Whoever it was the coined the phrase “money is the route of all evil” probably had no idea just how accurate they were in their assessment, at least the portly Yorkshireman called Tommy Wasley thought so anyway, or perhaps would have done is he was prone to such levels of introspection at any rate…
While he was in a business that for some, could very well mean fame and fortune, the money and celebrity status were never what motivated Tommy. His motivation came from both a passion for the business and a desire to prove himself. He was an unlikely star, a working class bloke from a poor northern town who didn’t have star written all over him. Fat and hairy maybe, but definitely not ‘star’... yet he had somehow got lucky and was working for a major company that broadcast to millions of fans every show… but fame still wasn’t a major motivating factor.
The Moustache Ride’s rise to popularity wasn’t about earning him the big bucks, it was about proving themselves on a bigger stage against some of the brightest young talents and returning stars. In that regard they were doing a pretty decent job, even if it was only them who actually said as much... though to say they didn’t have their fans would be slightly unfair to both, in all honesty.
But for Tommy, money had never mattered. So to learn he was about to inherit a large sum of the stuff... well it hadn’t really done much for him since he learned that fact had it, other than causing a giant headache, had it. The argument he’d had with his father in the solicitor's office hadn’t been something he had anticipated and now he had that to try and fix before he headed back to the states too. Oh the joy.
But try he would do. Despite the exchange of ‘pleasantries’ with his parents earlier in the day, Tommy found himself walking down the path of their home that same afternoon, wanting to try and calm the situation down before he had to for the airport to catch his fly back to California.
“Oh,‘ere we gu,” his father said as he opened the door to find Tommy standing on the other side, having knocked instead of just walking in as he once would have. “Come t’ gi’ y’ mother an’ me some more shit ‘ave y’?! Well al save y’ the trouble, y’ can just fuck off nar an’ stick it up y’ arse!” his father told him, clearly uninterested in attempting to fix things between them. Money talks, and after their argument earlier the things it was saying were not positive.
“Just lemme in, alright?” Tommy said, keeping his cool despite the tension. “Ain’t it a bit daft to be arguin’ a’bart this on’t doorstep given them nosy cunts next door? Dunt wanna gi’ Terry an’ Christine a show, d’ ya?” he asked, knowing which buttons to press even if his old man wasn’t interested in the discussion on the face of it.
And it worked. Albert’s face twisted into a bitter frown as he glances in the direction of their next door neighbours house and he grudgingly decided his son was right. “Fuckin’ come in then, bloody hell,” he muttered to himself as he turned and walked back into the house, leaving Tommy to close the door behind him as he followed his father into the living room, where his mother was sat on the sofa. The dog came running up to Tommy, wagging furiously as he realised his ‘brother’ was here and Tommy spent a moment fussing him before turning his attention back to his folks. “Gu on then, get it or wi’, we ant got all day,” Albert said from his chair in the corner, one leg folding up over the other as he scowled at his son who slowly stood and left the dog to beg for attention.
“Look, a’bart earlier… we all said some shit that we shunt be proud’a, dint we?” he started, trying to clear the air and put an end to the hostility between them. “A know a did anyroad, an’ am sure you two prob’ly feel the same, even if y’ not gonna admit it… so am ‘ere t’ clear the air.”
“You come to apologise?” Julia asked, looking coldly at her son and Tommy looked over at his mother in time to see her raise her eyebrows expectantly.
“A think we all have some’a that t’ do mother, dunt you?” he asked in reply, and got a scoff for his trouble. “We were all art’a order earlier, all three’a us… an’ a’ve not got long before a’ve gotta head back t’ the airport, so a wanna clear the air before a fuck off… so am ‘ere t’ say sorry for what a said earlier. A really am sorry f’ gettin’ worked up an’ sayin’ what a did.”
“Oh ah, y’ think we all said some stuff that weren’t on, d’ya?” Albert asked, looking amused. “Thing is lad, a dunt. A meant everythin’ a said earlier an’ whether’a not y’ actually believe the stuff y’ sayin’ a’bart bein’ sorry, am not gonna apologise f’ speakin’ me mind an’ tellin’ it like it is!” he declared, the humour in his face long gone now as he started getting working up again. Albert stood up and took a step forward, pointing at his son with one extended finger, his voice a little louder than before as he began his sermon. “Y’ come crawlin’ art the woodwork after months wi’ out comin’ back t’ see us, soon as y’ learn that Peg’s left her ‘ole estate t’ y’, an’ y’ think that’s alrate? Y’ mother worries sick a’bart y’ doin’ this wrestlin’ bollocks an’ d’ y’ call ‘er? Once in a blue moon at most! But some solicitor cunt rings y’ an’ y’ hoppin’ straight on a fuckin’ plane to come an’ cash in, ain’t ya?!”
“A know y’ a technophobe dad, but phones work both fuckin’ ways!” Tommy threw back at his father, trying to remain calm. He’d gone there to resolve their problems, not add to them, though his father seemed to have other ideas.
“An’ that’s always your bloody answer ain’t it?” Albert fired back, tempers flaring again. “Let someone else deal wi’ it, leave it t’ someone else t’ do the ‘ard work, typical Tommy! Guess y’ can just pay people t’ do all the shite y’ too lazy t’ do nar though, can’t y’? Nar that y’ quids in?!”
“Let’s not beat around the fuckin’ bush ‘ere dad,” Tommy replied, refusing to be drawn into the fake narrative that his father was trying to spin. “This ain’t a’bart me bein’ a shit son, not callin’ ‘ome or whatever, it’s a’bart the fact that it were me Peg left everythin’ to instead’a thee!” he said in the most matter of fact fashion he was capable of. Albert looked offended, but Tommy knew it was an act, pretending to be shocked at his sons accusation for the sake of the thing. “An’ don’t be pretendin’ that ain’t true, ‘cause you’ve bin sayin’ f’ years that it’ll change everythin’ f’ the better when Peg kicks the bucket an’ leaves everythin’ t’ thee! An’ suddenly it’s all gone tits up ain’t it, ‘cause she left it all t’ me instead…”
“Aye, an’ fuck knows what she were thinkin’!” Albert replied nastily, his nostrils flaring. “She never struggled f’ money, never married an’ ‘ad her teachers pension, she dint live in’t real world like us! An’ aye, she left us enough t’ clear us debts in that trust but everythin’ else went t’ you!”
“An’ a wonder why?!” Tommy replied, clearly out of patience now. “When I were still livin’ ‘ere, there weren’t a week went by where mam weren’t tellin’ thee t’ gi’ ‘er a ring an’ see how she’s doin’ an’ did y’? Did y’ fuck! She were y’ only livin’ relative, y’ miserable cunt, an’ y’ dint gi’ a fuck! It were a chore, a burden, an’ whenever one’a us said t’ call, y’ snapped at us, like we were askin’ f’ the world!”
“And you claim to have come here to sort things out with us?!” Julia asked defensively, though Tommy wasn’t ignorant to the fact that he could see a little doubt or apprehension in her face as she spoke and he knew that she was already questioning their stance.
“Get defensive all y’ want, mam, but we both know am rate,” he told her calmly but without even a hint of weakness in his voice. He was sure of himself despite trying to remain calm, and his parents knew it. “It weren’t dad that called ‘er most weeks, it were me. It weren’t dad who med a point’a goin’ through every three or four weeks to visit, that were me an’ all! You cunt even get him to pick up a bloody phone but I went to see ‘er as regularly as a could despite spendin’ as much time on’t road as a did; he works five miles darn the road!” He added, pointing a finger of his own at his father now, having had enough of the unjustified anger his parents and in particular his father, were showing. He turned his attention back to his father and looked him right in the eye as he continued to speak. “Face it dickhead, y’ couldn’t gi’ a fuck when she were alive an’ yer only gi’in’ a fuck nar ‘cause y’ lack’a fucks is comin’ back to bite y’ on’t arse! Sad thing is, first thing a planned t’ do were figure out how to split everythin’ wi’ the two’a you from the start, ‘cause aye, a thought it weren’t really fair either, even if y’ dint tek y’ responsibilities seriously… but realisin’ how fuckin’ petty you’ve bin wi’ all this - not botherin’ to tell me she’d even passed away were fuckin’ low dad it really were - a think y’ can go fuck y’sen instead!”
Albert’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed with anger as he went to move forward towards his son before thinking twice. Tommy had a considerable size advantage on his father, not just in height - though he did stand a good three inches taller than the head of the family - but in mass too. His father was a slight man, both his parents were in fact, and people had often remarked that they didn’t know where Tommy got his stature from. Evidently that thought, or one playing off of it, had gone through Albert’s mind in that moment because he had stopped himself from moving almost as soon as his instinct tried to move him forward. “Y’ ant got a clue what y’ takin’ a’bart, laddo!” Albert told his son, his nostrils still flaring on and off with each deep breath the sixty year old took. “Y’ know what she were like, how stressful puttin’ up wi’ ‘er could be, an’ it were alrate for you weren’t it, pissin’ off all over the country, it—”
“But that’s exactly it, you miserable twat!” Tommy interjected, done with the excuses his father was trying to make to defend himself. “I weren’t even in the county half the time an’ a still made the effort t’ speak to ‘er an’ go an’ see ‘er, what the fuck did you do, eh? Went to work durin’ the week an’ then dint leave the house at weekends unless it were to pop off t’ shop for y’ fags an’ y’ copy’a the Daily Mail!” he spat, shaking his head in disgust: in that moment he truly was disgusted with his father’s reaction and he wasn’t afraid to show that. “I were gonna offer to gi’ you two the ‘ouse, sign it over in t’ your names an’ let y’ do what y’ wanted wi’ it, whether that were move in or flog it… ‘ad it all figured art despite the fact that y’ were a bastard f’ not lettin’ me know she’d popped her clogs in’t fest place… but y’ know what dad? Y’ can bollocks. Why should a do any’a that, eh? All y’ did for the last ten years were try’ an’ ‘ave as little t’ do wi’ ‘er as possible… so a dunt see why a should concern me sen wi’ mekin’ sure y’ get t’ ‘ave owt t’ do wi’ ‘er money either. Am done ‘ere… a won’t bother callin’ when a land in’t states again, at this rate y’ probably only care ‘cause all me money’d come to thee if there were a crash anyway,” he finished, pausing only to scritch the dog behind its ear before he turned and walked toward the door.
He didn’t even slam the front door behind him, closing it gently rather than in anger as he took his leave, but inside his blood was boiling; had it really come down to this, having to turn his back on his parents because of money of all things? They weren’t rich when he was growing up, his parents had enough for what they needed but it definitely wasn’t a life of luxury in the Wasley household when he was a kid, but he had still led an incredibly happy childhood. So why was has dad suddenly being such a huge arsehole thanks to money? Had he really believed that Tommy would keep it all to himself once it was finally in his bank account? He would now, that was true, but that had never been the plan until the argument with his parents earlier that day and he still felt slightly guilty about the decision despite the fact that it was justified. The worst part in all of this for him, was that there seemed to be no grieving process going on. Admittedly, his parents had known about Peggy’s passing a lot longer than he had so perhaps they had already done theirs, but it started to seem like they simply stopped caring the minute they found out they weren’t going to get anything from it. And that only made Tommy angrier than he already was. It shouldn’t have been about the money, it should have been about the loss of a loved one… so yes, Tommy believed the idea that money maybe was the root of all evil, or he was starting to anyway. But perhaps he could do some good with it too. He wasn’t sure what, but as his large strides carried him away from his childhood home and back towards the centre of the village where he could catch a bus, it at least gave him food for thought. And with the flights he had in his immediate future, there would be plenty of opportunity to do just that…
[REC]
“A thought long an’ ‘ard a’bart this moment… in’t days that followed me an’ Johnny winnin’ these beautiful things-” He motions to the EMERGE tag title around his waist. “A thought long an’ ‘ard a’bart the moment ad get to step in front’a that camera, officially recognised as one’a this places champions, pleased as punch t’ ‘ave finally succeeded in what we’ve bin sayin’ we wanna do since the moment we turned up ‘ere in Emerge… a were expectin’ t’ be ‘appy as Larry - though fuck knows why Larry’s so bloody ‘appy when that’s the name his parents gave ‘im, but that’s beside the point - but truth is… am not.”
A mean, I am ‘appy, dunt get me wrong; am a champ, ave got more blind’n Mr. T an’ a were already one step ahead’a ‘im cause am not afraid’a gettin’ on planes either… but truth is, a just can’t bring me self t’ stand here an’ laud it up a’bart the fact me an’ Johnny won at Invasion: Miami, wi’ everythin’ that’s goin’ on in this company rate nah.
A wish a could, a rate do… but fact is, y’ sometimes ‘ave to admit that some stuff is just bigger than y’ own accomplishments or desires or whatever, an’ this’s one’a them times ain’t it? Emerge wrestlin’ is on’t brink’a civil war ain’t it, wi’ them bastards in’t Unforgiven thinkin’ they can come in an’ take control, an’ t’ mek it worse, our ‘Lincoln’ is a’bart as useful as a chocolate bloody teapot! A swear t’ god, Drew Bryant is a’bart as inept as the bloke runnin’ the country a live in nar, just wi’ better ‘air an’ less orange! Only question lingerin’ in my ‘ead is which one’a us is gonna get chucked art the door fest; ‘im for bein’ useless or me f’ callin’ ‘im art on it!”
Wasley sighs, shaking his head before turning his steely gaze back to the camera.
“But am not gonna stop callin’ people art on his ineptitude folks, ‘cause wi’ this war that’s underway, we need a real fuckin’ leader, not a clueless egomaniac who reckons he’s a genius but probably couldn’t fuckin’ spell the word! But am tellin’ y’ nar; long as am employed by this company, regardless of whether Drew ignores every criticism that gets levelled at him… a were the first to take a stand an’ am not gi’in’ up wi’ that until either a can’t get up anymore or Drew finally decides he’s sick’a me an’ terminates me contract!
An’ Neil an’ Summer Newman can pay attention t’ that an’ all… see, t’old Neil, he’s been pretty open wi’ his criticism’a me as’a late, an’ fair play t’ the lad, at least he is open a’bart stuff so credit where it’s due, least he speaks his mind an’ don’t hide from bein’ ‘onest like some… but am tellin’ thee nar, when all’s said an’ done, y’ can say what ya’ want a’bart me Neil, but at least am standin’ up f’ this fuckin’ company, even if you think Am nothin’ but a waste!
Thing is Newman, people like thee, yer no better than the wankers ave been beggin’ the roster t’ stand up against, ‘cause people like thee, y’ won’t stand up t’ be counted unless it’s f’ summer that directly affects thee! Y’ got behind Sienna Swann’s bullshit campaign t’ try an’ get a kick banned from active competition but when Vanilla Skyy were nearly crippled, not a fuckin’ dicky bird! It took y’ weeks to speak up sunshine, an’ even then it were only for y’ own selfish self promotion, hypin’ up the Golden Era as saviours’a Tag wrestlin’!
But me, Neil? I weren’t a champion when a stood up an’ said a weren’t gonna put up wi’ it! A weren’t a champion when a marched art t’ that ring in Miami an’ begged the rest’a the company to stand up an’ do the same… an’ a may not be a champion after this comin’ Monday either, but am still gonna bloody well stand up to the Unforgiven regardless! ‘Cause this ain’t me bein’ selfish, knobhead, this is me doin’ what’s rate, regardless’a the consequences! So you an’ y’ stuck up wife can sneer all y’ bloody want, y’ can look darn on me until y’ get a rosy sense’a superiority as much as y’ like… but my fight dunt start an’ finish wi’ these belts. It started weeks ago, an’ it only finished when t’Unforgiven’a gone from this company! What can you say you’ve done for this place, eh? Jog on!”[/REC]
