Post by Dandy DiVito on Jan 2, 2022 5:14:56 GMT -5
In the Empire Business HQ, Dandy stands at a window gazing out over the expansive property that belongs to his parents. Mr. DiVito and Richard are engaged in a conversation to which Dandy is paying less than half attention until something catches his ear.
“...Downfall at the January 3rd show.”
“Fehl, right?”
Dandy’s attention snaps to the conversation.
“Yeah. That’s the guy. Dick’s got ‘im good an’ riled up.”
Richard grimaces for a second, working to ignore his brother’s intentional misnomer, but Mr. DiVito offers a muted smile and a nod of encouragement for his younger son.
“That’s good work, son, but boys, we have other business to attend to as well.”
Dandy and Richard each look at their father with confusion.
“What else?”
Mr. DiVito hits a button on the intercom device at his desk.
“Bring me the file.”
Within seconds, the door opens and Miguel Guerrero walks in and hands a file folder to Mr. DiVito who nods.
“Thank you.”
He turns his attention toward Dandy.
“Winston, you remember Miguel, don’t you?”
“Yup. How you doin’ Miggy?”
Guerrero smiles subtly and nods in Dandy’s direction.
“You know. Same old, same old.”
“Still doin’ the old man’s dirty work, huh?”
Dandy and Guerrero share a smirk. Mr. DiVito butts in.
“Thank you, Miguel. That will be all.”
Guerrero turns his full attention to Mr. DiVito again and nods as he exits the office and closes the door.
“So, uh, what’s that?”
Mr. DiVito opens the folder and thumbs through the contents.
“Son, I know your attention has been directed toward your matches, toward recapturing your title… well, my attention is never exclusively on any one thing. You know that.”
“Yeah, but righ’ now, you stallin’. So what else you been workin’ on, pops?”
Mr. DiVito takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he slides the open file across the desk for Dandy and Richard to examine.
Dandy and Richard stand together in a dark studio. Richard stands slightly in front of his brother as Dandy stands in profile to the camera while snarling in the background staring straight ahead.
“People perpetually treat the New Year as if it will somehow solve all of their problems. Fat fucks issue empty pledges to hit the gym, tar-lunged dipshits lie to themselves about kicking cigarettes, miserably shitty moms and dads make promises they’ll never be able to keep to their little fuck-trophy kids that this year - THIS YEAR - they’ll turn it all around…
But why? What possesses people to lie not just to the people in their lives but themselves, too?
Is it hubris? Is it stupidity? I’d argue it’s a little of both. Just because the calendar date doesn’t end in the same four numbers today doesn’t mean your life is changing. You’re still the same motherfucker you were yesterday who treated 37 cheeseburgers like they were a midday snack, the same empty headed asshole who burns his way through a pack a day, the same parent of the year candidate who’ll be stuck texting their kid “don’t do it” when they take your early Christmas present to school.
Ultimately, if you’re not making changes - in yourself, in your decisions, in your actions - you’re still the same piece of shit that you were when the sun went down for the last time in 2021 as you were when the sun rose in 2022. But I’ll be damned if people don’t just keep making their empty resolutions…”
Dandy turns his attention toward the camera.
“Fo’ mos’ people, them resolutions aim to solve pro’lems they feel like they got, but what kinda resolutions does a mo’fucka make when they spent the year takin’ the sombitch by the fuckin’ balls? Let me rephrase that a bit…
Downfall, what’s yo’ resolution?
I’ma guess it’s ta be champ. I’ma guess it’s ta hold down them tag belts an’ my world title at the same time. I’d bet a fuckin’ healthy ass number of dollas to say I’m right.
But what changes you fuckin’ makin’ here to grow yo’self enough that my fuckin’ title can even be on yo’ radar, man?”
Richard smirks and shrugs.
“I don’t think he’s changing shit, brother.”
“Yeah, me neither. And I’ll tell you, man, I couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to see him stomp confident on that fuckin’ landmine.”
Dandy returns his attention to the camera.
“Downy, when you think ‘bout yo resolution, when you really process that shit - why you want it, what you doin’ to get it, yadda yadda - I want you to ask yo’self somethin’: whatchu changin’ to make that shit happen? When you bein’ real fuckin’ honest wit’ yo’self, you gotta realize you ain’t changin’ shit, an’ Downfall-2022’s the same mo’fucka as Downfall-2021…”
Richard nods emphatically in agreement.
“Now I can damn near hear Dion’s dumb fuckin’ squeal through the air right now… But, Dandy, Downfall-2021 is the Wrestler of the Year! What do you think you’re proving?! And ya know? That’s a pretty compellin’ point as long as you ignore the fuckin’ facts.”
“Lay it on ‘em, brother!”
“Downy, you rolled inta 2021 holdin’ solo gold until what? Some fuckin’ literal clown put yo’ shoulders to the mat and ended yo’ run fo’ the ages. I mean, fuck, you beat Ashy to win it an’ all that. Big win. No bullshit on that. But what’d you do when you lost? You hitched yo’ wagon to Dion…”
The brothers snicker.
“Dude, seriously? You jus’ spent months on end defendin’ that fuckin’ belt week in an’ week out, and when you lost it, you turned to a dude who can’t even 100 percent dedicate his mind and effort to Action Wrestlin’? You lost yo’ strap an’ you saddled yourself down wit’ a guy that’s been in the company since the start and has a resume on par wit’ some mo’fucka who just signed up? What the fuck is goin’ on wit’ you, Downy?”
As Dandy continues, Richard’s snicker turns into a full on laugh.
“You was set up to be one of the biggest individual names in the company. You shoulda been ridin’ that record settin’ reign into bigger an’ better honors months ago, but instead, you decided to partner up with fuckin’ Dionysus. What in the ever lovin’ fuck was you thinkin’, Downy? Me? I think you was scared. Scared of yo’ own fuckin’ success to that point. Scared of the challenge of aimin’ higher than the bottom of the fuckin’ barrel. Scared of havin’ nothin’ to hide behind in a world where e’rybody else had allies behind ‘em. Even me, right? The Followin’ was nearin’ the end of the rope ‘round then, but we was still formidable.
Comparin’ Vanguard to The Followin’ really sums up the differences between the two of us, don’t it? What made Dandy DiVito turn to other people fo’ fuckin’ help? Well, that’s easy. I was at the end of my rope, too. I had hit the lowest point of my fuckin’ career. Loss after loss after loss. I needed fuckin’ somethin’ to kick start my fuckin’ return to triumph. Somethin’ to help me shake the taste of those bitter fuckin’ losses outta my mouth. Somethin’ to help me change my fuckin’ perspective on the game.
Fuck, ain’t many in the world that know this, but when I signed on wit’ Wes to join The Followin’, I was considerin’ retirement instead. So in the end, no matter how that fuckin’ ride ended, I made the right choice. My legacy is two title runs heavier, and I am not only the greatest US champ this company’s ever seen but the greatest Tag champ and the greatest fuckin’ World champ. I revitalized my career, my name, my fuckin’ resume.
You though, man? Jesus H. Christ, Downy… you just dodged greener pastures in favor of… what exactly? Bein’ the center pivot of a tag division that you only runnin’ ‘cause I decided I’d had enough of playin’ that fuckin’ game? Bein’ the star of a division you couldn’t pay another mo’fucka to give a shit about now? I mean, shit, man. I know you bitched that me an’ Kemp or Sammy only hald them straps like we did ‘cause we didn’t have no legit competition, but fuck that. We had HR Department an’ the rest of Philidor, we had you…”
“HA!”
“You made the argument that we wasn’t worth a shit ‘cause we didn’t have nobody to face. Well, if you ain’t the fuckin’ kettle callin’ the pot black… Downy, you been dodgin’ anything that made you the solo center of attention for a whole fuckin’ year. You only showed up fo’ Wrestler of the Year ‘cause you didn’t have no choice. You’ll only show up fo’ this shot at my belt fo’ the same reason. You too fuckin’ scared to stand on yo’ own, an’ honestly, I don’t fuckin’ get it. I guess tyin’ yo’self to Dion as an anchor holdin’ you down jus’ gives you the ability to dodge the responsibility when you go belly up. You jus’ playin’ the game from a losin’ position at all times, and when you play the game like that - when you hide, when you run from makin’ yo’ own luck, when you tie yo’ shit to a lesser mo’fucka - you just like a mo’fucka who uses a fuckin’ lighter to see inside his gastank; you might not be able to see it, but reasonable people the world fuckin’ over are watchin’ and askin’ themselfs: what is that stupid motherfucker… BOOM!”
Dandy thumbs through the file with a confused look on his face. Richard’s face reflects that he’s piecing it together while Dandy struggles.
“The fuck is this?”
Mr. DiVito smacks his lips as he lets out a sigh.
“Why you showin’ me a file fulla CJ Phoenix’s fuckin’ info? What the fuck is goin’ on?”
Richard silently laughs, his eyes as big as dinner plates while Dandy processes.
“Son…”
Dandy looks up to meet his father’s gaze.
“I believe that man is the father of Yazmine’s baby.”
Dandy pushes the folder away from himself and back toward his father.
“Winston, Miguel has been all over this since we, uh, learned… you know…”
“Just say it, Dad. Since we learned that little bastard wasn’t yours, Winston.”
Mr. DiVito’s icy stare turns it’s full attention to Richard’s heartless outburst, and Richard clams up immediately.
“No… Fuck no. That ain’t fuckin’ it! No fuckin’ way it was CJ! Say what you want about ‘im, he wouldn’t a’ done that shit to me. Period. All respect, pops, you flat fuckin’ wrong here.”
Mr. DiVito slides the file back toward Dandy.
“Look again, son. I think you’ll find some evidence that might make you reconsider.”
Dandy rolls his eyes and angrily grabs the file before forcefully thumbing through the papers and photos in the folder. Dandy’s eyes fall upon a photo of CJ standing on the front stoop of Yaz’s house, and he just starts shaking his head.
“Wait… when the fuck did you have Miguel taking pictures? Yaz popped right aroun’ her due date. You were on her 9 months befo’? Nah. That don’t make no sense, pops. This is fuckin’ silly.”
Mr. DiVito blinks slowly as his face contorts in anger.
“You think I haven’t had my people on you since you started at that company? Who do you think I am, Winston? Because it sure sounds like you are thinking I’m bad at what I do, that I let my guard down and trust anyone outside of this family, that I’d let you or Richard just walk away without some assurances… Do you think I’m bad at what I do?”
Dandy sucks in an angry breath and holds it to give himself a beat before responding.
“No, pop. I don’t.”
Mr. DiVito turns to Richard.
“Do you think I’m bad at what I do, Richard?”
“Hell no. You’re the fucking best, dad.”
“You’re goddamn right, I am.”
Back in the darkened studio, the Brothers DiVito stare into the camera.
“You know what my resolution is, Downy? To keep bein’ the best fuckin’ cham-peen in this whole fuckin’ company. Unlike you, I ain’t gotta change shit to keep my resolution. Unlike you, I ain’t gotta subvert my fuckin’ nature to achieve my goal. But if yo’s is to win MY title? Well, fuck, that’s gonna take a whole lotta changin’ which frankly, I don’t think you can fuckin’ manage. I mean, fuck, yo whole fuckin’ career has been one long escape route, ain’t it? IEA, IEW, XWF, WCWA, EHWF… Fuck that’s damn near a whole fuckin’ alaphbet and it don’t even got League of Fury on the list. Look at mine now, Downy: Action Fuckin’ Wrestlin’. That’s it. End. of. List.
Ya know why, man? It’s ‘cause I ain’t in this shit to do it just anywhere. I’m in this shit to do it at the tippy fuckin’ top. I’m in it to show the fuckin’ world that I’m the best in the fuckin’ game. I ain’t gotta polish the fuckin’ tin titles of lesser organizations. Nope, I just get my fuckin’ jollies right fuckin’ here in the best fuckin’ promotion in the world. Downy, I am THE Action Wrestlin’ Original, because this is fuckin’ home. The closest fuckin’ thing you have to a home is whatever fuckin’ railcar you leave yo’ bindle full-a snacks in.
But that’s fine fo’ you, I guess. differ'nt strokes fo’ differ'nt folks an’ all that. But, man, from the outsider’s perspective? Shit. It really looks like you’re just rinsin’ an’ repeatin’ the same patterns and the same bullshit righ’ now, Downy. You yo’ own worst enemy when it comes to just makin’ somethin’ an’ stickin’ wit’ yo’ shit. You’re the journeyman vet ‘cause you just get restless an’ run. You ran from e’ry damn one a’ them feds. You ran from the TV title and solo work. And once I beat your ass, you’ll run right back to hide behind Dion.”
Richard places his hand on Dandy’s shoulder.
“Any chance Mr. Fall isn’t just running but instead discovering he just can’t hack it where he was?”
Dandy ponders for a second before responding.
“Honestly, no, and I’ll tell you why: Downy, I think you have what it takes to be the fuckin’ top dog in any company you’re a part of - including this one, just not when I’m holdin’ this fuckin’ strap. You’re mo’ than capable. Mo’ than qualified. Mo’ than good enough to be the top fuckin’ dog. But you get in yo’ own way mo’ than fuckin’ siamese twins joined at the dick. An’ when push comes to shove, you ain’t never taken the fuckin’ 9 seconds you’d need to take to look real critically at yourself and spot that. So you just keep fuckin’ up the same way every goddamn step a’ the way, and you straight up never fuckin’ learn. Me? I’m learning all the fuckin’ time, man. I’m changin’ the game day in an’ day out. You? You jus’ findin’ slightly different ways to run the same fuckin’ predictable plays over an’ over. So maybe this time, yo’ run up the middle is off the guard instead of the center, but after the tackle, it’ll still go down as a 2 yard loss up the gut. Downy, you need a reinvention - an’ I don’t mean another fuckin’ facelift. You need to change the game you playin’. Until you figure that shit out? Man, there ain’t nothin’ you can do to touch a mo’fucka like me. You always gon’ be that dude who just can’t stick aroun’ long enough to be THE guy anywhere even when yo’ resume seems to say you oughta be that guy everywhere.
But goddamn, Downy… I told you back in fuckin August that I respec’ you, and I meant it then. Now though? I gotta amend that shit. I respect yo’ potential, but I got nothin’ but fuckin’ disdain fo’ the way you decidin’ ta be happy ta exist instead of fuckin’ demandin’ mo’. You know why I’m a three time fuckin’ World Champ and you just now havin’ yo’ first sniff at this shit? It’s ‘cause I make shit happen an’ find the path to gold while you just stick yo’ thumb up yo’ ass hopin’ there’s an undiscovered mine in there. Me? I show up and punch a motherfucker like Ryan Lockhart in the mouth to throw my hat in the fuckin’ ring. I show up an’ punk out that bitch Carter Shaw to take the shot I rightfully deserved. I force the hand of any mo’fucka who’s got that bookin’ pencil. You thought? Well shit. You either too content wit’ yo’ spot to flex ya nuts or you too fuckin’ scared to rock the boat. Honestly, whichever it is? That’s bitch shit. While you have legend status in you, I ain’t never seen you use it in this fuckin’ company outside of two nights: (1) when you took ol’ Ashy Blake down for the first time, and (2) when you claimed that Wrestler of the Year crown. Some maybe surprised that I’m not countin’ when Vanguard snagged them tag straps and maybe countin’ it against me that I’m not botherin’ to address that like it’s a win you got over me, but nah, man. I don’t bother myself by countin’ shit you accomplished while you been sinkin’ you potential to the ocean floor with that Dionysus shaped anchor.”
Richard laughs and slaps his brother’s shoulder.
“Nah, Downy. I ain’t gonna do you the dishonor of countin’ what I think is yo’ greatest fuckin’ failin’ in this company as a touchstone victory fo’ you. Even if you too fuckin’ afraid to let the world see in you what I know is there, I know, an’ I ain’t takin’ this lightly even if yo’ ass has to be fuckin’ dragged into the solo world right now. Even if it takes a booker’s pencil forcin’ you outta yo’ comfort zone to accomplish somethin’ truly fuckin’ impressive fo’ the first time in mo’ than a fuckin’ year, I don’t get to jus’ pretend you didn’t blow everyone in yo’ way outta the fuckin’ way to become only the fuckin’ 4th person to ever win that honor. I fuckin’ KNOW you got what it takes to be the man in Action Wrestlin’. I fuckin’ KNOW you prolly gon’ be the man one day here sooner or later. But goddamn it, Downy… yo’ 2022 ain’t gon’ be no differ'nt than yo’ 2021 if you don’t extract yo’ head from yo’ ass an’ cut the fat, the deadweight, and the bullshit. I ain’t fuckin’ Regan. I ain’t that li’l punk Bacchus. I ain’t Ashy fuckin’ Blake. I’m better, mo’fucka. I’m the one and fuckin’ only Dandy goddamn DiVito.
I ain’t hidin’ behind shit. I don’t run from nothin’ or no one. And at Clash, I’ll show you an’ the fuckin’ world why I am the three-time World Cham-peen while you just Dion’s fuckin’ babysitter that won a cool match when he didn’t have a fuckin’ choice.”
“Look, pop, I get that you good at yo’ shit an’ all, but I need you to trust me here: CJ ain’t the guy. That ain’t in his nature.”
“Then why was he there, Winston?”
“I cannot explain that shit. Maybe he was tryin’ to get a location on the compound? That woulda been right before he joined…?”
Mr. DiVito’s frustration grows.
“Son, you trust people too much. If you had a harder heart, if you were more guarded, none of this would have happened…”
Dandy’s eyes snap wide open and his head cocks in anger as his father cuts his thought mid-stream.
“Oh, no. Continue your thought, pop. Please say OUT LOUD that you blame me fo’ Yaz fuckin’ aroun’ on me. Please say OUT LOUD that I’m somehow to blame for this shit. Please. Please do it. Say that shit.”
“Winston…”
“Say. It.”
“Winston, please.”
Richard’s eyes dart back and forth in response to the awkward tension until he pipes up.
“Uh, dad, I, uh, think you, uh, might want to, uh, trust Dandy on this one, huh? If he says CJ isn’t the guy, maybe he’s right?”
Dandy is still fuming and staring a hole through his father as Mr. DiVito’s eyes are locked on Richard’s.
“Do you boys even care to get to the bottom of this?”
Richard throws his hands up.
“Me? Not really. I didn’t get cucked.”
Dandy angrily shoots Richard a glare before returning his gaze to his father.
“I just want to move the fuck on, put this whole shit show behind me, and focus all of my energy on being the best goddamn champion the world’s ever seen. Is that too fuckin’ much to ask, pop?”
With a frustrated sigh, Mr. DiVito grabs the file, closes it and then stuffs it into a drawer in his desk.
“You boys know this isn’t just an offense against Winston, right? An insult to one DiVito is an insult to ALL of us. I cannot let this slight go, but for your sake, Winston, I’ll hold off on pursuing this further for now. OK?”
Dandy stares at his father in an angry silence.
“You trust too much, Downy. You trust Dionysus to help you build and defend your legacy. You trust that your identity in this company will be protected even when you fall back into being a part of a tag team you straight up don’t need to be in. You trust that opportunities will just arise without your express effort to force that shit to happen. Now that last bit has come through for you this time, but jus’ ‘cause you got one outta three don’t mean yo’ trust is founded on anythin’ resemblin’ reality an’ what’s comin’ fo’ yo’ ass in 2022.”
“Ultimately, Mr. Fall, it’s clear to us that you’re just not making changes. It’s clear that whatever promises you’ve made yourself, whatever resolutions you’ve set your heart on for 2022… they’re as hollow and empty all the other ones made by people like you, by people with no introspection or self-control. You just want to be able to have your cake and eat it too. You want to be able to say you’ll win the big one and just rely upon the generosity of the universe in forging your path to the prize.”
“Well, Downy, I’m here on behalf of the universe. I forged my own path. When I beat your ass and return you squarely to the back of the line, you can tuck your tail and run again. Back to the tag division. Back to your partner. Back to whatever comfort zone you’ve discovered that’ll allow you to punch down again until the next time you get to beat Ashy Blake or the booker’s pencil tries to help you out with an opportunity you refused to request, demand, or force into existence. Some people - ones like you, Downy - are comfortable living off the scraps that fall off the tables of other people. Others - people like me - would rather flip the fucking table than wait to be handed a goddamn thing. You can sit like a good boy and wait. I’ll go ahead and make the changes necessary to get whatever the fuck I wan’, Downy.”
Richard reaches off camera to grab a pair of champagne glasses. He hands one to Dandy.
“Here’s to 2022, the best year in what is already a first-ballot Hall of Fame career for Dandy DiVito, and just mayyyyyyyyyybe the year Downfall’s balls finally drop so he can live up to some of that potential he’s got.
Here’s to the first of my many title defenses to come.
Here’s to you, Downy.”
The brothers laugh as they lift the glasses up in a mocking toast before swiftly downing their champagne and tossing the glasses to the floor.
“...Downfall at the January 3rd show.”
“Fehl, right?”
Dandy’s attention snaps to the conversation.
“Yeah. That’s the guy. Dick’s got ‘im good an’ riled up.”
Richard grimaces for a second, working to ignore his brother’s intentional misnomer, but Mr. DiVito offers a muted smile and a nod of encouragement for his younger son.
“That’s good work, son, but boys, we have other business to attend to as well.”
Dandy and Richard each look at their father with confusion.
“What else?”
Mr. DiVito hits a button on the intercom device at his desk.
“Bring me the file.”
Within seconds, the door opens and Miguel Guerrero walks in and hands a file folder to Mr. DiVito who nods.
“Thank you.”
He turns his attention toward Dandy.
“Winston, you remember Miguel, don’t you?”
“Yup. How you doin’ Miggy?”
Guerrero smiles subtly and nods in Dandy’s direction.
“You know. Same old, same old.”
“Still doin’ the old man’s dirty work, huh?”
Dandy and Guerrero share a smirk. Mr. DiVito butts in.
“Thank you, Miguel. That will be all.”
Guerrero turns his full attention to Mr. DiVito again and nods as he exits the office and closes the door.
“So, uh, what’s that?”
Mr. DiVito opens the folder and thumbs through the contents.
“Son, I know your attention has been directed toward your matches, toward recapturing your title… well, my attention is never exclusively on any one thing. You know that.”
“Yeah, but righ’ now, you stallin’. So what else you been workin’ on, pops?”
Mr. DiVito takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he slides the open file across the desk for Dandy and Richard to examine.
Dandy and Richard stand together in a dark studio. Richard stands slightly in front of his brother as Dandy stands in profile to the camera while snarling in the background staring straight ahead.
“People perpetually treat the New Year as if it will somehow solve all of their problems. Fat fucks issue empty pledges to hit the gym, tar-lunged dipshits lie to themselves about kicking cigarettes, miserably shitty moms and dads make promises they’ll never be able to keep to their little fuck-trophy kids that this year - THIS YEAR - they’ll turn it all around…
But why? What possesses people to lie not just to the people in their lives but themselves, too?
Is it hubris? Is it stupidity? I’d argue it’s a little of both. Just because the calendar date doesn’t end in the same four numbers today doesn’t mean your life is changing. You’re still the same motherfucker you were yesterday who treated 37 cheeseburgers like they were a midday snack, the same empty headed asshole who burns his way through a pack a day, the same parent of the year candidate who’ll be stuck texting their kid “don’t do it” when they take your early Christmas present to school.
Ultimately, if you’re not making changes - in yourself, in your decisions, in your actions - you’re still the same piece of shit that you were when the sun went down for the last time in 2021 as you were when the sun rose in 2022. But I’ll be damned if people don’t just keep making their empty resolutions…”
Dandy turns his attention toward the camera.
“Fo’ mos’ people, them resolutions aim to solve pro’lems they feel like they got, but what kinda resolutions does a mo’fucka make when they spent the year takin’ the sombitch by the fuckin’ balls? Let me rephrase that a bit…
Downfall, what’s yo’ resolution?
I’ma guess it’s ta be champ. I’ma guess it’s ta hold down them tag belts an’ my world title at the same time. I’d bet a fuckin’ healthy ass number of dollas to say I’m right.
But what changes you fuckin’ makin’ here to grow yo’self enough that my fuckin’ title can even be on yo’ radar, man?”
Richard smirks and shrugs.
“I don’t think he’s changing shit, brother.”
“Yeah, me neither. And I’ll tell you, man, I couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to see him stomp confident on that fuckin’ landmine.”
Dandy returns his attention to the camera.
“Downy, when you think ‘bout yo resolution, when you really process that shit - why you want it, what you doin’ to get it, yadda yadda - I want you to ask yo’self somethin’: whatchu changin’ to make that shit happen? When you bein’ real fuckin’ honest wit’ yo’self, you gotta realize you ain’t changin’ shit, an’ Downfall-2022’s the same mo’fucka as Downfall-2021…”
Richard nods emphatically in agreement.
“Now I can damn near hear Dion’s dumb fuckin’ squeal through the air right now… But, Dandy, Downfall-2021 is the Wrestler of the Year! What do you think you’re proving?! And ya know? That’s a pretty compellin’ point as long as you ignore the fuckin’ facts.”
“Lay it on ‘em, brother!”
“Downy, you rolled inta 2021 holdin’ solo gold until what? Some fuckin’ literal clown put yo’ shoulders to the mat and ended yo’ run fo’ the ages. I mean, fuck, you beat Ashy to win it an’ all that. Big win. No bullshit on that. But what’d you do when you lost? You hitched yo’ wagon to Dion…”
The brothers snicker.
“Dude, seriously? You jus’ spent months on end defendin’ that fuckin’ belt week in an’ week out, and when you lost it, you turned to a dude who can’t even 100 percent dedicate his mind and effort to Action Wrestlin’? You lost yo’ strap an’ you saddled yourself down wit’ a guy that’s been in the company since the start and has a resume on par wit’ some mo’fucka who just signed up? What the fuck is goin’ on wit’ you, Downy?”
As Dandy continues, Richard’s snicker turns into a full on laugh.
“You was set up to be one of the biggest individual names in the company. You shoulda been ridin’ that record settin’ reign into bigger an’ better honors months ago, but instead, you decided to partner up with fuckin’ Dionysus. What in the ever lovin’ fuck was you thinkin’, Downy? Me? I think you was scared. Scared of yo’ own fuckin’ success to that point. Scared of the challenge of aimin’ higher than the bottom of the fuckin’ barrel. Scared of havin’ nothin’ to hide behind in a world where e’rybody else had allies behind ‘em. Even me, right? The Followin’ was nearin’ the end of the rope ‘round then, but we was still formidable.
Comparin’ Vanguard to The Followin’ really sums up the differences between the two of us, don’t it? What made Dandy DiVito turn to other people fo’ fuckin’ help? Well, that’s easy. I was at the end of my rope, too. I had hit the lowest point of my fuckin’ career. Loss after loss after loss. I needed fuckin’ somethin’ to kick start my fuckin’ return to triumph. Somethin’ to help me shake the taste of those bitter fuckin’ losses outta my mouth. Somethin’ to help me change my fuckin’ perspective on the game.
Fuck, ain’t many in the world that know this, but when I signed on wit’ Wes to join The Followin’, I was considerin’ retirement instead. So in the end, no matter how that fuckin’ ride ended, I made the right choice. My legacy is two title runs heavier, and I am not only the greatest US champ this company’s ever seen but the greatest Tag champ and the greatest fuckin’ World champ. I revitalized my career, my name, my fuckin’ resume.
You though, man? Jesus H. Christ, Downy… you just dodged greener pastures in favor of… what exactly? Bein’ the center pivot of a tag division that you only runnin’ ‘cause I decided I’d had enough of playin’ that fuckin’ game? Bein’ the star of a division you couldn’t pay another mo’fucka to give a shit about now? I mean, shit, man. I know you bitched that me an’ Kemp or Sammy only hald them straps like we did ‘cause we didn’t have no legit competition, but fuck that. We had HR Department an’ the rest of Philidor, we had you…”
“HA!”
“You made the argument that we wasn’t worth a shit ‘cause we didn’t have nobody to face. Well, if you ain’t the fuckin’ kettle callin’ the pot black… Downy, you been dodgin’ anything that made you the solo center of attention for a whole fuckin’ year. You only showed up fo’ Wrestler of the Year ‘cause you didn’t have no choice. You’ll only show up fo’ this shot at my belt fo’ the same reason. You too fuckin’ scared to stand on yo’ own, an’ honestly, I don’t fuckin’ get it. I guess tyin’ yo’self to Dion as an anchor holdin’ you down jus’ gives you the ability to dodge the responsibility when you go belly up. You jus’ playin’ the game from a losin’ position at all times, and when you play the game like that - when you hide, when you run from makin’ yo’ own luck, when you tie yo’ shit to a lesser mo’fucka - you just like a mo’fucka who uses a fuckin’ lighter to see inside his gastank; you might not be able to see it, but reasonable people the world fuckin’ over are watchin’ and askin’ themselfs: what is that stupid motherfucker… BOOM!”
Dandy thumbs through the file with a confused look on his face. Richard’s face reflects that he’s piecing it together while Dandy struggles.
“The fuck is this?”
Mr. DiVito smacks his lips as he lets out a sigh.
“Why you showin’ me a file fulla CJ Phoenix’s fuckin’ info? What the fuck is goin’ on?”
Richard silently laughs, his eyes as big as dinner plates while Dandy processes.
“Son…”
Dandy looks up to meet his father’s gaze.
“I believe that man is the father of Yazmine’s baby.”
Dandy pushes the folder away from himself and back toward his father.
“Winston, Miguel has been all over this since we, uh, learned… you know…”
“Just say it, Dad. Since we learned that little bastard wasn’t yours, Winston.”
Mr. DiVito’s icy stare turns it’s full attention to Richard’s heartless outburst, and Richard clams up immediately.
“No… Fuck no. That ain’t fuckin’ it! No fuckin’ way it was CJ! Say what you want about ‘im, he wouldn’t a’ done that shit to me. Period. All respect, pops, you flat fuckin’ wrong here.”
Mr. DiVito slides the file back toward Dandy.
“Look again, son. I think you’ll find some evidence that might make you reconsider.”
Dandy rolls his eyes and angrily grabs the file before forcefully thumbing through the papers and photos in the folder. Dandy’s eyes fall upon a photo of CJ standing on the front stoop of Yaz’s house, and he just starts shaking his head.
“Wait… when the fuck did you have Miguel taking pictures? Yaz popped right aroun’ her due date. You were on her 9 months befo’? Nah. That don’t make no sense, pops. This is fuckin’ silly.”
Mr. DiVito blinks slowly as his face contorts in anger.
“You think I haven’t had my people on you since you started at that company? Who do you think I am, Winston? Because it sure sounds like you are thinking I’m bad at what I do, that I let my guard down and trust anyone outside of this family, that I’d let you or Richard just walk away without some assurances… Do you think I’m bad at what I do?”
Dandy sucks in an angry breath and holds it to give himself a beat before responding.
“No, pop. I don’t.”
Mr. DiVito turns to Richard.
“Do you think I’m bad at what I do, Richard?”
“Hell no. You’re the fucking best, dad.”
“You’re goddamn right, I am.”
Back in the darkened studio, the Brothers DiVito stare into the camera.
“You know what my resolution is, Downy? To keep bein’ the best fuckin’ cham-peen in this whole fuckin’ company. Unlike you, I ain’t gotta change shit to keep my resolution. Unlike you, I ain’t gotta subvert my fuckin’ nature to achieve my goal. But if yo’s is to win MY title? Well, fuck, that’s gonna take a whole lotta changin’ which frankly, I don’t think you can fuckin’ manage. I mean, fuck, yo whole fuckin’ career has been one long escape route, ain’t it? IEA, IEW, XWF, WCWA, EHWF… Fuck that’s damn near a whole fuckin’ alaphbet and it don’t even got League of Fury on the list. Look at mine now, Downy: Action Fuckin’ Wrestlin’. That’s it. End. of. List.
Ya know why, man? It’s ‘cause I ain’t in this shit to do it just anywhere. I’m in this shit to do it at the tippy fuckin’ top. I’m in it to show the fuckin’ world that I’m the best in the fuckin’ game. I ain’t gotta polish the fuckin’ tin titles of lesser organizations. Nope, I just get my fuckin’ jollies right fuckin’ here in the best fuckin’ promotion in the world. Downy, I am THE Action Wrestlin’ Original, because this is fuckin’ home. The closest fuckin’ thing you have to a home is whatever fuckin’ railcar you leave yo’ bindle full-a snacks in.
But that’s fine fo’ you, I guess. differ'nt strokes fo’ differ'nt folks an’ all that. But, man, from the outsider’s perspective? Shit. It really looks like you’re just rinsin’ an’ repeatin’ the same patterns and the same bullshit righ’ now, Downy. You yo’ own worst enemy when it comes to just makin’ somethin’ an’ stickin’ wit’ yo’ shit. You’re the journeyman vet ‘cause you just get restless an’ run. You ran from e’ry damn one a’ them feds. You ran from the TV title and solo work. And once I beat your ass, you’ll run right back to hide behind Dion.”
Richard places his hand on Dandy’s shoulder.
“Any chance Mr. Fall isn’t just running but instead discovering he just can’t hack it where he was?”
Dandy ponders for a second before responding.
“Honestly, no, and I’ll tell you why: Downy, I think you have what it takes to be the fuckin’ top dog in any company you’re a part of - including this one, just not when I’m holdin’ this fuckin’ strap. You’re mo’ than capable. Mo’ than qualified. Mo’ than good enough to be the top fuckin’ dog. But you get in yo’ own way mo’ than fuckin’ siamese twins joined at the dick. An’ when push comes to shove, you ain’t never taken the fuckin’ 9 seconds you’d need to take to look real critically at yourself and spot that. So you just keep fuckin’ up the same way every goddamn step a’ the way, and you straight up never fuckin’ learn. Me? I’m learning all the fuckin’ time, man. I’m changin’ the game day in an’ day out. You? You jus’ findin’ slightly different ways to run the same fuckin’ predictable plays over an’ over. So maybe this time, yo’ run up the middle is off the guard instead of the center, but after the tackle, it’ll still go down as a 2 yard loss up the gut. Downy, you need a reinvention - an’ I don’t mean another fuckin’ facelift. You need to change the game you playin’. Until you figure that shit out? Man, there ain’t nothin’ you can do to touch a mo’fucka like me. You always gon’ be that dude who just can’t stick aroun’ long enough to be THE guy anywhere even when yo’ resume seems to say you oughta be that guy everywhere.
But goddamn, Downy… I told you back in fuckin August that I respec’ you, and I meant it then. Now though? I gotta amend that shit. I respect yo’ potential, but I got nothin’ but fuckin’ disdain fo’ the way you decidin’ ta be happy ta exist instead of fuckin’ demandin’ mo’. You know why I’m a three time fuckin’ World Champ and you just now havin’ yo’ first sniff at this shit? It’s ‘cause I make shit happen an’ find the path to gold while you just stick yo’ thumb up yo’ ass hopin’ there’s an undiscovered mine in there. Me? I show up and punch a motherfucker like Ryan Lockhart in the mouth to throw my hat in the fuckin’ ring. I show up an’ punk out that bitch Carter Shaw to take the shot I rightfully deserved. I force the hand of any mo’fucka who’s got that bookin’ pencil. You thought? Well shit. You either too content wit’ yo’ spot to flex ya nuts or you too fuckin’ scared to rock the boat. Honestly, whichever it is? That’s bitch shit. While you have legend status in you, I ain’t never seen you use it in this fuckin’ company outside of two nights: (1) when you took ol’ Ashy Blake down for the first time, and (2) when you claimed that Wrestler of the Year crown. Some maybe surprised that I’m not countin’ when Vanguard snagged them tag straps and maybe countin’ it against me that I’m not botherin’ to address that like it’s a win you got over me, but nah, man. I don’t bother myself by countin’ shit you accomplished while you been sinkin’ you potential to the ocean floor with that Dionysus shaped anchor.”
Richard laughs and slaps his brother’s shoulder.
“Nah, Downy. I ain’t gonna do you the dishonor of countin’ what I think is yo’ greatest fuckin’ failin’ in this company as a touchstone victory fo’ you. Even if you too fuckin’ afraid to let the world see in you what I know is there, I know, an’ I ain’t takin’ this lightly even if yo’ ass has to be fuckin’ dragged into the solo world right now. Even if it takes a booker’s pencil forcin’ you outta yo’ comfort zone to accomplish somethin’ truly fuckin’ impressive fo’ the first time in mo’ than a fuckin’ year, I don’t get to jus’ pretend you didn’t blow everyone in yo’ way outta the fuckin’ way to become only the fuckin’ 4th person to ever win that honor. I fuckin’ KNOW you got what it takes to be the man in Action Wrestlin’. I fuckin’ KNOW you prolly gon’ be the man one day here sooner or later. But goddamn it, Downy… yo’ 2022 ain’t gon’ be no differ'nt than yo’ 2021 if you don’t extract yo’ head from yo’ ass an’ cut the fat, the deadweight, and the bullshit. I ain’t fuckin’ Regan. I ain’t that li’l punk Bacchus. I ain’t Ashy fuckin’ Blake. I’m better, mo’fucka. I’m the one and fuckin’ only Dandy goddamn DiVito.
I ain’t hidin’ behind shit. I don’t run from nothin’ or no one. And at Clash, I’ll show you an’ the fuckin’ world why I am the three-time World Cham-peen while you just Dion’s fuckin’ babysitter that won a cool match when he didn’t have a fuckin’ choice.”
“Look, pop, I get that you good at yo’ shit an’ all, but I need you to trust me here: CJ ain’t the guy. That ain’t in his nature.”
“Then why was he there, Winston?”
“I cannot explain that shit. Maybe he was tryin’ to get a location on the compound? That woulda been right before he joined…?”
Mr. DiVito’s frustration grows.
“Son, you trust people too much. If you had a harder heart, if you were more guarded, none of this would have happened…”
Dandy’s eyes snap wide open and his head cocks in anger as his father cuts his thought mid-stream.
“Oh, no. Continue your thought, pop. Please say OUT LOUD that you blame me fo’ Yaz fuckin’ aroun’ on me. Please say OUT LOUD that I’m somehow to blame for this shit. Please. Please do it. Say that shit.”
“Winston…”
“Say. It.”
“Winston, please.”
Richard’s eyes dart back and forth in response to the awkward tension until he pipes up.
“Uh, dad, I, uh, think you, uh, might want to, uh, trust Dandy on this one, huh? If he says CJ isn’t the guy, maybe he’s right?”
Dandy is still fuming and staring a hole through his father as Mr. DiVito’s eyes are locked on Richard’s.
“Do you boys even care to get to the bottom of this?”
Richard throws his hands up.
“Me? Not really. I didn’t get cucked.”
Dandy angrily shoots Richard a glare before returning his gaze to his father.
“I just want to move the fuck on, put this whole shit show behind me, and focus all of my energy on being the best goddamn champion the world’s ever seen. Is that too fuckin’ much to ask, pop?”
With a frustrated sigh, Mr. DiVito grabs the file, closes it and then stuffs it into a drawer in his desk.
“You boys know this isn’t just an offense against Winston, right? An insult to one DiVito is an insult to ALL of us. I cannot let this slight go, but for your sake, Winston, I’ll hold off on pursuing this further for now. OK?”
Dandy stares at his father in an angry silence.
“You trust too much, Downy. You trust Dionysus to help you build and defend your legacy. You trust that your identity in this company will be protected even when you fall back into being a part of a tag team you straight up don’t need to be in. You trust that opportunities will just arise without your express effort to force that shit to happen. Now that last bit has come through for you this time, but jus’ ‘cause you got one outta three don’t mean yo’ trust is founded on anythin’ resemblin’ reality an’ what’s comin’ fo’ yo’ ass in 2022.”
“Ultimately, Mr. Fall, it’s clear to us that you’re just not making changes. It’s clear that whatever promises you’ve made yourself, whatever resolutions you’ve set your heart on for 2022… they’re as hollow and empty all the other ones made by people like you, by people with no introspection or self-control. You just want to be able to have your cake and eat it too. You want to be able to say you’ll win the big one and just rely upon the generosity of the universe in forging your path to the prize.”
“Well, Downy, I’m here on behalf of the universe. I forged my own path. When I beat your ass and return you squarely to the back of the line, you can tuck your tail and run again. Back to the tag division. Back to your partner. Back to whatever comfort zone you’ve discovered that’ll allow you to punch down again until the next time you get to beat Ashy Blake or the booker’s pencil tries to help you out with an opportunity you refused to request, demand, or force into existence. Some people - ones like you, Downy - are comfortable living off the scraps that fall off the tables of other people. Others - people like me - would rather flip the fucking table than wait to be handed a goddamn thing. You can sit like a good boy and wait. I’ll go ahead and make the changes necessary to get whatever the fuck I wan’, Downy.”
Richard reaches off camera to grab a pair of champagne glasses. He hands one to Dandy.
“Here’s to 2022, the best year in what is already a first-ballot Hall of Fame career for Dandy DiVito, and just mayyyyyyyyyybe the year Downfall’s balls finally drop so he can live up to some of that potential he’s got.
Here’s to the first of my many title defenses to come.
Here’s to you, Downy.”
The brothers laugh as they lift the glasses up in a mocking toast before swiftly downing their champagne and tossing the glasses to the floor.
