This is insane. I'm getting back into the ring, once again. When everybody said I'd never stay gone, I told them I would. When they said I'd come back to the XWF indefinitely, I told them I wouldn't. What can I say? There's something about the superstars. There's something about the fans. That's something about the XWF, in and of itself, that keeps dragging me back like a magnet. Now, by no means am I back for good, this is a one time gig. Kind of like a Legends contract or something. I wanted a match. I wanted to see if I still got it. I've got some very important things coming up in my life, and I'll be goddamned if I'm not completely ready for them. That means, I have to be in top physical condition and ready to wrestle. Not that I'm going to be wrestling, but that I'm going to be around wrestlers and I want to make sure they can all be checked if need be. I've drawn the line a million times and now I can't draw it anymore. Now is the time to act. It starts now, it starts at 08-08-08 with Foalan Wallace. Unfortunately for him, my one XWF match this year will be against him. I feel sorry for the kid, I really do. I'll probably accidentally throw him out of the ring or something while trying to whip him to the ropes. That'd be my luck. Ring rust is a bitch.
Many things have changed in the months since Jake Loughton took his long-overdue reprieve from the XWF. With his retired state, he has taken on many projects. First of all being the school. He's taking regular flights back and forth between San Jose and Detroit to make appearances at the school. Brother Mark generally runs things, but Jake still stops in every now and then. With the even being so close to Michigan (close meaning not half the country or world away), Jake has decided to bring a few of the students to Philadelphia to see the master at work. They've all doubted him in class, essentially trying to get a rise out of him, and so he's brought them to watch, first hand, what he's still got in that tank of his.
But that's not all he's been doing. His son, Christian, is growing up so fast, he almost wonders where the time has gone! Christian is now three years old and will be four this month. He's a machine, already up to his father's thigh level. The child will, undoubtedly be as big as his father. It has been confirmed through genetics testing.
He's been a loving husband as well. Serenity has proven to be quite the wife. She warned him about wrestling long before he should've retired. She told him to get out or he'd never walk again, and she was close to right. Had he not exited the XWF when he did, he would've never made the doctor appointment that changed his life. He's had three surgeries since he left the XWF in order to repair the things that could've killed his livelihood forever, and he has Serenity to thank for all of it. He could never imagine not being able to walk around and play with his son as he grows up.
Even that's not all. Although he's never spent much time talking about it in front of XWF crowds, he's recently been promoted again within the ranks of the Army Reserve. Last we saw him he was a first sergeant and in control of his company. Now, he's a sergeant major and is in charge of an entire post. He smiles every time he puts on the BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform).
With all of that going on, it's hard to believe he's had time for any business ventures, but he's recently spent quite a bit of money on the startup of a fledgling wrestling company. He is the President and CEO of the company, and will also spend time on-air as the company gets off the ground and they find more talent. He has decided he will only wrestle once per month tops. All he wants to do is be a major proponent of the office end of business. He's already taken on many roles as the company takes off. He's worked with the graphic design department, the talent relations and recruiting department, and will soon begin work as a road agent. Their first show will happen sometime toward the end of August, and Jake Loughton, Superballs, will from then on be known as Mr. Balls. He actually, took the idea from a dear friend, but his buddy gave him permission to use the name. Therefore, his full title will be President and CEO Jake Loughton aka Mr. Balls 2.
With all that going, how could he possibly have had time to train for a match with a young XWF Superstar the likes of Foalan Wallace? Foalan, since debuting in the XWF has gone undefeated. Superballs still sits in front of the TV every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday night for XWF programming. He can't get enough of it. He spends more hours in a day on the XWF website reading and interacting than he does sleeping.
The Wachovia Center has been sold out for weeks in anticipation of 08-08-08. The names on the card are drawing power enough, but the thought of title matches? An actual tournament within a card? It's unheard of. Them XWF boys done done it again!
“I remember this day.” He says as he turns the belt over in his hands. The plate on the front reads EHW Hardcore Champion. “The EHW superstars swore I’d never amount to anything. I proved them wrong on this day, and many others. The Flatline Crew ran roughshod through Extreme Hardcore Wrestling like nobody’s business. Bigg Rigg was the EHW World Champion, I was the Extreme Champion, and the crew also housed the tag team champions as well.”
“Yeah, but how long ago was that?” A young man says from across the room. He’s roughly in his early twenties, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail to reveal a young face.
“1997. It was Eleven years ago.” Superballs smiles as he runs his hand over the face of the belt.
“Eleven years. The game’s changed a lot in eleven years. Back then, the world’s greatest wrestling company didn’t even exist. The XWF was a glimmer of hope in the distant future. The XWF truly revolutionized wrestling.” The young man, trying to test Superballs, scoots forward in his chair with a grin on his face.
“Grant, I’m glad you bring that up. You’re absolutely right, things have changed since then. Drastically. Now, to be accepted in this business, you’ve got to have a list of credentials comparative to Kid Money’s rap sheet.” Superballs smiles as he discards the belt to the side on the bed. “That was my first title in professional wrestling.”
“1997. Wow, I was in third grade.” Not to make Superballs feel old or anything.
He rummages through the bag some more, obviously enjoying the adventure this brings. He pulls out a belt and smiles when he sees his reflection in he gold. “The e-Pro Hardcore Championship. These guys really knew how to throw down. It seemed like every match, at the time, was won via Shooting Star Press. Something about this booker named Zeus or something. This title never really held much significance to me, because it was just a step. It was just another hardcore title.”
“Did you hold other titles in e-Pro?” Somehow, another belt being pulled from the bag has sparked Grant’s interest.
“As part of The Expert Assassins, I held their 8 man tag, or stable championship. I was their Intercontinental Champion, a normal tag team champion, and I was the final e-Pro World Champion. My e-Pro World Championship has never left the confines of my trophy room in San Jose since I moved there. It is a constant reminder of what I came from. The great men that held that title and the great men like Joel Howard that missed that opportunity.” A tear forms at the edge of Superballs’ eye.
“You hit a nerve with yourself there or what?” As soon as the words leave his lips, he knows that he’s made a mistake.
Superballs jumps off the bed in a fury, pulling Grant off the chair and holding him at eye level. “Joel Howard was more of a man than you’ll ever be. He was the greatest wrestler I’ve ever known, and his life was cut way too short due to a car accident.” He gently sets Grant back in the chair and walks back to the bed, shoving the e-Pro Hardcore Championship to the side and reaching back into the bag. He pulls out another title and grins.
“The RWF World Heavyweight Championship. I remember this match too. Grifty Bearstax and me went one on one for ninety minutes in a grueling battle of wit and strength. In the end, your buddy here was just too much man for ole Grifty. He fell at my feet via Incinerator much like hundreds of men over the years have.” Superballs smiles as he tosses the belt aside and sits back on the bed.
“How can you remember all these matches? I don’t even remember my first match in the school!” Grant walks over to the bed and starts looking through the belts.
“I remember them, because they are a part of my life. They are me.” He starts to feel around in the bag again and Grant speaks up before he can find another belt.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. Where will I wrestle when I’m done training?” Grant gets a cocky look about him, as if to say that he’s done training anyway.
“Done training?” Superballs grins at this answering a question with a question.
“Yeah, you know, when there’s no more for me to learn?” Grant stands up off the bed again and starts to walk back and forth across the floor.
“There’s your first mistake. If you stop learning in this business, you’re done for. You become complacent and aren’t useful. The greatest wrestlers in the world have studied and molded their craft from the nothing they started with and continue to learn and innovate as they go. If you’ve got a basic formula for every match, you can have a career, but the people will get bored with you. They don’t want to see the same five moves every match with a few headlocks and sleeper holds here and there. You’ve got to amaze them. Throw in some Mixed Martial arts, throw in some mat wrestling. The people will not enjoy you if your five moves are a fist drop, an STF, a Death Valley Driver, a shoulder block, and a strange off the top rope face buster thing.” Superballs looks as though he’s starting to get worked up as he speaks to Grant.
“I’m ready now! I’m ready to get in the ring and start earning the money, the chicks, the fancy cars and luxurious hotel rooms. I’m tired of being in school. You know I’m ready old school.” Grant shows great passion as he finishes his final sentence.
“You don’t know a third of what you need to. Sure, you know some basic moves, but you have no business sense, you have no work ethic for weight training or diet. Your metabolism will only keep you skinny for so long, then you’re going to have to work at it. Why not get in the routine now?” Superballs loves the naivety of Grant. He loves the fire. He wishes he still had that fire.
“I know what I’m doing Jake. I know. The fact is, you don’t want to graduate me, because I’m selling tickets for your stupid wrestling school. I should’ve gone to the School of Hard knocks, I swear.” Grant knows he’s needling Superballs, but he’s genuinely under the impression that he’s ready.
“Get out of my sight.” Superballs has had enough. He’s had enough of the back and forth and has seen this with even his most successful students. They get to the point where they’re almost ready and they think they should be cut from school right now. Grant gently edges his way out of the room, knowing that he’s on thin ice. He goes to another room of the suite and is very quiet. “Punk.”
Superballs grabs up the belts that are sitting on the bed and is about to put them in the bag, when he notices something in the bag. A red, white, and blue faced belt that sits in the very bottom. He pulls it from the bag and the plate reads ‘XWF United States Champion.’ Superballs stares at the belt and feels the soft leather of the strap between his fingers. He runs them over the ridges in the gold before standing up and strapping the title around his waist. “Yeah, I remember this one too. In a two week period I went from being the XWF United States champion to the XWF Canadian Champion. It was like nobody knew the difference between the titles. Shane Carver finally beat me for this belt, but I beat Armageddon X to get it. This was a proud moment in my career, because it was one of the last times I proved that I belonged in the XWF. It was one of the last times I knew that I could compete on the same level as any bum in this company and defeat them.” He puts the title back in the bag and relaxes on the bed.
“You know, my one match this year is coming up. A new guy, Foalan Wallace has been my selected target. Why? Because, if they’re fresh out of school, they need a guy to look up to. They need the reality check that comes along with facing a future Hall of Famer. They need, in their spirit, the encouragement backstage after the match from a guy like KoRe or T-Money. They need to be defeated by a man like Lee Stone or Steve Jason. They need the opportunity to beat a guy like Boondock Saint or Bigg Rigg. There is not a person watching right now that can tell me they know what it’s like to face their hero at something. I’m not saying that I was ever Foalan’s hero, but I’ll be damned if, in his third match, he’s not facing an XWF Icon. I’ll be damned if the mere mention of my name in the XWF locker room doesn’t bring up stories from the old schoolers. I’ll be damned if you can’t utter my name in an interview with a wrestling columnist and they can’t tell you four matches I’ve been in in my career.
One thing I’ve managed to do in the last eleven and a half years is prove that I can adjust with the times. I can change with the times and do what I had to do to survive. When I got into the wrestling business, I was doing moonsaults. I was doing the shooting star press. Seven feet three inches, three hundred twenty five pounds. I was jumping off the top rope and moving like a cruiserweight. I was informed, very quickly, that that’s not the way heavyweights perform. They are power wrestlers. They ground and pound. They demolish you from impact, not from diving off the top rope. Well, I’m afraid I’d rather have a three hundred pound guy throw me to the ground than body splash me from six feet in the air.
Foalan Wallace, the man you see before you is a decorated XWF Superstar and a multiple time world champion all over this great sport. The man you see before you recently looked at Steve Jason’s win/loss record and saw six losses. The man before you realized that 33% of Steve Jason’s losses were at his hands. To this day, Steve Jason has never defeated me one on one. He never will, The Stinger retired. The stinger won’t do a one shot match here and there.
Foalan Wallace, the man you see before you is a god. I am immortal in this business and my memories will live forever. Every time I did something, it shook the foundation of the wrestling world. Every time I walked to the ring, people knew that history was going to be made on that night. Every time I told an interviewer I was going to defeat someone, I did it.
Friday night will be no different. You will be another name in the book of fallen enemies. It’s nothing personal, it’s just business. I’ve never been one to hold a grudge. I should’ve. I should’ve been bitter about so many things in my career but I brushed it off. That’s beside the point. Friday night you will meet destruction. Your undefeated record will fall at the hands of a man who is retired.
But think about it. What if, by some act of god, you could pull off the unthinkable? The rookie defeats the XWF Icon. The rookie, in his third match, fells the giant known as Superballs. Then what? Where does your career go from there? It can only go up Foalan. Anarchy or Massacre would be screaming for the chance to sign the man who defeated Superballs at 08-08-08. Can you be that man? Can you be the one who shuts me up for good?
I truly doubt it. From where I stand, you’ll just be another person I’ve watched quiver on the mat after the devastation I’ve unleashed on their soul. You’re going to feel pain in joints and muscles you didn’t know existed Foalan. You’re going to bleed such a river of blood, you’ll think you’re dieing. You’ll cry for mercy and I won’t have even begun yet. When I’ve finished, you’ll wish you never accepted your XWF contract. You’ll wish you’d stayed in Scotland, or wherever it is you’re from. You’ll wish you weren’t born.
The wolf’s hunger will subside Friday night. You will hear no Duran Duran. You will see no kilts nor bagpipes. I will not need to be treated for being mauled by the wolf. The lame gimmick police may come along and take care of that for me.
Your time is coming, Foalan. The Icon is coming for you Foalan. While you train the rest of this week, remember this. I feel no pain. I scream not in pain, but happiness. On Friday night when you leave the ring broken, battered, bloody, busted, and bruised…just remember, you were in a fight with a better man.
I hope that helps you sleep better.”
Superballs walks away as we fade to commercial.