Psychiatric Report Transcript - Mal Somers 12-03-04

Believe it or not, I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been to a psychiatrist. It’s funny when I look back on my career, and the types of incidents that I have been involved in. They would probably have sent any other man to the asylum. Lets see, I’ve had my buttocks tattooed by the Insane Inmate, Lockdown, back in the EWA. I’ve been given a hand job during the main event of WWA Fiesta by a wrestler called the Bum Boozler.

Hmmm, interesting. How do these incidents make you feel?

Embarrassed? With a name like that, I should have seen it coming. In fact, when I think about it, I did. I came down to the ring wearing a metal chastity belt, but alas, it wasn’t enough. I’ve had my best friend humiliate me in front of millions, by blindsiding me with a suitcase and spitting all over the legacy we had created together in the World Wrestling Alliance. He may as well have rolled around in the mud and then rolled across the road twice, because he is nothing but a low down dirty double crosser.

I am surprised you have not come and seen me sooner.

Weird hey? None of these things have made me want to, let alone think about talking over these issues with someone trained to listen to my problems. Heck, I talk to a defunct wrestling title belt!

I beg your pardon?

Heh, maybe we can come back to that one. The reason I am here is that I do have something in particular to talk about. You see, recently, a work colleague has accused me of…well..

Malcolm, it is best to get these things out in the open.

I know. A work colleague has accused me of…murdering my parents and their pilot.

Hmmm, that is a serious allegation, about as serious as they come. You say a work colleague has accused you? How would he know such things?

He’s a private detective.

I see. So are you one too?

Uh, no. I’m a professional wrestler. He has accused me…and I know I am innocent. Well, actually that’s not entirely the truth. I think I am innocent. I can’t actually remember doing it. And I was speaking to Rookie, and he seems to…

Rookie who’s that? This private detective?

No. The detective is Tracer Bullet. Rookie is my bel..be.. friend. Rookie is my friend.

An unusual nickname.

I guess so. Rookie seems to think that maybe my memories of the incident are repressed, and that thought scares me like nothing ever before. So that’s why I am here.

I see. What are your memories of your parents?

Memories? Let’s see. I have fond memories for both. When I think of my mother I think of warmth…soft music in the background, she always loved listening to music. My father, I remember sports, the smell of coffee, the stubble on his face, his laughter. Fond memories, I miss them so much.

Your file says your parents were heading a multi national gold exploration company? Did you go without seeing them at times?

Yeah, I guess that’s my other memory, not so fond. They were always popping to all corners of the globe, trying to find gold, trying to expand the company, trying to provide for a better future for us.

You are an only child?

Yes. So quite often I was alone, just with the nanny and the help. I guess it just made the times I did spend with my family all the more special.

Interesting. What I am alluding to is that you were the sole heir?

Yes. Geez, you’re starting to sound like Agents Barr and Rooney! When they disappeared, I took over the company for a few years until I followed my wrestling dream. But I would never do such a thing for money! I just wouldn’t.

Okay. What I want you to do is describe for me a childhood experience when your parents weren’t there for you.

Where do I begin? Okay I can think of one. My birthday, back in nineteen eighty eight. It was at Elementary School, at lunch time and my class were all out in the playground, running amok as we were want to do. It was a hot day, I remember that, and a group of twenty or so boys were playing British Bulldog at the far end of the playground.

There was a mix of ages, a mix of personalities. There was this one boy, although he was around ten years old or so, he was already growing a beard. We used to call him the monkey boy. There was another guy that no one really liked, his personality was really off putting you know? He was a real dick.

There was another boy, quite tall, Native American, he was one of the older boys and was pretty much respected by everyone. Speaking of tall, there were two other real tall guys, they had similar names but boy oh boy did they hate each others guts! Always fighting each other, all the time.

Is this leading anywhere?

Sure. There was one guy who was really into Seseme Street, Fraggle Rock, you know, all those Muppet Show type shows. He was a bit of an outcast, but we were starting to warm to him once we got to know him. There was this other guy, he was soooo in love with himself, and worst of all, he was always sucking up to our school principal. His head was so far up its bum it was sickening!

There was this other kid, he seemed a bit ahead of his time, always wearing flanellete shirts, torn jeans, sitting in the corner listening to heavy music, all the time. And another guy who looked like an albino, like he was always living in the darkness. No one really spoke to him, he was a bit off putting, always getting other kids to do his work for him…real snooty.

There was another kid who thought he was the eighties version of Bruce Lee. Running around in his loose shorts, kicking everything in site. And there were a couple of new guys, yet to make their mark, I don’t remember too much about them, except one was always into flying.

So anyways, I made my way over, and asked if I could join in. They shrugged and said “sure.” Now, I wasn’t as big as some of the guys, or as quick as some of the others. Some were real sneaky, others seemed to hunt in packs. So there I was, on my own, looking down the green grassy hill at the group of guys I just described.

But then, all of a sudden, the school bell rang, and you could hear the collective sigh. We turned to head back to class, shoulders drooping, when our principal came out. He must have been having a really good day, because he came out and said we could have one more run at British Bulldog. And guess what, the winner, the first kid to make it across the oval, through the pack, would win a prize.

So we all got into our positions, and again I looked down the hill. The school principal blew the whistle, and it was on. Half of us ran down the hill, while the monkey boy, the dick, the tall guys, the Jim Henson fan, the brownnoser, the whole lot of them, laid in wait. I went wide, and a few of them came after me. Something came over me, I slowed up, as a couple of guys ran by and got taken out by the Bruce Lee wannabe.

This gave me the distraction I needed, I ran past him and right into the path of the two tall guys who hated each other. They both wanted to take me out, so much so that they started fighting over who it would be. Soon enough they were on the grass, rolling around, punching and kicking one another. I couldn’t believe my luck. I saw an opening and went for it, everyone was bearing down on me, trying to tackle me, but I made it, huffing and puffing, I reached the other side of the playground just in time.

The school principal handed me the prize, I think it was Optimus Prime from the Transformers, and some of the guys patted me on the back, I was so excited. Granted, I think they all just wanted the Optimus Prime figurine, but still, it was a good feeling. At the end of the day, I was so excited that I had won, I ran all the way home.

And…

And, my parents had gone away to Europe for a month. I was so upset. I went to my room and played with my Transformer all evening, then cried myself to sleep. So there is a memory I have that is not so fond.

Interesting, this fascination you have with competing, and winning prizes. The situation you have described seems similar, albeit on a much smaller scale to the kinds of activities you are now involved in.

I guess so, I mean, this Sunday I am involved in the Birthday Brawl, an epic match where it is a free for all, with belts up for grabs as prizes. That childhood memory I described is much different, a much, much smaller scale. BUut I have always dreamed about that day, and doing something similar, just on a grander stage. This Sunday might just be it.

Malcolm, you do know that you competing in this match will not bring them back?

Yes I know that. A long time ago I got used to that fact. Nowadays, I do it for myself, to satisfy my desire to be the best. This Sunday, I am going to step into the Birthday Brawl and put it all on the line, to satisfy the dreams and desires that I have had for so long. To retain the World Wrestling Alliance World Title.