Title: Blackout from Moonshine: A Story in Four Acts
Featuring: "Black Out" Patrick Cassidy
Date: September 8, 2020
Location: A bar in New Orleans

Act I: Eleven PM

A hole in the wall, shithole dive bar. Cassidy and Matton sit at a table, both wearing “BRAZEN: Tag Party 2” shirts. It’s the night after the event, and the two tag partners are approached by a bartender.

“What can I get you boys?”

Cassidy holds up four fingers. “Four pitchers. How fancy you feeling, Matton?”

“Bud light,” responds the West Virginia native.

The woman goes to get the beer.

“Hell of a hurricanrana you’ve got there,” says Cassidy leaning back in his chair. He’s moving gingerly after the two grueling tag battles.

“And you throw a mean clothesline,” says Matton, cracking his knuckles. “’Course, woulda been nice if you hadn’t gotten that neckbreaker on the apron in the Stalker match.”

Cassidy leans forward, raising his eyebrows. “If I’m remembering right, and maybe I’m not, but if I am – I believe I scored the pinfall victory in that one, didn’t I? Oh yeah. I did. Maybe you had that memory knocked out of you when Dex planted and pinned you in the second match.”

Matton’s eyes narrow. “Listen, you yankee basta…”

Matton trails off as the woman returns with the four pitchers and two glasses. Cassidy and Matton both shoot her a pair of smiles. Cassidy grabs a pitcher, pours a beer, and slides it over to Ol’ Shiner.

“All I know is, per our agreement, you’re picking up the tab for the next three months since you ate the pin.” Cassidy holds up his own beer and makes a “cheers” motion toward Matton. “Gotta warn you, this might get pricey.”

Matton, despite scowling, “cheers” backs to Cassidy. “A deal’s a deal.”

Suddenly, in the background, we hear the opening chords of “Roxanne” by The Police. Cassidy smiles.

“Alright Matton, time to teach you how to party like us ‘Yankee bastards.’ The game’s called Roxanne. The rules are simple. You drink every time the song says ‘Roxanne.’”

Matton looks bemused. “What kind of stupid…”

Suddenly, Cassidy points into the distance as Sting fires off the first “Roxxxxxxxanne” of the song. Matton and Cassidy both sip from their glasses. They look at each for a second before another “Roxanne” is belted out and they drink again.

It’s going to be a long night.



Act II: Midnight

The four pitchers from earlier have grown to eight. All empty. The two grapplers are moving noticeably less gingerly. No pain is felt at the moment. Cassidy is banging his hand on the table for emphasis as he makes his point.

“I’m telling you, Burns got lucky,” he says. “If Lindsay hadn’t been injured that match was all hers.”

Matton snorts. “Not a chance, man. Technical expertise beats all that flashy stuff every time. Burns was always taking it.”

Cassidy shakes his head. This frickin’ guy. “I’d say we could wager on the rematch, but you’re striking out when it comes to bets with me.”

Matton considers knocking this guy upside his head, but seems to decide to let to go. “Speaking of – where’s the pitcher?” He looks back toward the bar, squinting.

“I think she’s pacing us,” says Cassidy.

Matton sighs and looks back at Cassidy. “So tell me, Mr. Big Shot, what match are you booked in for the TV?”

Cassidy eyes Matton, suspicious of the nature of this question. “I don’t have one.”

Matton nods, as if that’s the answer he was expecting. “Mmmmhmmmm.”

“’Mmmmhmmmm?’ What the hell does that mean?”

Matton throws up his hands. “I’m just saying, man. I’ve been in the ring with you. You’re a tough son of a bitch. But what’re ya known for? Singing after your matches?”

Cassidy shrugs. “I can’t help that I’ve got a song in my heart. I know people from your neck of the woods wouldn’t understand this, but my people are poets. Bards. We’re warriors. And we’re…uh, singing…people.”

“I’m just saying,” continues Matton, swirling his empty glass. “I’ve seen you kick some ass and it might be high time for you to be taken a little more seriously.”

“Well, I appreciate the career advice from a grizzled veteran like yourself. You must have picked up all these pearls of wisdom during your many runs as FIST of DEFIANCE.” Cassidy’s tone is sarcastic, but the look on his face suggests that Matton’s words have hit home.

Matton folds his arms behind his head, smiling. “Then you keep doing your thing, Mr. Singing…Person.”



Act III: One AM

Cassidy and Matton are now at the pool table. They stumble only occasionally. Matton measures the stick and shoots off, knocking several pool balls in all directions around the table. As Cassidy eyes the table for his next move, he’s approached by a man in a DEFIANCE t-shirt.

“Hey man,” says the fan. “Aren’t you Pat Cassidy?”

Cassidy smiles, happy to meet a fan. “I am. How are ya?”

“Great, man. Can I get an autograph?”

“Of course! Anything for the fans.”

Cassidy shoots Matton a semi-smug look as he takes a pen from the man and places a napkin on the pool table, signing his name. The fan continues. “This is so great. I love when you’re on the show. You’re so funny.”

On the word “funny,” Cassidy winces slightly. Ol’ Shiner’s look is pure “I told you so.” Cassidy purposely avoids looking at him. The fan happily takes his napkin and heads off. Cassidy sighs, finally looking at Matton.

“He called me funny.”

Matton shakes his head. “It’s never too late to start kicking some ass.”

Suddenly, a group of four men approach the two wrestlers. The men move aggressively and look angry.

“Hey!” one of them shouts. “How long are you two assholes going to hold the table?”

The guy’s buddy smiles. “I know you guys are two of them fake fighters, but you can just fucking play pool and not dance around in between shots.”

Matton and Cassidy look at each.

“It’s never too late, huh?”

Ol’ Shiner smiles back at Black Out.

“No time like the present.”



Act IV: One-Thirty AM

Matton is shoved roughly into the back of a police cruiser with his arms handcuffed behind his back. Cassidy is already in the cruiser waiting for him. The two men lock eyes and burst out laughing.

“Fucking hell, that was fun,” says Cassidy.

“The way you tried to shove that one guy INTO the pool table was a stroke of genius,” replies Matton.

Cassidy laughs again, and then looks off into the distance – into the glare of flashing red and blue lights.

“You might be right. It might be time to make a statement. You know, professionally.”

Matton nods. “Only guy whose going to make it happen is you.”

Cassidy looks back at Ol’ Shiner. “You know what Matton, you’re unusually wise for a hillbilly son of a bitch.”

“And you’re pretty tough for a bleeding cart creampuff from the north east.”

The two newfound drinking buddies allow their backhanded compliments to hang in the air for a seconds. Suddenly, something clicks in Matton’s head.

“Wait – DEFIANCE is going to bail us out, right?”

Cassidy shrugs – or, shrugs as much as someone can in handcuffs. “I sure hope so.”

The police car door slams shut.

More Propaganda | View "Black Out" Patrick Cassidy's Biography




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