Graphic Endings is a Minutes to Bell Time project. This is Chapter 7 of Graphic Endings – The Comeback. New chapters come out each Tuesday. Follow the Minutes to Bell Time Instagram to get an announcement each Tuesday.  

Previous Chapters: 

• 1 – Eight Weeks to Bell Time
• 2 – Four Weeks to Bell Time
• 3 – Two Weeks to Bell Time
• 4 – One Week After – Part 1
• 5 – One Week After – Part 2
• 6 – Minute’s Peril
• 8 – The Referee’s Vantage Point
• 9 – And New
• 10 – What Now

Graphic Endings Chapter 7: The Comeback

What Happened?

Thud.

What just happened? I ran my palm across my forehead. No blood. But it feels like someone put an axe between my eyes. They’re watering from the pain.

When I brushed the salty tears and sweat away, my hand ever so gently grazed my jaw. “F@#K!” The pain was excruciating. I’m facing an all liquid diet for the next week.

I need to assess the damage quickly and get back in the fight. I’m not used to my opponent getting the upper hand. No doubt Minute is taking a breather himself, but this rest periods won’t last long. What happened?

I closed my eyes and began to concentrate on what I could remember. An Irish Whip. I put him on his feet and sent him across the ring planning to finish him off with another clothesline. Shit! What was I thinking? I played into his hand. He ducked my clothesline and . . . oh not again.

That damn dropkick. It explains the jaw, but I remember staying in the ring. 10 years ago, I lost everything when I fell outside.

OK. So everything’s starting to come back. The dropkick didn’t take me out. In fact, I was getting up. I remember rolling over onto my knees, pushing my fists into the mat and lifting my head.

Suddenly a vivid image came rushing back into my consciousness, Minute was charging. He’s too close. I can’t block it. Boom. . . he kicked me hard in the face . . . . Twice.

I didn’t expect this much aggression from him, but where is he now.

What Happened Next

Strange that he didn’t go for a cover and where’s the referee? What’s going on?

I’m hearing the crowd now. They’re getting louder. . . aw my head. Someone shut them up. OK. I hear the referee now. He’s counting, but he’s on the other side of the ring. He should be counting so I can hear him. What number is he on? I need to focus.

“Three . . . Come ON MINUTE. Get down. Get it back in the ring!”

What . . . ?

That’s the last thing I heard before the crowd completely drowned out the referee. My ears were ringing from the noise. My head was splitting . . .

And then . . . someone shot me. Seriously, right in the chest. The force of the impact knocked all the wind out of me, and I heard the gun’s explosion.

My muscles strained first outward and then immediately I clutched my chest. No hole, no blood, just pain. Severe pain. In that moment, I heard the ringside commentary team.

“THAT’S GOT TO BE IT!! CRACK THE CHAMPAGNE! BELL TIME IS FINALLY DEFEATED! I’ve never seen anyone kick out of a FROG SPLASH. We’re going to have a new champion! Come on Minute! Get the cover, hook the leg, and MAKE YOURSELF FAMOUS KID!”

The Cover

In the next moment, I felt my leg get hooked. I felt Minute’s chest across mine. I heard a loud slap of the mat as the referee Counted

ONE

Oh my god. My chest, My head, and My jaw! This punk . . . he can’t beat me. He just can’t

Another Slap of the Mat: TWO

It’s now or never Bell Time. Pull it together.

My body took over, and my right arm shot into the air. For the first time since the penalty kick . . . I feel my mouth come together and turn up in the corners. I’m smiling and the commentators lost their mind.

“WHAT! WHAT! HOW! BELL TIME KICKED OUT! He’s not HUMAN! In all my years covering this sport, I have never . . . LADIES and GENTLEMAN . . . I have NEVER seen anyone kick out of the FROG SPLASH. What does Minute have to do to put Bell Time away? What could Minute possibly have left in his arsenal.”

In that moment, I knew Minute could hear the commentators too as he lay next to me resting before his next move. I took this time to speak to him.

This is My Comeback

“Minute. Do you hear them? You gave it your best shot, but it wasn’t enough. You can’t beat me. I’ve recovered and your time is up.”

We made eye contact, and I saw fear. Minute knew in that moment that his arsenal was empty. His future attempts would be futile. I wouldn’t make another mistake. It was over.

As I got to my feet, the commentary team went silent. . .the crowd went silent. I stood up straight in the corner. I could see clearly again. My eyes connected with the referee who stood paralyzed in complete shock. Minute stood across the ring staring back at me with a vacant expression.

I walked to the center of the ring, held my arms out to the side, looked up at the ceiling, and howled out a monstrous roar to let everyone know that I had reached my limit. It’s time to go full Monster mode on Minute.

Next Week

The biggest match of both men’s careers . . . continues.