First Chance at a Second Tyler

By: Ben Reeves

Writing Prompt: No

Date: 29th Apr 2022

Well that wasn’t how I expected my first time going.  I mean with all that baby oil, was that a wrestling match… or a porn shoot?  That wasn’t a wrestling ring, but a three ring circus… so no wonder the clown got the win.  So congrats Tyler, you knew you had no chance in a fair fight against me and cheated… I mean did whatever necessary to win.  I mean the referee saw everything he did… and I’m apparently the one that got DQed after I’m blinded with more fucking baby oil.

Apparently the rule book here in Fight is more like a recommendation book?

Or maybe those with connections to the Ten-X gang get to play by different rules?  Yeah Tyler, I knew who you ran with, who you’ve trained with.  LT, Dan Ryan, Farthington… and of course Mike Best… so maybe it’s on me for not being fully prepared.  Maybe I was being naïve.  Thinking that my first match would be something more special.  That it wouldn’t be a joke… a very unfunny joke.

But it’s ok Tyler, next time I’ll be ready for you… because there will be a next time.  This is only the beginning of what I expect to be a long career for both of us.  You will always be my first and I will never forget you.  We are connected Ty.  Forever.  So I’ll see you around for sure.  For now I need to let you simmer on the back burner though Tyler, for I have a new target to try and score that all elusive first victory that you stole from me last week.

Ok, ok, I’m letting it go and moving on from you Tyler.  For now.

It’s time to focus on… Tyler?  What the fuck!?!  Is everyone in this place named Tyler?  Is this Fight! NYC or Fight! Tyler?  Fuck this is gonna get confusing.  Oh and he looks like a slimeball like the other Tyler too?  Fucking great, please someone check him for baby oil this week cause I’m already feeling like I’m in a time loop here.  Another loud mouthed, cocky asshole who seems to love the fact that he is hated.  Fully embracing his dickheadedness acts like it’s something to be proud of.  Just because you know you’re an asshole, doesn’t make it better.  It doesn’t make it “cool”. It doesn’t change that your soul is hollow and only full of one thing… shit.  

It’s like these Tylers are all being produced from the same lameass factory.  Am I going to see a “made in Chicago” stamp on your foot too Tyler?  Trying to prototype yourself after some mold that should have never risen from the rumble at the coliseum?  Just like I knew who Streets ran with, I know you too Bradford.  I’m a teenager in twenty-twenty-two… I bet you can’t even fathom what I was able to dig up on you from the internet.  I don’t need any… birdies… to tell me the secrets you’re hiding.  You’re just another… crock, who is like I said, full of shit around here.

But I guess it fooled the Fight brass to put you in the main event against Shawn Warstein in your first match.  Or maybe they were smart and wanted to feed him an easy win.  It took him only eight minutes to deflate that bloated ego and then two whole shows to heal the bruises on it.  I lost to that other Ty last week, and I’m jumping right back on that horse.  I’m not scared of taking another chance.  I’m eager to learn, eager to try again.

We both are going to try and right our ships at Thrill & Agony.  I guess I’m the thrill… and you’re the agony?  Sounds about right from what I’ve seen about you.  A spoiled little shit who thinks he is the king of the fucking world.  Like seriously dude?  That shit is so overplayed and old in twenty-two here.  But don’t worry, I’ll knock your punk ass off your fake ass throne and back to reality when we step into that ring.  You think Streets had it tough fighting a man twice his size… well you get to fight a man twice your size who is now pissed off as fuck.

My naïve ass got a quick lesson on just how ruthless this business is.  How nobody cares about fighting fair and the only thing that matters in the end is if you get the W.  So congrats Tyler, you now get to become my first victim.  You get to be the first to fall to the next monster of wrestling.  Ben-d over and get ready for a Reeves-ing.

But like I said, no one here in Fight! seems to wanna fight fair… so I think I need to reach out to someone.  Someone I didn’t want to acknowledge even existed… but he is someone that I think I need to use if I want to survive in this sea of sharks here in Fight!

Manhattan, New York

If you thought a dude as jacked as me is anywhere other than the gym when he has free time, then you would be an idiot.  While doing a bench press rep, I hear my phone buzz off to the side of the machine.  I set the bar back on the rack as I look over at my phone and see who just texted me.


I take a deep breath as I roll off the bench and grab my phone and swipe open the text message.

“If you really wanna do this, if you’re fuckign serious, meet me here on the 27th, one PM.” Says the text message as I look at the attached location that is somewhere in Hudson Yards.  I nods my head before I toss my phone into my bag.

“I know he has been a fucking dick about all of this to me, but he may only be my only hope against someone like Bradford.  He debuted against the man who is main eventing the PPV this week.  He’s not going to be a slacker.  He’s not going to be a piece of meat that is just fed to me.  Nothing here in Fight! Is going to be easy… that is why I need him to teach me.  He knows how to survive in an environment like that, where every match is an ultimate test of your abilities.” I ramble on to myself before I return to the bench and look up at the weights.

The weights are easy, I can control them, I can always beat them.  But this is a whole new world.  I can’t control everything.  Just like I couldn’t control the bullshit that Streets was going to throw at me.  I need to be more adaptive.  I need to be able to counter what these fuckers are throwing at me.

“Fine, you win… guess my next lesson starts in forty-eight hours.” I say as I sit back up and grab my phone back from my bag.

“K” I text back as I shake my head and throw my phone even harder back into my bag. 

This goes against everything I was hoping for with my wrestling career.  I thought I could do this on my own… but I should have known this is always where my path would have taken me.

“Fuck!” I exclaim again as I grab the weight and go for a few more reps to try and burn off the anger.  To try and regain some semblance of control over my life.  Because you know he isn’t going to allow me to have any of that once I submit to his teachings.

It is his fucking way… that is it.

Hudson Yards
1:06 pm EST

Walking into the building at Hudson Yards I’m immediately surprised.  I thought I was going to find some shithole gym… some crappy wrestling training facility.  But instead it’s some mini television studio with a ring set up in the middle.  There is no branding as it seems that construction is still going on, but it looks like the place could seat at least five hundred people once it is done.

“Fucking eh… you are so much bigger from the last the I saw you.” He says from the shadows of the room as he watches two wrestlers training in the ring while a few construction members work on the spectator area.

“And when was that?  I can barely remember the last time you harassed my step parents to make sure my existence never came into your limelight.” I snarky reply as he just stares at me for a moment, keeping a kind of composure I’m not used to seeing from him on TV.

“You’re gonna have to let that shit go if you want my help.  And let me cut you off now, we aren’t gonna play twenty questions about your father tonight.” He states, shutting the path down that he knows Ben is going to want to go down.

“Yeah, I figured you’d have no interest in that.  You have been protecting him for nearly two decades now, why would you stop now?” I fire back with the full fledged bitterness that I have been holding ever since my adopted parents told me about my past.

“How about you get in that ring and we see exactly what you can do.  All I’ve seen is your one match against Mike Best’s latest protégé… guess Alex Beckman has been tossed into the Chicago landfill and Tyler Streets is the newest toy he’s fucking around with until he gets bored.” He snipes away at, with a distinct amount of his own bitterness.

So I rip my shirt off and toss it on the floor before entering the ring with this guy who seems a bit older than me… but much smaller than I am.  He seems like a near duplicate of Tyler Streets, except probability nowhere near as much of an asshole.

Yes, we know, you are trying to me an asshole, it’s cool and edgy, the wrestling nerds pop for that shit.  Please just shut the fuck up for one fucking minute so my ears don’t start bleeding.

I quickly go for a collar and elbow tie up as he swings around behind me for what I think is a german suplex.  So I throw an elbow backwards for his head but he drops to the mat and delivers a quick low blow.  I drop to my knees in pain as he grabs my head and drives it into the ground for a bulldog.

“You gotta block that shit!  Always be ready for someone to hit you in the balls.  They are the easiest fucking target on you.  Plus as soon as he went behind you, throw your leg back and try to catch him in his balls” He yells out from the shadows as I slowly start to pull myself back up to my feet.

“Is this… all you’re… gonna teach me?  Low blows?  I could have learned that from a ninth grader in high school.  Kick the bully in the balls.” I stutter on saying, gasping for air in between a few words.

“You have a lot to fucking learn.  You may have picked up the basics at your lame ass wrestling camps, but now it is time to learn what wrestling is really about.  It is time to learn what will keep you around this business for two decades, instead of just being some flash in the fucking pan.  Do you want a career… or to be remembered as the ass who won a match with fucking baby oil?” He asks as I finally start to see his point.

I don’t wanna be some joke like Tyler Streets… or whatever comedian he is facing this week in a stand-up special Streets fight.  I also don’t wanna be some total self absorbed dickwad who thinks everything in the wrestling world should be handed to him.  I mean I didn’t get where I am because of my family history… but maybe now that I am here… I do need to start using those connections.

Being good isn’t the most important thing in this business… it is who you fucking know.  It is who you align yourself with.  Some align with the BEST… and they reap the benefits.  So I need to try and take advantage of that while I can… before this all blows up in my face and I start regretting ever going down this path.

I pull myself back up to my feet as my sparring partner again goes for a low blow behind my back… but he slides into the ring just before.  Spinning the man around he boots him in the gut and lifts him up onto his shoulders before slamming him down to the mat with a thunderous DDT.  He gets up and sees the camera rolling as he pulls the hoodie closer to his face and rolls out of the ring.

“Fucking eh I forgot you were filming this shit!  Why?  Fucking why, you and… just shut it off and tell Steven to get back in the ring.  We got a lot of training to do… and I don’t need your balls swollen to the size of grapefruits after multiple blows to them.  But you need to be aware for this… and everything else they will throw at you.  You think you can handle this?  Cause I can easily catch my flight today to… well where I need to go.” He asks as I nod my head slowly, ready to do whatever he wants me to so that I can be ready for whatever Bradford will throw at me. 

I reach down and shit the camera to my phone off, as he nods his head and removes the hoodie from his head… and my training really starts.