Skrabz vs Solomon Cain

"What kind of person keeps coming back to this sport? It's a sport that anyone can stumble into now a day. You got enough money? You have an in for free rent at a building? Can you make use photoshop and make a half way decent flier and will do so for free? Do you have a sound system you are willing to load in your crappy little hatchback and haul to a show? You got a trailer and a truck, and willing to haul the ring on your own dime? If the answer is yes to any of those questions, then you have a way in.

The getting in is easy, too easy in fact. The getting out is even easier. Just hang it up one day, just stop answering Facebook messages from promoters, just stop taking bookings. Sale your trailer, sale your sound system, let the goofs get kicked out of the building, don't renew your photoshop subscription, and just run out of money. Then you are out, and it's that easy.

The hard part is staying out. The smart ones, the broke ones, the weak ones, it's easy for them to stay out. For the best though, for the ones that truly excel, the one's who shed blood, sweat, and tears for the sport... for them it is a different story.

Think about it, what kind of person really wants to pour their entire lives into professional wrestling? The sport does nothing but take from those that love it and live it. It is a vial, smashing machine that eats the ones who love it the most alive and sh*ts it out on the sidewalk to dry up in the sun and feed the worms. Professional Wrestling is a brutal b*tch who takes the best days of your life, and gives you the worst days of your life in return. No one makes it out without scars and constant pain for life. No one grows larger than it, because it will crush you before you become bigger than it.

So, what draws someone back to this life? Is it because they are a masochist? Is it because they see no other way of feeding there selves and their families? Is it because they didn't get enough attention as a child and now crave the attention of the crowd to feel that hole inside of them? Is it because they are an ego maniac who feels they are better than others and do this simply to prove it? Is it because they know no other way than the ring and the fight? Or, like me, is it a combination of all of those?

No matter what the reason, the truth is you are addicted to. Addicted to the fame, addicted to the money, addicted to the attention, addicted to beating people, addicted to feeling something.

Truth is, this sport breaks you. Rather it be mentally, financially, or physically, no one gets out alive and everyone comes running back to it. This sport breaks you and we all love it.

We are broke.

We are all broken people.



(Solomon's black boots straddle the marker of all four states. The hot sun beats down on him, but the cool desert isn't hot yet, and a slight breeze keeps the temperature mild. Solomon has a lot of things on his mind, he is at a cross roads both literally and figuratively. He is fresh off of a 6-month trip to the Colorado State Penitentiary. He now must face something much worse, and much scarier than prison and that is uncertainty.

His index finger and thumb on his right hand begin to twitch from the cigarette cravings, he begins to reach for the Newports in his inside vest pocket, but noticed the no smoking sign mounted on a pole just a few feet from him. His hand drops from his vest and to his side and clinches in a fist. His eyes go from the sign and too the ground. He stares at the marker indicating the meeting of the four states.

Colorado wasn't an option, he had nothing in that state but a record and a buried ex. New Mexico offered a shop in a old drinking buddies bike shop, but his old friends love of the bottle had turned into the love a needle. Arizona offered some cheap land near the border where Solomon could be alone, but even with the cheap price tag the money he owed in Colorado would keep him from purchasing the property. Utah... well Solomon had no idea about Utah.)

Solomon: *sigh* Well, I guess Utah it is. I ain't converting to Mormonism though.

(With two slow steps Solomon steps off of the middle of the marker and into the state of Utah. As soon as his boots stand firm on Utah soil his phone begins to ring. Solomon pulls his phone from his pants pocket and shakes his head when he sees the name "Barry McDermit". Barry is Solomon’s blood sucking, bank account draining attorney, but he was good.)

Solomon: Hello.

Barry: Sully, I have some great news for you.

Solomon: I really doubt that you do.

Barry: Mile High Wrestling is back and...

(Solomon hangs up the phone, but before he can put it back into his pocket it rings again, and once more the screen reads "Barry McDermit". Solomon quickly answers and says "not interested" and then hangs up.

Solomon begins heading to the parking lot to retrieve his bike and the phone rings again. Solomon once again sees that it is Barry, and hits the button to cut the call off and send Barry to voicemail. Moments late the phone chimes, indicating a text message. Solomon lets out a heavy sigh full of anger and looks at this phone. Once again it is Barry, but all the message says is "Skrabz".

Solomon stops walking, a look of shock comes onto his face but then quickly changes to anger. Solomon grips the phone tight and takes a moment to collect his thoughts and then dials Barry.)

Solomon: Ok, you have my attention.

Barry: Look, Mack wants the first show back to be huge...he wants it to be a spectacular.

Solomon: You got thirty seconds to explain the text.

Barry: Do you remember what you were supposed to do at Sin City Spectacular before Mile High shut down?

Solomon: Twenty seconds.

Barry: Well, the first show will be Mile High Spectacular.

Solomon: Ten seconds.

Barry: SKRABZ! Sh*t man. Skrabz, he wants you and Skrabz as the main event of the first show back, the rematch that never happened, the main event that never happened.

Solomon: Like the athletic commission would let that happen.

Barry: They already reinstated you.

Solomon: What?

Barry: Apparently Mack really wants this match to happen, and he pulled some strings with the state athletic commission and got you reinstated.

Solomon: Pulled some strings? More like lined some pockets.

Barry: Either way, does it really matter?

Solomon: It doesn't matter at all. For a match with Skrabz I'll come back.

Barry: Great. Now, let's talk money.

Solomon: I don't give a sh*t what it pays. I'd fight Skrabz for free. You get me in the ring with Skrabz and you can take my whole pay off.

Barry: HA! Well, your whole payoff will be enough to pay off the fees you owe me from your trial and the pay of your fi...hello. Hello. Hello.

(Solomon isn't there, he hung up before Barry even mentioned money again. Solomon looks down at the ground and realizes he is now standing in New Mexico. Solomon’s eyes pan up the ground until he looks out upon the low Colorado desert. For the first time in over six months a smile appears on his face. Not a full smile, just a upward crack on each jaw, but a smile none the less.

With a few slow and steady steps Solomon marches across the state of New Mexico and steps into Colorado. Solomon stops once both of his feet are planted in the Centennial State. He slow inhales a deeps breath and then exhales a large sigh, that resembles a sigh of relief. Solomon moves into his leather vest and removes a single Newport that is quickly placed in his mouth and lit. Solomon breathes deep again, this time inhaling the menthol flavored smoke. He exhales slowly, feeling a peace for the first time in six months.

"The sign says no smoking" a voice says. Solomon turns his head to see a random guy in a flora shirt with a kid in a leash backpack. "The sign says no smoking" he says again and this time points to the posted sign Solomon noticed before. Solomon looks at the man, and the man’s kid on a leash like it were a little dog. "So, it does" Solomon says before taking another inhale. The man looks offended that Solomon has taken another drag, but doesn't say anything. Solomon exhales slowly in the mans direction and then flips the cigarette onto the man’s chest.

The man jumps back, freaking out like someone had just thrown a fireball at him. Solomon doesn't say a word and simply heads for the parking lot, leaving the man to stew in his own insecurities and anger.)


(A bright moon hangs high in the clear Denver sky over the large stipple connected to the Magness arena. The camera slowly pans across the building to the main entrance. Smoke slowly trickles up from the bottom of the screen, and the camera slowly moves down to show the tall steps leading to the main entrance.

There, sitting on the steps is Solomon Cain. He sits alone as the hour is late, and this is exactly how he likes it. He sits mid-way up the steps, smoking a Newport and looking up at the clear night sky. Solomon slowly exhales and then moves his gaze from the stars to the camera.)

Solomon: I never thought I'd step foot in this arena again, then again I never thought I'd step foot in a wrestling ring again either. Guess it's like old Charles Dickenson said, never say never. That was pretty hard to do when I spent the last six months sitting in a cell for something I did inside this very building. Charged with malicious wounding, a plea deal got it down to second degree assault. Sh*t, Joseph Hunter is the one who brought those knives in the ring in the first place, but I catch the charge for using them on a defenseless person. Huh, maybe if that punk b*tch knew how to fight he wouldn't have got stabbed in the first place, or considered defenseless. As much as I have to say on the subject of my incarceration, I don't want to give that little b*tch any more of my attention. He may have cost me six months, but I have bigger issues to deal with.

Skrabz....

(Solomon stands to his feet and takes another drag from his Newport, but this time does not give a long, dramatic exhale.)

Solomon: Skrabz, this is the point where someone would normally break out their shovel and begin to try and bury you, but that isn't my style. See, the whole time I was locked in that six by twelve, I was thinking about you. Now, I didn't have a bottle of Jerggins next to me while I was thinking about you like old Robby Mack does, but you were all that was on my mind. When I'd open my eyes in the morning, "Skrabz" was the first thing I'd say and the first thing I thought. During my morning workout I'd look at a picture of you with the Mile High championship. When I was eating, I was thinking Skrabz. When I was in the yard, I was thinking Skrabz, when I was sleeping, I was thinking Skrabz, and when I was taking a sh*t I was thinking about your raps.

Mile High went down faster than Tyke Index when he doesn't have the cash for his next bump, but it's back up like Sam Hamilton when he is ready to give Hunter a round two. Only reason I'm here is you Skrabz. You and I have unfinished business. You are the only man in my entire time in this sport who has put me down for a three count. You are the only person to be placed a check mark in my loss column. You are the only man who has got the best of me... and I can't stand for that.

I could honestly give a fu*k less about the Mile-High championship, I just want revenge. This could be non-title, this could be unsanctioned, this could be in the back of a Waffle House parking lot for free, and I'd still show up just for you Skrabz. This isn't about a comeback, this isn't about a championship, this isn't about a main event, it isn't about money, I don't care about any of that sh*t. This is for two things, respect and payback.

(Solomon takes the last drag from the Newport and then flips it from his hand onto the sidewalk.)

Solomon: Let's get this straight right now, I respect what you can do in the ring and I respect that you are the only person who has ever bested me, but I don't respect you as a person, I don't respect you as a champion, and I d@mn sure don't respect you as a man. The first time we faced each other, you only agreed to it because you thought I was just some geek from the streets who you could pick up a easy win over. Then, you felt these hands and it got you shook. You caught me slipping though, you caught me questioning myself and my actions, and you pulled out the W.

Then... then you saw me walk through hell and beat Tyke Index, Samantha Hamilton, and Bullet and earn my right to my rematch. How shook were you then? I gave you the toughest fight of your career, and you barely escaped with that title and the win. Then, you saw me refocus myself, rebuild the beast, and get back in my right head space. You saw me beat three people you wanted no part of, you saw me tear Joseph Hunter apart after you barely beat him. So... how shook were you?

Guess we will never actually know what would have happened at Sin City Spectacular, but now we get to run this thing back. Skrabz and Solomon Cain, the two biggest stars of Mile High Wrestling, the two baddest men to not only ever compete in Mile High wrestling, but two of the baddest men to ever walk the face of the Earth. June ninth, we find out who is badder, we find out if a man like Skrabz is a badder man than the lost child Solomon Cain.

(Solomon stops talking and under his breath gives a halfhearted chuckle. Solomon covers his mouth and his body language and face gives away that he is thinking. Solomon takes a few steps backwards up the steps of the Magness entrance. Once Solomon is at the top of the steps his hand moves from his mouth and rubs through his long beard and then comes to rest in the pocket of his jeans.)

Solomon: You know that moniker sends some mixed signals to people. I thought it was pretty obvious, but so many people don't get it, and so many people try to make corny jokes about it. What you people don't understand, and what Skrabz doesn't understand is the true meaning of the moniker. Well, allow me to break it down for you. See, as a child my childhood was lost, sh*t it never even had a chance to exists to be honest. My father was never there, my mother was barely at home and when she was, she was high. I lost my childhood innocence, and had to grow up faster than any kid ever really should have had too. It doesn't stop there though.

My faith was also lost. See, I believed that one day my father would just come running back into my life and take me away from my terrible life, but when I realized that would never happen my fantasy and my prayers changed. I started to hope my mother would get clean, that she'd realize her life and her child were more important than the needle, but the more I found her passed out on the couch, or saw her standing on the corner, my faith in that was lost. My faith for a better life was lost.

Then, I realized I couldn't count on anyone except myself, and that if I was ever going to have anything, I was going to have to earn it. A few arrests, including a felony ruined any chance of ever making it in corporate America. See, when you have a felony on your record, all chances of making it in the normal world are lost. I have no choice but to fight for a living, but like I said earlier I'd fight you for free Skrabz.

I've lost so much in my life that I embraced loss... I became a child of loss.

(Solomon stops talking and is silent for a few moments, and turns his gaze back to the stars.)

Solomon: The ring though, that was someplace where loss didn't exists for me. Outside of Mile High, I have never lost. When I came to Mile High, I was on a streak and destroyed anyone and everyone who stepped in my way. Then...then you Skrabz.

(Solomon looks back into the camera, his face and voice a wild mix of emotions.)

Solomon: You reminded me about loss...you reminded me that I am the lost child. I was letting my success, my fame, and the girl get to my head, and you caught me high on that cloud, you caught me high on emotion and you snapped me back to earth.

Skrabz...thank you.

Thank you for turning me back to the old me. After my loss to you no one thought I would bounce back, but look what became of me. You snapped me back to reality, you made me realize that I was still hungry... and if you didn't know...hungry dogs run faster.

You brought me back to reality, and I thank you for that. With my focus back I went to war and was the last man left standing as I tapped out Samuel Hamilton and left Tyke Index and Bullet beaten and broken. I was refocused...I had my edge back and I went on and ran right over Jacob Hunter and left him lying in a pool of blood and out of the sport for months. You... you were next Skrabz... I was coming for you. I was coming for blood, I was coming for the Mile-High Championship, I was coming for revenge, but most of all...I was coming for redemption.

Then...then it all came crashing down.

(Solomon turns his back to the camera and stares at the Magness arena. He takes a few moments of silence before continuing.)

Solomon: Skrabz, I hope you are ready. I hope you are just as good, if not better than you were before Mile High shut down, I hope you've been in the gym and not just in the booth. I want the best version of you I can ever get. I want that man like Skrabz, I want to man that was Robert Mack's wet dream. I want that kid from the streets of London. I don't want a shell of your old self. I don't want someone who is out of shape from too much brew and bud. I want the best.

I don't want that championship the way you got it. I don't want to beat some fat, old lady. I want to beat the man that once seemed untouchable. I want to beat the man that made so many people dizzy. I want to beat a man like Skrabz.

(Solomon turns back to face the camera, a arrogant and angry smirk now across his face.)

Solomon: Oh yeah, don't think anyone forgot how you got that championship. See, I'll give you credit as a tough son of a b*tch, but you and I both know you didn't earn that championship. Robert Mack handed you a match against the worn out, out, out of shape Candi Britton. He set her up and you knocked her down, sure... but is that a glorious victory? Is that something you can really be proud about? When you are a old man in a rocking chair, will you put your grandchild on your knee and say, "let me tell you about the time Pop Pop beat a fat old lady to become a champion"?

Truth is you only got that match because Robert Mack is a hip-hop mark and he thought you had some good bars. He thought you could help him make Mile High mainstream and boost the ratings. That isn't what happened though is it? Na... Solomon Cain happened. Before anyone knew it Solomon Cain became the most loved in the crowd and the most hated in the locker room. See, I don't play these bullsh*t games like everyone else in the back does. I'm not politically correct, I don't censor myself, and I don't give a sh*t what anyone thinks of me. If that same attitude won Trump the 2016 election, how did you guys not think it would make me the most loved man by the people of Mile High?

(Solomon pulls another Newport from his vest pocket and places it in his mouth and lights it. He takes a few hits and then moves back to the top step and takes a seat.)

Solomon: Skrabz, let me put this in a way that you and Robert Mack might understand a little better. You can hate me now, cause you can't hold me down. I'm going to keep on hustling until I triumph. See, Solomon Cain ain't nuthin to f*ck with. When I hit you up, you won't be asking who shot ya. I'm coming for you no Vaseline, you and the BCB will be the shook ones. You've pushed me and now I'm close to the edge. Your mind isn't playing tricks on you, I'm here to regulate. Then they will ask, how I could just kill a man...a man like Skrabz.

(Solomon shakes his head in disapproval as he takes a drag and exhales.)

Solomon: This sh*t is stupid. I'm not playing games with you Skrabz. I'm not going on a fear and loathing trip through New Orleans, I'm not going to see some Witch Doctor, and this isn't going to be some wild hallucination induced dream. This is going to be a f*cking war, and it is going to be a f*cking blood bath. I expect to get bloody, and I expect to get you bloody. I expect the fight of my life, I know I'm up for the task, and I just hope you are too.

You are the reason I came back Skrabz. I'm only here for you...everything else is just extra. June ninth is going to be a spectacular. It's going to be a blood and wild brawl. It is going to be the fight of your life and it d@mn well might be the fight of my life too. It's going to be violent and it is going to be bloody. That is a promise I can and will keep. I'm laying it all on the line. I'm pouring everything I have into June ninth. I know that night will change me, I know that I will not walk out of the Magness Arena the same way that I walked into it, and I hope you know that too Skrabz. We are both walking out different men, and one of those differences is I will be walking about the Mile-High Wrestling champion, and that is something you can believe in.

(Solomon sticks the Newport back in his mouth and stands up, walking down the steps and past the camera as the scene fades to black.)