Post by adm on Sept 16, 2011 9:23:21 GMT -6
Now I think I understand
How this world can overcome a man
Bravo, Venom. Your reaction was perfect. I got under your skin like I was intending to do. You see, the tactic works a lot around here, especially with you uh...former something or others from that other place I hear whisperings about. You, Spike, Ace, Doc...before his injury, all of you had a tendency to come in here like you had a chip on your shoulder. I recall when a lot of you showed up, sometime around late 2009, a guy named Nelly Angel came in here raising hell, and brought a few friends. They tore up a lot of the place, then a lot of them left...and more came out of the woodwork.
You were one of the woodwork guys.
Now, whether you like it or not, Venom, people ARE going to judge you on your past. Whether it was here, or otherwise, they will judge you on the fact that, at one point and time, you were a big name around here. You carry a weight on your shoulders. A weight, similar to mine, but different. You aren't struggling with your identity, Venom. What you are doing is struggling with your place after a major injury. You came back, ready to crush some skulls after not taking that long in rehab for that knee, and then you lose your first, major match.
Probably put a little bit of a damper on your plans to rush back, didn't it?
Now I understand the story you are giving me now is that you intended, from the start, to work your way back from the bottom. Now, if that were TRUTH, you'd be the only former something or other who actually had a shred of honor and didn't want to skip ahead in the line.
I know if I was given that shot months ago when I showed up again, I'd have taken it. So would Ace, or Spike, or any of the others.
You know as well as I do, that what you say is fiction, a front, a false reality used to try and make yourself look honorable to cover up for your weaknesses. We ALL do it, trust me. And I really do mean to TRUST ME. I've been there, Venom. I am there, I mean look at me. Hiding behind the last shreds of what used to be a "normal" life, badly covering up something that is quickly becoming public rumor and gossip. I know what's been said about me in the locker room. I've heard the whores talking about how I'm homo. I've heard the jokes my former friends have made at my expense. One of whom is that Tag Team Champion you mentioned...the same one who I HAD to carry into our loss.
Thanks Jim, I'm glad you're happy with your big lug Lex...by the way, I beat him via his insanity, so I'd watch your back.
So, what is my point, Venom? What is the point of what I'm saying? It's that you, like Mr. Holland aka Danny V the masked marauder, wear a mask. Yours isn't a literal mask, it is fictitious. I wear a mask, as well. And I think, perhaps, it's time to start thinking about taking it off. I've been living in a lie for a LONG time now. I mean, if you've followed my career at all, you'd know that I've had a rather short fuse for nearly three years. And I would say, it comes from hiding something, from feeling like I'm not allowed to be myself and that tension is taken out week after week on my opponents.
But if you want to get to brass tacks, you want to get down to the very bottom of things, Venom, all this is really about, is egos. You have an ego, I have an ego. That is fact, not fiction. I have a point to make by saying this, too. I'm admitting something, Venom. Something very few people have the balls to admit. I have an ego, and beating you, someone with a bit of a "past glory" like yourself. Like Holland last week. Like my attempt at Spike a few weeks before. Like Lex, like any other big name I've faced and won, or lost, against over the years here. And I'm sure if you were to beat me this week, you'll be spouting off at the mouth like me about how you beat "Big Bad Bates". You can deny it all you want in your next promo, but I know, and you know, that it's the truth. If you were Joe Everyman, Mark Evil, my friend Ace...whom you insulted, or Steve Awesome, it's ALL THE SAME. It is the nature of the profession. And the minute you start admitting it from time to time, it'll make you look a little less like an asshole, and more like an honest chap like Jonas Potter, the current Honor Champion. One of the FEW people here I respect.
But that's all well and good, though, you keep living your lie, if you want. Keep telling yourself and the "fans" that you are going to work your way up from the top. And when Road to the Gold comes next month and you get your spot, let's see you pass it up. Let's see you hand it to someone who's been here longer than you. Like Ace, or Jimmy Zane, or Rob Diamond. Just watch as you clutch onto that spot for dear life and ride the storm all the way to the title, if you can. Because in the end, saying you're just going to "work your way from the bottom" is horse****. Just like every other time I've seen it said before, it's a pile of ****, and if you want to lie to yourself. Keep up the good work. Seriously. Because on Sunday, all facts are put on the table. All masks come off. And in the end, you'll get to see what kind of skill I have in the ring. Just remember to wear your knee brace, because I'd hate for you to be derailed again because I feel like giving you a Figure Four or Texas Cloverleaf for good measure. See you Sunday, Venom.
****
The hotel room is quiet, and Bates is alone. The room looks less like a hotel, than a suicide waiting to happen. A tie is wrapped around the ceiling light, the curtains are drawn. There is a knife next to the television, as well as a loaded revolver. Kristoff Liam Bates is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. The door is locked, and so are his thoughts. He takes slow, labored breaths, before pulling up a bottle of whiskey to his lips and taking a long sip.
"I'm a coward."
He puts the bottle down, and walks over to the window, pulling the curtains back to look outside. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful fall day. But inside his mind, it is not beautiful. A storm rages, depression builds, and the tension is almost coming to a head. He closes the curtain and moves to the dresser, looking at both the knife and the gun. He sighs, heavily, and picks up the gun after some deliberation. Sitting down on the bed, he cradles it in his hands.
"Days like today are dangerous. Today is special, it's an anniversary of sorts. A year from the day my mother died. They say something about special days and events like today. Like Christmas, they are dangerous. You hang your ornaments on the tree, wreaths on the door, and then a cold body is dangling from the steam pipes, all across America. It isn't what it used to be. Seasonal depression sets in, but this isn't seasonal, it isn't going to go away. I've been living a lie. I've been living in a book of fiction and all I have to do is admit one thing to turn it into truth, into memoir."
He sets the gun down next to him, and lays his head in his hands again, weeping. He's on the verge, on the edge. He's ready to end it all, regardless of what is scheduled for Sunday. He is looking to see the sun set for the last time, and finish it all in a pool of blood and guts and thoughts scattered on the walls.
"I've been lying to everyone for a long time. I was MARRIED and had CHILDREN...not because I wanted to. Not because it was what I enjoyed. No, this was all because of HER! Because of my MOTHER! Only child, forced to live a "normal" life. Forced to be something I'm not because she had hopes for continuing the family after my father left, and she never remarried. No other children, no living siblings and no other family to speak of. She was desperate and lonely. Forcing me into a lie, so that she could be happy. I obliged because that's what I do, I live to please others. I live to make other people happy. I hang out with Ace on his bad days to make him feel better, to cheer him up. I used to cheer Rob and Jimmy up. I used to be the guy to joke around with, to feel better around. I'm not that guy anymore, the weight of this has become too heavy for me to be "fun" to be around. I am not myself, and it's killing me."
Tears are rivulets in the lines on his face, and he stares blankly at the white walls. He closes his eyes hard, trying to push thoughts from his mind. He stands up, grabbing the gun.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED FROM ME MOTHER? TO BREAK ME? BECAUSE MY FATHER LEFT YOU? BECAUSE I LOOK..."
He falls to the floor, on his knees, crying.
"Just...like...him..."
He puts the gun next to his head, and tries hard to sit on his knees straight. His body aches with the sobs.
"You always told me what a failure he was. What a horrible man he was. But I know the truth, mother. You drove him away. You controlled him until he couldn't take it anymore. Just like you controlled me. It's all over now, you're dead. I don't need to hide anymore...I don't need to exist like his anymore."
He moves the gun to his mouth. As he tastes the cold, bitter metal on his tongue he gags, and pulls it away. He springs up, and throws the gun into the bed. He screams at the top of his lungs and hits himself, pulling at his hair.
"WHY CAN'T I DO IT? WHY AM I SUCH A COWARD?"
He walks over to the edge of the bed, and sits down. He takes another drink of whiskey and picks up the phone receiver. He begins, instinctively dialing. It rings on the other end and someone picks up.
"Yes, listen. I need to leave a message for Leonard Fox. Tell him, I have something to announce on Sunday at Collision. Tell him, Kristoff Liam Bates is..."
Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.
Buddha
How this world can overcome a man
Bravo, Venom. Your reaction was perfect. I got under your skin like I was intending to do. You see, the tactic works a lot around here, especially with you uh...former something or others from that other place I hear whisperings about. You, Spike, Ace, Doc...before his injury, all of you had a tendency to come in here like you had a chip on your shoulder. I recall when a lot of you showed up, sometime around late 2009, a guy named Nelly Angel came in here raising hell, and brought a few friends. They tore up a lot of the place, then a lot of them left...and more came out of the woodwork.
You were one of the woodwork guys.
Now, whether you like it or not, Venom, people ARE going to judge you on your past. Whether it was here, or otherwise, they will judge you on the fact that, at one point and time, you were a big name around here. You carry a weight on your shoulders. A weight, similar to mine, but different. You aren't struggling with your identity, Venom. What you are doing is struggling with your place after a major injury. You came back, ready to crush some skulls after not taking that long in rehab for that knee, and then you lose your first, major match.
Probably put a little bit of a damper on your plans to rush back, didn't it?
Now I understand the story you are giving me now is that you intended, from the start, to work your way back from the bottom. Now, if that were TRUTH, you'd be the only former something or other who actually had a shred of honor and didn't want to skip ahead in the line.
I know if I was given that shot months ago when I showed up again, I'd have taken it. So would Ace, or Spike, or any of the others.
You know as well as I do, that what you say is fiction, a front, a false reality used to try and make yourself look honorable to cover up for your weaknesses. We ALL do it, trust me. And I really do mean to TRUST ME. I've been there, Venom. I am there, I mean look at me. Hiding behind the last shreds of what used to be a "normal" life, badly covering up something that is quickly becoming public rumor and gossip. I know what's been said about me in the locker room. I've heard the whores talking about how I'm homo. I've heard the jokes my former friends have made at my expense. One of whom is that Tag Team Champion you mentioned...the same one who I HAD to carry into our loss.
Thanks Jim, I'm glad you're happy with your big lug Lex...by the way, I beat him via his insanity, so I'd watch your back.
So, what is my point, Venom? What is the point of what I'm saying? It's that you, like Mr. Holland aka Danny V the masked marauder, wear a mask. Yours isn't a literal mask, it is fictitious. I wear a mask, as well. And I think, perhaps, it's time to start thinking about taking it off. I've been living in a lie for a LONG time now. I mean, if you've followed my career at all, you'd know that I've had a rather short fuse for nearly three years. And I would say, it comes from hiding something, from feeling like I'm not allowed to be myself and that tension is taken out week after week on my opponents.
But if you want to get to brass tacks, you want to get down to the very bottom of things, Venom, all this is really about, is egos. You have an ego, I have an ego. That is fact, not fiction. I have a point to make by saying this, too. I'm admitting something, Venom. Something very few people have the balls to admit. I have an ego, and beating you, someone with a bit of a "past glory" like yourself. Like Holland last week. Like my attempt at Spike a few weeks before. Like Lex, like any other big name I've faced and won, or lost, against over the years here. And I'm sure if you were to beat me this week, you'll be spouting off at the mouth like me about how you beat "Big Bad Bates". You can deny it all you want in your next promo, but I know, and you know, that it's the truth. If you were Joe Everyman, Mark Evil, my friend Ace...whom you insulted, or Steve Awesome, it's ALL THE SAME. It is the nature of the profession. And the minute you start admitting it from time to time, it'll make you look a little less like an asshole, and more like an honest chap like Jonas Potter, the current Honor Champion. One of the FEW people here I respect.
But that's all well and good, though, you keep living your lie, if you want. Keep telling yourself and the "fans" that you are going to work your way up from the top. And when Road to the Gold comes next month and you get your spot, let's see you pass it up. Let's see you hand it to someone who's been here longer than you. Like Ace, or Jimmy Zane, or Rob Diamond. Just watch as you clutch onto that spot for dear life and ride the storm all the way to the title, if you can. Because in the end, saying you're just going to "work your way from the bottom" is horse****. Just like every other time I've seen it said before, it's a pile of ****, and if you want to lie to yourself. Keep up the good work. Seriously. Because on Sunday, all facts are put on the table. All masks come off. And in the end, you'll get to see what kind of skill I have in the ring. Just remember to wear your knee brace, because I'd hate for you to be derailed again because I feel like giving you a Figure Four or Texas Cloverleaf for good measure. See you Sunday, Venom.
****
The hotel room is quiet, and Bates is alone. The room looks less like a hotel, than a suicide waiting to happen. A tie is wrapped around the ceiling light, the curtains are drawn. There is a knife next to the television, as well as a loaded revolver. Kristoff Liam Bates is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. The door is locked, and so are his thoughts. He takes slow, labored breaths, before pulling up a bottle of whiskey to his lips and taking a long sip.
"I'm a coward."
He puts the bottle down, and walks over to the window, pulling the curtains back to look outside. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful fall day. But inside his mind, it is not beautiful. A storm rages, depression builds, and the tension is almost coming to a head. He closes the curtain and moves to the dresser, looking at both the knife and the gun. He sighs, heavily, and picks up the gun after some deliberation. Sitting down on the bed, he cradles it in his hands.
"Days like today are dangerous. Today is special, it's an anniversary of sorts. A year from the day my mother died. They say something about special days and events like today. Like Christmas, they are dangerous. You hang your ornaments on the tree, wreaths on the door, and then a cold body is dangling from the steam pipes, all across America. It isn't what it used to be. Seasonal depression sets in, but this isn't seasonal, it isn't going to go away. I've been living a lie. I've been living in a book of fiction and all I have to do is admit one thing to turn it into truth, into memoir."
He sets the gun down next to him, and lays his head in his hands again, weeping. He's on the verge, on the edge. He's ready to end it all, regardless of what is scheduled for Sunday. He is looking to see the sun set for the last time, and finish it all in a pool of blood and guts and thoughts scattered on the walls.
"I've been lying to everyone for a long time. I was MARRIED and had CHILDREN...not because I wanted to. Not because it was what I enjoyed. No, this was all because of HER! Because of my MOTHER! Only child, forced to live a "normal" life. Forced to be something I'm not because she had hopes for continuing the family after my father left, and she never remarried. No other children, no living siblings and no other family to speak of. She was desperate and lonely. Forcing me into a lie, so that she could be happy. I obliged because that's what I do, I live to please others. I live to make other people happy. I hang out with Ace on his bad days to make him feel better, to cheer him up. I used to cheer Rob and Jimmy up. I used to be the guy to joke around with, to feel better around. I'm not that guy anymore, the weight of this has become too heavy for me to be "fun" to be around. I am not myself, and it's killing me."
Tears are rivulets in the lines on his face, and he stares blankly at the white walls. He closes his eyes hard, trying to push thoughts from his mind. He stands up, grabbing the gun.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED FROM ME MOTHER? TO BREAK ME? BECAUSE MY FATHER LEFT YOU? BECAUSE I LOOK..."
He falls to the floor, on his knees, crying.
"Just...like...him..."
He puts the gun next to his head, and tries hard to sit on his knees straight. His body aches with the sobs.
"You always told me what a failure he was. What a horrible man he was. But I know the truth, mother. You drove him away. You controlled him until he couldn't take it anymore. Just like you controlled me. It's all over now, you're dead. I don't need to hide anymore...I don't need to exist like his anymore."
He moves the gun to his mouth. As he tastes the cold, bitter metal on his tongue he gags, and pulls it away. He springs up, and throws the gun into the bed. He screams at the top of his lungs and hits himself, pulling at his hair.
"WHY CAN'T I DO IT? WHY AM I SUCH A COWARD?"
He walks over to the edge of the bed, and sits down. He takes another drink of whiskey and picks up the phone receiver. He begins, instinctively dialing. It rings on the other end and someone picks up.
"Yes, listen. I need to leave a message for Leonard Fox. Tell him, I have something to announce on Sunday at Collision. Tell him, Kristoff Liam Bates is..."
Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.
Buddha