"Over the last few weeks, I have collected a total of 4 points at the hands of Reginald Dampshaw and Aka Manah respectively. And with those 4 points, to completely lock down a spot in the finals come October, I need to collect the remaining 6. 3 more opponents lined up and intend to defeat them also. Right now, I am in a fortunate situation of being the only man in A block to have 4 points and it’s safe to say my confidence is pretty justified, but don’t mistake it for over confidence. I am well aware in tournaments like the EVO Series, a single fall could happen at any given time and the landscape can change for the rest of the tournament in the blink of an eye. I know that, and that means I won’t be overlooking a single opponent for the remainder, and that includes Badru Jamba. Badaru has collected two victories against both Reginald Dampshaw and Johnny Nova, granted one of them wasn’t an EVO Series block match but it’s nothing to scoff at nonetheless. And so I have heard these tales of Badru, his story is surrounded in mystery and superstition. Apparently a reincarnation of a God of Fire, Thunder, and Lightning in the Maawai tribe called Shango. How much of that is true is beyond my knowledge, but in all honestly it isn’t a concern. With all due respect, you could be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ himself and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference to me. End of the day you’re another hurdle I have to leap, another wall I have to climb over, another opponent I have to defeat to get 2 more points that could shift the tide even further into my favor. In saying that, a victory over me for you would make us tied at two wins and one lose each, but trust me in saying if you want this victory you’ll have to give me your best effort thus far. And I’ll level with you, being booked for both NEO and Voltage, especially with Territorial Invasion on the horizon and the recent brawl on Voltage that leads up to it, you’ve probably got me at my most physically exhausted this week. Don’t mistake that as an excuse, if you beat me it’ll be nothing but fair and square, but with the importance of winning the inaugural EVO Series and get the mysterious reward that goes towards the winner, you should expect me to try and finish you as quick as possible like I did with Aka Manah two weeks ago. Because as much as I’d love to have a scrum of a match, the shorter I can pin your shoulders to the mat or tap you out the better. Because right after you I have to prepare myself for Johnny Nova and then that dickhead Moongoose McQueen. Those aren’t going to be easy either, what with Nova becoming a contender for the New Breed Championship in his own right and Moongoose is quite frankly a fraud of a champion that is doing the title more bad than good. If Nova can’t take the title off him, you better believe I intend to be the very next in line to take the title; especially with how Uprising went down. And there are some people believe I need some edge to get there, that I need to be meaner, need to start calling people rookies and say that I am a greater wrestler than them. I however disagree and refuse to do so. Badru Jamba, you have all the potential to become a top talent on NEO, if not EAW a few years down the line. But right here, right now, I can’t concern myself with your future as I have to focus on what I have to do to make a great future for myself. I have chased this championship for far too long, have come too far and fallen so short too many times to even remotely give you an opening to take another potential shot away from me. As I said, 10 points will make it undisputed that I belong in the semi-finals and I intend to get all 10. Then I intend to win the semi-finals and then the finals, win the EVO Series and in the very near future become the EAW New Breed Champion. All I can offer you Badru Jamba is the best of luck because you’re going to bloody need it."

Teamwork...It's pretty important wouldn't you say? No matter who you are and no matter what you do, at some point you're gonna need a little helping hand. You can be the greatest swimmer in the world but without the water what are you? Sore. That's right. Without the water, you're nothing. It's no different in Hollywoo either. Or should I say Hollywood? See, without something as simple as a d, the movie industry becomes nothing. The rest of the letters may capture your attention and get the glory, but the d completes the word. Teamwork. Bill Clinton. He had a dirty little secret, but without teamwork - we're kept in the dark. Without Monica Lewinsky, we would never have heard the words 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.' Teamwork makes the dream work.

I'll take it one step Führer. Do you think that Hitler could have climbed the political ladder without teamwork? Without Goebbels, Himmler and Göring he wouldn't have been able to massacre all those Jews. Teamwork. Now, I know that was a little close to the bone so let me take this in a different direction: feet. We all have a left foot and a right foot. Unless you've had an unfortunate accident, been dealt bad cards or duped by the government into fighting meaningless wars. Without the left and right working together we can't walk. Well, we can but we'd end up looking like something highly unevolved. A bit like Donald Trump. The right foot steps forward and then the left joins in. Teamwork.

While we're are on the subject of limbs: Bad Guy Brandon. You seem to be at odds with yours. Rickety old knee and damaged shoulder. Are you sure you can even make it to the ring? Is that long walk down the aisle going to be a problem? You need to understand the seriousness of our situation. Bouncing around the ring like a Spalding is all well and good, but can you go the distance? Have you got my back? Having fantastic aerial ability is admirable. Landing a triple axel is fine if you're Tonya Harding. You, my friend, are no Tonya Harding. I guess that makes you Nancy Kerrigan. She had a little knee trouble like yourself. She liked to defy gravity and put on a show. However, she came back stronger than before. At the 1994 winter Olympics, she got on that podium: Silver medal. Do you think you'll make a positive comeback, Brandy? I don't want a partner that's made of glass, Brandy. I want a partner that I can rely on; a partner that I can trust when I step out of that trench and into the battlefield; a partner that isn't going to wilt like a flower in the midday sun. Most of all, Brandy, I want to win. My question is: Can you step up?

I'm getting a sense of Déjà vu here. Shackleford, yet another of the walking wounded. I'm getting the impression that I need to bring a first aid kit instead of my 'A' game. Shack, I know your pride has been damaged. I know your ego has taken a beating. I know it hurts when nobody even knows your name. I do. I do, my friend. I'm going to give you a bit of advice that I know will stand you in good stead: get back on the horse. That's right. It always worked for John Wayne. Forget about the past, Shack. We'd all love to go back and screw the girl next door, but we can't. You have to focus on the future. It's like walking; you've got to go forward to get anywhere. I'm counting on you, Shack. We're already two-and-a-half-men and there's no Charlie Sheen in sight. Stay away from black cats. Do not walk under any ladders. And under no circumstances should you play with mirrors, Shack. We're already swimming against the tide with Bad Luck Brandy, I don't need you pulling the rug out from underneath us. Teamwork, Shack. We stick together, we win together. It's real simple. You think Steve Carrell would've lost his V-plates without a little help from his friends, Shack? A 40-year-old virgin, Shack - take it onboard.

Then there are the three stooges. Dimmi. The plate smashing imbecile who has to duck through every doorway. The kind of guy that gets a shock when he finds out his toaster isn't waterproof. I watched you drag your knuckles across the floor and beat your chest at every opportunity. Your not Godzilla and I'm not Japanese. I don't run for cover when a man the size of Russia stands in front of me and blocks out the sun. In that tense situation, I simply become wrestling's equivalent to the President of the United States; I wipe out the country. There will be no Uncle Sam in this conflict, Dimmi because come Wednesday night you'll be calling me Daddy.

Jimmy Stallion. Jimbo. The Ron Jeremy of the wrestling world. I suppose with that moustache it was always going to be the porn business, wasn't it? It's not like you can be taken seriously with a dead rat under your nose. You look like Magnum P.I's lovechild. Only without the Ferrari and Hawaiian shirts. I have to admit, Jimbo I was a little bit disappointed when our paths crossed last time. I was expecting a tad more from you. I'm beginning to think that all your sex scenes are having a detrimental effect on your in-ring performances. Maybe you should chase that dream of yours and become a journalist. I think you'd be better suited to that, Jimbo. The wrestling business can be a tough place for a guy who loves giving head more than being dropped on his. The Headliner. Front Page Worthy. That's all I keep hearing from you. The Man With The Question. Is that so? Newsflash for you, Jimbo - I'm the guy with the answers.

Chris McKenzie. The guy who just wants to be loved. I told Logan we shouldn't have trusted you, you unhinged son-of-a-bitch. I guess they don't call you The Virus for no reason. It's making me sick just thinking about last Wednesday's match. It's all good, though, C-Mack. People haven't got to worry about infections anymore. They don't have to worry about rashes, vomiting and a whole host of other symptoms because I'm the counteracting agent, C-Mack. I'm the antidote. That's right, amigo, I'm the remedy.

Remember folks, there's no 'I' in team. There's just an 'M' and 'E'.

I came. I saw. I humbled.

Hello and welcome! Yeah!...I'm Alex Reynolds and this is SMBT, your liberation station. It's a lovely sunny day today and I am high on life! That's right listeners for the last 24 hours I've been partying like it's 1999; I've been pondering about the millennium bug; watching the first-ever episode of the Sopranos; worrying about the future of basketball after Michael Jordan announced his retirement and using Microsoft Encarta for research purposes. I'm sure most of my listeners are aware of the reason for my celebration, but for anyone out there that isn't - have you been under a rock or Josef Fritzl's basement? - I managed to successfully navigate my first match in EAW. Now my ego and reputation shall soar. I'm joking, of course. My feet are firmly on the ground.  Although I did notice carbonated water in the locker room before my match which may have been an acceptable beverage to serve to an unknown guy from the back of beyond, for me, however, after I basically beat three guys on my own - it's not. Forgive me, and I don't want to be the one to criticise, but I have certain standards, therefore, I expect a beverage more appropriate next week. Who knows maybe I can do a deal with Pepsi?

I know, I know. I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I shouldn't run before I can walk. What's the point in walking when you can fly? I was a bona fide, real-life, superhero! I came. I saw. I humbled. I'll be honest, I didn't know the match had finished. I couldn't hear the referee's hand striking the mat three times. I didn't hear the bell either. The noise was just too loud. That's the kind of effect my exhilarating performance had on those people. They were all on their feet because of something I did. Me! I'm not saying that my tag team partners didn't play a role because they did. However, I was Ben Hur and they were the extras.

I'd like to take this time to thank my partners for their effort and application during the match. It didn't go unnoticed. Well, some of it did as I was a bit busy kicking ass and taking names, but err...yeah...thanks. Now, I'm not expecting anything back in return for my kind words. You guys were there for me and you helped. Minimally, but you still helped. However, if you guys know any women that are looking for a single guy with fantastic prospects and a bright future then be sure to give them my number. Seriously. Dating sites are not what they cracked up to be.

Whilst I'm on the subject of women. I have a certain item in my possession that belongs to an EAW Vixen. Matter of fact I have the item in my trouser pocket right now. The internet made all of this possible. I'm a big fan of online shopping. I love it! I'm a big Amazon admirer. I'm absolutely devoted to that company. I've never had a problem with them in over 10 years. NOT ONE PROBLEM. I used to think that Amazon stood all on its own. A bit like me in my debut match. I used to think that Amazon was untouchable. Also, like me in my debut match. I used to think that eBay was the lowest of the low. Pure scum. Nothing like me at all. My opinion, however, has dramatically changed since I acquired a pair of panties. That's right. I managed to obtain a pair of Astraea Jordan's panties. How? Well, it's the internet, baby! And wrestling fans are fanatical. I probably paid over the odds for them if I'm being honest, but how many men can claim to own a pair of Astraea Jordan's knickers? Not many. Not unless you believe the rumours.

We're going to take a quick station break but when we come back I'll be talking to a blast from my past so stay tuned and don't touch that dial.

We're back. I'm Alex Reynolds. In England, we have a saying: People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Now my guest today doesn't live in a glass house nor does he throw stones. At least it doesn't mention that on the sheet of paper I have in front of me. He does, however, have a saying: I'm wicked, I'm se-

"You damn right!" A voice cut in.

I should point out that the voice you just heard was that of my guest. A man who needs no introduction. Which is good as he just ruined it. It's a man I know very well from my days on the English wrestling circuit: Jason Collins.

"The one and only."

"Welcome."

"It's great to be here."

"They all say that."

"All? I thought I was your first guest?"

"Well, you, y-y-you...are. I meant it's what any guest on a talk show generally says."

"Have you ever said it?"

"What?"

"Have you ever told a host that it was great to be there? You know, the generic response."

"Not that I recall, no."

"So you've been on a talk show?"

"Technically..."

"Have you or not?"

"Not exactly."

"No, then?"

"I guess."

"Man, you don't know what you're missing."

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many talk shows have you been on?"

"Off the top of my head?" He blew air out of his cheeks. "I've lost count."

"Maths was never your strong point was it?"

"Yeah, I was always lagging behind when it came to mathematics. A little bit like you and the ladies." He laughed.

I wriggled uncomfortably in my seat. He had a point, but I wasn't going to tell him. He had no idea what it was like being me. He'd always had women falling over themselves to talk to him. He had knickers thrown at him on a daily basis. He certainly didn't need eBay to help him feel more secure in his skin. I remember one time when we were on tour with an English wrestling company. We used to drive to the venue a day before so that we could get a feel for the place and its surroundings. We'd book into a hotel. One room. Two beds. This one time we were in Hull in Yorkshire. Holiday Inn Express I think it was. Anyway, he wanted a cup of tea and we hadn't got any milk. He didn't take sugar. He was sweet enough so he kept on telling me. He left our room in search of milk. A couple of hours later he returned with his shirt missing a few buttons, trousers on back-to-front and no milk in sight.

"I remember that. She was a real live wire."

"Huh?" I said bewildered. "I just said all that out loud didn't I?"

"Yeah," he grinned.

It was time to take calls from my listeners. I didn't want to but I was contractually obligated to fulfil my duties as a member of the SMBT team. David Dorsey was already becoming as annoying as a bed sore, I didn't need to give him any more reason to tee off on me.

"Are you ready for our first caller?" I turned to face him briefly.

"You bet!" He exclaimed.

We received a call from a man named Garrett. He asked Jason if he'd ever been struck by lightning and if so, could he still get an erection? This was the kind of garbage I always had to put up with. Of course, you can still get an erection! Les Grainger got struck over ten times by lightning when I was a kid and he's got six children now. I wish people would do their research before coming on the show. I mean, come on, anyone with half a brain knows that you can still get it up after being hit by a bolt. Then we had a woman ask Jason if he'd go all the way to Alabama and sign one of her boobs. He said he couldn't because once he put his signature to something it meant that it belonged to him and he'd have to marry her. I almost threw up. Twenty minutes later and it was all over. I let out a huge sigh.

I signed off with the usual spiel as Kool & The Gang 'Celebration' reverberated around the small studio.


"You think you'll be celebrating again on Wednesday?"

"Another gangbang." I rolled my eyes.

"Wasn't that McKenzie on your team last time out?"

"He was supposed to be. He was about as much use as a flammable fire extinguisher..."

"Yeah, he didn't exactly pull his weight."

"...Ice cream gloves..."

"He looks a little unhinged. I'd be wary of him."

"...Milk shoes."

"Are you reading those off the screen?"

I turned the monitor away. "No."

"I was just saying, you better be wary of McKenzie."

"Listen, I'm all clued up on C-Mack," I told him confidently. "I know what I'm doing."

I didn't. It was easy when C-Mack was on my side. He may not have performed miracles when he was in the squared circle last Wednesday but it's better to have his kind inside the tent spitting out rather than outside of the tent spitting in. Not to mention the fact that I had Logan Evans alongside me. I don't have that luxury now. Instead, I've got a former EAW superstar intent on reclaiming past glories, which is about as likely as Susan Boyle winning Miss World. The other one's got one foot in a wheelchair. Thanks a lot, head office. Real smooth move there. Six-man tag? It's effectively a three-on-one handicap match. My phone started vibrating. I flipped it open.

"What?"

"That's no way to speak to a loved one, is it?" Kacey said.

"I take it you've heard about next week?"

"Uh-huh."

"Another one. Another six-man tag."

"What's the problem?" She said. "Your ego and reputation will soar," she chuckled.

"I was trying to..."

"Imitate Jason?"

"I wasn't...I was just..."

"Look. Just be yourself."

"I'm not going out on a date. I'm trying to make a name for myself in this company."

"Well, you won't do it imitating other people."

I snapped, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to let you know that despite having to deal with the toilet seat being up all the time, mediocre sex and messy divorce - we're rooting for you."

"How thoughtful." I mocked.

"You'll probably lose Wednesday, but we're here for you."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically as I ended the call.

The circumstances weren't great and it wasn't exactly ideal, but I would find a way. As God is my witness, I will have my hand raised come Wednesday night. Was it okay for God to witness something if you didn't believe in him? Luckily for me, I didn't need God's help. Matter of fact, I don't know why I'm capitalising the "G." That's right, I'm downgrading god. I have that power. They do say that the pen is mightier than the sword. I don't know who 'they' are but I do know that if was in a situation where I needed a weapon to get out of said situation alive then I wouldn't be choosing a pen. Call me crazy but I like to save that kind of tomfoolery for when I'm writing. Speaking of writing - it shall be on the wall come Wednesday night.

"Look...We pay you to play music and give the occasional opinion on current affairs and certain societal issues."  David E. Dorsey informed me, his tone harsh.

"I understand that but-

"What we won't pay are your legal fees."

"I think you're completely underestimating my listeners, Dave."

"It's David." He glared at me. "We don't want our station to turn into some kind of Jerry Springer episode. Chat and interact with callers by all means but keep it light."

"So I can't have opinions now? What is this 1984?"

"You can have op-

"...Orwell was right." I interrupted.

"...You can have opinions, you're entitled to those. However, certain subjects are off limits."

"Such as?"

"I think you know what I'm referring to."

"I'm a little hazy right now."

"You know full well what I'm talking about."

"Can't you guys just put out some kind of disclaimer? I sighed heavily. "I have a following and they have a right to hear honesty."

"I've made it pretty clear where we stand, Alex. Now, you're on the air in a few minutes so I suggest you start preparing for your show."

"That's it?" I placed my hands on my hips. "Discussion over?"

"Exactly," he replied bluntly as he left the studio.


**************************************************************************************



Hello and welcome, this is SMBT, your liberation station and I'm your host Alex Reynolds.

For the last few days, I've been getting numerous emails and text messages from concerned fans asking me if I'm alright. They all seem to think that my comments about my six-man tag team match - my debut match, I might add - were a little unwise. How, they ask, do I think my opponents will react to such inflammatory remarks? I'm not Nostradamus so I cannot predict what their responses will be. However, I can confirm that the silence is deafening. They haven't said a word. I don't know why that is, I just know that I've yet to hear a damn thing from anyone, and that includes my tag team partners.

Maybe I've unnerved them and they've gone underground. Who knows? Maybe Jimbo is off filming another one of his movies. Which given the success of his last one is highly unlikely. Maybe Dimmi is off smashing plates with big bald head of his. Maybe Ashes has caught rabies. Yeah, I saw your woman Ashes, and she was very dog-like. I sicked in my mouth just looking at her.

I think it comes down to psychology. It's mind games. My opponents want me to believe that they're running scared and my words have caught them off guard and frightened them somehow. I know how mind games work, I've been married twice. You can't just drop out of sight and expect me to fall for that one. I'm too long in the tooth to fall for anything like that. Unless...what if my opponents and partners are in on this together? Collusion. A conspiracy if you will. It's not too hard to believe. I'm an extremely talented individual and that can be a bitter pill for people to swallow. A secret understanding between them all though? Hmm, it's a possibility I suppose but what would be their motivation for turning their back on me? Collective motivation: They saw me as a threat. They'd like to eliminate me early and avoid any unnecesary ass kickings in the future. Individual motivation...hmm...

C-Mack wouldn't need a lot of persuading. The guy is a lunatic. He probably thinks that it's a six-man battle royal. I've seen the look in his eyes when he enters the ring. The man is pure evil. When you've had to put up with all the shit he has over the years I guess you're going to have a few screws loose.

Logan Evans? Surely he wouldn't turn his back on a fellow Englishman? Thinking about it though, it is possible. I mean if a man can be married to a woman for sixteen years and then cut off her head and put it in the fridge then it's possible. Personally, I don't know what he'd get out of it. I haven't wronged the guy. I haven't tied his shoelaces together. I haven't slept with his mother. I can't be one-hundred percent sure on that last one, but I'd like to think that I'd remember something like that. My memory isn't the greatest, but still. I don't sleep with a woman and then forget. Although, those Siamese twins were pretty fucking convincing.

The whole thing feels like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Hell, is there even a six-man tag match up? Am I in a coma right now? Is this some kind of alternative reality? A parallel universe? If it is then David Dorsey is an asshole in this world too. If I am in a coma then how did I end up in one? I'm not going to wake up with long hair and a chaotic beard like Steve Seagal in Hard to Kill am I? I'd take Kelly Le Brock being by my side though, to be fair. Eighties Kelly not current Kelly. She looks like Daryl Hannah on crack. Her face looks a little messed up. Not because of the ageing process either.

What the hell do people see in plastic surgery? I can't fathom the fascination with it. It's not like you look better after you've had it done. Nine times out of ten you look worse. Most of the people I've encountered and granted most of the people I have encountered have been online or through newspapers, but I've still encountered them; most of them look like shit. Are these people looking at the same faces as me? Can't they see that plastic surgery is taking a little bit longer to catch up to hairdressing? Cutting someone's hair is an art. Picking up some scissors and butchering a nest isn't what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the fine art of hairdressing. It wasn't always like that though. It took time. How many guys had to sport mullets and get the shit kicked out of them before hairdressing sorted itself out? A lot. A helluva lot. Plastic surgery is way behind hairdressing. Some of the faces I've seen - Christ! Is Stevie Wonder performing these operations? The results are horrific. What kind of brochures are these idiots looking at when they're at these clinics? The surgeons have to be photoshopping patient's pictures. They've got to be. There is no way in hell that you'd sit down in one of those places, browse through the catalogue, see a face like Jackie Stallone and sign on the dotted line. There's just no way.  For the record and despite what I'd said earlier, I'd take Kelly Le Brock. The eighties and current. Why? Because I'm shallow and I'm a guy. Not to mention the fact that I haven't slept with a woman for months so I'll take what I can get.

Here's Cameroonian hip-hop artist Rap Thug with 'I get Nkong.'

The day of reckoning is almost upon us. My debut in this company is fast approaching. A six-man tag team match. Wow. It's not exactly what I envisioned when I thought about my first match here, but beggars cannot be choosers. I'd expected a bit of one-on-one action, instead, I end up with a gangbang. Unlike gangbangs, there will be plenty of action for everyone. Like a gangbang, it will also involve fisting. Only with different intentions and drastically different holes.

I've only ever had one tag team match before in my entire career. Obviously, the less said about that match the better. I won't go into details, but ultimately, we lost the match and I ended up chipping a tooth after accidentally bumping into the referee's head. This time, however, there will be no cannibalism. I'll be backed up by two men; Logan Evans and Chris McKenzie. On one hand, I'm excited. I feel like the cow in that old English nursery rhyme: Hey diddle, diddle. I just don't expect to be jumping over moons anytime soon. On the other hand I'm nervous. I'm aware of the size of the task at hand and it has me waking up in cold sweats just thinking about it. Half the time I'm not even asleep. I perspire a lot. I think it's hereditary. Although it could be all the spicey food.

Logan Evans. A fellow Englishman. A rookie in the business. Which I don't mind saying is a good thing. Veterans may have experience and a lot of knowledge, but rookies have no fear. That's what I expecting from you, Logan. A fearless, high octane, no nonsense performance. After all, we English can crack skulls with the best of them. Which anyone outside a club on a Saturday night in Birmingham can vouch for. We're gonna need our stiff upper lips, Logan because I'm not one hundred-percent sure our partner is trustworthy. It's one thing to know thy enemy, but it's almost impossible to trust thy partner when said partner is a lunatic.

Chris McKenzie. I know you've had a torrid childhood and your parents both perished. I've read about your unhappy circumstances. I understand that you have a lot of reasons to be pissed at the world. You've been cheated out of a normal life. You've been passed around like an unwanted sexual disease. However, your past has no bearing on this match. We've all had problems, mate. I was once told that I couldn't ride The Shockwave at Drayton Manor theme park because I was too small. Did I wreak havoc? No. Did I take a chunk out of the employee's face? No. I accepted my situation and I dealt with it accordingly. Peacefully. If you must know, I wrote a strongly worded letter. Do not step into that ring and lose it, C-Mack. Keep yourself together and keep your hands off us. I know you like to strike anything that moves. It's in your DNA. It's a part of who you are. Stay focused and stay away from us; me in particular.

There's a place in Greece called Santorini. Amazing place. Beautiful little island. It's in the southern Aegean sea. I remember the gorgeous sunshine, fresh fruit and amazing people. Very friendly and welcoming. What I don't remember was you, Dimitri. In all the time I was there I didn't see anything quite like you. A genetic freak. Dimmi, I'm a big fan of Greece. I like kalamata olives, feta cheese and Νικηφόρος (Nikiforos). His voice has soothed me many a night. I'm partial to Greek mythology. I like to think that if any god resembled me it would be Zeus. I think I could get used to sitting atop Mount Olympus striking fear into the hearts of everyone around me. Thunder, lightning, order, law and justice. I'm the God of the sky, Dimmi. I'm pretty sure we all know who you'd be, Dimmi. Menoetius. The guy who was known for his violent anger and rash action. Ringing any bells, Dimmi? I hate to spoil the ending for you, but he dies. Struck down by a lightning bolt from none other than Zeus. It shouldn't come as no surprise, Dimmi. With a name like Menoetius, which means "doomed might" it was always going to end badly. Menoetius fell and so will you, Dimmi. In fact, you'll fall so hard it'll be like the crashing of your Greek economy again.

Jimmy Stallion. Jim, to his friends and that guy from a tale of two titties to me. Don't deny it, Jimbo I know it was you in that scene. I had to rewind a couple of times and even then I had to double take, but it was you. My god, you took a pounding that night didn't you, Jimbo? I guess it'll stand you in good stead for Wednesday night. Obviously, it won't be as much fun for you this time, Jimbo. The outcome will still be the same though. You'll be flat on your back with a guy on top of you. Only this time you won't be enjoying it half as much.

Ashton Moore. A guy who looks like something that the cat dragged in - and then back out again. I haven't seen hair like that since I was twelve years old. Abigail Thomas was her name. She was annoying. She used to chase boys around the playground and lift up her skirt whenever she felt like it. It's a good job you're from Spain and not Scotland. Kilts. I don't need those memories cropping up again. I bet it was hard for you, Ashes. I bet being kicked out by your parents was tremendously hard? Was it hard when you were with the preacher's son, Ashes? Come on, you can tell me. I won't tell a soul. Now I'm not a religious man, Ashes. I don't go to church on Sunday and I don't annoy people by going door-to-door trying to convert them. I do, however, believe that you are living proof, irrefutable evidence, that God has a sense of humour.

"You going to be long?" A voice boomed from behind me.

"What?" I turned around sharply. "Get out!" I yelled.

"You know, Jesus fed thousands of people with fish and bread?" Kacey asked. "It was a miracle."

"Miracle? That's not a miracle. That's tapas." I informed her and we both laughed.

I had slipped on the costume effortlessly, it was the mask that I was having trouble with. It felt like Christmas; that moment when you picked up a present and you knew what it was before you opened it. Finally, you had your hands on it. It felt like that. The adrenaline, emotions, they were all running through me right now at levels way above the norm. I was full of excitement and my hands couldn't stop shaking. I knew they were downstairs waiting for me to show them what surprise I had planned, but I just couldn't get the mask over my head. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, I managed to pull it over my head. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. This was a big moment for me. I wanted to make sure I was ready. I didn't want to blow it.

"He's been up there a while," Kacey said. "You don't think he's got wrapped up in his quilt again?"

"Surely he'd have more sense?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

"He was in the hospital for almost a week last time."

I crept slowly down the stairs. I wanted to surprise and scare them at the same time. I'd taken a brief look at myself in the standing mirror before leaving my room. I looked fantastic. I'm not embarrassed to say I kissed my reflection. It felt good. Halfway down the stairs I suddenly lost my balance. I'd inadvertently stepped on my cape resulting in me falling down the last six steps. I bumped my head on the wall as I came to an abrupt halt. Forget about stars, I was seeing planets.

"What the hell was that?!" Kacey hollered.

I looked up and squinted at the big oval shapes that were getting closer and closer to me. It was all a blur. I shook my head vigorously from side to side in a vain attempt to shake off the cobwebs.

"Jesus Christ!" Nikki exclaimed, eyes fixed on the crumpled mess that lay before her.

My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably as I tried to clamber back to my feet. It was a futile attempt and I hit the ground again. My eyes soon allowed me to see the two faces that were right in front of me. I felt like I was in an incubator staring up at over zealous relatives. I just hoped I hadn't shit myself.

"What are you doing?"

"Just chilling," I said, as casual as I could muster.

"Wow," Nikki said, her tone sardonic. "This is a new low."

"Go back in the other room." I waved my hand dismissively. "It was supposed to be a surprise"

"Mission accomplished."

"Very droll." I snapped as I rubbed the lump that was now throbbing on the top of my head.

"You know you could've killed yourself?"

"Maybe that was the plan."

"I think it's back to the drawing board." Nikki scoffed.

The two of them began laughing like schoolgirls. Giggling like annoying little pre-schoolers. For a moment I wondered if surviving was, in fact, a curse. Part of me wanted to go back up to the top of the stairs and swan dive. There was nothing worse than being ridiculed by people you used to love. I found that a fate worse than death. Eventually, they stopped with the tomfoolery and helped me to my feet. Once again I waved them away with my hand and this time they got the message.

"Shut the door!" I demanded. "Pretend you didn't see all that."

Pretend? Like that was going to happen. It reminded of that time in London when I accidentally looked across whilst in the Gent's toilets. I didn't mean to, but staring straight ahead whilst standing at a urinal took practice and I was less than match fit when it came to that. I'd only caught a glimpse of it. You'd have thought that I'd tried to proposition the guy. I attempted to pour water on the fire by telling him that his girlfriend was very lucky, but in the heat of the moment I'd said "boy" instead of "girl." My head hurt that night too.

I burst into the room, "Ta-da!"

"And who have you come as?" Nikki laughed.

I pulled a face. "Could you just be serious for one minute?"

"Says the guy dressed like a Power Ranger."

"Actually it's not a Power Ranger." I shot back. "It's my costume."

"Do you really have to keep calling it that?"

"Yeah, it's a bit-

"Moronic?" Nikki suggested.

"I was thinking more pathetic, but it'll do."

"And you want me to call it what exactly?"

"Outfit?" The two of them nodded in unison.

"Outfit?" I asked incredulously. "I'm not going to the school dance. I'm going to kick ass."

"I don't think you'll be doing anything with a concussion."

"I haven't got a concussion. It was a just a little bump, that's all."

"And the blood?"

"Blood?"

I instantly reached for my head and felt a warm, sticky substance. It was claret, as the cockneys called it. It wasn't bleeding profusely, but it was bleeding nevertheless. I hated blood. Years ago I suffered at the hands of Shawn Merrick. He was jealous of my girlfriend at the time: Lisa Pearce. Not because she was jaw-droppingly beautiful, oh no; apparently, she was a good time girl. He'd heard that she'd do a turn and armed with this knowledge and given that we were pretty inseparable at that time, he asked me if he could have a go on her. I informed him, politely, that Lisa wasn't like that, therefore I'd have to reject his offer of a free service. Not happy with my response, he punched me on the nose. It bled for hours and since that day I've had an aversion to blood. Turns out that his intel was in fact spot on. Lisa WAS like that, as my next door neighbour Jim and his disabled son, Mark later enlightened me. For the record, he wasn't Stephen Hawking disabled. He was vertically challenged. He was a midget. This was all before political correctness, so it was perfectly fine. Would I look him in the eyes today and call him that? Well, for starters he'd need a step ladder, or at the very least a couple of chunky books - I think I probably would though.

"Don't worry about the blood." I was trying to convince myself more than anything else. "I just want to run some things by you both."

Nikki smirked. "This should be fun."

"Greetings and Salutations, Earthlings. It is I-

"What's that?" Kacey interrupted.

"I'm just trying out a different voice with slightly off-the-wall language."

"Are you portraying an Alien?"

"No."

"Well, I'd lose the whole Earthlings bit," Nikki recommended, her nose crinkled.

"Good day, citizens. I'm he-

"No." They both replied in harmony.

"I've got nothing."

"That's it?"

"All of that planning and that was the best you had?"

"I'd spent most of my time with Yuri." I sighed. "He helped with the costume."

"It's that word again." Nikki chuckled.

"Yes, it's a costume!" I barked.

"Yuri?" Kacey looked confused. "Where did he learn how to do that?"

"Prison."

"Prison?" They both said, again in unison.

"Yeah. You know, bars, porridge, soap and showers - prison."

"What was he doing in there?"

"Five years for armed robbery."

"Armed robbery?" Nikki sceptically asked. "Yuri doesn't strike me as the violent type?"

"He's not. It was a practical joke gone wrong." I cleared my throat. "He'd gone into the shop with a banana up his sleeve, but what he didn't know was that there was a plain clothes officer in the queue in front of him."

"You mean he was waiting in line?"

"He didn't want to draw attention to himself."

"I'm getting the sense he really planned this out." Nikki joked.

"Yeah, he isn't the brightest is he?"

"You can say that again," Kacey said eyebrows raised.

"He isn't the brightest is he?"

"I didn't mean..." Kacey's voice trailed off.

"Oh, I was supposed to tell you." Nikki paused for dramatic effect. (She was always doing that). "You've got a match on the sixteenth."

"What? How?"

"You got a call earlier. EAW front office."

"We're just answering my phone now?"

"It was ringing and you weren't around. I thought it could be important so..."

"We're not married now, you know." I glared at her. "You can't just take everything I have!"

"That's what divorces are for." Kacey giggled.

"What kind of match?"

"Six-man tag."

"A what?"

"Six-man tag. It's you and two partners against three other superstars."

"I'm well aware of what a six-man tag is, dinky."

"Dinky?"

"I'm just playing around with a few words for my character."

"Don't," Nikki said sternly.

"We're not your guinea pigs," Kacey added.

"No, you're not. You're more like a couple of monkeys on my back."

So I was gonna make my debut in a six-man tag team match. It wasn't what I was expecting, but I was more than happy to catch that curve ball.

"I'm off out," I informed them. "I've got some dossiers to prepare."

I left the room and headed back upstairs. The torn cape lay at the bottom of the stairs, a harsh reminder of what could've been. I picked it up and ambled up to the top of the stairs. Maybe I could glue it back on?

"I just hope his partners know what they're doing."

"Yeah, because he doesn't."