upon from the desk and looks straight dead eyed down the lens.

Cecilworth Farthington: This show, Donovan, it’s all for you. It’s all to get you ready for what very well may be both the best and worst night of your career. The best because you may be part of the greatest wrestling match ever, the worst because at the end, it all gets stripped away. I want you to know the man who is taking your record. I want to know the man who is taking your pride. I want you to know the man who is taking away everything that gives you value and motivation in life. I’m Cecilworth Farthington, the once and future Five Star Champion.

Cecilworth, clearly more at ease than he was when he started the closing monologue gives the camera a cheeky wink.

Cecilworth Farthington: Nice to meet you.