Post by "Captain" Joe Stall on May 1, 2011 18:47:29 GMT
Joe Stall sits in a dreary pub across the street from the Last Call Pub in Manchester, England. The bar smells like stale beer and urine. The wallpaper is peeling the bar counter is chipped and dusty. The old time ring veteran sits on a rust bar stool. The seats padding has been exposed and partially ripped out. Suddenly the door opens allowing the sun to burst into the otherwise dimly lit bar if only for a moment. Joe sits in a simple t-shirt and jeans combo. He’s still wearing his wrestling boots fresh from his trip to the gym. When the door closes, and Joe can see again he spots his old friend and former tag team partner Marcus Brody Sr. He is dressed in a collared shirt and slacks with dress shoes to match.
“You know the Last Call is across the street right?”
“Yeah, and I know that it’s crowded as all hell. Besides this place is fine.”
Marcus looks around and takes a whiff.
“This place is a dump.”
He looks over at the bartender who is cleaning a glass with a dirty towel.
“No offense.”
“Nah. It’s a shithole mate. But a paycheck’s a paycheck.”
The bartender spits on the glass and wipes it again. Marcus makes his way over and sits down on a bar stool next to Joe. A screw is missing in the seat and he wobbles back and forth.
“Seriously this place is disgusting.”
“It fits me just fine.”
Joe chugs down the glass of scotch he’s been drinking and slams it down on the counter.
“Now what does that mean?”
“It means I’ll have another scotch.”
The bartender sets the glass he is holding down and stuffs the rag in his pants. He quickly pours Joe another glass of Bells and looks over at Marcus.
“What can I getcha?”
Marcus looks at Joe and just shakes his head.
“Water is fine.”
The bartender nods his head, picks up the glass he just set down and fills it with water from the tap. He sets it in front of Marcus who eyes it before looking back over at Joe.
“Seriously what is that supposed to mean mate?”
Joe takes a long sip of his scotch and sighs.
“I haven’t won since I’ve been back Marcus.”
“Ack so what? You’re not going to sit here and bitch and moan about that are you?”
Joe slams the glass down on the counter and spills some of it’s contents.
“So I’m old Marcus! I’m old and stupid!”
Marcus picks up his water and tosses it in Joe’s face. Joe jumps from his seat. He raises his fist, and then… he sits right back down and goes back to his scotch.
“What in bloody hell is wrong with you? You’ve got a match at Genesis in two days! For the FWF World Championship! And you’re sitting here whining about being old? And the old Joe Stall would have socked me one for that stunt! What’s happened to you?”
Joe shakes his head and goes back to his drink.
“I’m tired.”
Joe goes to take a sip, but Marcus knocks it out of his hand. The glass flies and smashes on the floor. The bartender offer up an annoyed grunt before bending over to clean it up.”
“Ah ya big fuckin cry baby! Oh I’m too old. I’m too tired. I’m too fat and stupid to realize that I’ve got a great opportunity in front of me and instead I’m going to sit here and whine like some kind of sod. It’s fucking disgusting is what it is.”
Marcus punches Joe in the arm. He does react. Marcus punches him again, and Joe begins to tense up. His muscles flex as his brow becomes furrowed.
“Look at you. You’re a sorry lout, just sitting here, giving up already, acting like some kind of Frenchmen.”
And with that Joe catches Marcus’ arm and tosses it aside. Marcus jumps up, but Joe knocks him back onto his stool with a right hand.
“Now that’s more like it. You can’t seriously be intimidated by the likes of Sah’ta Thor, Christian Lee, and Ross Walker. You’ve been in that ring with me, Alan Foulds, Ernest Bethea, Pain, Unknown. You’ve face done “Dark” Mark Lloyd.”
“And lost.”
“Right, but you’ve beat him plenty of times too.”
Joe shakes his head.
“Not at Genesis.”
“So?”
“I’ve never won at Genesis.”
Marcus sits back stunned. His seat shifts backward and he nearly falls off, but he catches himself on the counter. He looks long and hard at Joe Stall who is simply staring down at his hands.
“So? You’re feeling a little cursed? That’s silly.”
Joe slams his fist into the counter and rises to his feet. He turns away from Marcus Brody.
“Last time I lost at Genesis it was in a tag team ladder match. And the winners? Sah’ta Thor and Sujir Thorn.”
Marcus walks over and places a hand on Joe’s shoulder, but the giant quickly shoves him away. Joe turns around, and Marcus hits him with a hard right hand.
“Your partner was “Dark” Mark Lloyd. You two were never going to work together to win that match.”
Joe responds with a right hand of his own. The two men grapple. Marcus slips behind Joe and tries to hit him with a German suplex, but Joe elbows him away. Joe turns and goes to hit Marcus with a clothesline, but Marcus ducks it, and then hooks Joe with a successful German suplex. Joe climbs to his feet and both men grapple again. This time Joe pushes Brody up against a nearby table.
“I haven’t won a match since I’ve been back Marcus. I’ve been beaten, broken, and embarrassed.”
Marcus, fighting dirty, knees Joe in the groin and the lifts him into a suplex that nearly break his back over the table. Joe collapses to the floor, and Marcus runs at him. He goes to kick him in the face, but Joe grabs his boot and pulls him down to the ground. Both men slowly begin to climb to their feet.
“So what? You’ve still earned that shot. Look at how well you did in the Blizzard match? You damn well would have won that chamber match if Christian Lee wasn’t a crook. You made Sah’ta Thor tap out. You can do it again at Genesis.”
Brody and Stall both climb to their feet and make their way back over to the bar and sit back down on the rickety bar stools. Joe grabs at his knees and signals the bartender with two fingers.
“Two waters.”
The bartender grunts and fills two tall glasses with the swill from the tap. He sets them down in front of Joe and Marcus and the two warriors drink them like shots of tequila. They slam the glasses on the table and call for two more. Marcus reaches over and places his hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“Well?”
Joe takes a sip from the second glass of water that the bartender brings over.
“I think Unknown was doing the darkside gimmick while Sah’ta Thor was still sucking from his mom’s tit.”
“And?”
“And I think Christian Lee is a pansy assed pretty boy, and a cheat. He doesn’t deserve to wear that belt, and he’s nothing but a scared paper champion.”
Marcus slams his hand against Joe’s back.
“And Ross Walker?”
“Well shit he’s one talented S.O.B.”
Joe looks back down at his hands. Marcus drops his arm from Joe’s shoulder and looks at his sullen old friend. Joe slowly turns his head and looks up at Marcus with a broad smile on his face. He picks up his glass of water and tosses it in Brody’s face.
“But he’s never won a World Title and he won’t be winning one at Genesis!”
Marcus claps his hand on Joe’s bicep. And shakes the water from his hair.
“That’s more fucking like it.”
Marcus chugs his water and chucks it across the bar. It shatters against the far wall.
“We’ll take two Carlings!”
“We’re out.”
“Bloody hell this place takes the piss.”
Joe laughs.
“We’ll have two scotches. And this time you’re drinking it without a mixer, like a fucking man.”
“You’re gonna tell me how to be a man? You’re were just moaning about how you were an old bag of bones who stands no chance at Genesis.”
“Yeah well now this old bag of bones is ready to kick some ass at Genesis, and win the FWF World Championship. So now you’re going to drink your scotch like a fucking man.”
“Whatever you say Old man.”
The bartender brings them two glasses of scotch. Both warriors raise their glasses to each other.
“A toast, to me, my grandson, and your son, may we all win our title matches at Genesis.”
“To you and your grandson at least.”
Joe and Marcus clink glasses, and Brody takes a long sip of his. Brody grimaces, but Joe sets his glass down without drinking from it.
“Don’t be like that.”
Brody finishes his scotch in his next sip and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
“My boys fallen under the influence of that twat Sandy Strachon.”
“Right, Sandy Strachon is a ripe old cunt, but Marcus is a smart boy. Don’t worry about him.”
Brody turns away and looks at his empty glass. He looks up at nothing.
“I don’t know Joe. He doesn’t listen to me anymore. We haven’t talked lately. I’m worried about him. You know what Sandy can be like. You remember when you first met him?”
"I sure do."
------------------------------------------------
I remember. It was the summer of 1987. I was fresh out of the marines. After I fought in Nam I had stuck on, did some government work, worked with Alan Foulds Sr. some, and did some stuff that I can’t talk about for a few more years at least. That summer I hung up my combat boots and picked up some wrestling boots. I was a cocksure son of a bitch, and Alan had told me I showed some real talent when we were fighting together out there in the jungle. I’d been fighting all my life, and I figured I could make some good money doing it.
My first show was at some gym in the Bronx. There couldn’t have been more than fifty or sixty people there to watch us, but it was start. The book was none other than Sandy himself. I still remember the first thing he said to me.
“Jesus Christ ya freakin huge!”
He had come up right behind me. I reacted instinctively.
“Sir yes sir.”
He laughed out loud with that cackle of his and patted me on the middle of my back. I barely felt it.
“No need for that sir business. Ya can just call me Sandy.”
I turned around and didn’t see him at first. Then I looked down. His head was a solid foot below mine own, and he was standing right next to me.
“Sure thing Sandy.”
“That’s great. Now I’m sure ya ready for ya first match so why don’t you go ahead and get ready.”
I nodded.
“Right. Who’s my opponent?”
“He’s some guy visiting from down South. Be careful with him though. He’s a real beast.”
“Got it.”
I started toward the locker room when Sandy stopped me again. His greasy hand grabbed my arm.
“Hey wait. Ya need a name.”
“Joe Stall.”
Sandy cackled and slapped me across the arm. It took a lot of strength to not punch him in the nose right there.
“That’ll never work. It’s too boring. Ya need a name. Something catchy, something you can sell. I got it. You’re ex-military right? How bout this: Captain Joe Stall?”
“Actually I’m a Lieutenant Colonel.”
“I can’t sell Lieutenant Colonel, too long. Captain is perfect. We’ll just put it in quotes.”
I looked down at the small man with greasy hair and a crooked smile as he looked back up at me. His hands were still up in the air as if he was picturing “Captain” Joe Stall up on a marquee. I have to admit I could see it too.
“Whatever you think is best.”
“Of course I know what’s best. Now get changed and get in that ring.”
I walked off toward the locker room and fifteen minutes later I was getting my ass tossed around in the ring. This guy sure lived up to his nickname. He was a beast. Every time I threw I right he’d throw a left. Everytime I went for a clothesline he’d just stand there like nothing happened. I went for a big boot and he ducked it. I turned around and he hit me with a spinebuster. I was looking awful. He picked me up and nailed me with a piledriver. Then he lifted me again, and this time I went right up over his shoulders. It was my first time being powerbombed, and I remember it all happening in slow motion. The small crowd sounded like a thousand people. The matt felt like concrete when I hit the ground. He covered me. 1….2… 3. And just like that it was over.
Less than two minutes later and I was outside the ring with Sandy.
“That was great.”
“I lost.”
“So what?”
I stared at him with what must have been the must confused look anyone has ever had.
“I didn’t win. In fact, he kicked my ass.”
Sandy laughed and slapped me across the back.
“Doesn’t matter. For those first five minutes you looked really good. And you’re going to be a star.”
“How?”
“Because look at you. You’re freakin huge!”
He motioned broadly with his hands like and held his arms straight up in the air to emphasize my height.
“I can sell that. I can sell huge. What does he have? He’s got some generic talent. I don’t even remember his name, Ernesto something maybe. I can’t sell that. You’re interesting. I can see it now.”
He began to do the marquee thing with his hands again.
“Captain Joe Stall, seven foot tall man mountain, World Champion.”
“You can really get me there?”
“Sure I can. Sky’s the limit. Just stick with me.”
It sounded too good to be true. I had just gotten my ass kicked, and here was a guy telling me I could have it all.
“Okay, but you have to fix my billing. You had the announcer say I was from Washington D.C. I’m from Brooklyn.”
“Joe this is the Bronx. You want the people to like you? You don’t say you’re from Brooklyn. Besides, Washington D.C. goes with the gimmick. Stick with that. It’ll attract the crowds.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Exactly.”
He offered me his hand and I shook it, and just like that a partnership was formed that would lead to years of triumphant a tribulation. He's a sneaky and convincing little rat, Sandy Stracho. Who’s to say whether or not it was worth it in the end? But I will say this. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for Sandy Strachon. So maybe, despite the fact that he’s a world class bastard, things work out for the best.
------------------------------------------------
Brody turns around and looks to be near tears. Joe reaches out his arm, but he quickly lets it fall back to his side.
“Look Marcus. I know you’re worried, but you have to let your son live his life, and that means letting him make his own mistakes. He’ll come around eventually. Hopefully he won’t have to learn the hard way. And if he does you’ll be there to help him through it. And I’ll be there to help you.”
Joe hesitates but he finally places his hand on Brody’s shoulder. Brody looks back at him.
“Thanks Joe. It means a lot.”
Brody looks back and out the foggy windows to the Last Call across the street. Joe lets his hand drop. Brody turns around and smiles.
“Joe, remember our first match together? Before even UCW? It was back when we were training under Alan Foulds Sr.”
Joe returns Brody’s smile with one of his own.
“It was twenty-two years ago yesterday. You don’t forget something like that. It happened right across the street.”
“You know they’ve still got that old ring out back. Care for a tune up before Genesis?”
Joe pounds back his glass of scotch and pulls out his wallet.
“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Joe squares his tab with the bartender, and the two legends make their way across the street. The Last Call Pub is filled with rowdy part goers as they continue to celebrate Genesis week, but the crowds part like the Red Sea when Joe Stall and Marcus Brody come walking through the room. Joe spots a young Adam Foulds sitting at the bar. Motions to Brody and Brody grabs Foulds by the shoulders.
“You!”
Foulds looks at the two legends absolutely stunned and nearly pisses himself with excitement.
“You’re the ref for our match.”
Foulds nearly falls out of his seat, but Brody is holding him still.
“Y-yes sir—sirs… Anything you need.”
Brody lets Foulds go and he and Joe walk out back with Adam following close behind. All three men climb into the rusted ring as the crowd from the bar quickly files out and surrounds them. Joe and Marcus take their personal effects out of their pants and set them down by their respective turnbuckles. Some other UCW students, eager to play a part in the match gladly act as security. Joe and Marcus square off.
“Ring the bell Apollo.”
“Ding-ding.”
Joe and Marcus grapple in the middle of the ring. Immediately Marcus goes for his patented opener and slips behind Stall for the Suplex. Stall stomps on Brody’s foot and powers out of the hold. He comes back at Brody with a big boot to the face. Brody climbs to his feet, and Joe quickly places him in a Full Nelson. He lifts him up for a Full Nelson slam, but Brody manages to slip the hold and catch Stall with a DDT. Stall climbs to his feet, but Brody hits him with a snap suplex. He rips off his collared shirt and tosses it aside. As Joe gets up Marcus hits him with a suplex. The crowd outside the ring roars like animals.
Joe climbs to his feet, and Brody tries to hook him with another suplex, but Joe pushes him away and runs at him with a clothesline. Brody ducks it and hooks Stall with a German suplex. He keeps the hold locked in and nails a second one. He lifts him and hits the third. He quickly slips Joe into a sharpshooter as the crowd continues to cheer. The crowd is torn. Many root for the Captain, but at least half the crowd is cheering for the British Brody. Joe struggles to reach for the ropes as Brody tightens the sharpshooter. Then he remembers Joe’s knees, and he discreetly loosens his hold on his friend. Joe powers out of the move and Brody flies into the ring ropes. Joe climbs to his feet, and as Brody ounces back Joe connects with a clothesline. The crowd is none the wiser.
Joe picks Brody up lifts him into a chokeslam. He picks him up again and goes for a powerbomb, but Brody slides off of Joe’s back and hits him with a reverse suplex. Joe is slow to his feet, but Brody lets him up, and both men grapple again. This time Joe begins to push Brody toward the turnbuckle before lifting him up into a scoop slam. Brody jumps to his feet, but Stall hits him with an armdrag. Both men climb to their feet again. This time Stall catches Brody with another chokeslam. He then lifts Brody up and successfully nails a powerbomb. He lifts Brody up one more time and slams him down with a thunderous Sergeant Spinebuster. The crowd lets loose a loud roar. He covers. Adam counts. 1….2….3.
Stall climbs to his feet and Adam excitedly raises his hand. Joe helps Brody to his feet and the two old friends embrace in the middle of the ring.
“You’re lucky I’m so out of practice.”
“The only difference is that if you had more practice I wouldn’t have beaten you so quickly.”
Joe turns to face the crowd and silences their cheers with his own booming voice.
“My friends I thank you for all your support. Let me assure you that just like today I will be victorious at Genesis. I do not need to go on and one about my opponents. I’ll let my actions in the ring speak for me. But they should all know that no matter how talented they may be, no matter how much they may think they’re going to win, the Captain is coming for them. That World Championship will be mine!”
“Captain” Joe Stall raises his hands and the crowd roar in approval. He lets his arms drop to his side, but Brody quickly picks his right arm up again. The two men embrace again, and Brody whispers in Stall’s ear.
“We’re old.”
Joe smiles.
“Not too old.”
“You know the Last Call is across the street right?”
“Yeah, and I know that it’s crowded as all hell. Besides this place is fine.”
Marcus looks around and takes a whiff.
“This place is a dump.”
He looks over at the bartender who is cleaning a glass with a dirty towel.
“No offense.”
“Nah. It’s a shithole mate. But a paycheck’s a paycheck.”
The bartender spits on the glass and wipes it again. Marcus makes his way over and sits down on a bar stool next to Joe. A screw is missing in the seat and he wobbles back and forth.
“Seriously this place is disgusting.”
“It fits me just fine.”
Joe chugs down the glass of scotch he’s been drinking and slams it down on the counter.
“Now what does that mean?”
“It means I’ll have another scotch.”
The bartender sets the glass he is holding down and stuffs the rag in his pants. He quickly pours Joe another glass of Bells and looks over at Marcus.
“What can I getcha?”
Marcus looks at Joe and just shakes his head.
“Water is fine.”
The bartender nods his head, picks up the glass he just set down and fills it with water from the tap. He sets it in front of Marcus who eyes it before looking back over at Joe.
“Seriously what is that supposed to mean mate?”
Joe takes a long sip of his scotch and sighs.
“I haven’t won since I’ve been back Marcus.”
“Ack so what? You’re not going to sit here and bitch and moan about that are you?”
Joe slams the glass down on the counter and spills some of it’s contents.
“So I’m old Marcus! I’m old and stupid!”
Marcus picks up his water and tosses it in Joe’s face. Joe jumps from his seat. He raises his fist, and then… he sits right back down and goes back to his scotch.
“What in bloody hell is wrong with you? You’ve got a match at Genesis in two days! For the FWF World Championship! And you’re sitting here whining about being old? And the old Joe Stall would have socked me one for that stunt! What’s happened to you?”
Joe shakes his head and goes back to his drink.
“I’m tired.”
Joe goes to take a sip, but Marcus knocks it out of his hand. The glass flies and smashes on the floor. The bartender offer up an annoyed grunt before bending over to clean it up.”
“Ah ya big fuckin cry baby! Oh I’m too old. I’m too tired. I’m too fat and stupid to realize that I’ve got a great opportunity in front of me and instead I’m going to sit here and whine like some kind of sod. It’s fucking disgusting is what it is.”
Marcus punches Joe in the arm. He does react. Marcus punches him again, and Joe begins to tense up. His muscles flex as his brow becomes furrowed.
“Look at you. You’re a sorry lout, just sitting here, giving up already, acting like some kind of Frenchmen.”
And with that Joe catches Marcus’ arm and tosses it aside. Marcus jumps up, but Joe knocks him back onto his stool with a right hand.
“Now that’s more like it. You can’t seriously be intimidated by the likes of Sah’ta Thor, Christian Lee, and Ross Walker. You’ve been in that ring with me, Alan Foulds, Ernest Bethea, Pain, Unknown. You’ve face done “Dark” Mark Lloyd.”
“And lost.”
“Right, but you’ve beat him plenty of times too.”
Joe shakes his head.
“Not at Genesis.”
“So?”
“I’ve never won at Genesis.”
Marcus sits back stunned. His seat shifts backward and he nearly falls off, but he catches himself on the counter. He looks long and hard at Joe Stall who is simply staring down at his hands.
“So? You’re feeling a little cursed? That’s silly.”
Joe slams his fist into the counter and rises to his feet. He turns away from Marcus Brody.
“Last time I lost at Genesis it was in a tag team ladder match. And the winners? Sah’ta Thor and Sujir Thorn.”
Marcus walks over and places a hand on Joe’s shoulder, but the giant quickly shoves him away. Joe turns around, and Marcus hits him with a hard right hand.
“Your partner was “Dark” Mark Lloyd. You two were never going to work together to win that match.”
Joe responds with a right hand of his own. The two men grapple. Marcus slips behind Joe and tries to hit him with a German suplex, but Joe elbows him away. Joe turns and goes to hit Marcus with a clothesline, but Marcus ducks it, and then hooks Joe with a successful German suplex. Joe climbs to his feet and both men grapple again. This time Joe pushes Brody up against a nearby table.
“I haven’t won a match since I’ve been back Marcus. I’ve been beaten, broken, and embarrassed.”
Marcus, fighting dirty, knees Joe in the groin and the lifts him into a suplex that nearly break his back over the table. Joe collapses to the floor, and Marcus runs at him. He goes to kick him in the face, but Joe grabs his boot and pulls him down to the ground. Both men slowly begin to climb to their feet.
“So what? You’ve still earned that shot. Look at how well you did in the Blizzard match? You damn well would have won that chamber match if Christian Lee wasn’t a crook. You made Sah’ta Thor tap out. You can do it again at Genesis.”
Brody and Stall both climb to their feet and make their way back over to the bar and sit back down on the rickety bar stools. Joe grabs at his knees and signals the bartender with two fingers.
“Two waters.”
The bartender grunts and fills two tall glasses with the swill from the tap. He sets them down in front of Joe and Marcus and the two warriors drink them like shots of tequila. They slam the glasses on the table and call for two more. Marcus reaches over and places his hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“Well?”
Joe takes a sip from the second glass of water that the bartender brings over.
“I think Unknown was doing the darkside gimmick while Sah’ta Thor was still sucking from his mom’s tit.”
“And?”
“And I think Christian Lee is a pansy assed pretty boy, and a cheat. He doesn’t deserve to wear that belt, and he’s nothing but a scared paper champion.”
Marcus slams his hand against Joe’s back.
“And Ross Walker?”
“Well shit he’s one talented S.O.B.”
Joe looks back down at his hands. Marcus drops his arm from Joe’s shoulder and looks at his sullen old friend. Joe slowly turns his head and looks up at Marcus with a broad smile on his face. He picks up his glass of water and tosses it in Brody’s face.
“But he’s never won a World Title and he won’t be winning one at Genesis!”
Marcus claps his hand on Joe’s bicep. And shakes the water from his hair.
“That’s more fucking like it.”
Marcus chugs his water and chucks it across the bar. It shatters against the far wall.
“We’ll take two Carlings!”
“We’re out.”
“Bloody hell this place takes the piss.”
Joe laughs.
“We’ll have two scotches. And this time you’re drinking it without a mixer, like a fucking man.”
“You’re gonna tell me how to be a man? You’re were just moaning about how you were an old bag of bones who stands no chance at Genesis.”
“Yeah well now this old bag of bones is ready to kick some ass at Genesis, and win the FWF World Championship. So now you’re going to drink your scotch like a fucking man.”
“Whatever you say Old man.”
The bartender brings them two glasses of scotch. Both warriors raise their glasses to each other.
“A toast, to me, my grandson, and your son, may we all win our title matches at Genesis.”
“To you and your grandson at least.”
Joe and Marcus clink glasses, and Brody takes a long sip of his. Brody grimaces, but Joe sets his glass down without drinking from it.
“Don’t be like that.”
Brody finishes his scotch in his next sip and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.
“My boys fallen under the influence of that twat Sandy Strachon.”
“Right, Sandy Strachon is a ripe old cunt, but Marcus is a smart boy. Don’t worry about him.”
Brody turns away and looks at his empty glass. He looks up at nothing.
“I don’t know Joe. He doesn’t listen to me anymore. We haven’t talked lately. I’m worried about him. You know what Sandy can be like. You remember when you first met him?”
"I sure do."
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I remember. It was the summer of 1987. I was fresh out of the marines. After I fought in Nam I had stuck on, did some government work, worked with Alan Foulds Sr. some, and did some stuff that I can’t talk about for a few more years at least. That summer I hung up my combat boots and picked up some wrestling boots. I was a cocksure son of a bitch, and Alan had told me I showed some real talent when we were fighting together out there in the jungle. I’d been fighting all my life, and I figured I could make some good money doing it.
My first show was at some gym in the Bronx. There couldn’t have been more than fifty or sixty people there to watch us, but it was start. The book was none other than Sandy himself. I still remember the first thing he said to me.
“Jesus Christ ya freakin huge!”
He had come up right behind me. I reacted instinctively.
“Sir yes sir.”
He laughed out loud with that cackle of his and patted me on the middle of my back. I barely felt it.
“No need for that sir business. Ya can just call me Sandy.”
I turned around and didn’t see him at first. Then I looked down. His head was a solid foot below mine own, and he was standing right next to me.
“Sure thing Sandy.”
“That’s great. Now I’m sure ya ready for ya first match so why don’t you go ahead and get ready.”
I nodded.
“Right. Who’s my opponent?”
“He’s some guy visiting from down South. Be careful with him though. He’s a real beast.”
“Got it.”
I started toward the locker room when Sandy stopped me again. His greasy hand grabbed my arm.
“Hey wait. Ya need a name.”
“Joe Stall.”
Sandy cackled and slapped me across the arm. It took a lot of strength to not punch him in the nose right there.
“That’ll never work. It’s too boring. Ya need a name. Something catchy, something you can sell. I got it. You’re ex-military right? How bout this: Captain Joe Stall?”
“Actually I’m a Lieutenant Colonel.”
“I can’t sell Lieutenant Colonel, too long. Captain is perfect. We’ll just put it in quotes.”
I looked down at the small man with greasy hair and a crooked smile as he looked back up at me. His hands were still up in the air as if he was picturing “Captain” Joe Stall up on a marquee. I have to admit I could see it too.
“Whatever you think is best.”
“Of course I know what’s best. Now get changed and get in that ring.”
I walked off toward the locker room and fifteen minutes later I was getting my ass tossed around in the ring. This guy sure lived up to his nickname. He was a beast. Every time I threw I right he’d throw a left. Everytime I went for a clothesline he’d just stand there like nothing happened. I went for a big boot and he ducked it. I turned around and he hit me with a spinebuster. I was looking awful. He picked me up and nailed me with a piledriver. Then he lifted me again, and this time I went right up over his shoulders. It was my first time being powerbombed, and I remember it all happening in slow motion. The small crowd sounded like a thousand people. The matt felt like concrete when I hit the ground. He covered me. 1….2… 3. And just like that it was over.
Less than two minutes later and I was outside the ring with Sandy.
“That was great.”
“I lost.”
“So what?”
I stared at him with what must have been the must confused look anyone has ever had.
“I didn’t win. In fact, he kicked my ass.”
Sandy laughed and slapped me across the back.
“Doesn’t matter. For those first five minutes you looked really good. And you’re going to be a star.”
“How?”
“Because look at you. You’re freakin huge!”
He motioned broadly with his hands like and held his arms straight up in the air to emphasize my height.
“I can sell that. I can sell huge. What does he have? He’s got some generic talent. I don’t even remember his name, Ernesto something maybe. I can’t sell that. You’re interesting. I can see it now.”
He began to do the marquee thing with his hands again.
“Captain Joe Stall, seven foot tall man mountain, World Champion.”
“You can really get me there?”
“Sure I can. Sky’s the limit. Just stick with me.”
It sounded too good to be true. I had just gotten my ass kicked, and here was a guy telling me I could have it all.
“Okay, but you have to fix my billing. You had the announcer say I was from Washington D.C. I’m from Brooklyn.”
“Joe this is the Bronx. You want the people to like you? You don’t say you’re from Brooklyn. Besides, Washington D.C. goes with the gimmick. Stick with that. It’ll attract the crowds.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Exactly.”
He offered me his hand and I shook it, and just like that a partnership was formed that would lead to years of triumphant a tribulation. He's a sneaky and convincing little rat, Sandy Stracho. Who’s to say whether or not it was worth it in the end? But I will say this. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for Sandy Strachon. So maybe, despite the fact that he’s a world class bastard, things work out for the best.
------------------------------------------------
Brody turns around and looks to be near tears. Joe reaches out his arm, but he quickly lets it fall back to his side.
“Look Marcus. I know you’re worried, but you have to let your son live his life, and that means letting him make his own mistakes. He’ll come around eventually. Hopefully he won’t have to learn the hard way. And if he does you’ll be there to help him through it. And I’ll be there to help you.”
Joe hesitates but he finally places his hand on Brody’s shoulder. Brody looks back at him.
“Thanks Joe. It means a lot.”
Brody looks back and out the foggy windows to the Last Call across the street. Joe lets his hand drop. Brody turns around and smiles.
“Joe, remember our first match together? Before even UCW? It was back when we were training under Alan Foulds Sr.”
Joe returns Brody’s smile with one of his own.
“It was twenty-two years ago yesterday. You don’t forget something like that. It happened right across the street.”
“You know they’ve still got that old ring out back. Care for a tune up before Genesis?”
Joe pounds back his glass of scotch and pulls out his wallet.
“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Joe squares his tab with the bartender, and the two legends make their way across the street. The Last Call Pub is filled with rowdy part goers as they continue to celebrate Genesis week, but the crowds part like the Red Sea when Joe Stall and Marcus Brody come walking through the room. Joe spots a young Adam Foulds sitting at the bar. Motions to Brody and Brody grabs Foulds by the shoulders.
“You!”
Foulds looks at the two legends absolutely stunned and nearly pisses himself with excitement.
“You’re the ref for our match.”
Foulds nearly falls out of his seat, but Brody is holding him still.
“Y-yes sir—sirs… Anything you need.”
Brody lets Foulds go and he and Joe walk out back with Adam following close behind. All three men climb into the rusted ring as the crowd from the bar quickly files out and surrounds them. Joe and Marcus take their personal effects out of their pants and set them down by their respective turnbuckles. Some other UCW students, eager to play a part in the match gladly act as security. Joe and Marcus square off.
“Ring the bell Apollo.”
“Ding-ding.”
Joe and Marcus grapple in the middle of the ring. Immediately Marcus goes for his patented opener and slips behind Stall for the Suplex. Stall stomps on Brody’s foot and powers out of the hold. He comes back at Brody with a big boot to the face. Brody climbs to his feet, and Joe quickly places him in a Full Nelson. He lifts him up for a Full Nelson slam, but Brody manages to slip the hold and catch Stall with a DDT. Stall climbs to his feet, but Brody hits him with a snap suplex. He rips off his collared shirt and tosses it aside. As Joe gets up Marcus hits him with a suplex. The crowd outside the ring roars like animals.
Joe climbs to his feet, and Brody tries to hook him with another suplex, but Joe pushes him away and runs at him with a clothesline. Brody ducks it and hooks Stall with a German suplex. He keeps the hold locked in and nails a second one. He lifts him and hits the third. He quickly slips Joe into a sharpshooter as the crowd continues to cheer. The crowd is torn. Many root for the Captain, but at least half the crowd is cheering for the British Brody. Joe struggles to reach for the ropes as Brody tightens the sharpshooter. Then he remembers Joe’s knees, and he discreetly loosens his hold on his friend. Joe powers out of the move and Brody flies into the ring ropes. Joe climbs to his feet, and as Brody ounces back Joe connects with a clothesline. The crowd is none the wiser.
Joe picks Brody up lifts him into a chokeslam. He picks him up again and goes for a powerbomb, but Brody slides off of Joe’s back and hits him with a reverse suplex. Joe is slow to his feet, but Brody lets him up, and both men grapple again. This time Joe begins to push Brody toward the turnbuckle before lifting him up into a scoop slam. Brody jumps to his feet, but Stall hits him with an armdrag. Both men climb to their feet again. This time Stall catches Brody with another chokeslam. He then lifts Brody up and successfully nails a powerbomb. He lifts Brody up one more time and slams him down with a thunderous Sergeant Spinebuster. The crowd lets loose a loud roar. He covers. Adam counts. 1….2….3.
Stall climbs to his feet and Adam excitedly raises his hand. Joe helps Brody to his feet and the two old friends embrace in the middle of the ring.
“You’re lucky I’m so out of practice.”
“The only difference is that if you had more practice I wouldn’t have beaten you so quickly.”
Joe turns to face the crowd and silences their cheers with his own booming voice.
“My friends I thank you for all your support. Let me assure you that just like today I will be victorious at Genesis. I do not need to go on and one about my opponents. I’ll let my actions in the ring speak for me. But they should all know that no matter how talented they may be, no matter how much they may think they’re going to win, the Captain is coming for them. That World Championship will be mine!”
“Captain” Joe Stall raises his hands and the crowd roar in approval. He lets his arms drop to his side, but Brody quickly picks his right arm up again. The two men embrace again, and Brody whispers in Stall’s ear.
“We’re old.”
Joe smiles.
“Not too old.”
