One Small Step

Monday, November 11, 2002.

Jack Lynch Theater, Memphis, Tennessee

"Well Mr. Lancaster.  I presume you've had a chance to read the contract thoroughly, and had time to consult with your lawyers and other officials."

Lancaster looked up at Rick Monroe, who, wearing a casual sports blazer, stood up from his leather bound chair to stretch, after talking business and wrestling with the Duke of Wessex.

"Indeed, Mr. Monroe."

"And?"

Robert nodded his head quietly, easing his posture to an extent, knowing that the long negotiations that had occurred behind the scenes was finally coming to a close.

"I think we've come to terms...you've given me all I've asked for, and more.  And I thank you."

Monroe smiled a tired smile.  It had been a long day for the MSWA Talent Relations Consultant, as dealing with the requirements and desires of the MSWA superstars was not an entirely easily job.

"And I thank you too.  Now."  Rick paused as he pulled out an elegant gold plated fountain pen from his inside blazer pocket.  He handed it to the Duke who took it slowly in hand. "Just sign."

Lancaster pulled the cap off the pen, and, with his wrist taut, signed his name to the contract, simply, "Lancaster."  The Duke returned the pen to Monroe, folded up the contract, and placed it in his tailored suit pocket.  He stood up and extended his hand to Monroe's.  The two shook firmly, the respect the men had for each other, evident.

"Mr. Monroe, may I buy you a drink downstairs," Lancaster referring to the Lynch Bar and Grille obviously.

Monroe sat back down in his chair, and lit a cigarette.

"Thanks, but no thanks.  I've got quite a bit of shit to do...in any circumstance, I'm ready for just such an occasion anyway."

Monroe, wearing a grin, opened a drawer in his desk to pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels.  Lancaster chuckled to himself, recognizing that he was not the only one to practice such preparations.

"Well. Thanks again Rick.  See you around sometime."

Lancaster left the office and headed outside to his waiting Jaguar, which stood out amongst the SUV's and trucks which drove along the roads of Memphis.  The darkness of the Memphis night began to exude its dominance as Lancaster drove back to his suite at the Peabody Hotel on Union Avenue.  He thought to himself that he'd have to buy a condo sometime soon...a condo in Memphis? That perhaps was the last city on Earth he ever thought he'd be buying a home in...nevertheless, it'd be needed.

It wasn't even into the late evening, but he decided to turn in...as per usual, his mind had much to chew on.  The doorman smiled and opened the door for the Duke, who returned his smile and headed towards the elevator, which quickly whisked him to his room.

He drew back the curtains to reveal the modest yet sparkling Memphis skyline.  It was not London nor Paris, nor New York...but it had its own charms...its own flavour, as did the MSWA itself.  It was not the NAWA, nor did it have the international tinge of the World Wrestling Alliance...but it was strong, it was pure.  And the fact that he had helped, even only financially, left the Duke very self-satisfied.

The Duke grinned to himself, a new thought entering his mind.

What would be more satisfying?

The Mid-South Wrestling Association's Mid-South Heavyweight Championship.

For the first time since his last match in the NAWA, where he wore the American Championship for the last time, he would be stepping into the ring in active singles action.  February 2, 2001 marked the closure of the NAWA.

Lancaster sighed to himself.  Despite all his efforts, he was not sure that he could shake off all the ring rust he had accumulated.  Over the past several weeks though, ever since he got involved with the MSWA, Lancaster made it a point to work out in the ring, no matter what city he was currently visiting.  He went to such extents as to have a ring installed in his estate in Wessex.  Was it enough though...he never had a chance to find out.  The last incarnation of the NAWA found him with a dream match against Chris "The Main Event" Stratford, but it never came to fruition.  He intended to lose that match, and badly...to see just where his weaknesses lay.

Shit.  Now his first test was even more important than his would be match against Stratford...after all, one match, and his opportunity to wear gold once more would be lost.

But even if he did lose to Scott Easton, his talented and flashy first round opponent, other chances would arise.

The Duke smiled, realizing and content that his new attitude would not make him obsess over every loss.

Oh victories mattered...and he would do all he damn well could to thwart Easton, and show that no matter how much time had passed - he still had it...and that his new finisher, a small-package DDT - the Nobility of the Sword - could do all he had hoped, and more.

Lancaster stood up and yawned, removing his silk tie and jacket.  He went over to the cash bar and indulged in a small bottle of Jack Daniels, inspired by Monroe's earlier idea.

He settled back into his chair overlooking the Memphis night sky.  How many times he had done this, in the CWF, NAWA, and WWA, anticipating upcoming matches for himself, or his former protégé, Leviathan.

The anticipation for his match against Easton was off the chart however, a potent mix of anxiety and excitement.

The warmth of the Jack Daniels satisfied his palette.  He had cut down on his drinking drastically, and no longer smoked the finest Cuban cigars which he oh so loved, except for special occasions.

Drinking had been his strength, and he knew of many other professional grapplers who partook too.  His old compatriot Seamus Finnegan sprung to mind immediately - the former WWA.com King of Extreme, was the only man on Earth who could out consume him in Glenfiddich scotch drinking contests.  And true, vice-versa.

Seamus too hadn't seen the inside of a ring in a long while too.  But he knew how to get the job done.

Lancaster had enough thought, and resorted to action.  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed O'Leary's pub, in Belfast, Northern Ireland...that is where he knew he could reach Finnegan.

The first voice he got was that of O'Leary, the old bastard who owned the pub, perhaps the most beloved old bastard in the British Isles.

"O'Leary is that you?"

The voice knew immediately who was calling.

"Auch is that Robert Lancaster I hear ringing me up!  How's it goin' ya backstard, 'tis been too long, when ya gonna come back n visit us here!"

"As soon as you sober up you old fecker!"

"Ah Christ that'll be never then!"

Lancaster laughed out loud to himself - Lord he missed that place.

"Anyways lad this is costing me a fortune, more money than you'll ever see...put Seamus on the phone, I know he's there!"

"Aye he's there! Hold on, but do me one thing, you say hi to that gorgeous wife of yers, tell her her Uncle O'Leary has a wee present for her when she get's here!"

"Aye you got that right, emphasis on the 'wee' for certain!"

Now it was O'Leary's turn to laugh out loud.

"Ye bollocks...just hold on then..." (yelling loudly yet a bit distantly) "SEAMUS! Get yer arse over here! Phone!"

After overhearing some muttered chatter, laughter in the background, and the clinking of glasses, Seamus finally appeared on the line.

"Aye, who the feck is this?"

"Guess who you old backstard!"

"Aw shite it's ye Robert!! How ya doin' 'tis been too long! What's new, and why the feck are ye disturbing me during me drinkin' hours!"

"Well things are alright.  Stephanie and me boy are doing fine...but things are heating up wrestling wise...I'm now signed with the MSWA, and I'm getting in to fight in a  number one contendership tournament for the MSWA Championship."

"Auch that's grand...hope ye take it all the way...but to be honest Rob, ye haven't stepped in a ring in ages for Craig's sake...how ye gonna pull this off!"

"Aye, that's my concern Seamus."  Lancaster let out a long sigh.  "I know my weaknesses, and I'm sure my opponent will, as well.  But the only thing I have going for me is the ability to change my style in a way he won't expect.  Introduce new moves, new holds...which I've done, my finisher at least, for one."

"Hmm...aye, that's good thinking lad...be on your guard though, and keep all this to yerself...no use letting anyone involved with the match know what yer doin'!"

"Indeed...I'm nervous to say the least yet my exhilaration level is unbelievable.  I feel like a rookie again."

"Well lad, ye pretty much are...new page, new start...this upcoming match is just one small step..."

The Duke of Wessex finished his JD, his expression blank, yet very telling.

"You're right Seamus...that it is...one small step..."