The Beginning of the End

[Stu]

*** ALDO WYLDE, dressed in a modest 2-piece suit, what's left of his hair neatly trimmed and combed, knocks at the office door of DAMION BLACK. ***

ALDO WYLDE: "You wanted to see me, boss?"

*** Damion looks up from the papers on his desk and smiles at Aldo. ***

BLACK: "Aldo! Thank you for coming by, always good to see one of our respected veterans! Have a seat, please. I was just going over your latest medical report and physical. How are you feeling these days?"

*** Wylde glances at the chair and keeps his feet, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet; not nervously, but spry. ***

AW: "Fit as a fiddle and in fine feddle. 'Fact, I've never felt feddler. How about yourself?"

DB: "I'm.... concerned. You see, this medical report says that you are in good shape... for a man who is 126 years old. Onset of arthritis in both elbows, cartilage in left knee almost gone, your right knee is bone-on-bone, right hip needs replacement surgery... I could go on. The report certainly does..."

AW: "I don't look too bad for centigenarian, and I don't move too bad for a forty-year-old. Thanks for your concern, but I know how to protect myself."

DB: "And there it is, that classic Wyld bravado. Aldo, I did not want to be absolutely frank with you because I wanted to preserve your pride, but it looks like I don't have a choice. Age has caught up to you. Maybe not in your spirit, but your body is giving out, and no amount of pride can stop that. I understand you feel like you can still go, but for how long? 10 matches? 5? I am not willing to gamble on your health. I would rather do this in mutual agreement. Your next match against Rex Camelot, this Thursday, it needs to be your last match. I know this is sudden, I know you don't like it, but nobody wants to see you crippled. Your next match, you call it a career."

*** Wylde folds his arms across his chest, his right thumb and forefinger on his chin. He closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a heavy sigh. Dropping his hands to his side's again, he looks Black in the eye. ***

AW: "Damion, one wrestler to another, all our bullshit aside ... do you really think it's that bad?"

DB: "The medical eval doesn't lie. We've both seen younger men in better physical condition than you end up in a wheelchair because something in the ring goes wrong. We both know the older you get, the longer and harder you push yourself down the road, match after match, night after night, year after year, those odds can only increase? We never know how many bumps we have left on "the bump card" until it's too late. You have some great years of retirement in front of you, but not if you can't walk, not if you need help going to the bathroom. It's time to close this chapter of your life while you can still walk."

*** Aldo nods. ***

AW: "Alright. I don't like it ... not a damned bit ... but ... alright.

"Alright."

DB: "Alright. Aldo, you have had helluva career. I want to thank you for giving us your best at PWA. Good luck."

*** With that, Damion smiles and goes back to his paperwork. Wylde turns and leaves the room … a glint in his eye. ***