A young, blond gentleman stood in the early morning observing the sunrise over John O’Groats, Scotland. His blue eyes sparkled with anticipation yet a hint of sadness lingered. The chilly morning breeze swept across his hair, tussling it gently into his eyes. He didn’t bother moving the lock of hair as both of his hands gripped his sweat-soaked towel which hung tightly over the dorsal side of his neck. In Davey-Boy’s days in UKWF, he could go back home relatively often. Even in Premier Grappling Club. But, Davey-Boy O’Brien was heading to a company which primarily operated in the United States. He would see the shores of John O’Groats again, but it wouldn’t be any time soon. After all, money would be tight for a green upstart.
Davey glanced back into the gym. The pungent scent of sweat and hard work wafted into the ocean breeze. The gym wasn’t much, but it had what Davey needed to get in fight form. Before and after class each day, the young lad practiced his chosen trade under the tutelage of a legendary Scottish fighter known as Keegan.
In the summertime, Davey-Boy visited London with his uncle Baz. Baz Jones had been known for his hardcore in-ring style. The old codger saw something in the kid so he started training him. Pretty soon Davey was knocking the big man on his arse. At the tender age of 13, Davey had his first match at a carnival in front of a handful of people.
Today was different than any of that though. This would be the first time Davey-Boy O’Brien’s chosen trade would take him across the Pond to America for an extended amount of time. A small smirk cocked his mustache upward. Anticipation filled his lungs again. As he exhaled, the faintest fog appeared around his mouth.
In just a few weeks, everything would become even realer in Davey’s mind. Two fingers gripped his golden mustache and twirled it. Thoughts of his successful run through UKWF and PGC reassured him. The best part about everything was how the crowd had received him. Davey-Boy O’Brien’s charisma alone had been enough to blow the roof off, but then he would step into the ring where he wove his tapestry. Were his moves sloppy at times? Aye, but the lad was only wet behind the ears because he was from an old sailor town that his deceased Irish father had landed ashore one day and fallen in love.
Davey’s breath evacuated his lungs as reality settled back in. He would have to leave his Ma behind. The thought was unsettling to the lad because ever since his Da passed on --May he rest his soul-- Davey-Boy had to be the man of the house. And, now, Ma had shooed his arse out of the house. There was no way she would be the one who would hold him back from his dreams, and his dreams laid across the Atlantic Ocean where a country was tearing themselves apart because of their love or contempt for the President they had voted into office. Davey certainly wasn’t a stupid lad, but politics weren’t exactly his thing.
If his Ma said she would be fine then she would be, and, deep down, he knew that. This was an understandably large step for an 18-year-old. Davey-Boy O’Brien would just have to show the world how he practiced politics… with two fists and the occasional headbutt.
Davey’s eyes searched aimlessly across the horizon. He couldn’t identify where the feeling was coming from, but he felt a warm, fatherly presence. Davey-Boy nodded acknowledging the moment without a word before turning on his heels and striding back into the gym. The young lad knew he had a long journey before him, but something told him everything would be just fine. He would win some and he would probably win some, but Davey-Boy O’Brien was doing what he loved and that was the important thing. Ultimate O Wrestling awaited him.
As Davey-Boy O’Brien shook this other man’s hand, he realized something felt impersonal about the man. Davey could immediately tell that to this codger that had introduced himself as Rupert Mudcock. Davey was certain he’d heard the name before, but he hadn’t a clue as to where. At any rate, before the young lad knew it, there was a lovely blonde standing to his side with a microphone in-hand.
Davey glanced about in confusion. He felt as though the fanfare was, perhaps, a bit much for someone who had only been wrestling at fairs until last year. As the blonde began, her eyes didn’t even bother to connect with Davey’s own as she rambled at the camera.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began with expertly-feigned excitement in feminine voice. “Rose Johnston here with Davey-Boy O’Brien, UOW’s latest signing. Davey has a very impressive in-ring record in two organizations which toured across the United Kingdom. And, now, at Friday Night Clash 2, live from San Jose, California,” --suddenly Davey-Boy began paying attention to Rose as her sparkling blue eyes turned toward him--, “you will be facing Andrew Storm where both of you will be making your in-ring debut. How are you feeling heading into such an important match for your UOW career?”
His UOW career. The thought amused him. Davey-Boy O’Brien’s career with UOW had literally just started just prior to this interview. Davey could still feel the business man’s firm yet clammy handshake fresh on his palm. At length, the young man smirked at Rose. “Luk, hen, abo’dy is lukin’ t’ make an impact. Ah ain’t any different in that regard,” Davey stated matter-of-factly. “Ah literally just signed the dotted line and now you’re telling me ah’ll be facin’ Andrew Storm in the ring. Simply put: we’re gonna ‘ave a Square Go,” O’Brien pointed out as he brought his two fists up to his chin, “and we’ll see where it leads to from there.”
“But, ah gotta’ tell ye, mannie,” Davey-Boy interjected as his fists lowered and his steely blue eyes regarded the camera lens, “Ah may be greener than the pastures, but I ain’t a pushover. Ye’ll do well to realize that sooner rather than later. Mr. Storm, ah won’t lie. Ah am not very familiar with your work, but ah wasn't trained by a couple'a bampots,” the Scottish Terrier twisted his mustache with an aura of confidence accompanying the smirk on his lips. Rose, at the very least, seemed intrigued by the lad’s spirited charisma. Davey wasn’t finished though. “And, when we meet, ah’m gonna’ beat ye with these two fists,” suddenly Davey’s fists her back in front of him like a defiant brick wall, “an’ the occasional headbutt. ‘Cuse me, hen.”
As Davey-Boy O’Brien swaggered off, Rose Johnston watched him before the special news feed cut out. Would Boy Wonder from John O’Groats be able to overcome the decorated veteran, Andrew Storm in their double in-ring debut? Only time would tell, but it was quite clear Davey-Boy O’Brien had every intention of leaving a lasting first impression.
