Post by jdfranchise on Mar 3, 2015 2:13:03 GMT -5
Rule Number 3: Don't align with someone who won't take a bullet for you.
*****
Trust Me
"Are you enjoying the show, doc?"
"Yeah I am, surprisingly."
"I know this isn't your cup of tea, but the good thing is there's something for everyone."
"I just thought I'd be the outcast cringing everytime something happens out there."
"Listen, there's nothing glamorous about the punishment we take," I begin, leaning comfortably against the wall. "But it's easy to block out when the adrenaline starts pumping."
"I think I understand why wrestling has such an appeal." He says, watching as I slip my hoodie back on. "I expected human cockfighting, but there really is an artistry to what you guys do."
"I call it ballet meeting a train wreck." I chuckle. "So violent you want to turn away, but beautiful enough that you can't."
"For what happens in the ring, I'd call that accurate." Dr. Remke says, resting his elbows on an equipment crate. "I just had no idea there was so much stuff that goes on off stage."
"Off camera." I say, correcting him with the needed subtlety. "You can also say behind the curtain or backstage."
"Sorry." He says, dropping his head. "It's still a lot to process."
"You're doing fine." I retort, reassuring him with a pat on the back. "Learn the lingo because it'll make discussing things easier. I don't want to stop every third word and lose my thoughts."
"That's fair."
He's trying and that means the most to me. I've implored Dr. Remke to quickly expand his horizons recently, and to his credit he's taken it all in stride. I respect that because most in his position would just grudgingly go along with it until they recieve their paycheck, not giving so much as a proper piss about the person they're "helping". But I don't get that vibe about the good doctor because I can see his passion for delving into a highly trained athlete's psyche. There's always something in a person's eyes that's a dead giveaway of interest. His attention to even the smallest details is promising, as it shows good intentions by a guy going above and beyond his job description.
I don't know if it's because of wanting to make a good impression on a wrestling novice, but coming backstage this time around feels so much more gratifying than a lot of my recent bouts. I suppose it's because the last person I invited to a show that wasn't under contract didn't exactly profit in my favor. Losing against Drakz that night in May proved preparation isn't always enough at the highest levels, which I feel was important for Nikki to understand given her desire to compete. Dr. Remke solely being an observer, however, provided a different kind of pressure. While Daniel is significantly less experienced than Drakz, he's still a formidable challenge and absolutely capable of making the best look foolish. I found no burden in facing Daniel with a receptive outsider looking on though, but rather relief at the opportunity to showcase a wider array of my talent and avenge a loss that shouldn't have happened in the first place. With that reinvigoration came a side order of anxiety as I coasted down the aisle, because for the first time since October there was a real possibility I could lose. It was a tricky proposition that I'm glad went smoothly.
"So, I'm about to go back to my locker room and kick back." I say, pivoting on my heel. "Dave's on a little bit later and I want to make sure I don't miss his match."
"Ok, so what should I do?"
"You can come if you want." I say, rolling my neck as I start to walk. "I've been meaning to introduce you to him anyway."
"I don't think that would be the best timing."
The feminine voice rings through the hallway and I can hear the distinct clicking of stiletto heels in the closing distance. It stops me in my tracks. To what do I owe the pleasure of being approached, when we've barely spoken to each other for what seems like an eternity?
"Can I have a word with you, Josh?"
"Sure Lila." I say, turning my attention from Dr. Remke to our esteemed GM. "What's up?"
"In private, if you would?
"Ok." I nod, acknowledging her request. "Give me a couple minutes."
She walks off, and I turn to Dr. Remke. He flashes me a confused look.
"I may be new to your business, but that didn't seem pleasant."
"I can't offer an opinion." I say, shrugging my shoulders in equal bewilderment. "She hardly leaves her office."
"She seemed pretty adamant about talking to you away from me." Dr. Remke says, crossing her arms. "And her mannerisms indicate agitation."
"It's a high stress job, so I'm sure someone's made her mad."
"This woman is trouble, Josh. I've seen her type before."
"The corporate stiffs."
"No, the kind of woman that isn't worried about destroying a man's career to advance her own." He extends his hand. "Just be cautious."
"I will." I extend my hand to reciprocate the gesture. "Better go see what the deal is. Thanks doc."
As a kid, I got called into an authority figure's office on more than one occasion, first the guidance counselor then the principal. Pretty soon it was the warden and now my boss, so I know what awaits me in this meeting. It's a power play for the figurehead designed to flex their muscle whenever they feel a subordinate is out of line. I've always clashed heads with these people because their brand of management skills didn't mesh well with my moral guidelines, and I know walking towards Lila's office another conflict is on the horizon. I can anticipate how this will transpire, and I'm not in the mood for her chummy attitude. She'd be better served to drop the hammer first and let the donnybrook ensue, that way I'm not walking on eggshells to decipher what crawled up her ass.
I really don't have time for this, but if I neglect this sudden commitment it would counterproductive to the momentum I've finally started racking up. One thing about being in a supervisory position that attracts a generally parasitic society is the infinite capacity to leverage personel's behavior by bargaining with their employment status. So as I enter into the room the Key Arena staff designated for Lila tonight, I consciously put on a polite smile just as I instructed Dave to do previously. It's much harder to yell at someone when they're nice to you.
"Look, we need to start getting these permits sooner." She says, looking up from her paperwork. She places her hand over the reciever. "Close the door behind you."
"Ok."
"Just get it done." Lila asserts. "Call me back when you get them finalized. My meeting is here. Ok, thanks."
"Ok, so what did you need?"
"Relax for a second Josh, you just had a match." She says, sliding her paperwork to the side. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'm good."
"Well, have a seat."
"I'd rather stand so I don't stiffen up."
"Very well." She stares me down. "Josh, we've got a slight problem that needs addressed, because I don't remember there being anything in your contract about making booking decisions."
"I've reviewed it and there wasn't."
"So why did you think it was alright to plan around the situation regarding the International Title?"
"I'm not following." I say, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't mentioned it."
"Then why did Dave Demento come into my office demanding his rematch?"
"In his defense, Dave deserves it." I state, a lightbulb going off in my head. "That man went through hell and back so he could have a chance."
"I understand that." She nonchalantly retorts. "But you have to see the conflict of interest we're facing."
"Oh ok, I see where this is going." I hiss, raising my defenses. "Dave's goal is secondary to your agenda."
"First of all, don't come in here and try to flip this around on me." Lila interjects. "Secondly, the KoKaine Konspiracy is becoming even more dangerous than before and that's what I explained to Dave. I need him, and you at one hundred percent to take them down."
"Whoa, slow your role for a second." I say, deliberately scratching the side of my head. "So you're sitting there, telling me to forget what The Final Revolution has done to you and SOS over the past six months just because KKK has some gold?"
"The Final Revolution is working itself out, but KKK is the new issue." She announces. "You need to convince Dave to let this thing with Bishop go."
"I need to?"
"You're his friend."
"Yes I am, but Dave's a grown man." I begin. "And as his friend, I advised him to do what he thought was best for his career."
"It wasn't your place!"
"Maybe not, but it's your duty to maintain the morale of your roster!" I snap back, not showing any intimidation as I close in on her desk. "Dave is entitled to this rematch as much as Bishop was, and I can't understand why you're giving him grief about it. You're the GM, you can veto a request."
"Dave isn't thinking rationally, and he forced my hand."
"Bullsh*t!" I exclaim, no doubt loud enough for anyone within ear shot to hear as I slam my hands down on her desk. "We agreed to help you because it's the right thing to do. We didn't sign on to be your toy soldiers."
"That's very noble of you."
"Don't patronize me, Lila." I huff. "I'm looking out for my team because you haven't. Makes me wonder if you're just playing sides."
"You have some audacity to accuse me of such an underhanded deed when I've catered to your group more than anyone else on the roster."
"Right." I quip, rolling my eyes. "You keep telling yourself that so you can sleep tonight."
I've had nearly all I can handle from this circle-jerking conversation, and it doesn't seem like we're any closer to reaching common ground. Her holier than thou vitriol is definitely an ugly color, which gives her no excuse to brow beat me for doing what I promised Dave when my agency took the lead in his representation. Consequently because I bothered to read the fine print in Dave's contract, I know that Lila has no legal ground to stand on cancelling this match. She knows it too, given her retreat from her original stance.
"Do you still believe in my vision for WFWF, Josh?"
"On paper, it sounds good."
"Then trust my judgement."
"Yeah, I don't think I'll be doing that."
"And why not."
"Because I can't be assured you're legitimate unless you're willing to get your hands dirty.
*****
Beating a Dead Horse
I've been in the ring with you enough times now to know one simple, undeniable fact, which is I've got your number Chase. Don't get discouraged though, because far greater performers than you have the same dilemma when it comes to me. I'm a difficult matchup to prepare for, and even harder to beat. That's not a case of dumb luck, because you don't last as long as I have in this industry without evolving your game and seeking to improve each time out. The shelf life of a professional wrestler is fleeting to begin with, and if you're fortunate enough to make it big that window of opportunity to etch your name in the annals becomes even smaller. The problem I have with you stems from the fact that you've seized exactly ONE opportunity to become the greatest possible Chase Landon you can be. But one opportunity out of how many possible chances? I've honestly lost count.
I guess some folks have it in them, and some don't.
I mean, if you're content being in the same position you were when you first started, then who the hell am I to get in the way of your happiness? I could easily rest on my laurels and be satisfied with the fact that I came back from what was said to be a career ending injury, but that's difference between us. I'm still hungry to cement my place at the apex of WFWF, and I won't be fulfilled until the day that happens. I approach every match like I'm competing with the World Heavyweight Title on the line, and people are starting to see that I'm too damn stubborn to be denied. But again, I'm not you because I embrace the grind.
You wanna know the kicker, Chase? My name became immortal in WFWF lore on April 26, 2007 and then again on June 2, 2007, when I won the New Breed Tournament and the WFWF International Championship respectively. That means I have already proven myself as a man who isn't afraid of achieving greatness, while the world is still waiting for you to crawl out from under your self imposed rock.
Oh wait, it's a badge.
Pardon my mistake.
That's what you're still using as an excuse nowadays if I'm correct. At face value you're using it for sympathy points, but quite frankly its not a task that requires my attention. My mission is obtaining nothing less than excellence out of every opponent that's put in my path, not beating up on some kid who really doesn't want to be here. And I will get the best from you, even if it means you do it kicking and screaming like my toddler would amidst a temper tantrum.
You want to be treated like a child, then I guess I'll have to oblige.
See what separates contenders from pretenders Chase is a little thing called heart, and it's evident where you stand in department. Your body says you can continue, but your heart tells your mind to quit. You look for the first place to hide and I can see it every time you're in a microcosm of trouble. But once you start down that slope, it becomes easier to submit because a bad habit is formed. It can be broken, but you've got to be the one that decides when that sh*t stops. Maybe when you're tired of losing, when you're sick of rookies coming in and surpassing you, when you've had your fill of not so flattering comparisons to a sick dog, then you can get your head out of your ass and do something with your career. But if I held my breath waiting for you to take action, I'd be pushing up daisies by now. So why should this time be any different when you refuse to do anything but rock back and forth in the fetal position, vomiting out your incoherent ramblings.
Your game is really simple, Chase. You're too selfish to put an honest effort forward, too scared to humble yourself, so you play the victim because it's convenient. You cry wolf about being bullied, alone, misunderstood; hoping someone will allow you to leech off their good name, and it's insulting to those who actually care that you're still able to hold control over whoever is stupid enough to believe the facade. But I guess this is what I have to deal with in order to revive a division you nearly destroyed.
At Paradigm Chase, these kid gloves I've been wearing with you get removed and I show the world the emo puppet master doesn't know how to use the strings. So cry wolf, but you should know people aren't listening. But they will when this wolf paints the mat with your blood and stands victorious once again.
If you're lucky, I'll leave a shred for the ornery little pup before I cave his head in too.
*****
Clinical Psychology
"Are you familiar with Pavlov's experiment?"
"Kinda." I respond, taking a sip of my beer. "That's the one with the dog and bell, right?"
"That'd be the one."
"Well, I'm not an old hand with the specifics." I smirk, nodding my head. "But yeah, I've heard of it."
"Ok good." He says, folding his hands. "Because there's a smorgasbord of different personalities within your company. Talk about a psychiatrist's dream."
"Don't I know." I quip, sitting down in my office chair. "Some real winners in that bunch."
"Right. But each of you are connected by something deeper than just your occupation."
"I doubt that."
"We like to use a certain term in psychology called conditioning" He begins. "Performing certain tasks for a desired effect."
"Like a mindless drone?"
"Not exactly." He says, joining me. "There's a little more to it."
"Ok, well catch me up to speed."
I try to read as much as my schedule allows, and psychology was always one of those vague subjects that piqued my interest. It's helped me to a degree professionally, because I can tell now when a crowd is getting restless or how frustrated an opponent gets with every kick out. While other kids on the block read comic books or the latest Playboy, I read things that stimulated my mind, figuring it would benefit me somewhere down the line. I was convinced there had to be something better than those treacherous conditions I've struggled daily to supress, but in that vein I've probably forgotten a lot of useful information. I'm positive if I were a gambling man, I'd hedge my bets on the notion that my peers weren't nearly as observant as me. Either that, or the philosophy formed there consumed them until they had no choice but to accept it as reality. Every individual has the right to judge how they see fit, but it's kind of hard when there's always someone else in your ear.
"Scholarships, athletics, caskets."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"
"Scholarships, athletics, caskets." I shot out, enunciating each word so it isn't misinterpreted. "I'm not sure if it fits what you're talking about, but adults on skid row used to tell the kids that."
"That those were the only means of escape?" He pauses, reaching for a stack of papers in his bag. "It's what I'm gathering based on the derogatory term you used to describe your old neighborhood."
"Pretty much." I drop my head. "You know the College Park section of Atlanta has always floated along the poverty line, right?"
"Yeah, the demographic there is usually on public assistance."
"They always used to say better days were coming, if only big brother would stop getting in the way." I say as I raise my head and grab the beer. "But the problem was nobody wanted to do anything about it. They just kept complaining and waiting for their stamps."
"You know, the psychological evaluations we use aid in determining proper diagnoses for patients." He begins. "It's meant as an arbitrary base line of their aptitude and personality, or in your case to provide evidence of socialization tactics."
"Sorry doc, but I'd rather not take a test."
"I wasn't planning on giving you one." He continues. "I've honestly witnessed enough of your routine to make an educated opinion."
"Oh and what did you find?"
"I'll give you a copy of my report at our next appointment."
*****
The Curious Case of Ante Witner
So, I guess this is Lila's punishment for speaking out of turn and doing what a good friend should. And before I continue let me preface by saying that it's difficult, expecting some people to demonstrate a quality for which they know absolutely nothing about. Wrestling is filled with them, the kind of people who will smile to your face and put the knife in your back. That's what's really intriguing about this triple threat match I find myself in, I don't have to worry about such a thing. But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened, it just means I've become wiser in picking my friends. I can count them on one hand, but I can also count on them when the chips are down and I need someone to go to battle with me. Fortunately their services won't be needed at Paradigm because I've got this situation under control.
I also want to make it perfectly clear that I have publicly went on record and provided my thoughts about you, Ante. That interview with Sports Talk New York will show me endorsing your potential and my opinion hasn't changed. I think your intensity in the ring is matched by very few and you've taken more initiative about elevating your spot than a lot of the newer crop of talent. You should applauded, because here you are, taking the proverbial ball and running like hell with it to potentially historic proportions. Congratulations are most certainly in order.
So how did you like the gangbang? You know, where Donnie suckered you into thinking you were being "initiated", or Sam played up as a "good show of faith". The one you're too oblivious to see coming behind the stars in your eyes by being associated with KKK and their window dressing.
And here I thought you were smarter than that. Pity. But it still doesn't hide my true disappointment because I was under the impression I'd be fighting a champion, not smacking around Kyzer's bottom b*tch. I swear, I should be compensated more because I'll have to perform a minor miracle to save this match's respectability. So thanks for screwing the pooch, Ante. You left a substantial mess for me to clean up, but that's what you do right? Just pass the buck.
A smart man would've learned from his mistakes, but you have yet to learn a damn thing. It's been said two points make a line, with three making a pattern. That'll always be the narrative on Ante Francis Witner III as far as I'm concerned, mainly because I don't have a reason to doubt that logic. I can easily back that claim up if I talked about how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but then you'll use that as an excuse for why you're bipolar. Just between us Ante I'm not buying that either. Listening to you spew the same rehearsed story about your bad fortune makes me think you're grasping at straws to hold the audience's attention, that's despite the fact you could have a solid career on your own merit. But I still sat and listened to the stories, and there's one piece to the puzzle that just doesn't fit. Lucky for me, one of the perks of having a psychiatrist on my payroll is that I get unlimited access to all the peer reviewed medical research I can stand reading. Correct me if I'm wrong but people with your condition have a genetic disposition and also show much earlier signs of these manic depressive episodes. So according to that equation, you've either been improperly diagnosed or you're seriously embellishing. There is the slight chance of this being fabricated, but I'll never confuse you with a scholar Ante.
Claiming PTSD would've been more believable, that is if your life was really that bad.
But I digress, because the real issue seems to be your inadequate performances against SOS. I think that's the real reason you sided with Donnie, because you need the numbers in your favor. You ran your mouth about my wife, something about tasting her blood, and she kicked your teeth in. Then you went after Penny Shannon, and she stomped what was left of your broken pride into the mat. At Paradigm, I bury what's left of the endangered species.
Three points make a pattern, a pattern that says even with your buddies being my targets, you're still writing checks your ass isn't good enough to cash. You've found yourself on the wrong man's radar, and I don't miss my target once you're sighted.
Click....Boom.
Three points... I think by now you've got the rest. You're the first point, put in my way to send a message to the other two that with one shot, they're going to fall at my feet once I'm done with you.
And you know what the worst part is, Ante? Donnie has you hopped up on lithium and a full fledged cocktail of antidepressants that leave you so lucid that you can't see what kind of a buzzsaw you're about to run into in Boise. Some ally. We'll call the education you're about to recieve too much too soon for the capabilities you've currently shown me, and I know without a second thought that's most honest thing you've heard in your short career. You should've stayed home and jacked off to midget porn or whatever it is you do to occupy your time now because after this is over, you'll be too busy pulling my boot out of your ass. I hope the boys don't mind the taste of leather next time they toss your salad. I get very annoyed when people waste my time and keep me from my goals, and that's exactly what you're doing Ante. I don't need to get mad to beat you because I already know I'm superior. Soon you will too.
The Bloodied Eagle...that's cute.
I reckon it's time to go hunting.
Let's just hope your friends will still be there to clean up the mess I make.
*****
Trust Me
"Are you enjoying the show, doc?"
"Yeah I am, surprisingly."
"I know this isn't your cup of tea, but the good thing is there's something for everyone."
"I just thought I'd be the outcast cringing everytime something happens out there."
"Listen, there's nothing glamorous about the punishment we take," I begin, leaning comfortably against the wall. "But it's easy to block out when the adrenaline starts pumping."
"I think I understand why wrestling has such an appeal." He says, watching as I slip my hoodie back on. "I expected human cockfighting, but there really is an artistry to what you guys do."
"I call it ballet meeting a train wreck." I chuckle. "So violent you want to turn away, but beautiful enough that you can't."
"For what happens in the ring, I'd call that accurate." Dr. Remke says, resting his elbows on an equipment crate. "I just had no idea there was so much stuff that goes on off stage."
"Off camera." I say, correcting him with the needed subtlety. "You can also say behind the curtain or backstage."
"Sorry." He says, dropping his head. "It's still a lot to process."
"You're doing fine." I retort, reassuring him with a pat on the back. "Learn the lingo because it'll make discussing things easier. I don't want to stop every third word and lose my thoughts."
"That's fair."
He's trying and that means the most to me. I've implored Dr. Remke to quickly expand his horizons recently, and to his credit he's taken it all in stride. I respect that because most in his position would just grudgingly go along with it until they recieve their paycheck, not giving so much as a proper piss about the person they're "helping". But I don't get that vibe about the good doctor because I can see his passion for delving into a highly trained athlete's psyche. There's always something in a person's eyes that's a dead giveaway of interest. His attention to even the smallest details is promising, as it shows good intentions by a guy going above and beyond his job description.
I don't know if it's because of wanting to make a good impression on a wrestling novice, but coming backstage this time around feels so much more gratifying than a lot of my recent bouts. I suppose it's because the last person I invited to a show that wasn't under contract didn't exactly profit in my favor. Losing against Drakz that night in May proved preparation isn't always enough at the highest levels, which I feel was important for Nikki to understand given her desire to compete. Dr. Remke solely being an observer, however, provided a different kind of pressure. While Daniel is significantly less experienced than Drakz, he's still a formidable challenge and absolutely capable of making the best look foolish. I found no burden in facing Daniel with a receptive outsider looking on though, but rather relief at the opportunity to showcase a wider array of my talent and avenge a loss that shouldn't have happened in the first place. With that reinvigoration came a side order of anxiety as I coasted down the aisle, because for the first time since October there was a real possibility I could lose. It was a tricky proposition that I'm glad went smoothly.
"So, I'm about to go back to my locker room and kick back." I say, pivoting on my heel. "Dave's on a little bit later and I want to make sure I don't miss his match."
"Ok, so what should I do?"
"You can come if you want." I say, rolling my neck as I start to walk. "I've been meaning to introduce you to him anyway."
"I don't think that would be the best timing."
The feminine voice rings through the hallway and I can hear the distinct clicking of stiletto heels in the closing distance. It stops me in my tracks. To what do I owe the pleasure of being approached, when we've barely spoken to each other for what seems like an eternity?
"Can I have a word with you, Josh?"
"Sure Lila." I say, turning my attention from Dr. Remke to our esteemed GM. "What's up?"
"In private, if you would?
"Ok." I nod, acknowledging her request. "Give me a couple minutes."
She walks off, and I turn to Dr. Remke. He flashes me a confused look.
"I may be new to your business, but that didn't seem pleasant."
"I can't offer an opinion." I say, shrugging my shoulders in equal bewilderment. "She hardly leaves her office."
"She seemed pretty adamant about talking to you away from me." Dr. Remke says, crossing her arms. "And her mannerisms indicate agitation."
"It's a high stress job, so I'm sure someone's made her mad."
"This woman is trouble, Josh. I've seen her type before."
"The corporate stiffs."
"No, the kind of woman that isn't worried about destroying a man's career to advance her own." He extends his hand. "Just be cautious."
"I will." I extend my hand to reciprocate the gesture. "Better go see what the deal is. Thanks doc."
As a kid, I got called into an authority figure's office on more than one occasion, first the guidance counselor then the principal. Pretty soon it was the warden and now my boss, so I know what awaits me in this meeting. It's a power play for the figurehead designed to flex their muscle whenever they feel a subordinate is out of line. I've always clashed heads with these people because their brand of management skills didn't mesh well with my moral guidelines, and I know walking towards Lila's office another conflict is on the horizon. I can anticipate how this will transpire, and I'm not in the mood for her chummy attitude. She'd be better served to drop the hammer first and let the donnybrook ensue, that way I'm not walking on eggshells to decipher what crawled up her ass.
I really don't have time for this, but if I neglect this sudden commitment it would counterproductive to the momentum I've finally started racking up. One thing about being in a supervisory position that attracts a generally parasitic society is the infinite capacity to leverage personel's behavior by bargaining with their employment status. So as I enter into the room the Key Arena staff designated for Lila tonight, I consciously put on a polite smile just as I instructed Dave to do previously. It's much harder to yell at someone when they're nice to you.
"Look, we need to start getting these permits sooner." She says, looking up from her paperwork. She places her hand over the reciever. "Close the door behind you."
"Ok."
"Just get it done." Lila asserts. "Call me back when you get them finalized. My meeting is here. Ok, thanks."
"Ok, so what did you need?"
"Relax for a second Josh, you just had a match." She says, sliding her paperwork to the side. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'm good."
"Well, have a seat."
"I'd rather stand so I don't stiffen up."
"Very well." She stares me down. "Josh, we've got a slight problem that needs addressed, because I don't remember there being anything in your contract about making booking decisions."
"I've reviewed it and there wasn't."
"So why did you think it was alright to plan around the situation regarding the International Title?"
"I'm not following." I say, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't mentioned it."
"Then why did Dave Demento come into my office demanding his rematch?"
"In his defense, Dave deserves it." I state, a lightbulb going off in my head. "That man went through hell and back so he could have a chance."
"I understand that." She nonchalantly retorts. "But you have to see the conflict of interest we're facing."
"Oh ok, I see where this is going." I hiss, raising my defenses. "Dave's goal is secondary to your agenda."
"First of all, don't come in here and try to flip this around on me." Lila interjects. "Secondly, the KoKaine Konspiracy is becoming even more dangerous than before and that's what I explained to Dave. I need him, and you at one hundred percent to take them down."
"Whoa, slow your role for a second." I say, deliberately scratching the side of my head. "So you're sitting there, telling me to forget what The Final Revolution has done to you and SOS over the past six months just because KKK has some gold?"
"The Final Revolution is working itself out, but KKK is the new issue." She announces. "You need to convince Dave to let this thing with Bishop go."
"I need to?"
"You're his friend."
"Yes I am, but Dave's a grown man." I begin. "And as his friend, I advised him to do what he thought was best for his career."
"It wasn't your place!"
"Maybe not, but it's your duty to maintain the morale of your roster!" I snap back, not showing any intimidation as I close in on her desk. "Dave is entitled to this rematch as much as Bishop was, and I can't understand why you're giving him grief about it. You're the GM, you can veto a request."
"Dave isn't thinking rationally, and he forced my hand."
"Bullsh*t!" I exclaim, no doubt loud enough for anyone within ear shot to hear as I slam my hands down on her desk. "We agreed to help you because it's the right thing to do. We didn't sign on to be your toy soldiers."
"That's very noble of you."
"Don't patronize me, Lila." I huff. "I'm looking out for my team because you haven't. Makes me wonder if you're just playing sides."
"You have some audacity to accuse me of such an underhanded deed when I've catered to your group more than anyone else on the roster."
"Right." I quip, rolling my eyes. "You keep telling yourself that so you can sleep tonight."
I've had nearly all I can handle from this circle-jerking conversation, and it doesn't seem like we're any closer to reaching common ground. Her holier than thou vitriol is definitely an ugly color, which gives her no excuse to brow beat me for doing what I promised Dave when my agency took the lead in his representation. Consequently because I bothered to read the fine print in Dave's contract, I know that Lila has no legal ground to stand on cancelling this match. She knows it too, given her retreat from her original stance.
"Do you still believe in my vision for WFWF, Josh?"
"On paper, it sounds good."
"Then trust my judgement."
"Yeah, I don't think I'll be doing that."
"And why not."
"Because I can't be assured you're legitimate unless you're willing to get your hands dirty.
*****
Beating a Dead Horse
I've been in the ring with you enough times now to know one simple, undeniable fact, which is I've got your number Chase. Don't get discouraged though, because far greater performers than you have the same dilemma when it comes to me. I'm a difficult matchup to prepare for, and even harder to beat. That's not a case of dumb luck, because you don't last as long as I have in this industry without evolving your game and seeking to improve each time out. The shelf life of a professional wrestler is fleeting to begin with, and if you're fortunate enough to make it big that window of opportunity to etch your name in the annals becomes even smaller. The problem I have with you stems from the fact that you've seized exactly ONE opportunity to become the greatest possible Chase Landon you can be. But one opportunity out of how many possible chances? I've honestly lost count.
I guess some folks have it in them, and some don't.
I mean, if you're content being in the same position you were when you first started, then who the hell am I to get in the way of your happiness? I could easily rest on my laurels and be satisfied with the fact that I came back from what was said to be a career ending injury, but that's difference between us. I'm still hungry to cement my place at the apex of WFWF, and I won't be fulfilled until the day that happens. I approach every match like I'm competing with the World Heavyweight Title on the line, and people are starting to see that I'm too damn stubborn to be denied. But again, I'm not you because I embrace the grind.
You wanna know the kicker, Chase? My name became immortal in WFWF lore on April 26, 2007 and then again on June 2, 2007, when I won the New Breed Tournament and the WFWF International Championship respectively. That means I have already proven myself as a man who isn't afraid of achieving greatness, while the world is still waiting for you to crawl out from under your self imposed rock.
Oh wait, it's a badge.
Pardon my mistake.
That's what you're still using as an excuse nowadays if I'm correct. At face value you're using it for sympathy points, but quite frankly its not a task that requires my attention. My mission is obtaining nothing less than excellence out of every opponent that's put in my path, not beating up on some kid who really doesn't want to be here. And I will get the best from you, even if it means you do it kicking and screaming like my toddler would amidst a temper tantrum.
You want to be treated like a child, then I guess I'll have to oblige.
See what separates contenders from pretenders Chase is a little thing called heart, and it's evident where you stand in department. Your body says you can continue, but your heart tells your mind to quit. You look for the first place to hide and I can see it every time you're in a microcosm of trouble. But once you start down that slope, it becomes easier to submit because a bad habit is formed. It can be broken, but you've got to be the one that decides when that sh*t stops. Maybe when you're tired of losing, when you're sick of rookies coming in and surpassing you, when you've had your fill of not so flattering comparisons to a sick dog, then you can get your head out of your ass and do something with your career. But if I held my breath waiting for you to take action, I'd be pushing up daisies by now. So why should this time be any different when you refuse to do anything but rock back and forth in the fetal position, vomiting out your incoherent ramblings.
Your game is really simple, Chase. You're too selfish to put an honest effort forward, too scared to humble yourself, so you play the victim because it's convenient. You cry wolf about being bullied, alone, misunderstood; hoping someone will allow you to leech off their good name, and it's insulting to those who actually care that you're still able to hold control over whoever is stupid enough to believe the facade. But I guess this is what I have to deal with in order to revive a division you nearly destroyed.
At Paradigm Chase, these kid gloves I've been wearing with you get removed and I show the world the emo puppet master doesn't know how to use the strings. So cry wolf, but you should know people aren't listening. But they will when this wolf paints the mat with your blood and stands victorious once again.
If you're lucky, I'll leave a shred for the ornery little pup before I cave his head in too.
*****
Clinical Psychology
"Are you familiar with Pavlov's experiment?"
"Kinda." I respond, taking a sip of my beer. "That's the one with the dog and bell, right?"
"That'd be the one."
"Well, I'm not an old hand with the specifics." I smirk, nodding my head. "But yeah, I've heard of it."
"Ok good." He says, folding his hands. "Because there's a smorgasbord of different personalities within your company. Talk about a psychiatrist's dream."
"Don't I know." I quip, sitting down in my office chair. "Some real winners in that bunch."
"Right. But each of you are connected by something deeper than just your occupation."
"I doubt that."
"We like to use a certain term in psychology called conditioning" He begins. "Performing certain tasks for a desired effect."
"Like a mindless drone?"
"Not exactly." He says, joining me. "There's a little more to it."
"Ok, well catch me up to speed."
I try to read as much as my schedule allows, and psychology was always one of those vague subjects that piqued my interest. It's helped me to a degree professionally, because I can tell now when a crowd is getting restless or how frustrated an opponent gets with every kick out. While other kids on the block read comic books or the latest Playboy, I read things that stimulated my mind, figuring it would benefit me somewhere down the line. I was convinced there had to be something better than those treacherous conditions I've struggled daily to supress, but in that vein I've probably forgotten a lot of useful information. I'm positive if I were a gambling man, I'd hedge my bets on the notion that my peers weren't nearly as observant as me. Either that, or the philosophy formed there consumed them until they had no choice but to accept it as reality. Every individual has the right to judge how they see fit, but it's kind of hard when there's always someone else in your ear.
"Scholarships, athletics, caskets."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"
"Scholarships, athletics, caskets." I shot out, enunciating each word so it isn't misinterpreted. "I'm not sure if it fits what you're talking about, but adults on skid row used to tell the kids that."
"That those were the only means of escape?" He pauses, reaching for a stack of papers in his bag. "It's what I'm gathering based on the derogatory term you used to describe your old neighborhood."
"Pretty much." I drop my head. "You know the College Park section of Atlanta has always floated along the poverty line, right?"
"Yeah, the demographic there is usually on public assistance."
"They always used to say better days were coming, if only big brother would stop getting in the way." I say as I raise my head and grab the beer. "But the problem was nobody wanted to do anything about it. They just kept complaining and waiting for their stamps."
"You know, the psychological evaluations we use aid in determining proper diagnoses for patients." He begins. "It's meant as an arbitrary base line of their aptitude and personality, or in your case to provide evidence of socialization tactics."
"Sorry doc, but I'd rather not take a test."
"I wasn't planning on giving you one." He continues. "I've honestly witnessed enough of your routine to make an educated opinion."
"Oh and what did you find?"
"I'll give you a copy of my report at our next appointment."
*****
The Curious Case of Ante Witner
So, I guess this is Lila's punishment for speaking out of turn and doing what a good friend should. And before I continue let me preface by saying that it's difficult, expecting some people to demonstrate a quality for which they know absolutely nothing about. Wrestling is filled with them, the kind of people who will smile to your face and put the knife in your back. That's what's really intriguing about this triple threat match I find myself in, I don't have to worry about such a thing. But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened, it just means I've become wiser in picking my friends. I can count them on one hand, but I can also count on them when the chips are down and I need someone to go to battle with me. Fortunately their services won't be needed at Paradigm because I've got this situation under control.
I also want to make it perfectly clear that I have publicly went on record and provided my thoughts about you, Ante. That interview with Sports Talk New York will show me endorsing your potential and my opinion hasn't changed. I think your intensity in the ring is matched by very few and you've taken more initiative about elevating your spot than a lot of the newer crop of talent. You should applauded, because here you are, taking the proverbial ball and running like hell with it to potentially historic proportions. Congratulations are most certainly in order.
So how did you like the gangbang? You know, where Donnie suckered you into thinking you were being "initiated", or Sam played up as a "good show of faith". The one you're too oblivious to see coming behind the stars in your eyes by being associated with KKK and their window dressing.
And here I thought you were smarter than that. Pity. But it still doesn't hide my true disappointment because I was under the impression I'd be fighting a champion, not smacking around Kyzer's bottom b*tch. I swear, I should be compensated more because I'll have to perform a minor miracle to save this match's respectability. So thanks for screwing the pooch, Ante. You left a substantial mess for me to clean up, but that's what you do right? Just pass the buck.
A smart man would've learned from his mistakes, but you have yet to learn a damn thing. It's been said two points make a line, with three making a pattern. That'll always be the narrative on Ante Francis Witner III as far as I'm concerned, mainly because I don't have a reason to doubt that logic. I can easily back that claim up if I talked about how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but then you'll use that as an excuse for why you're bipolar. Just between us Ante I'm not buying that either. Listening to you spew the same rehearsed story about your bad fortune makes me think you're grasping at straws to hold the audience's attention, that's despite the fact you could have a solid career on your own merit. But I still sat and listened to the stories, and there's one piece to the puzzle that just doesn't fit. Lucky for me, one of the perks of having a psychiatrist on my payroll is that I get unlimited access to all the peer reviewed medical research I can stand reading. Correct me if I'm wrong but people with your condition have a genetic disposition and also show much earlier signs of these manic depressive episodes. So according to that equation, you've either been improperly diagnosed or you're seriously embellishing. There is the slight chance of this being fabricated, but I'll never confuse you with a scholar Ante.
Claiming PTSD would've been more believable, that is if your life was really that bad.
But I digress, because the real issue seems to be your inadequate performances against SOS. I think that's the real reason you sided with Donnie, because you need the numbers in your favor. You ran your mouth about my wife, something about tasting her blood, and she kicked your teeth in. Then you went after Penny Shannon, and she stomped what was left of your broken pride into the mat. At Paradigm, I bury what's left of the endangered species.
Three points make a pattern, a pattern that says even with your buddies being my targets, you're still writing checks your ass isn't good enough to cash. You've found yourself on the wrong man's radar, and I don't miss my target once you're sighted.
Click....Boom.
Three points... I think by now you've got the rest. You're the first point, put in my way to send a message to the other two that with one shot, they're going to fall at my feet once I'm done with you.
And you know what the worst part is, Ante? Donnie has you hopped up on lithium and a full fledged cocktail of antidepressants that leave you so lucid that you can't see what kind of a buzzsaw you're about to run into in Boise. Some ally. We'll call the education you're about to recieve too much too soon for the capabilities you've currently shown me, and I know without a second thought that's most honest thing you've heard in your short career. You should've stayed home and jacked off to midget porn or whatever it is you do to occupy your time now because after this is over, you'll be too busy pulling my boot out of your ass. I hope the boys don't mind the taste of leather next time they toss your salad. I get very annoyed when people waste my time and keep me from my goals, and that's exactly what you're doing Ante. I don't need to get mad to beat you because I already know I'm superior. Soon you will too.
The Bloodied Eagle...that's cute.
I reckon it's time to go hunting.
Let's just hope your friends will still be there to clean up the mess I make.
