The feed cuts to the inside of a car driving down a road in Rhode Island. Fans in the arena know that it’s the roads just outside of the Dunkin’ Donuts Center, as evidenced by the building itself in the background. The young veteran, Anthony Caffrey, is sitting in the backseat of this car, flipping an ID card around in his hand and looking out the window. Surprisingly, he is also wearing a nice grey suit as well. He hears the words “and we’re live” and begins.
Anthony Caffrey: “I’ve been doing this for over eight years now. I’ve lost track of when I started -- too many bumps -- but one thing I’ve always remembered is clawing, fighting, scratching. They used to call me The Philadelphia Phighter. That was a name I got when they saw a scrappy loudmouth kid from Philly and thought it’d be a way to make the big bucks. I was just happy to have a name then, a kid like that in a new world. I didn’t even want to be a wrestler at first, I wanted to box.”
Caffrey looks back at the camera and throws a right and a left. It becomes clear that he and the cameraman are sharing the backseat together.
Uber Driver: “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Caffrey looks over from the camera and nods before continuing.
Caffrey: “Around back, please. You see, the only thing that was bad about that name was the number of Rocky comparison. And the number of times people have asked me about which cheesesteak I prefer. And the snowballs thrown at Santa Claus. Like Jesus Christ, that was 1968...I made the decision to drop the name at least three or four years ago. It was rushed on me, a little bit, by this guy, his name was Powerbomb. I just did a radio show and it’s been in the back of my mind. I was a scrappy guy, and Powerbomb was that top shelf, that star at the top of the Christmas tree that I wanted to be, and I kept barking and barking at him until I finally got my shot. Huge stadium, best of 7, and I got absolutely swept. I had put up my name, thinking it’d never happen that way, and it did. For a solid few weeks I had to go by the Cleveland Steamer.”
Caffrey looks down and bites his lip to hold back laughter.
Uber Driver: “Is that a reference to something?”
Caffrey lets out a small laugh.
Caffrey: “Google it after I get out of the car. Don’t show your kids.”
Uber Driver: “That bad?”
Caffrey: “Make sure SafeSearch is on. Don’t click images.”
Caffrey shudders at the thought before turning back to the camera. They are almost there.
Caffrey: “People -- people told me that I was never gonna be anything, and after so many years of being in this industry, by all logic and reason, I should have agreed with them. I sucked. I was bad at it, and what’s worse was I was going against stars and legends and I was going absolutely nowhere. But I’ve always been a scratcher, a clawer, a Phighter, and I never quit. When my wallet had a giant hole where money should be, I drove around shouting at companies to give me a shot. I’ve gone too far in this life to turn back. Thanks for the ride, man. Pop your trunk.”
Caffrey drops his ID card and gets out of the car with the cameraman. He reaches into the car’s trunk and pulls out his bag, a big piece of rolling luggage. It’s clear that he pays for a nicer Uber than the standard fare. He looks at his bag, makes sure it still works properly, and walks back up to his driver, handing him a few bills.
Caffrey: “I think that’s everything. Thanks again. Five stars. Take care.”
Uber Driver: “You too.”
Caffrey waves off the driver and begins walking towards the back of the arena. All of the fans have gone inside, so there is no one to yell at him or ask for autographs and pictures. He scratches his chin and continues talking.
Caffrey: “The first time I knew I was finally as good as I’ve been preaching I am was another loss. 55 minutes on a random Tuesday against a Hall of a Famer, a legend, his name was Tony Pride. It was a new company, and I was doing my retiring old-timer routine, the booking a guy in a retirement home around where he lives, reading out his accomplishments, putting my paycheck towards a watch -- the same shit I usually do, knowing that I was gonna get my ass kicked. And twenty minutes in, I knew I could take him another ten. Then another ten. The show’s producers were pissed -- we got scolded for running so long, we cost the company a lot of money that night -- but it was just two men who wanted to figure out who was better. And that night was the first night where I could honestly say that I might have been better. He just had experience.”
Caffrey intends to roll right into the arena, but a young security guard puts his arm out, stopping Phighter in his tracks.
Security: “Sir, I can’t just let you in the building. I’m going to have to go see some identification.”
Caffrey: “You don’t know who I am? Are you new, or are you just tied to this arena and not BFW? I’m part of the show, my face is on a billboard advertising tonight’s event, it’s about half a mile that way.”
Caffrey points over his shoulder, before realizing that it’s pointless with this guy.
Security: “Standard procedure, sir. Wrestlers were due to arrive two hours ago. Can I see an ID?”
Caffrey: “I had to do a--oh, what the hell am I trying to do, justify my behavior to you? You’re just a guy. Hold on...ahh shit, where’d it go?”
Caffrey searches his pocket. A look of panic appears on his face as the security guard rolls his eyes. Caffrey pats everywhere on his body to find the card.
Security: “A-huh.”
Caffrey: “No no no, for real, for real I just had it, it was right in this pocket. Don’t you know me? I’m Anthony Caffrey? Former World Champion?”
Caffrey has given up on finding the ID card, it seems.
Security: “That’s what they all say.”
Caffrey has a look of confusion on his face, almost bewildered that he even has to do this.
Caffrey: “I’m Anthony Caffrey, I’m fighting Akragth and Sinister Minister, he’s got a dumb kid that follows him around, Tokyo and I are going for the tag team championships, well, I’m going for the gold, because if he gets in my--I am in the middle of a live promo right now that you are, quite frankly, interrupting, I am one of the faces that run this place and you’re ruining everything right now about this segment. Hey, is it possible to edit around this?”
Caffrey points to the camera, indicating it to the security guard.
Cameraman: “We’re still live, Caffrey.”
Caffrey: “Shit.”
The head of security, JoeB, steps outside to back up the young security guard and to see what’s going on. Caffrey looks relieved to see him and not have to deal with the other guard. JoeB sees Caffrey and cracks a smile.
JoeB: “Mr. Caffrey, a pleasure to see you.”
Caffrey: “Ahhh great it’s you. Hey listen, can I just go in now? I’ve got a whole ‘nother six paragraphs of stuff to say to the people about how I rose up, overcame, and am gonna kick ass and break ankles tonight, and I gotta stretch, and go find wherever the hell Zombie and his girl are.”
JoeB: “Did you call yourself a face that runs this place?”
Caffrey: “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did, why?”
JoeB: “That would be Zacharias Adler.”
Caffrey rubs his eyes with his fingers, visibly frustrated.
Caffrey: “Did he put you two up to this shit? Awww man, fuck that guy so hard.”
JoeB: “Fuck that guy? That guy is your boss, Anthony.”
Caffrey throws up his arms.
Caffrey: “My boss? My boss. My boss is a pencil pusher behind a desk who sees this, my industry, my passion, my career, my life, as his latest financial project. Woohoo, my concussions are surely raking in the dough for him! I was the WORLD CHAMPION and then he had the balls to come out and say that I was bad for ratings. As if it was my fault, and not the shit wrestlers that make up the first two hours of the card, the Joe Blows off the street that he gives a contract to, the anybodys and the nobodys, the baby fetus people, the druggy guy who doesn’t get tested, the has-beens and the never-wases, hell, even the stupid little shit that follows Sinister around! When the people want wrestling, they wait for me to come on, and Adler knows that, so my spot is pretty goddamn safe. I’ll call that old man whatever I damn well please because my skills 'pay his bills'. He’s not gonna turn around and fire me, I already shit on one of his affiliates and I got away with a slap on the wrist AND on top of that BFW stopped affiliating with them. I’m good. It’s not a problem for me, but thank you for your concern, Joey B.”
JoeB: “A-huh.”
Caffrey: “Now would you please let me into my damn arena?”
Security: “Do you have your ID?”
Caffrey rolls his eyes.
JoeB: “He’s who he says he is. Let him in.”
Caffrey smiles at the other guard and takes a small bow. He looks down at his luggage and gets ready to go. JoeB stops him.
JoeB: “What do you say?”
Caffrey faces JoeB and waves goodbye to the other guard, not even looking at him.
Caffrey: “I guess I won’t have to go reporting you to the bossman. So long.”
JoeB: “Be on time. And have your damn ID.”
Caffrey: “Tell your boy here that when I win my tag team championship tonight, that and all of my future championships here in this company serve as my ID.”
The two stare down. Caffrey smiles again and rolls his luggage into the arena, beginning to head towards the lockerroom.
Caffrey: “Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?”
Cameraman: “You just did the first night you thought you were better.”
Caffrey: “Right, right. How much time do we have before whatever match is supposed to be on right now?”
Cameraman: “Like two minutes.”
Caffrey stops in his tracks, muttering the word “unfuckingbelievable”.
Caffrey: “Shit. Do I have time for...damnit we’re gonna have to skip that...what was the ending...oh...look, this is to you, Tokyo. I’m a former BFW World Champion. I am one of the best on this roster today, maybe THE best, and if Adler hadn’t banned me from the World Championship and Sharpe hadn’t stuck me with you to make a marketable team of two box-office draws, I wouldn’t care about you at all and I’d be focused on the bigger picture. You’re a good guy, but I’m not letting you get out of there with the championship. We’re going to kick their asses, we just are because we’re that much better than them, that’s the truth, and you’re not getting in the way of my next championship. So do your little greeting card hippie bullshit warm-up without me tonight, because we’re not friends during this match. We are coworkers, and quite frankly, you’re an obstacle tonight. I’m going to aim to go around you, but if I have to go through you, I’ll just break your-”
Just as Caffrey is getting ready to finish, the scene cuts, having run over time.
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Wed Jun 15, 2016 3:01 pm