Adam Allocco vs. Hairless Penguin

[HARDStyle]

Having hair on my head felt strange. For most of my life, I shaved my head bald. No, I didn't fall in with far-right neo-Nazis; I admit that I did so out of laziness. Looking in the mirror now, I will admit that I look a lot better with hair if I partake in ritual grooming every morning. If I didn't wash my hair, put a little promenade in it, and comb it, my hair became intrinsically confused and spiked out every which way. I hadn't shaved my head since I last drank. I didn't intentionally decide to forego the tough bald guy lifestyle, popularized by Vin Diesel, Mr. Clean, and most of all, Mahatma fucking Gandhi. By the time I decided to keep the hair, I already had a few inches. I also started to notice some greying in the sides.

Perhaps my mid-life crisis, compared to everyone else's, seemed to be inverted, a polar opposite. Every man leaped to excess, trying to fill every moment with dopamine-inducing pleasures. Fast sports cars, big titty women, Rolexes, and what not. But I had access to all that for most of my adult life. What could I turn to? What would you use to ward off the existential dread summoned by the realization you might only have ten or twenty years left of bittersweet consciousness? After that point, you were expected to keel over at any moment when one of your many critical components finally stopped working. Worse if you're someone like me who pumped so many toxins into his body that you're higher risk than anyone for stroke, heart attacks, cancer, yadda yadda. Add in being a male, and damn, you and me are fuuuuucked.

So how do I come to peace with that?

What's my answer to this crisis I am currently experiencing?

I can't fall back on my bad habits, no matter how tempting it might be. I need an actual path forward. I need a reason to live. My philosophy on why retirees die so soon is that they don't know what the fuck to do with themselves. They spent forty-plus years trying to save away a nest egg to enjoy the world, but their bodies are too used up to take full advantage of their hoarded treasures. The habits they formed during their working lives are hard to kill. Worse of all, they're directionless. I don't want to be like that at age forty, and I definitely don't want to be like that at age seventy… if I even live that long.

I want to live in the now, in the present. I want to take full advantage of that while I still, by the grace of God, have control over all of my bodily functions. But how to live in the now without destroying my future? How do I seize the moment mean in this new chapter of my life? First, I had to throw out all notions of what I considered fun. I had to rewrite the code. I had to undo years of brainwashing perpetrated by those little devils called insecurities.

Then I needed to ask the difficult questions: what was a fundamentally extraordinary man made of? Fuck, what did it mean to be a modern man? Once upon a time, I thought the answer was to live like a rockstar, have hundreds of one-night stands under my belt, and drop mad money on everything. I placed that trashy romanticism into the shredder;  I'm not going to hire an army of impoverished Asian children to paste those thin paper stripes together to regain that corrupted viewpoint. It's gone forever.

Now I had a new image to strive for.

I'm no longer going to be the butt of the joke. I'll still laugh when I get egg on my face, but I will live with some dignity. I'm no longer trying to be everyone's friend, to get everyone to like me. I'm done bowing before people. I'm done self-deprecating. Everyone's going to see a whole new me, and they will hate it. And I am going to love their hate. If there's one thing I learned about myself these past three, four months of sobriety: I will hate them too.

And that became apparent on my first day back in the office. I had flown all the way to Toronto to meet with corporate. They didn't even want me remotely close to any SCW shows, fearing that I would pose either a health hazard for the other wrestlers or become an insurance liability. I traveled alone. Of course, I did. I became a loner. I no longer could trust anyone. Paranoid? Maybe. When I started to look back on my life, professionally and personally,  I had been stabbed in the back so many times. Granted, what goes around comes around in a perfect circle is gospel. I've done the stabbing more times than not. Over the years, I forgot how many people I betrayed. I don't remember how many enemies I have made. Hell, there are probably plenty of people out there I didn't realize I was wrong.  

Hiro greeted me at the door. I don't know why a road agent wasn't on the road with the troops. Perhaps they thought a familiar face would be a courtesy for me, but I guess Hiro asked to be the one to greet me. I knew I did him dirty. He had a reason to screw me off. After all, not only did I fuck the girl of his dreams while still his manager, but I also convinced her to jump him. Yes, that's right. I needed to keep my eye out for him. If he hadn't forgiven me, I wouldn't blame him. I never apologized. And I won't know because it probably would only drum up bad feelings for him and would only be selfish on my part.  

"Hiro."

"Asshole."

"That's not very professional of you right now. I'm an employee and expect some respect."

"You're not an employee yet."

"True, but---"

"Listen, I'm hoping this is a real short lesson in futility. Then after 30 minutes, I'm throwing you out that door,"  Hiro responded. See, I told you so. He had it out for me. He wanted to be the one to give me the boot. He even brought his ass-kicking boots to him today, even though he wore a suit. I wore a suit that day too. A sharp red tie hung down from my neck. Everything ironed perfectly. No one could argue that I didn't look sharp. I appeared to be a man who underwent a full recovery.

"Alright. Alright. Fair points. I'll play nice and ignore all your mean words."

"Let's go."

"You're the captain, Hiro. Lead the way," I said.  

We entered the elevator. I expected us to go to the very top floor, but I guessed I wasn't going to meet Mr. D. Of course not; Mr. D never did well negotiating with me in the past. I was his partner when SCW took over Oblivion despite the fact I ran that company into the ground. He kept signing me to bloated contracts, overpaying me despite being a drunk. He learned his lesson now. Let someone else deal with me. Even when you get older, you pick up a thing or two.  

Hiro didn't utter another taunt. He solemnly led me to a conference room. I did a double take. A sense of deja vu dazed me for a second. Shaun Cruze was waiting for me in the room, along with a medical technician armed with a wide assortment of goodies. I noticed a few ladies sitting at the table. I assumed they were from HR. They wanted me to negotiate with Shaun Cruze? Like Hiro, Shaun had every right to hate me. I have made it my personal vendetta to shit on the Cruze family name. I might have tastelessly brought up his dead brother. Unlike Hiro, I hated Shaun back because he bested me a few times, and I never really got over it. And now that Owen forsook the Cruze name, I almost felt bad for the bastard. I doubted he had anyone in his life. I expected a dead bedroom if he was still with that one woman. Even now, I saw that he was stuck in a position that wasn't rewarding.  

"Adam, we've decided to give you one last chance with the company," Shaun said. Did I see the corner of his lip curl towards a smirk? I stopped feeling sorry for the asshole. He enjoyed every second of this hold over me.

"I'm happy to hear that. Where do I sign?"

"Funny. There are a number of conditions you must meet and maintain while you're employed by SCW. The most obvious is that you can not be under the influence of any drugs except those prescribed by an SCW-approved physician," Shaun revealed. I expected as much. I prepared myself for what came next though the following condition didn't really bother me that much. "During your employment, you must continue following your lifestyle plan mapped out by the clinic. You will begin attending AA meetings remotely with a group we partnered up with. Suppose any evidence arises that you have partaken in the consumption of alcohol or any other controlled substances. In that case, you will be obliged to reenter rehab or be terminated."

"So basically, don't drink."

"I wanted that to be so simple, but I've been told that it's not supportive for the alcoholic to have a black-and-white ultimatum. In our combined interests, you get the treatment you need."

"How kind of you to care."

Shaun ignored my quips. "We, Supreme Championship Wrestling, have the right to conduct a test at any point without any moment to detect any substances in your system. Failure to agree to such a test or a positive test will result in your immediate termination."

"So don't piss hot."

"And I'm going to make sure Hiro's going to be standing in the stall making sure it's your piss going into that cup."

"It would be my pleasure," Hiro said.  

"Hey now, don't get penis envy when you realize how far I can go," I joked. Hiro's fist seemed ready to be planted into my smug face. I realized only after the fact that my small dick jab might have been interpreted as a tasteless joke about Celeste. Even I wouldn't go that far. At least, this 'new' me. "

"You know there's a reason why everyone says they can't stand being around you," Cruze said.

I changed the subject. "This all sounds fair. I didn't expect to be dragged here without an offer laden with conditions. I get it. This is my last chance. One more fuck up, I'm gone forever. There's no one more motivated to stay clean than me."

"We'll see," Shaun said.  

Cruze stood up from the table to wave over to the medical staff that was about to take urine and blood samples. They would find nothing, of course. I didn't lie when I said I had been sober. The clinic didn't allow any other substances. And since I came straight from the clinic to here via an airplane, I didn't have the opportunity to fuck up. I caught what seemed to be a smile in the corner of my eye.

"I know you hate me now, Shaun. But wait, in a few months, you're going to walk off the job site, not able to oversee a product that features me as its biggest star. Call me a late bloomer, but my time is now. Your legacy is going to be caught up with my glory, and you're going to be overshadowed," I spouted. I didn't know where all that came from, but it came from deep within the soul. The speel might have sounded like a quick promo, yet I still meant it.

"Go ahead, Adam. Talk the talk. Until you walk the walk, we all will be doubters. You have to prove to me to even get remotely close to the limelight."

"Oh, before you leave. Where's the contract? I don't want to jump through all these hoops and see a terrible offer."

"Trust me, Adam. It's the shitty offer you have ever received in your life. We don't need you. Most of us don't want you. This was us covering our asses because we don't want to be blamed for your terrible decisions down the road. If you reject this offer, we'll be able to write you off, claiming you refused our help. Also, if you reject this offer, you'll never be able to become 'the biggest star," Shaun returned fire. He chuckled while leaving the room. One of the HR ladies slid the paperwork. I immediately spotted the salary. Shaun didn't lie. The contract was probably the lowest wage on the entire roster. I suspected some of the referees made better money. I knew ultimately I would sign this dreaded document, even though I would be physically sick doing so. I didn't have the time to waste anymore. I was 45. The window was narrow already, narrowing quicker by the day.

"Since you've seen the contract, let's take a stroll down to the bathroom," Hiro said. He stood immediately behind me with a cup in his hand.
------------------------------------

Look at this. An off-brand amusement park mascot and a skinny white dude have taken a lot of interest in me. I get it. I'm an interesting character, I'm sure most people will agree. I have always made things interesting, whether hanging out backstage or performing in the ring. I'm wrestling's equivalent to that Dos Equis guy, after all. So let me get this straight: these two hamsters are taking the time to comment on my life, struggles, and recovery; I feel honored. Absolutely honored. I am being honest and not sarcastic, I swear.

So you want to know why did I attack Ace? Boy Penguin, I want to understand why you lack body hair despite being past puberty. Did you shave it all off? Read a story once that a young man did that to avoid leaving DNA at a murder scene, believing his entire town wouldn't notice his complete makeover. I'm not saying you're like him, but you're definitely a bizarre fellow. Not odd like the furry you team with, because I'm accepting of most kinks, even some of the weirder ones, but strange in a creepy in plain sight sorta way like Jimmy Savile. I mean, you round up these children and spend time with them. Anyone who wants to spend time with a large group of children is messed up. Trust me, I'm a dad.

But let's switch topics; I don't want to insinuate or start baseless rumors during my first promo back. I'm trying to be a brand new me. For all I know you're really being sincere about caring about me. You're definitely not trying to get my guard down. You're not trying to look good to the camera. Sorry, I'm going hard again with the sarcasm. I don't know you. You don't know me. You think you know me. You and everyone in the entire world think they know the real me. You don't. You assuming a whole bunch of crap, jumping to conclusions just like I did a few minutes ago when I assumed the contents of Dancing Bear's browser history and that you're a child predator. It's all bullshit. There's no merit behind those words.
  
Everyone has yet to see the real me. Even those who I spent years on the road with, they don't know me. And all those assumptions and all you thought you knew; I'm going to blow them the hell up. If you hold onto those assumptions, then you're going to get run over by the Reissuance Man. I've been given a second chance, a rebirth of sorts, even though this was the me I kept hidden all along. I will see the day when the King of HARDstyle wears the crown despite all the odds.  
All the same, your words might have good intentions. I don't know. You might simply be naïve. But you cannot be naïve enough to think Ace is innocent in all of this. He knew more than he was letting on. He witnessed what transpired. If he was supposed to be my accountabilabuddy, then he failed me. It wasn't the other way. But I'll expose Ace as I exact my revenge. I'll express my true feelings about the situation when the time's right. When I'm ready.

Let's talk about what is really important this week. And that's me having to confront a very unsettling reality. A bleak reminder that I must have been my worst enemy. That I really did kneecap my success on the biggest wrestling stage, that is Supreme Championship Wrestling. I come back. I look at my gorgeous picture on the official SCW website and see the Happymeal Pals are listed as the SCW Tag Team Champions. I had never heard of them. And if I had, I quickly forgot both men. And because I didn't have access to the internet or cable, I failed to witness the chain of events that saw them not only win the belts shortly into their tenure here but also against legitimate competition.  
What the hell is going on?

I've labored for years and years. I've partnered with some of the brightest, most talented, most prolific wrestlers, and I only won the belts last year. And I only held it for a brief period. Now I look, and I see these two clowns that SCW pulled right off public access television, holding the title belts over their shoulders. What a slap to the face. That gets my blood boiling. And what a perfect splash of cold water it is to have to face the Hairless Penguin as my first match back. I needed someone to get the blood flowing. Damn, it feels good to have an opportunity right off the bat to prove to myself that I'm better than you.

And that is what all this is about for me. To prove to myself that I am better. And to do that, I have to put in the work. And if I'm physically upset that you won the Tag Team titles in my absence, I must do something about it? I can't stay idle and piss on your achievements from afar. I have to add merit to my words. And that's what I'm talking about, the Hairless Penguin. You can speak words of encouragement from afar. You can offer a helping hand. But if those words held merit, you would have gotten my cellphone number from someone in the locker room. You would have called me. If not before the match, after. Discuss these matters in private. But you didn't. You used as ammo to me with bullets, but you're not going to shoot down this rocket ship; all you succeeded was to make me think you're not really a good person behind the mask.  

But unlike you, the ring is where I can make my words ring true. To convince myself that I'm better than you, all I need is to pin you to the mat for the one, two, three.