Casanova English Vs. Zach Van Owen

It felt good to get back. To feel like I was living up to my potential for the first time in years. There is nothing like choking the life of another athlete -- you can feel their will break… their soul almost abandons their body.

Your day job probably doesn’t come close to feeling the same way. Pro-wrestling… a modern day fight club for the newly disenfranchised.

I didn’t come to Carnage Wrestling to claim championships, I came to alter minds and open eyes -- but if the gold comes along the way I’ll enjoy my own reflection.

Sometimes when you get into these gigs the bright lights make you lose vision of the real world. That’s why I sold my beautiful home in Canada and moved down here to a row-house in Orangeville… this little industrial area inside Baltimore so it would be easier to work these Carnage shows.

Alex Ransom swung his head around the room scoffing at the old wallpaper peeling from the walls. Work needed to be done on the aged home and Ransom and I were going to do it ourselves. I have to practice what I preach, be willing to get down and dirty and do it all for myself. Selfishness is too vilified, you can’t take care of the flock unless you tend to yourself first.

“This palace definitely has asbestos. Not like it’ll matter on those tar stained lungs of yours,” Ransom said.

“You high and mighty straight edge assholes like to gloat about it every chance you get. How many hand jobs did you give out back in the day to get your fix.”

Ransom clenches his fists and pretends like he is going to drop the nightstand he is carrying in causing me to lunge forward to try and grab it.

“Gotcha!,” he said breezing past me and placing the nightstand on the scratched wood floor.

The tiny living room was filled with boxes filled with my past life. A few plates, limited cutlery, a collection of full aging whiskey bottles, pictures of my moments as world champion -- a collage of loneliness.

My journey of redemption began last week at Havoc…. Leaving a lobsterman unconscious… I guess we all have to begin our journey somewhere.

Ransom pushes through the doorframe with a queen size mattress for himself to set up in the small second bedroom in the cheap row house.

He stomped up the stairs toward his room bending each step as he brought his weight down.

This week the challenge would be much more difficult with Zach van Owen -- a chance to get a shot at a championship this early in the game and I am determined not to choke. I’m going all in on this… all in on Carnage and I’m getting a taste for it already.

I could hear Ransom walking toward the steps, he thudded down and stopped at the bottom glaring at me.

“Look,” he said, his mouth drying out. “Can I escort you to the ring this week? I don’t think there is a chance you are taking a loss with me in your corner.”

“I don’t think you are ready.”

He jumped down off the last step and gripped the recently polished dark wood banister.

“What the fuck do you mean I am not ready?,” he questioned shaking his head. “For the last few years all I have been is ready. I want to get in that ring and I want to rip these guys limb from limb. I want to show them what I have… what you produced… how the Cult of Casanova can turn a man to an immortal,” he said.

It was all the stuff I had told him since finding him alone strung out on the street -- a stretched out lanky twig that I helped turn back into a goddamn redwood.

But I still didn’t want him to believe he was ready. I couldn’t risk it yet. So I did what I do best -- came up with some bullshit.

“I have to do this one on my own,” I said. “ I have to prove that I can still do this at a high level. What happened at Havoc was a statement, a warm up… it’s nothing compared to the match van Owen and I could put on this week… and I need to be prepared for that on my own. I promise your time will come Alex.”

He was growing increasingly frustrated. This wasn’t the first time I had kept him away from competition -- away from appearing on TV and he was growing suspicious of my motives. I could tell. I showed up out of nowhere and he can’t fathom why I came back for him.

“I didn’t come down to the US in the middle of the country melting down just to move you shit and help you train,” he got closer, his eyes meeting mine, but they were softer -- less angry than moments ago.

“You know I want this. You know I can be good at this. It was always the plan to get me to the show. I want to be there fighting alongside you, not stuck in the shadows.”

“You can’t forget that is how we operate best, that is how we infiltrate best. It isn’t all just about blunt force and lord knows you are too good at that,” I said, hoping to reason with strategy.

“Look Cass, I’ve been trying to back into this whole schtick…. But The Orphanage isn’t what it used to be. It’s just you and I. Without having me out there, without having me out there competing with you… you look like a false prophet.”

“A false prophet?,” I snicker. “I nearly put a man in a coma at Havoc. If that didn’t send enough of a message to van Owen and the rest of the roster I don’t know what will. It just isn’t the time. You and I will both know when the time is right.”

“That’s bullshit. Do you think I wanted to come down to Baltimore, live in this industrial town where these idiots are snorting coke like crazy to get through 13 hour shifts? I was doing fine at the wrestling school. I was getting ready to debut in a local company,” Ransom snapped.

“Yeah, okay. You were going to debut. You could have started wrestling anywhere… admit it… you were just waiting for daddy to come hold your hand and walk you down the aisle. Well it isn’t going to happen just on your terms. I brought you to the show and I’ll fucking decide when the curtain gets drawn back. That’s how this whole thing has always worked,” I said not realizing I was now chest to chest with ransom snarling like I had rabies -- poking a finger into his swollen pectoral.

Ransom steps backward slowly, his hands raised to show he didn’t mean any harm.

“Look, I’m just going to go for a walk, but if you lose this week. If van Owen makes a fool out of you I don’t want to hear it. I promise, you put me out there by you, at the very least I will make sure you stay undefeated at Carnage.” he snatches his jacked off the top off a pile of cardboard boxes.

“Just think about it alright? I’m not trying to step in the spotlight… I’m just tired of clicking record on the camera and carrying mattresses.”

Ransom turns and walks out slamming the door of my new home.

Truth is I couldn’t have him out there. I couldn’t have everyone’s eyes on him. That’s what happens in wrestling, the muscle bound lackey lets all that electricity from the fans go to their head and all the sudden they want all the glory -- they want to rob you of the throne.

I know he is better than me in the ring,.He is bigger, stronger, he has been training these last few years while I attempted to drink and smoke myself to death.

I just couldn’t let him know that.

He was essential as a sparing partner -- provided the edge I needed to stay ahead of everyone else.

Ransom didn’t make it back before dark.

I didn’t have the power set up yet and had the home light with several candles, careful to keep them from the dangling pieces of wallpaper.

I set the camcorder on the window sill and pressed record before before sitting back down in a wooden chair to face it. I let the camera run for a moment then pulled a cigarette from the top of my left ear placing it in my lips. I ignite it letting the lighter flame push a glow across my face.

“You blew it huh kid. Daddy can’t be too proud of that. At Havoc you had a chance to get a shot at the tag team titles. So what, you fail as a tag competitor and management has pity and decides to toss you into this match for a potential shot at the Chaos Championship. I bet I didn’t convince them at Havoc… so I will have to make sure my voice is heard loud and clear this week on Chaos.”

I take a deep inhale and blow smoke toward the camera. I lean in and let my elbows rest on my lap as I lecture van Owen and the Carnage fans.

“I don’t waste opportunities like you do Zach… trust me. I don’t choke the way you do. I don’t come from a wrestling family like you do. I don’t have a daddy who could teach me to do a proper headlock. But you know what… I also don’t have the added pressure. The added pressure of living up to expectations. The added pressure of trying to be better. Of trying to make sure your career isn’t shortened as quickly as pops. It must get tough, you must get caught up in your head… maybe that’s why you aren’t challenging for the tag team championships and you are stuck standing across the ring from a man who has nothing to prove to anyone but himself… a man that’s determined to reclaim his rightful spot on the throne and then become the newest face chiseled into the Mount Rushmore of pro-wrestling. Maybe after I retire you early you and your dad can start a stone-working business -- honestly I’m always about giving back to the less fortunate.”

I knock the ash off the end of my cigarette and place it back in my lips, leaning back more relaxed now.

“Zach you and I are nothing alike. I came up gritty. I was never taught how to fight, that was a skill I learned as I went and it seems to be working out pretty fucking well up to this point. I don’t have the pressure of making a wrestling father proud, I don’t have fans I pander to or have to change my name or hide under a mask in the hopes of sparking my own legacy. No, I do that raw, unmasked, bloody knuckles, sweat and cigarettes. It isn’t pretty, but boy it is fun.”

“That’s right Zach I have studied you. I know about your family, your history, I know that you probably believe you have dealt with someone like me before. I read your history with The Institute and the charismatic leader bent on ruining your career. I want you to listen..”

I lean into the camera once again. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and place my hands on my knee tapping them up and down, the ember from the cancer stick hoping.

“See you are the exact opponent I want and need. A student of the game, a man with fighting lineage… someone I can destroy so these idiots can take me more seriously. I’m not dumb enough to look through you directly at Annie Lennox or Sebastian Hawke… but I am looking… and I do see that Chaos Championship dangling in the wind… just waiting for the proper person to snatch destiny… and well I couldn’t think of a better representative of complete chaos but myself… and all of you will know that soon. My name is Casanova English and my love language is anarchy.”

“You have never dealt with anyone like me before. You have never been in the ring with someone so determined. I am The Modern Day Messiah,” I said, placing the cigarette back between my lips.

“I’m writing a gospel in the blood of other warriors on that canvas bi-weekly. Last week was the prologue, and this week Zach you are only chapter 1.”

I get up and flick the camera off just in time to hear Ransom’s boots at the front step.

Man and his ego..

A hungry dog always comes home to get fed.