Never Go To Sleep For A Third Time

Backstage at ReVival 72

Luc Labelle is high-tailing his way through the backstage area to a private locker room, one that he bribed an arena security guard for access to. He just helped Ivan Stanislav defeat Luc’s sworn enemy, Steve Lemieux, and Labelle figures that it’s best to get to safety as quickly as possible, fearing retaliation from Generation H. His brother Michel is by his side, having purchased a VIP backstage pass like the diehard PRIME fan he is. At this point, Luc is considering offering Michel an official position as his assistant just so that he doesn’t feel so goddamn awkward lugging him around all the time.

Michel: “Fuck yeah, man! Way to show that sandwich man who’s boss!”

Luc: “Lower your goddamn voice until we’re in the locker room!”

Michel obliges, and finally, they make their way into the locker room, and Luc locks the door. Immediately, he starts frantically taking his boots off, piling them into his bag.

Michel: “Woah, woah, woah! What’s the rush?”

Luc: “I’m flying back to Montreal on a red-eye tonight.”

Michel: “What the fuck? What for?”

Luc: “Because, uh…I have…”

Luc is hesitant, but he decides to tell his brother the truth.

Luc: “Because I have a date.”

Quite a while ago, Labelle met Dahlia Duquette, a sportswriter from Montreal, on a flight, and they made a deal that if Luc won his match that night, they’d go on a date. He defeated Steve Lemieux that night, and planned to meet in La Crosse, Wisconsin, after the rematch in the first round in the Almasy.

Luc lost that match in a shocking upset, and he was too banged up to go out. The memory still turns his stomach. And so, they rescheduled. It was terribly difficult to find a day that worked for both of them, but they settled on tomorrow. That is, if Luc manages to make his flight.

Michel: “A date? Does Mom know?”

Luc: “No, and you’re not gonna tell her. Don’t need her knowing my business. Besides, I haven’t spoken to her since I signed with PRIME.”

Michel stops dead in his tracks.

Michel: “Are you serious? Not once?”

Luc opens the door and takes a seat at the large wooden stall in the corner of the room.

Luc: “I’m surprised she hasn’t told you.”

Michel: “I mean, she mentioned wishing you came home more often, it’s just…I didn’t know you hadn’t come home AT ALL.”

There’s a slight pause as Michel seems to wonder if he should even ask his next question.

Michel: “Has she tried to call you?”

Luc drops his head, taking a few seconds before looking at his brother. He forces himself to shake his head no. His head almost feels too heavy to do so.

There’s nothing else to say, really, so Michel just sits there while Luc continues preparing to leave. He roots through his bag, eventually finding his plane ticket, his brother mocking him for not having a digital version on his phone. He kicks Michel out of the room to change into his gear before letting him back in a few minutes later. Then he starts taking off his wrist tape. Luc has always hated everything about wrist tape. It’s uncomfortable, it’s tedious, it leaves a sticky residue, and quite frankly, he’s not great at putting it on or taking it off. He’s never been able to get it right on the first try, even in his MMA days.

The tape rips around his fingers as he tries to unravel it, and Luc curses under his breath.

Michel: Need help?

Luc backs him down with a look and tries again.

To distract himself from the most boring task in the world, Luc thinks about PRIME. He’s still not used to this place, or to professional wrestling in general. In MMA, you simply can’t fight without a team behind you. Every fighter worth his salt has a camp, and you join a camp before you’re even ready for your first fight.

Here, in PRIME? Luc doesn’t necessarily want allies, but he’s worried that he might need some one day, and he has no idea how to create any alliances. Come to think of it, he hasn’t said a word to another competitor since joining, with the exception of talking shit in the ring.

I’m obviously one of the younger guys here, he thinks. Am I the only one flying solo?

He tries to list them off. Bradlee Nelson and Bowie Abrams have each other, and Hugo Vale and Daniel Green have each other AND Ned Reform. 

Let’s see, uh…Annabelle Dean has the Bandits, obviously. Fuckin’ nepo baby. And Joe Fontaine’s only a couple years older than me, right? He’s got those glue guys, whatever they’re called.

Who’s the other one? That uh…successful one, Fontaine’s partner? The French dude? Laberge? Lambert? Shit, what’s his name…

There’s a knock at his locker room door. He knows that Steve Lemieux is both too beat up and too inept to find his locker room, but could it be Generation H, coming to get a bit of revenge? Michel stands up to get it, but Luc waves him off.

Luc: “I’ll get it.”

He opens the door, clenching his fists.

FLAMBERGE: “Hey mec, ça roule? Je m’appelle FLAMBERGE, enchanté.”

Ah, that’s what his name was.

Luc: “Salut big, ça va. Et toi?”

FLAMBERGE momentarily looks a bit disgusted by Luc’s Quebec accent, though he hides it quickly. These two are about to be introduced to the joys and horrors of Quebec/France communication.

FLAMBERGE: “Ça va bien. T’es chaud pour ton match contre Rose dans une couple de semaines?”

An English speaker would not realize that FLAMBERGE just asked Luc Labelle if he’s excited and/or ready for his match against Rose in a couple of weeks.

Neither would a Quebec French speaker. First of all, Luc didn’t even realize that he was booked to face Rose at ReVival 73. Second of all, while France and Quebec share a language, the dislects are quite different. As a matter of fact, “chaud”, which translates directly to “hot”, means “pumped” or “hyped” in France. in Quebec slang, means something very different.

It means you’re drunk off your ass.

Luc: “Quoi? Ben non, man, chus pas saoulé!”

FLAMBERGE only kind of knows what Luc just said, but he can sense the indignation in the Quebecer’s tone, so he makes a rational decision.

FLAMBERGE: “Enough of this, just switch to English. What I am saying is this - I learned that two weeks from now, you have the match against the Rose. Are you prepared?”

Luc: “I mean, I didn’t know I was facing her, but yeah, as ready as I’d be for any other opponent. Anyways, what do you need?”

FLAMBERGE takes an arm and places it across Luc’s shoulders, bringing him in and lowering the volume of his voice.

FLAMBERGE: “Rose is…how should I say this: she is complicated and unfriendly. And for the Glue, she is becoming the issue, the shoo fly that none of us would like to have buzzing around. All of this to say - perhaps the interests align, non?”

Luc: “I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’ll need it. Not a big outside interference guy.”

FLAMBO scoffs.

FLAMBERGE: “Do not get me wrong, this is not some offer for you…but we’ll be watching this one. It would be the most productive for you to beat the Rose. Beat the Rose badly. If you do so…maybe the we could have more little chats. Maybe over crêpes or some shit.”

He slaps Luc’s arm in a way that might pass for jovial, or at least as jovial as FLAMBO gets. Labelle looks down at his arm, and then looks back at FLAMBERGE, unblinking.

Luc: “Yeah. Right. Thanks.”

FLAMBERGE, also unblinking, steps back and departs. Labelle closes the door on The Neck Collector and looks at his brother.

Luc: ‘Fuckin’ French guys, always thinking there’s some kinda brotherhood between us.”

Michel: “Well, I get you, but it’s worth thinking about his offer.”

Luc: “Mic, you know I hate that kinda bullshit. You don’t see MMA fighters distracting the ref and bringing in a friend to help them win!”

Michel: “I understand, but I’ve watched The Red Army for a long time. They won’t have the same principles that you do. They WILL cheat.  It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of WHEN. And besides, you won your first match because Doozer had a shock collar on him, and tonight, YOU were the guy that came in behind the ref’s back.”

The son of a bitch has a point.

Luc: “That’s different! That was revenge! If he had beaten me fair and square I would have never done that! And the Doozer thing wasn’t my fault at all, I would have had him regardless.”

Michel: “You’re not wrong, but you have to realize that working around the rules is a skill here, the same way that striking and grappling are.”

Luc: “Why would The Red Army break the rules to beat me? I helped them out tonight, they owe me one.”

His older brother scoffs.

Michel: “And you call ME naive.”

Luc begrudgingly nods.

Luc: “Listen, I gotta get out of here in a few minutes, but what can you tell me about Rose?”

Michel: “Man, you really gotta start watching the show. If you’re hell-bent on getting an honourable match, interference-free, it’s still unlikely, but she’s your best bet. Rose didn’t exactly become a member of The Red Army of her own accord, you know?”

Luc: “Alright, and how would I go about securing a fair fight?”

Michel: “Man, I don’t know. You could MAYBE try going to see Alexei Ruslan and try to bargain with him? Really hammer home the fact that you helped The Red Army out tonight and ask them to take a night off from cheating? Or collective action, as they’d call it.”

Luc thinks about it. Is it smart to walk into the lion’s den?

Luc: “I don’t really think it’s ever a good idea to interact with anybody from your opponent’s camp before a fight.”

Michel: “Smart. Besides, there’d be nothing stopping him from just lying to you, saying that he wouldn’t cheat and then fucking you over last minute. Can’t trust those communists.”

Luc: “Shit, man, you’ve seen the way we grew up. You’re telling me you’d rather trust a capitalist?”

Michel shrugs, conceding that point.

Luc: “Any other strategies?”

Michel: “Well, Rose is coming off a bad concussion. She’ll be protecting her head I’m sure, but if you manage to expose it, you could definitely do some damage by attacking it. You wouldn’t make any fans, but you’d have a good chance at getting the win. Plus, Richard Parker would LOVE you.”

Luc: “Alright, I like the sound of that. Well, the part about getting the win, at least. Anyways, I gotta go. REALLY can’t miss that flight.”

Michel wishes him well, and Luc rushes out of the building and into the night.

DESTINATION MONTREAL

An octagon in the middle of a ratty bar, about 45 people in the building, maybe 6 of them there to actually watch the fights. Luc Labelle is 8-0 and rising fast. He’s in there with a 14-12 journeyman from just across the border in New York State. 

The first round was all Luc. The journeyman got touched up on the feet, only landing glancing blows and eating a barrage of jabs, elbows and leg kicks. A desperate attempt to switch stances only resulted in him getting taken down by the young phenom. Labelle managed to lock on a devastating neck crank, but his opponent got saved by the bell.

Hungry for the finish, Luc rushes to the centre of the ring and dives in for the takedown. The last thing he sees is a knee flying straight into his jaw.

Luc jolts awake. He’s still on his flight back home. He had been dreaming about his first ever loss. There had been a scout in the building, and he was overzealous to get the finish. Instead, he got knocked out by a man with half his talent but over three times his experience. Luc Labelle went home 8-1.

He decides to go back to sleep.

Luc Labelle is 12-1. After his fluke loss, he ran through his next four adversaries like a buzzsaw. Tonight, though, he’s fighting a super heavyweight on short notice. Nobody else wanted to dare to cut down the giant, not even his scheduled opponent, who no-showed. Luc Labelle is the only man brave enough.

The first round was a bit of a wash, the bigger man using his size advantage to hold Labelle into place. Luc survived the full five minutes, though, and stormed into the second round with unbridled fury, managing to cut the behemoth over the eye with a nasty elbow. The scorecards were most likely even going into the third.

In the third round, the larger man kept his distance, gassed out. Labelle just couldn’t seem to get any offense in, and his reach disadvantage meant that for four minutes, he was getting jabbed, and jabbed, and jabbed.

With a minute left, he realized he had to work. Labelle recklessly entered the big man’s range and swung an overhand right with everything he had. It landed flush, and his mountain-like opponent clattered to the mat. Luc jumped on top and unleashed everything he had, but despite his best efforts, he failed to secure the finish, and the fight went to decision.

One judge scored it two rounds to one for the super heavyweight, based on the third round’s control time. The second judge scored it in Luc’s favour as a result of him having done more damage. And the third judge scored it…

Luc wakes himself up again. He knows what the third judge scored it, he doesn’t need to hear it again. A 12-2 record after that fight, still damn good considering it could have easily been 13-1, and still REALLY damn good considering he faced a man twice his size. Unfortunately, that was the only fight that Luc’s mother ever attended. She decreed that as long as he was under her roof, he could fight no longer.

A PRIME scout got wind of the fight. Luc’s heart in the face of a gigantic challenge was seen as a good quality, and the company reached out. He signed the contract. He left his mother’s house, and her roof.

He hasn’t seen her since.

Luc doesn’t dare go to sleep for a third time. He knows that if he does, he’ll dream about his only other loss, and he’s thought about Steve Lemieux too much lately.

Joe Beef

Montreal has not been recognized as a Michelin star hub of the world, but if it was, Joe Beef would almost certainly garner a few. It’s been raved about by the countless celebrities that have passed through The City of a Thousand Steeples, with the likes of Anthony Bourdain singing its praises.

Dahlia Duquette and Luc Labelle have been waiting twenty minutes for a waiter. Luc Labelle has not asked a question all night. He has barely answered any. His mind is elsewhere right now.

How should I get to Rose’s head. Attack the body? Cut her legs out from under her. Fake her out, get behind her and hit her in the back of the skull? Grapple and hope I can ground and pound? Should I-

Dahlia: “Did you hear me?”

Luc did not hear her.

Luc: “Hm? What?”

His date rolls her eyes.

Dahlia: “I SAID that I wonder what’s taking them so long back there.”

Luc: “Oh! Yeah yeah, yeah. Yeah.”

Dahlia starts picking up her things.

Dahlia: “Alright, I’m outta here.”

She walks out briskly, and Luc follows her out, shaming himself for fucking this up.

Once on the sidewalk, Luc calls for her.

Luc: “Dahlia, hold on! Why are you leaving?”

Dahlia: “All night you’ve been looking at your feet, staring off into space, barely saying a word! I had to make time for this, Luc! And I’ve got better uses of my time!”

She turns away, and Luc just stands in place for a moment. Should he just take the loss here? Should he just go home?

For whatever reason, he decides to try one more time.

Luc: “Wait!”

For whatever reason, she decides to give him one more chance. She turns.

Luc: “Look…Joe Beef isn’t my style. I’m wearing this expensive ass shirt, the collar is fucking me up, I’ve barely slept, and I don’t know what the hell I was doing in the place like that! I’ve got the money to eat at real restaurants now, and I guess I wanted to impress you or something, but it’s not me. I can’t be a rags to riches type guy overnight. I like my rags. Just…let’s walk around a bit, I’ll answer any question you want.”

Dahlia’s face doesn’t change one bit.

Dahlia: “My place is pretty far. Walk me to the bus station.”

Luc obliges.

Luc: “Alright, what question do you want me to answer?”

Dahlia: “Ask me one instead.”

Luc: “I thought I just did.”

Dahlia would usually laugh at that, but not right now. She just looks at him.

Luc: “Okay, uh…you agreed to go out with me, but only if I beat Steve Lemieux. How come?”

Dahlia: “Well, I agreed to go out with you because I got the sense that you’re not a bullshiter, and I run into WAY too many bullshitters day to day. I had a lot of fun in the airport, and I was hoping to have more fun, which is why tonight disappointed me a little bit. I just thought the Steve Lemieux thing was funny, I knew you’d beat him. Guess it’s a good thing I said that before your first match and not your second, eh?”

If anybody else said that, Luc would be really salty. Now he’s only kind of salty.

Luc: “Alright, your turn. Ask me one.”

Dahlia: “Alright, same question. Why’d you ask me out?”

Luc: “Well, I had three reasons. One of them is superficial, and the other isn’t something you say on a first date.”

Dahlia: “And the third?”

Luc: “Because…because I see so much complacency every day. Where I’m from, people are content doing the same thing every day, and then they complain that life is short. Life is only short because when you do the same thing every day, your brain just sorta mushes all those memories into one. Life is long when you do stuff worth remembering. I want life to feel long, and I was just starting out with PRIME, and I was struggling with the travel and the semi-stardom and everything. I met you, and you were having fun with it. You seem to be living a life that feels long, and I want to be a small part of it.”

They share a silence. Luc worries that what he just said was too sappy, too soon. The bus pulls up, and Dahlia walks towards it.

Dahlia: “I gotta go home.”

She stops on the bus steps, turns, and reaches out her hand.

Dahlia: “You coming with?”

The world gets unbearably loud and unspeakably quiet, all at once. Luc takes her hand and gets on the bus.