One Fall

  * * * * *

  Max Zeffer watched the match from a booth backstage. The booth was an enclosed room just below the arena entrance, with makeshift walls made of two by fours and plexiglass, and a ceiling made of plywood. An open doorway sat next to Max Zeffer, from which anyone could come and go. Not that anyone ever did. It was well known in the company that the occupants of the booth below the arena entrance were not to be disturbed when a show was on the air.

  In the booth with Max were Gene Harold, Larry Jenkins, and (for the first time) Duke. The four men sat at a folding table. In front of each man was a television monitor. Each man wore and spoke into his own headset. Gene, Larry, and Duke’s headsets were connected only to the television announcers, for whom they fed lines to ensure all the proper points were pushed to the television audience. Max’s headset, in contrast, was attached to a four-station control knob that sat on top of his monitor. Station 1 on the control knob connected him to the television announcers. Station 2 connected him to the stage manager. Station 3 was an open line among all the technical directors, cameramen, and television producers. Station 4, where he was now connected, was rarely used. This station connected him to the referee, via a small headpiece over the referee’s right ear. This was a one-way channel. Max could speak to the referee, but the ref could only respond with discrete hand signals into a television camera.

  Early in the match, Aaron Grant waved a hand signal, a circular motion of his lower left arm, that had never before been used in Revolution Wrestling. This signal meant the match was off-script and out of control. It had been invented in the GWA in the eighties when a female wrestler named Pantagruel consistently lost her temper in her matches and abandoned the scripts to legitimately beat up her opponents.

  Despite their friendly tidings over the past week, Joey and Goliath had not buried the hatchet over their tumultuous past together. Maybe somebody said something backstage. Maybe something happened during the week Max didn’t know about. Maybe this had something to do with Jade Sleek.

  Whatever it was, it was absurd. The largest pay per view audience in history had tuned in to see this match, and the men were blowing it. As far as Max could tell, it appeared that Joey Mayhem was the primary culprit in this farce.

  “Max, I think you should look at this,” said some junior production assistant. The kid had walked into the booth while the show was on the air, breaking an important company rule.

  Max’s panicked thoughts were interrupted long enough to look at the kid, a skinny white boy with bad skin and the beginnings of a goatee. Max had never seen him before.

  “Not now, kid,” said Max, brushing him away like a fly.

  “Max, you’ll really want to see this,” said the kid

  He was trying to hand Max a piece of paper.

  “Go away kid. This is a very bad time,” said Max.

  He could hear the kid exhale, almost with impatience. Who the fuck was this kid to get impatient with Max Zeffer? Especially right now.

  “Max, I swear, you’re gonna want to see--”

  “Will someone get this kid out of here?” Max called out to whomever might listen. “Kid, you’re fired.”

  The kid furrowed his brow and raised his shoulders, then took a deep breath and yelled at the most powerful man in wrestling. “Max, Joey Mayhem posted a statement on the Internet titled, ‘Why I Won’t Follow The Script Tonight!’”

  Max took off his headset and turned away from his monitor, where Joey Mayhem and Goliath were both laid out, Goliath in the ring, Joey out of it. The ref was counting to ten, technically for a double countout. Max had instructed him to ensure that Goliath was up before he reached ten.

  “What?” said Max.

  Gene Harold, Larry Jenkins, and Duke, all took off their headsets and turned toward this kid, this teenager who was barely old enough to work, and was now handing Max a computer printout.

  “Well I’ll be God-damned,” Max said quietly, as he read Joey’s statement.

  “This has been on Wrestling Hotline Dot Com for the past ten minutes. The entire Internet is talking about it,” said the kid.

  Max put his headset back on.

  “Grant, stop the count,” he said to the ref. Grant was on eight. He stopped counting. The crowd, who had been eagerly counting along, didn’t notice and finished the count up to ten.

  “You say the whole Internet is talking about this?” Max asked the kid.

  “Yes. Every chat site and newsboard is flooded. Wrestling hotline must be getting swamped.”

  Max leaned his face into his hand, thinking.

  “Max?” said Larry. “Max, Grant needs instructions. This match is dead out there.”

  The match was dead. Both men were still on the ground. The crowd was silent with confusion.

  “Grant. We need to shut this thing down,” Max spoke into his headset. “Find a way to declare Goliath...”

  Max’s eyes widened. He turned his head and smiled at the kid.

  “You say the whole Internet is buzzing about this?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. It spread like wildfire. Our web site got so swamped that it crashed. Emails are flooding in. Phones are ringing. Sir, the whole world is crazy over what’s going on out there.”

  Max turned back to his monitor and spoke into his headset. “Grant, scratch that. Hold for instructions.” Max covered his mouthpiece with his hand and leaned in to speak to the kid.

  “Kid, you’re re-hired. Take this paper out to Anson right away,” he commanded referring to Anson Buchanan, Revolution’s television announcer.

  The kid nodded, took the paper, and ran out to the arena entrance. As he left, Max changed the channel on his headset, then began speaking.

  “Anson, this is Max. A production assistant is taking a document out to you. As soon as you get it, I want you to read it on the air. Introduce it as a statement that has just been posted on Wrestling Hotline Dot Com.”

  Max switched the channel on his headset again. “Okay Grant, new instructions. I need you to keep this thing going. Stall until both guys are back in the ring. This will continue to be a shoot. Do not let Joey Mayhem win. No matter what you have to do. I want this fight to continue until Goliath is the clear winner, even if you have to punch out Joey yourself.”

  Grant gave the slightest of nods into the camera, indicating that he understood.