i'm already gone.

12/6/13

"Can you move it?"

There's a crowd of people around him, and at this point, he just wants to go home. The look of aggravation on his face is crystal clear, especially in the wake of the fact that he really just got sick of people poking and prodding. At this point in his life, after 17 years on and off of wrestling and just being on his own most of the time, he didn't need people worrying about him.

"Listen, Fi, it's fine," he mumbled, yanking the hand from her in an almost agitated manner. He didn't feel like dealing with anything at this point in time. All he had really wanted to do was forget that this was happening. When he realized the surprised and saddened look on the face of his future wife, he sighed.

"Fi, just...I'm not used to this. I've spent the better part of the last decade tending to my own wounds. You just got over your injury, you don't need to be playing nurse to me. I appreciate the sentiment and worry, I just...this is the part of relationships I'm horrible at, accepting it. I'm independent to a fault," he confessed as he sat down, reaching to move some of his daughter's papers and her iPad to the side on the table in front of him before putting his feet up.

"Well maybe you need to start getting used to it, Jonathan. I love you and I'm not exactly interested in letting you struggle because you're down to one hand," she told him, looking at him as he sat next to him, reaching for his good hand and holding it, giving it a squeeze. He was quiet as he listened to her, nodding. When he stopped to think about it, she was right, and he reached to put his arm around her, holding her close to him as he sighed softly.

"Will you tell me what you're thinking about?" she asked.

"It's been about ten years since I lost her. And I know that you're here, and it doesn't change how we feel, but...I can't not think about it. There's a piece of her every time I look at Madison, and I can't just erase her," he said softly when he looked at her. "And it doesn't make me love you less. It doesn't make me love you less. It's just...it's coming to terms that someone gave me the best thing in my life, and you're enhancing that," he said to Fiona, hoping his words came out right. Fiona nodded quietly, just squeezing him with her arms.

"I love you. Don't leave me, please," she whispered, closing her eyes as she felt the warmth of one of the most polarizing men in professional wrestling next to her.

"Never. Never ever," he said softly, just giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You and me are going place, kiddo."



12/22/03

"Can you move it?"

It wasn't about his hand, no not a decade ago. This was a vase of dead flowers that had been sitting on the table in the main room of his home in Virginia Beach. A decade ago, Jonathan Collins made the move across the country to give his late wife Helena a fresh start after the ghosts that haunted their home in Anaheim. His rival Andrew Hurley had forced his way into their home, forcing Helena to life a life with him as a family with her and Jonathan's then 4-month-old daughter. While Jonathan rested up from injuries sustained by Hurley, he had to deal with the fact Andrew had taken over his life and his house. It drove him up the wall, ate him up inside. The move away from California wasn't his choice, nor would it ever be. It wouldn't be until Jonathan returned to his home state and hometown several years later that he would feel truly at home again. Sitting in the living room, silent and clearly disinterested in anything else in the world, he kept one hand free to keep near his now year old daughter. His brother, Robbie, simply could not get through to his younger brother.

"I don't get you. And I don't know if I'm ever going to get you. I hate the fact that you've given up on life because of what happened to Helena. Do you know what she would do if she saw you right now? She'd slap you, because she was the one person who knew you couldn't give up on anything...especially on life," Robbie said, Jon's eyes snapping directly to his brother.

"Jon...look, I don't mean to snap. I just don't know how--"

"You're right, Rob. You don't know. Get out," Jon mumbled, trying his best to maintain his composure to not wake up the baby. His life was devoted to nothing but her now, and it was clear that Jonathan just simply didn't want to suffer the issue with dealing with his brother. "I'll call you and Alex later," he said quietly, referring to his friend Alex Ashton. As his brother left, Jonathan walked back over to the couch and saw his young one laying there. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't fair she would have to live a life without ever really knowing her mother. Life was never fair.

It was these events that defined us. These events that turned us into the people we would be known for being. And even then, with Jonathan staying quiet and staying near his daughter, it would be his need to look after her that drove him away from the sport for years after this, and it would be the very thing that brought him back to professional wrestling.



12/4/13

He sat there, back to the tombstone, as his daughter sat in front.

It had become a little tradition, the two of them going to visit the grave of Helena Angelina Benes-Collins. Fiona had respected the tradition, and on the eve of the anniversary of it being ten years since her passing, the two members of the family were clearly working on their own ways of grieving.

In addition to her own love of wrestling, Madison had decided to take up drawing. She had stayed there, sketching a photo on her pad of her father and her late mother, doing the best an 11-year old could do. Meanwhile, Jonathan sat on the other side, headphones on as he closed his eyes. It was the last way he could pay the best tribute to the woman who gave him the gift of a daughter, but it was that silence of nothing but the right song and old ghosts that gave him peace of mind...something he had been sorely needing. Jonathan had been craving the peace that he couldn't find with the war on all fronts. As he tried to advance into a life that was supposed to be peaceful, people wouldn't let him retire. As he tried to run his business, he found himself being personally attacked, attempts at character assassination by Jerry Matthews. Of course, he was not focused on that. Hand in a cast or not, Jonathan had a promise to keep. He had assured Chandler Scott that he would be present for the GFC Tag Team Tournament, representing the Godfathers of Wrestling. While the Godfathers were perceived as heroes in EXODUS Pro Wrestling, men who had stood up for the right thing, the public opinion was different in Pro Wrestling FRONTIER. They were reviled for who they were, tyrants that ruled with an iron fist. Both Gabriel Gambino and Chandler Scott had been the main men in the company, and Jonathan had visited on occasions to express his support for them. It had been to his advantage to scout the land before he ever stepped foot in here, and it had also become his greatest advantage, the remainder of the competitors believing he was just like his allies. For all their similarities, Jonathan was different, and he was all too happy to prove that on this stage, especially with the strong desire to win these belts with his friend.

"It's been a while," he heard, a whisper over his music as he opened up his eyes, realizing it was just his own thoughts. Even if it was just his own imagination, just the dream that he had willed himself to have, Jonathan made no mistake in taking comfort in the slightest feel of seeing and having his late wife around.

"Get on outta here, stud. You've got places to be and far better things to do than to keep mourning me. I know you've been to hell and back this year, but if this marriage can be anything, it can be your chance to start over and do better things. You spent eight years lost, Jon. You had to restart your life after putting it in limbo, and look at you now. I'm so proud of you, my baby boy," she said with a smile as she seemed so close, arms reaching out to embrace the man she had watch grow from the King of Violence to the Saint of Violence. "There's nothing left for you in the ghosts of the past. Buried in all this regret is a weight you don't need again, and a weight you should hope Madison never takes on," she said comfortably, grinning as she tiptoed through the cemetary grass barefoot while watching her true love that was alive and well sit there.

"Am I going to die soon?" he asked her.

"You've got work left, mi amor," she said, the hint of Spanish coming thanks to her Puerto Rican background. "You don't know it, but you've got a mark to leave still. They need you far more than I do, because your work finished with me. I don't have regrets. I loved you for giving me back confidence I lost thanks to Suzy. I loved you for giving me everything in the world I needed to want to live. Now I need you to live and keep loving. Do this for me," she asked of him, coming closer to lean down and kiss his nose. It was like them, truly; Helena the smiling free spirit and Jonathan the brooding philosopher.

"I miss you," he told her, closing his eyes.

"Don't. I'm never really that far," she said with a giggle before he opened his eyes.

There was the drawing Madison finished. It was the perfect family portrait. There was him, there was here, and there was Mom.

And by Mom, it was Fiona Rourke, a tribute to Helena not far from the family.

"Nobody gets left behind, daddy," Madison said as Jonathan pulled out his earbud.

"Nobody ever gets left behind.



Well hey there, Pro Wrestling FRONTIER. I don't think we've been acquainted just yet. Well, you might think we have, but you're probably wrong.

My name is Jonathan Collins. I'm probably the less boisterous one of the Godfathers of Wrestling, but it's funny how that works out. I'm probably also one of the more accomplished members. You just don't know it, because you haven't done your homework. Shit, Madman Szalinski couldn't be bothered to actually learn how to spell my name in his blog. I'd probably be offended if, you know, I gave a shit who he was.

Don't get me wrong, really. I hear he's kind of a big deal over here. That's great, really, but it's kind of like being the big fish in a small pond. See, I run EXODUS Pro Wrestling. I'm not an active competitor there, but it amuses the hell out of me that a guy who thinks he's one of the biggest and best here probably couldn't hold a candle to some of our opening match guys. It's even funnier to me how that same guy happens to be this promotion's morality police when the guy packs enough weed to get charged with a felony if he got pulled over.

So, that being said, I guess we're calling out The Shoot Kings first. Graham Clauson and Madman are the big boys here, and that's cool. However, who the fuck do they think they are to call themselves the best tag team in the world? I'm sorry, but have you two gentlemen ever heard of a team called The Turks? Sally Talfourd and Andreas Lasiewicz could chew you up and spit you out like a bad ham sandwich, and that's not even an opinion, it's a fact. i came here with high hopes that you two would show me something that would have me up and amped to face you in the finals, but I'm more convinced than ever Chandler and I are going to take those belts and hold them for the better part of the next year. Maybe we'll give them to my daughter and my wife for their birthdays next year. Hell, maybe we'll unify them with the EXODUS Pro Tag Team Titles so you have to come to where real wrestling lives. The truth is you got nothing on me, boys. You may hate Chandler, you might think you know Chandler, but you got Jack and Shit on me and Jack hasn't even shown up yet.

Look, I get it. It's pro wrestling. Part of the whole deal is to posture that you're better. There's a bit of humility that needs to be in all our actions, and you twats have proven that you can't even be humble enough to admit you don't have a clue who I am. I could sit in that arena and you wouldn't recognize me until I put the business end of a backfist in your ugly mug or sinch in the submission end of the OMEGA-16. You two? Well, I hope you enjoyed being pretenders to the throne, because Chandler and I are going to take those belts home and put an end to the fantasies.

Next, we've got The Rapture. The Rapture, for those of you don't know, is not the setting of Bioshock and its sequel, nor is it the thing Kirk Cameron has been planning for like it's the apocalypse. Rather, The Rapture is the tag team of Zack Lifer and Brandon Banks.

Now let me tell you why you'd rather have the apocalypse.

Zack Lifer's a good kid, okay? He gets caught up with the wrong people, but he's a good kid. He's proven to be a tough cookie, because he's the current EXODUS Pro International Champion. Brandon Banks is currently the World Record holder for basically being the biggest pile of shit that smokes weed and carries almost no relevancy in the world of professional wrestling.

Now see, when I started to get myself out on social media and explore professional wrestling outside building EXODUS Pro, I was introduced to Platinum Dynasty Wrestling by a friend of mine, Kerry Windsor. I respect Kerry immensely, because he's fucking talented. Little did I realize that Platinum Dynasty Wrestling has a bigger drug problem than the slums of Washington D.C. and the current mayor of Toronto combined. Of course, the centerpiece of this drug induced haze is Brandon Banks. Now, for the record, this modern day Mensa candidate has called EXODUS Pro a half-shit wrestling promotion. This is incredible talk for a guy who has never stepped foot in my company, nor could possibly survive a dark match in my company. Brandon Banks is no more a talent in professional wrestling than I am a Catholic priest. Brandon Banks has to talk a million miles of shit, but has absolutely no ability to back up any of his talks. I invited him to come to EXODUS. Several of his peers who compete in our company as well as PDW invited him to take his shot. Banks, to nobody's surprise, has backed down from his challenge and basically did what everyone with a loud mouth and no spine would do.

He backed out.

From the minute they found out I was in this tournament, they opened their mouths about coming to this tournament to take me out. Sadly, I don't see them making it out of the first round, so they're going to have to sit on their happy little asses as Chandler and I walk right into the finals. Why? Because not only are we a cohesive unit, but we don't blow smoke up anyone's asses. Banks, here's one more public declaration. If you think you we're a half shit company, show up on a show. Prove to me, prove to our World Champ Zero McHannon, prove to Lifer and everyone else who puts on the best show in professional wrestling today that you're better than us.

When you're being sent back to PDW in an iron lung, don't say I didn't warn you.

Now Lifer, listen to me. It's not too late to just...walk away. I know what's going on with you. You're facing Jaime Alejandro in a week and you have a ton to prove to the world. You want to defend the International Title and prove to the world that you belong here. I get it, I totally understand. So if you want to leave Banks to get a heavy dose of karma, I wouldn't blame you in the slightest, but I will tell you this. If you step into the ring with Chandler and myself, it won't end like how it did when you beat Project Mayhem. I gave you the credit and respect you deserved then. This time, I'm going to knock you out because I have something to prove.

Zack, you've proven to the world that you can do things on your own, but the problem is that you act like a fucking child. Logic doesn't get to you. Logic doesn't seem to make you understand. I want to make a difference too, but the problem is that you're so twisted one what's right and what's wrong, you have no fucking idea how to handle things. You think Banks is a good guy? Brandon Banks is one of the biggest wastes of genetic material I've ever met. He's a scumbag, and that's who you call a friend? You call people like Magnus Gunner your friends, but you don't realize that the only person who can help you is you. Your great war is the same great war I'm fighting, and it's the one inside. And it's when you start realizing that the world is far from black and white that maybe we can figure out how to help you. Until then, you're always going to be really good but never great.

Ditch the dead weight like Banks ditched his own brain cells.

Now, I'm going to tread on this next topic lightly, because I don't have as big of a problem with Kevin Hardaway and Pat Gordon Jr. as my partner does. Yes, they're our first round opponents, and of course we're going to beat them even if I'm crippled, but I don't...well, I don't hate them. Kevin and Pat have had their mountains of issues with Chandler and the guys, but I've always been relatively polite to them.

But let's face it, okay? I'm a Godfather of Wrestling. You guys are great, but you gotta go. I've got a tournament to win, and we've already turned K-Hard into our personal punching bag. I don't think that Kevin's going to dispute that claim, but I know he's hoping this time is a different time! I mean, holy crap, think about it! He's got Pat Gordon Jr. in his corner! Maybe this time, it's gonna be different! Maybe after a million and eight times, this million and ninth time is going to help him clear the hurdle of the Godfathers of Wrestling!

If you believe that, you've been smoking the same shit Brandon Banks gets himself into.

Listen, it's great you guys think you're going to win. Everyone needs that can-do attitude, but there's a difference between what you can do and what you can't do...and you guys can't beat The Godfathers of Wrestling. We're better, we're more talented, and we don't stick our nose in on every little thing. And this is where we come to you, Pat.

Pat, it's so fantastic that you're teaming up with Kevin, because it kills me every time you put your nose in a fight. People get in Twitter spats, and you're right there to back up someone without knowing shit. And then to make the claim that we didn't pay you for your appearance? Pat, I run a legitimate business, and you were paid for your goods and services. Of course, your goods were one match and your services was a gigantic loss in a TLC match and a promo. I get it though, you got beef with Chandler, and you wanna puff out your chest because people think we're the bad guys. The Godfathers are these asshole bullies, but you guys spend so much time overexaggerating our sins that you guys are the single biggest reason people think we're unstoppable. You make excuses for why you can't get the job done against Gabriel Gambino, Andreas Lasiewicz, and Chandler Scott, so eventually people believe we're immortal killers. Thank you, Pat, from the bottom of my heart. Who needs monsters in the closet when I can tell my daughter Uncle Chandler's an inhumane beast?

We've never had an issue, Pat. Ever. And if this is just your way of finally getting me into the ring to see who's better, that's great. You got it, you managed to get yourself into this situation. Now, the million dollar question, is how are you going to get out of it?

You won't, Pat. And when you're wondering just how Chandler and I did it, remember it's because you weren't good enough to stop it. You're good, man. You might even be great. You're just not on our level.

Now we've got Best of British. I literally have no idea who these guys are. None. None at all. I can't even Google them to find something out. This either means they're the most dangerous tag team in all of the tournament, or they need better brand building. Seriously, what the hell guys? I don't have the fucking slightest clue. All I know is that you're British, you work the most boring style of the sport I love out there, and...you're British.

I would love to chat more on you guys, but I think I've pretty much summed up everything on you that quickly. Onward to Michael Hopkins and Alex Jones! Now I don't know Alex, but Michael? OH MAN, HAVE I BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS ONE.

I don't know if you know this, but a few weeks ago, I congratulated my friend Chandler on a victory over Hopkins. Well this sore loser here had a mini freakout and decided to draw me into his tantrum over losing. All of a sudden, I'm this horrible guy and he's tossing out the overused "Godmothers of Wrestling" insult to shit talk Chandler and myself. Now, I'm being civil and polite here, but this guy can't take losing too well, so he's starting to throw out challenges left and right, Madman Szalinski got involved for a few, and next thing I know, a simple congratulations turned into a pissing contest. Well, fast forward to when the teams were announced, and your own partner seemed surprised that K-Hard was in this tournament, to the point that he stated that if he knew Kevin was going to be in, he would have wanted to team with him.

Now, let's stop and think about it.

Your own partner said he wanted someone else.

Your own partner would have rather teamed with Kevin Hardaway than you.

Your. Own. Partner.

......HOW FUCKING AWFUL ARE YOU?!

I mean it! Who the fuck gets into the tournament with someone, sees the brackets, and goes "...I think I'd rather team up with someone else"? Your own tag team partner killed your credibility long before I could, so I think I owe Alex Jones a gigantic favor! Alex, you have earned my respect and a gigantic apology for being forced to team with this gigantic toolbag. May your suffering end quickly. As far as you go, Hopkins, keep talking ignorant bullshit on me. Yeah, Chandler's cocky, but you don't know the first thing about me. Am I an asshole for supporting a friend? Am I an asshole because I don't agree with you? If you weren't such a douche, I'd invite you into my home. If you weren't such a loser, I'd respect you. You just don't know how to respect the right people. You're going to get what you deserve when you exit this tournament the same way you come in - a loser.

However, the suffering doesn't end. Why? Total War is in this tournament! Sophie O'Brien and her brother are in this shindig, which is fantastic if you're an insomniac. It's the perfect thing to get yourself to sleep during this thing. They wrestle a style I like to call "Bathroom Break". Of course, she's our current GDW World Champion, so let's give her the proper respect.

And by that, I mean that we should probably weep that the belt has fallen all the way to her.

Now, see, Sophie is fortunate that my good friend Angela Jameson couldn't make the World Title tournament. And she's even luckier Angela and I are going to reclaim the GDW Tag Team Titles in a couple of weeks and put an end to the miserable limbo some broad named Abigail Lindsey put them in, but more importantly? This is a statement of intent. If you get in my way, I'm going to knock you out and put this out there. When I'm done taking the GFC Tag Team Titles and the GDW Tag Team Titles, I'm coming for the GDW World Title. There is nothing you can do about it except weep. And really, I could give two shits if you went and cried to your brother, your friends, your six fans, or the people that you hope hold up your World Title victory. See, I know the difference between real respect and fake respect, and the amount of fake rolling off your words offends my ears. Let's get one thing straight, Sophie. I'm Jonathan fucking Collins. I'm the goddamn Saint of Violence. I came to GDW, dominated, and the Hollywood Blondes got lucky because I sent a stunt double instead of me to defend my belts. Nobody could stop me in GDW, and nobody's going to stop me now. Why? Because I'm one of the best fucking wrestlers that walks this great planet of ours. I'm the forefather of American Strong Style. I'm the walking goddamn Urban Legend. When greenhorn wrestlers are talking about rumors of a wrestler who could contort and stretch people into uncomfortable positions, they're talking about me. When they're talking about the wrestlers they dread to encounter, they're referring to me. I'm their nightmare story, and you're going to go back to those wet behind the ears pups in GDW and tell them Angela Jameson didn't just bring hell with her, she brought the devil with her.

Total War? I'm not impressed. I came to GDW to get competition, and instead I see you. GDW's gonna thank me for giving them a World Champion that actually isn't afraid of any contender. They'll have a World Champion that won't need politics to prop them up. They'll have me.

They'll have what they deserve.

Lastly, that brings us to the UK Dragons. Or Dragons Unleashed, if you prefer. Now Laurel and her partner are a pair I have a bad track record against. Last time I made my way to FRONTIER, I took a loss to these two. That being said, I tip my cap to them. They're talented. Of course, times have changed and more importantly, we're different people. I've had a chance to study, and I get it. You guys had a lot to prove. Now you've proven it. It's easy to do something once, but it's not as easy to do it a second time. You know me and now I know you, and what will I see from you? These are the important questions, really.

Laurel, Evangelista, you're good. And yeah, maybe you're great, but you're not on Chandler's level, or mine. So you bring your best and I'll bring mine. Even with all your doubts, even with everything you throw at us, we'll still be standing.

And you know something? I don't expect much of you two in the way of actually talking about this match. I expect you to keep it short and simple on me. You're elegant in your own ways, leaving your talking to the ring. You're finally dealing with someone who can talk in and out of it.

But hey, you guys can always give EXODUS a shot after you see Chandler and I win. Why? Because I'm done here. When I win these belts from the Shoot Kings, I'm gonna take these belts and spend the rest of my time in sunny San Diego. I'm going to go enjoy life and defend these belts in EXODUS, maybe in GDW, but I'm going to do bigger things with those belts than you guys ever could.

Now try and stop me.

You guys didn't get a warning shot, okay? All you teams got the mission statement: we win, and we win at any and all costs. I'm coming into this tournament with a broken hand, but that doesn't make me weak. It makes me dangerous, and it makes me creative. You don't think that's true? You're welcome to try. For now, you better be ready, because I am Jonathan Collins and I am professional wrestling.

Together, with Chandler Scott, we are the Godfathers of Wrestling.

We are the fist...and the fist is change.

Maybe it's time you guys get with the program.