Post by Calvin Constantine on May 25, 2008 20:06:29 GMT -6
Friday, May 23rd.
Walking briskly through 30th Street Station in Philadelphia, Calvin Watts is a face in the crowd. The station, doubly packed with Friday afternoon commuters and holiday weekend travelers, buzzes with activity. Calvin sports the uniform of Generation Whatever It Is These Days: jeans, band t-shirt, iPod earbuds keeping interaction out and the misanthropy in. Moving in concert with thousands of other people, a willful participant in the insectile scurrying of the masses, no one notices him.
And isn’t that what this is really all about?
Calvin boards the R5 line, heading west toward the suburbs. The cookie cutter communities of Delaware County give way to the gently rolling hills and green spaces of Chester County. During the ride, Calvin reflects on his purpose for the weekend. Specifically, he is going to visit his parents and inform them that he’s returning to professional wrestling. More generally, he is going to repudiate his upbringing, his parents’ vision for him. What is an upbringing other than measures taken by parents to mold their child?
Calvin enjoyed a Middle America childhood, or whatever passes for a Middle America childhood in the era of planes crashing into towers and presidential blowjobs. His parents, Stephen and Joy, are college educated professionals, and envisioned the same for their son. Calvin played baseball, went to church, and excelled in school. Even his name suggested a trail already blazed.
The plan went off the rails in high school. With the launch of the wrestling boom and the proliferation of the internet, Calvin was sucked into the world of professional wrestling like many other young men his age. However, Calvin became far more than a casual fan. He religiously followed feds like EFWO, EWA, and ICW. He devoured video tapes of legends like Tiger Mask, Dave Dudley, Hayabusa, Dan Hampton, Amalek, Jushin Liger, and Andrew Leigh. A fire had been lit somewhere deep inside Calvin, a place that had been dormant all his life. A force that had been sedated by simple suburban homogeneity and conformity was now wide awake.
It wasn’t the violence of wrestling that appealed to Calvin, it wasn’t the athletic ability demonstrated, it wasn’t the sometimes intricate storylines. Calvin fed off the image of tens of thousands of fans, their eyes glued to the gladiators in the ring. Professional wrestling wasn’t a 9 to 5. Professional wrestling wasn’t stability and safety. Professional wrestling was a chance for something more, for greatness.
Like many young people whose hearts are not in it, Calvin washed out of college after one semester. At that point, he made the fateful decision to follow his dreams and pursue professional wrestling. Naturally, his parents were mortified. But, for once in his life, Calvin was adamant. He had spent his entire life committed to toiling toward the dreams of others. Now, he would work for his own dreams.
After several years of grinding his way through the minor leagues, Calvin secured a spot in the EFWO, teaming with the relentless clown-boy Ethan Prophet. He morphed from Calvin Watts into Calvin Constantine. Not long afterword, a rebuilt ICW came calling. Calvin enjoyed two runs in ICW. Its last shutdown forced him to face a very frightening reality-professional wrestling was essentially dead and buried. That meant abandoning the dream and capitulating to the white picket fencers of the world.
But now, after an unspectacular, two year stint in the “real world”, ICW has come calling again. Another shot at glory, another shot at greatness.
And another trip to his parents’ house to explain himself.
Calvin has always excelled at dodging the essential. His parents received him with open arms, there was much of the “it’s so good to see you, you don’t visit nearly enough, what have you been up to” nonsense. Job? Yes. 40,000 a year plus bennies. Not great, but certainly respectable. Girlfriend? No. Prospects? Maybe.
The entire routine reminded Calvin of exactly why he rejected this life in the first place-the insufferable frivolity of repetition, the supercilious empty pleasantries. Forty years of bake sales and barbecues.
As Sunday afternoon gives way to Sunday evening, Calvin and his parents have retired to the back porch for beers and more shit-shooting. As the crickets chirp and dusk descends, Calvin gets down to business.
Calvin: So, I’m going back on the road again.
Stephen: What do you mean, on the road?
Calvin: Wrestling. ICW is starting back up. They asked me to come back and I said yes.
Stephen: What? That’s ridiculous-we-
Joy: We thought you were finished with that, Calvin. I’m not going to lie, this news is a little disappointing.
Stephen: You’re god damned right it is! I thought you were ready to take some responsibility for your life!
Joy: Calvin, you’re 25 years old. You chased that dream for five, six years. And all you ever got out of it was pain! Those matches you showed us, they were horrible to watch!
Calvin: I understand your point of view. But this is something I have to do.
Stephen: You have to do? What, do these people have a gun to your head?
Calvin: Not exactly. Well, in a way they do. That’s a good way to put it.
Joy: Calvin, again, you’re 25 years old. You need to stop living hand to mouth. We thought you were enjoying yourself at your job.
Calvin: I hate it.
Stephen: Lots of people hate their jobs. Hell, I hate my job. That’s part of growing up.
Joy: Well, that’s not always true-if you hated it that much, you could have gotten a new one. Again, things would have been much simpler if you had stayed in school.
Calvin: Oh God, I’m not ready to discuss that again.
Joy: Well, it’s true. Look at your sister. She never had your brains, but she worked and stuck with it, and now she’s doing great-she has a family, a decent job, a house.
Calvin: Is that what you call doing great?
Stephen: Is this what you call doing great?
Calvin: That’s my point, dad. I’m trying this life. I really am. I’ve tried it for two years, and I hate it. Mom, you say get a new job. Here’s the truth-I would hate any job. Yes, I would. Maybe that makes me lazy, maybe that makes me stupid, or something else. But it is who I am.
Joy: Calvin, we all have our problems. But sometimes, life is about compromises.
Calvin: No-that’s the crux of our disagreement here, mom. Here’s what I’ve found. I can’t compromise. I can’t trade my heroes for gold. I have to try to be great.
Stephen scoffs at this declaration, and scowls.
Stephen: Great? Great, huh? Listen son, let me tell you what greatness isn’t. Greatness isn’t lonely night after lonely night spent in fleabag motels. Greatness isn’t a bottle of Vicodin and a bottle of Jack. Greatness isn’t throwing yourself around with another sweaty guy in tights, and it isn’t even 50,000 people screaming your name, or whatever the hell it is you aspire to. Here’s the secret about greatness. It’s bullshit, a bunch of garbage. Do you think this is what I dreamed of when I was a young man? Hour after hour slaving at a desk, weekends at the Home Depot? No. But I learned something about people a long time ago. We spend a few pitiful decades on this Earth, looking for little more than shelter and stimulation. Our whole lives revolve and taking the path of least resistance to get those things. And those people screaming your name? They don’t give a damn about you. They’re just there to enjoy watching your destruction.
Calvin considers his father’s bitter soliloquy. Joy has been awed into silence by the venom spewing out of her husband’s mouth.
Calvin: So that’s what you want from me? A few decades of meaningless pursuits? Is that what makes you happy?
Stephen: Happiness? What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Happiness isn’t part of the equation. This is what we do because this is what we’ve always done. And in the end, what difference does it make?
Calvin: That’s the difference, right there.
Stephen: What?
Calvin: The difference between you and me. I can’t live in a world where “what’s the difference” is the rule. Maybe you’ve made your peace with that, and that’s fine. But I haven’t. You can dismiss what I do, that’s fine. You can call me foolish or misguided or irresponsible. But I’m going to do it just the same. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine.
Stephen: Here’s what I want to know. You’ve made your choice. You might be a “success” by whatever measure people in wrestling define success. But here’s what you forget. I know you. I raised you. I know that you know that glory is fleeting. I know you don’t care about money, or women, or power, or any of that stuff. What is it exactly that you hope to get out of all this?
Calvin pauses a moment to reflect, then gives his father a sly smile.
Calvin: Just once, I want to be recognized in a train station.
The balance of Calvin’s visit is spent mostly in silence; the goodbyes when he leaves are brusque and uncomfortable. He has left his mother once again bewildered by him. His father’s feelings are more concrete; Stephen Watts vacillates between pity and scorn for his only son. Calvin knows that these are the feelings of his parents, and he understands them. But he has made his decision nonetheless. ICW returns this Thursday, and Calvin will be their alongside Dave Dudley, Sylver Morrigan, Dan Hampton, and the rest. They all have their motivations and their reasons. And Calvin has his. It’s about getting recognized in train stations, and at the same time it isn’t. What it’s really about is living a life of substance, of meaning. And most of all, feeding that fire within. Call that ridiculous, naïve, or just plain dumb. Regardless, Calvin knows he’s where he belongs.
Walking briskly through 30th Street Station in Philadelphia, Calvin Watts is a face in the crowd. The station, doubly packed with Friday afternoon commuters and holiday weekend travelers, buzzes with activity. Calvin sports the uniform of Generation Whatever It Is These Days: jeans, band t-shirt, iPod earbuds keeping interaction out and the misanthropy in. Moving in concert with thousands of other people, a willful participant in the insectile scurrying of the masses, no one notices him.
And isn’t that what this is really all about?
Calvin boards the R5 line, heading west toward the suburbs. The cookie cutter communities of Delaware County give way to the gently rolling hills and green spaces of Chester County. During the ride, Calvin reflects on his purpose for the weekend. Specifically, he is going to visit his parents and inform them that he’s returning to professional wrestling. More generally, he is going to repudiate his upbringing, his parents’ vision for him. What is an upbringing other than measures taken by parents to mold their child?
Calvin enjoyed a Middle America childhood, or whatever passes for a Middle America childhood in the era of planes crashing into towers and presidential blowjobs. His parents, Stephen and Joy, are college educated professionals, and envisioned the same for their son. Calvin played baseball, went to church, and excelled in school. Even his name suggested a trail already blazed.
The plan went off the rails in high school. With the launch of the wrestling boom and the proliferation of the internet, Calvin was sucked into the world of professional wrestling like many other young men his age. However, Calvin became far more than a casual fan. He religiously followed feds like EFWO, EWA, and ICW. He devoured video tapes of legends like Tiger Mask, Dave Dudley, Hayabusa, Dan Hampton, Amalek, Jushin Liger, and Andrew Leigh. A fire had been lit somewhere deep inside Calvin, a place that had been dormant all his life. A force that had been sedated by simple suburban homogeneity and conformity was now wide awake.
It wasn’t the violence of wrestling that appealed to Calvin, it wasn’t the athletic ability demonstrated, it wasn’t the sometimes intricate storylines. Calvin fed off the image of tens of thousands of fans, their eyes glued to the gladiators in the ring. Professional wrestling wasn’t a 9 to 5. Professional wrestling wasn’t stability and safety. Professional wrestling was a chance for something more, for greatness.
Like many young people whose hearts are not in it, Calvin washed out of college after one semester. At that point, he made the fateful decision to follow his dreams and pursue professional wrestling. Naturally, his parents were mortified. But, for once in his life, Calvin was adamant. He had spent his entire life committed to toiling toward the dreams of others. Now, he would work for his own dreams.
After several years of grinding his way through the minor leagues, Calvin secured a spot in the EFWO, teaming with the relentless clown-boy Ethan Prophet. He morphed from Calvin Watts into Calvin Constantine. Not long afterword, a rebuilt ICW came calling. Calvin enjoyed two runs in ICW. Its last shutdown forced him to face a very frightening reality-professional wrestling was essentially dead and buried. That meant abandoning the dream and capitulating to the white picket fencers of the world.
But now, after an unspectacular, two year stint in the “real world”, ICW has come calling again. Another shot at glory, another shot at greatness.
And another trip to his parents’ house to explain himself.
Calvin has always excelled at dodging the essential. His parents received him with open arms, there was much of the “it’s so good to see you, you don’t visit nearly enough, what have you been up to” nonsense. Job? Yes. 40,000 a year plus bennies. Not great, but certainly respectable. Girlfriend? No. Prospects? Maybe.
The entire routine reminded Calvin of exactly why he rejected this life in the first place-the insufferable frivolity of repetition, the supercilious empty pleasantries. Forty years of bake sales and barbecues.
As Sunday afternoon gives way to Sunday evening, Calvin and his parents have retired to the back porch for beers and more shit-shooting. As the crickets chirp and dusk descends, Calvin gets down to business.
Calvin: So, I’m going back on the road again.
Stephen: What do you mean, on the road?
Calvin: Wrestling. ICW is starting back up. They asked me to come back and I said yes.
Stephen: What? That’s ridiculous-we-
Joy: We thought you were finished with that, Calvin. I’m not going to lie, this news is a little disappointing.
Stephen: You’re god damned right it is! I thought you were ready to take some responsibility for your life!
Joy: Calvin, you’re 25 years old. You chased that dream for five, six years. And all you ever got out of it was pain! Those matches you showed us, they were horrible to watch!
Calvin: I understand your point of view. But this is something I have to do.
Stephen: You have to do? What, do these people have a gun to your head?
Calvin: Not exactly. Well, in a way they do. That’s a good way to put it.
Joy: Calvin, again, you’re 25 years old. You need to stop living hand to mouth. We thought you were enjoying yourself at your job.
Calvin: I hate it.
Stephen: Lots of people hate their jobs. Hell, I hate my job. That’s part of growing up.
Joy: Well, that’s not always true-if you hated it that much, you could have gotten a new one. Again, things would have been much simpler if you had stayed in school.
Calvin: Oh God, I’m not ready to discuss that again.
Joy: Well, it’s true. Look at your sister. She never had your brains, but she worked and stuck with it, and now she’s doing great-she has a family, a decent job, a house.
Calvin: Is that what you call doing great?
Stephen: Is this what you call doing great?
Calvin: That’s my point, dad. I’m trying this life. I really am. I’ve tried it for two years, and I hate it. Mom, you say get a new job. Here’s the truth-I would hate any job. Yes, I would. Maybe that makes me lazy, maybe that makes me stupid, or something else. But it is who I am.
Joy: Calvin, we all have our problems. But sometimes, life is about compromises.
Calvin: No-that’s the crux of our disagreement here, mom. Here’s what I’ve found. I can’t compromise. I can’t trade my heroes for gold. I have to try to be great.
Stephen scoffs at this declaration, and scowls.
Stephen: Great? Great, huh? Listen son, let me tell you what greatness isn’t. Greatness isn’t lonely night after lonely night spent in fleabag motels. Greatness isn’t a bottle of Vicodin and a bottle of Jack. Greatness isn’t throwing yourself around with another sweaty guy in tights, and it isn’t even 50,000 people screaming your name, or whatever the hell it is you aspire to. Here’s the secret about greatness. It’s bullshit, a bunch of garbage. Do you think this is what I dreamed of when I was a young man? Hour after hour slaving at a desk, weekends at the Home Depot? No. But I learned something about people a long time ago. We spend a few pitiful decades on this Earth, looking for little more than shelter and stimulation. Our whole lives revolve and taking the path of least resistance to get those things. And those people screaming your name? They don’t give a damn about you. They’re just there to enjoy watching your destruction.
Calvin considers his father’s bitter soliloquy. Joy has been awed into silence by the venom spewing out of her husband’s mouth.
Calvin: So that’s what you want from me? A few decades of meaningless pursuits? Is that what makes you happy?
Stephen: Happiness? What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Happiness isn’t part of the equation. This is what we do because this is what we’ve always done. And in the end, what difference does it make?
Calvin: That’s the difference, right there.
Stephen: What?
Calvin: The difference between you and me. I can’t live in a world where “what’s the difference” is the rule. Maybe you’ve made your peace with that, and that’s fine. But I haven’t. You can dismiss what I do, that’s fine. You can call me foolish or misguided or irresponsible. But I’m going to do it just the same. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine.
Stephen: Here’s what I want to know. You’ve made your choice. You might be a “success” by whatever measure people in wrestling define success. But here’s what you forget. I know you. I raised you. I know that you know that glory is fleeting. I know you don’t care about money, or women, or power, or any of that stuff. What is it exactly that you hope to get out of all this?
Calvin pauses a moment to reflect, then gives his father a sly smile.
Calvin: Just once, I want to be recognized in a train station.
The balance of Calvin’s visit is spent mostly in silence; the goodbyes when he leaves are brusque and uncomfortable. He has left his mother once again bewildered by him. His father’s feelings are more concrete; Stephen Watts vacillates between pity and scorn for his only son. Calvin knows that these are the feelings of his parents, and he understands them. But he has made his decision nonetheless. ICW returns this Thursday, and Calvin will be their alongside Dave Dudley, Sylver Morrigan, Dan Hampton, and the rest. They all have their motivations and their reasons. And Calvin has his. It’s about getting recognized in train stations, and at the same time it isn’t. What it’s really about is living a life of substance, of meaning. And most of all, feeding that fire within. Call that ridiculous, naïve, or just plain dumb. Regardless, Calvin knows he’s where he belongs.