Post by Jack Hammond on Nov 19, 2009 19:40:42 GMT -6
Somewhere at midnight in the middle of Seattle, a rather reserved Hammond can be found, not walking the streets, not racing down roads with reckless abandon down some deserted road, nor even in some small bar where he could hope to enjoy a quiet drink or two. He is instead sitting in his darkened hotel room, looking, quite uncharacteristically, deep in thought as he sits on the edge of his bed, hunched forwards, his hands clenched before his face as he stares at some unseen middle ground, the only real light coming from the window behind him, leaving his face covered by shadows that seem to shift across his face menacingly.
His mind seems to be in turmoil and it takes a few silent moments, only the faint noises of the city drifting up to the room, before he begins to talk in quiet, measured tones that don't seem to ring with any of his regular Hamster charm or wit.
"My daughter asked me a very searching question the other night. Something that's been bugging me for a while now and seems strangely appropriate considering the current state of affairs. She asked me if being a winner is everything."
He pauses for a moment, the shadows flitting across his face as the lights of traffic below his window pass by intermittently, his eyes still obscured in the darkness.
"Now, a person who is completely sure of themselves like say, Falcon or Sexy Jason would give the natural, all-American, macho-chest-out answer of 'yes' in a heartbeat. Without winning, they are nothing and that they need to be the best by being victorious. Any and every defeat must be a lesson that cannot be repeated and can spell certain doom if it's taken too often. By winning, you can prove yourself and progress, become a bigger contender until you get a shot at the big time. Falcon's already proved that by holding the prize that everyone wants, and Sexy Jason's managed to prove himself to be the number one contender."
Hammond's already furrowed brow creases even further, a disgruntled sigh passing his lips as he shifts uncomfortably on his bed, the messy sheets rustling slightly underneath him.
"So where does that leave me? I've been given this opportunity I could never have dreamed of, all thanks to the spin of a wheel. Pure and utter chance has seen me facing down two of the biggest names in the business for the nCw World Title. And something has been bothering me ever since that night I was called out to accept that shot...do I deserve it?"
A slight shrug of Jack's shoulders and a shake of the head is hardly an answer, so he continues.
"I mean, a month ago, I was making a disastrous comeback by being pinned by a masked madman in the form of Black Heart during a pay-per-view pre-show. And now I'm in a World Title Match because Falcon and Jason decided they needed another person to play their little game of 'Wheel of Fortune'. Fair enough, perhaps this is some ploy by Falcon to mess with Jason's head and I'm going to be the fall guy one way or the other, but it does bother me slightly that there are plenty of other guys who are simply itching for a go at the World Title, no matter how much head-patting Falcon was willing to do for me in his latest promo."
Hammond's shoulders slump as he tries to work this out for himself, shaking his head again, a hand rising to scratch at the mess of hair on his scalp in the darkness.
"Where the hell am I supposed to fit in to this equation? Both of these men looking to tear each other apart, and me stuck in the middle of this whole bloody mess. I'd be better off trying to act as mediator between a couple of mad bulls who've had each other's arses painted scarlet. And had their pints spilled. On a Monday. In a traffic jam. With hangovers. And James Blunt's playing on constant repeat on the radio."
He shakes his head to break himself loose of his little tirade and labours his way back onto topic.
"Am I a winner? Well it depends on your definition of a 'winner'...I could be a winner in terms of having a nice house, a secure job that I love doing, and a couple of nice cars that cost me enough to insure as it would cost me to buy a small nation. I could be a winner by being a fan favourite, a guy who's liked by everyone, no matter how much they say they want to smash my grinning face in. I could be a winner for being blessed with the love of my life as my wife and two beautiful daughters. Hell, I could be called a winner for winning each company drinking competition that we have in each city nCw visits."
Another solemn shake of the head brings the Hamster back once again to the point he seems to be veering away from.
"But that won't count for jack come this Sunday. Having the nicest car or the nicest family or being the nicest guy won't get me anything in that ring. A man once said 'Nice guys try their best; winners go home and screw the prom queen'. Winning is everything. The only ones who remember you when you come second are your wife and your dog, and my wife's gotten a little fed up with my moaning. The dog's got no real opinion on the subject as of yet."
Even in the darkness, a smile can be sensed growing on the lips of Hammond as he eyes the camera, the passing lights finally catching his eyes in the darkness, that familiar cheeky sparkle behind them.
"So despite what people may think, what people have said, what people will say, I may not be a winner, I may not have earned this shot, it may be that I'll get steamrollered within the first 20 seconds and never be heard from again, but I am a fighter and nothing but Falcon and Sexy Jason's best will keep me from trying to win that title again. People may hate to admit it and I blush at tooting my own horn, but each time I get into that ring, everyone I face is guaranteed, one hundred percent to get the fight of their lives in order to put me down."
A brighter flash of light passes by the window now, Hammond's shadowed face
"Falcon, you probably know this better than anyone when we went toe-to-toe just after I'd earned my first shot at the Title last December and I can honestly say it had to have been one of the most memorable fights of my life. Others may not remember it, but I can recall each and every second of that match and how much we put into that fight and how hard each of us had to work in order to even come close to scoring a win...I had to use your own finisher to put you away and even then you nearly kicked out."
He grins at the memory of that awesome conflict, shaking his head slightly in disbelief as he replays that match in his mind again.
"I can only imagine what kind of moves it'll take to keep you down for ten seconds, let alone three. As far as what your 'ulterior motives' could be, it's kinda hard not to guess if I'm honest, seeing it's probably the same one Jason and I have as well; walk out this Sunday as the nCw World Champion. Unless you've got something else in mind that doesn't result in that outcome for you, in which case you really have got me confused. I mean, actively encouraging your opponents to strive to work harder in kicking your head around the ring is a tactic that I've not really seen that often...or at all, if I'm honest."
Hammond chuckles quietly in the darkness of his hotel room, shrugging his shoulders.
"It seems that you've got nothing but praise to cast at my feet, which is nice and all, but them's hardly fightin' words, Falcon. Despite the fact you seem to be in the kitten stomper camp, all I've had poured in my ear from your end is honey. Now I like my ego getting stroked as much as the next man, but quite frankly it sounds like you're trying to groom me in your image; I know I may be a mini-version of a wrestler, but I hardly think I'm a Mini-Falcon. I will admire your determination and I respect your abilities and boundless talent, but it is getting a bit creepy when a man whose you hope you're going to pound into the canvas before he pounds yours starts giving you the kind of speech that you'd expect to hear before he hands out a lifetime achievement award."
Jack's eyes sparkle again with mirth as he grins once more, his face being lit up again briefly.
"And as for people who deserve awards and my latent desire to get 'The Hammos' let's give one to Sexy Jason, called the 'Greased Piggy' award for the wrestler who seems to have used enough oil on his own body that it looks as though he could help baste a whole block of Christmas turkeys and have enough left over to become the 'world's first frictionless man' and break the sound barrier every time he falls down a hill. Honestly, I came away from last week's match and after trying to grab ahold of him a few times, I still have trouble picking up small objects without them slipping from my hands thanks to the oil that seems to have rubbed off from him onto me; I tried jumping into bed the other night and I just slid off the sheets onto the floor. The residue left on said sheets was actually considered a fire hazard, and when we burned it outside, the oil made it last for three whole days."
Jack stops himself short of actually causing Jason to reach through his TV to silence the cheeky Hamster, holding up his hands disarmingly, but the grin still firmly fixed across his face.
"Okay, so perhaps I'm beating this little joke into a slow and agonising death that's not all that dissimilar to the one that Jason himself if dreaming up for me right now, but you'll have to excuse me for seeming a mite bitter considering the oily git managed to pin me last week and then promptly went ape on myself and Falcon for a reason that I couldn't quite identify apart from maybe the sight of people being nice to each other perhaps sends him into a frothing, oily rage."
Hammond pauses.
"That said, 'Oily Rage' sounds like a really good name for a teenage punk band who all suffer from really bad acne."
That random thought is quickly shaken loose as he continues, his cheeky expression shifting to one that reflects a more serious tone.
"I'll admit, it's getting a little difficult to find fault in your opponents when they've had such resounding victories and they find themselves on a roll whilst you yourself find yourself coming away smarting from losses, the last one in particular coming from one of the aforementioned opponents on a roll. And he's right in some respects, saying that he knows what it can take to pin me, to take me down and make me break. But it's not going to be a case of picking off an opponent one at a time here Jason. It will hardly be a repeat of last Sunday when you wanted so desperately for me to give up when you put me in that Sexy Stretch, because as soon as you were distracted by Falcon, as soon as you take your eyes off one of us, you saw that I was ready to pounce; I was a hairsbreadth away from driving that Mustang into your chest."
Hammond seems to emphasise the point by holding up a thumb and forefinger and nearly bringing them together, trying to measure the width of a hair before shrugging nonchalantly.
"Admittedly, you caught me and then planted me into the mat hard enough to shake not just my fillings loose, but also the fillings of people who happened to be passing the arena that night and I was seeing double for a short while after, but I saw a chance, an opportunity and I took it. The second you give in to your hope, the moment you hear the orchestra start to play your happy little ending, when the credits are supposed to roll and the curtain falls, the surprise twist ending will come out of nowhere in the form of two knees to the chest, Jason."
Jack shakes his head, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dark, his tone dropping once more into a low, threatening growl.
"Hoping that one of us is down for the count, hoping that you'll be the best, hoping that perhaps you won't run out of baby oil before you've covered your abs with a layer of the slippery stuff that's about an inch thick isn't going to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again, nor will it put the title in your greasy hands. Harping on about who you've hurt or supposedly retired will not matter, nor does trying to intimidate a man who puts his own body at risk in order to come out on top. You know what to expect from me, you know what I'm capable of and you know that if you slip up even for one second I will gladly send you and your smug little arse back to the locker room, leaving you wondering how a guy the size of your bicep could hit that hard."
There's another pause before a long sigh passes Hammond's lips, another shake of the head and a lightening of his voice, his darker side put to one side as he begins to sum up.
"But of course, who's to say? All I know is that I've been given an opportunity and I'm never one to look a gift horse in the mouth...well, gift-pony in my case, but you get the point. Call me opportunistic or selfish, but with the World Title dangled in front of me, I will fight with everything I have and I will not quit or give up until I'm knocked senseless or I've won."
Jack arches an eyebrow and coughs, shifting uncomfortably on his bed again.
"Hopefully it'll be the latter rather than the former. I do hate passing out...waking up the last time with that creepy old doctor poking me in a rather inappropriate place was not something I'd like to repeat."
He shifts on his seat once again, waving a hand to dismiss the possible questions that could arise and the nasty rumors of that ongoing lawsuit.
"So I guess all I've got left to say is good luck. Whatever the result, Falcon, Jason and Hammond for the World Title should be a laugh."
A final pause.
"Winner take all."
A cheeky grin is what Hammond leaves us with as the darkness overwhelms him, filling the screen and the sounds of the sleeping city fading with it.
His mind seems to be in turmoil and it takes a few silent moments, only the faint noises of the city drifting up to the room, before he begins to talk in quiet, measured tones that don't seem to ring with any of his regular Hamster charm or wit.
"My daughter asked me a very searching question the other night. Something that's been bugging me for a while now and seems strangely appropriate considering the current state of affairs. She asked me if being a winner is everything."
He pauses for a moment, the shadows flitting across his face as the lights of traffic below his window pass by intermittently, his eyes still obscured in the darkness.
"Now, a person who is completely sure of themselves like say, Falcon or Sexy Jason would give the natural, all-American, macho-chest-out answer of 'yes' in a heartbeat. Without winning, they are nothing and that they need to be the best by being victorious. Any and every defeat must be a lesson that cannot be repeated and can spell certain doom if it's taken too often. By winning, you can prove yourself and progress, become a bigger contender until you get a shot at the big time. Falcon's already proved that by holding the prize that everyone wants, and Sexy Jason's managed to prove himself to be the number one contender."
Hammond's already furrowed brow creases even further, a disgruntled sigh passing his lips as he shifts uncomfortably on his bed, the messy sheets rustling slightly underneath him.
"So where does that leave me? I've been given this opportunity I could never have dreamed of, all thanks to the spin of a wheel. Pure and utter chance has seen me facing down two of the biggest names in the business for the nCw World Title. And something has been bothering me ever since that night I was called out to accept that shot...do I deserve it?"
A slight shrug of Jack's shoulders and a shake of the head is hardly an answer, so he continues.
"I mean, a month ago, I was making a disastrous comeback by being pinned by a masked madman in the form of Black Heart during a pay-per-view pre-show. And now I'm in a World Title Match because Falcon and Jason decided they needed another person to play their little game of 'Wheel of Fortune'. Fair enough, perhaps this is some ploy by Falcon to mess with Jason's head and I'm going to be the fall guy one way or the other, but it does bother me slightly that there are plenty of other guys who are simply itching for a go at the World Title, no matter how much head-patting Falcon was willing to do for me in his latest promo."
Hammond's shoulders slump as he tries to work this out for himself, shaking his head again, a hand rising to scratch at the mess of hair on his scalp in the darkness.
"Where the hell am I supposed to fit in to this equation? Both of these men looking to tear each other apart, and me stuck in the middle of this whole bloody mess. I'd be better off trying to act as mediator between a couple of mad bulls who've had each other's arses painted scarlet. And had their pints spilled. On a Monday. In a traffic jam. With hangovers. And James Blunt's playing on constant repeat on the radio."
He shakes his head to break himself loose of his little tirade and labours his way back onto topic.
"Am I a winner? Well it depends on your definition of a 'winner'...I could be a winner in terms of having a nice house, a secure job that I love doing, and a couple of nice cars that cost me enough to insure as it would cost me to buy a small nation. I could be a winner by being a fan favourite, a guy who's liked by everyone, no matter how much they say they want to smash my grinning face in. I could be a winner for being blessed with the love of my life as my wife and two beautiful daughters. Hell, I could be called a winner for winning each company drinking competition that we have in each city nCw visits."
Another solemn shake of the head brings the Hamster back once again to the point he seems to be veering away from.
"But that won't count for jack come this Sunday. Having the nicest car or the nicest family or being the nicest guy won't get me anything in that ring. A man once said 'Nice guys try their best; winners go home and screw the prom queen'. Winning is everything. The only ones who remember you when you come second are your wife and your dog, and my wife's gotten a little fed up with my moaning. The dog's got no real opinion on the subject as of yet."
Even in the darkness, a smile can be sensed growing on the lips of Hammond as he eyes the camera, the passing lights finally catching his eyes in the darkness, that familiar cheeky sparkle behind them.
"So despite what people may think, what people have said, what people will say, I may not be a winner, I may not have earned this shot, it may be that I'll get steamrollered within the first 20 seconds and never be heard from again, but I am a fighter and nothing but Falcon and Sexy Jason's best will keep me from trying to win that title again. People may hate to admit it and I blush at tooting my own horn, but each time I get into that ring, everyone I face is guaranteed, one hundred percent to get the fight of their lives in order to put me down."
A brighter flash of light passes by the window now, Hammond's shadowed face
"Falcon, you probably know this better than anyone when we went toe-to-toe just after I'd earned my first shot at the Title last December and I can honestly say it had to have been one of the most memorable fights of my life. Others may not remember it, but I can recall each and every second of that match and how much we put into that fight and how hard each of us had to work in order to even come close to scoring a win...I had to use your own finisher to put you away and even then you nearly kicked out."
He grins at the memory of that awesome conflict, shaking his head slightly in disbelief as he replays that match in his mind again.
"I can only imagine what kind of moves it'll take to keep you down for ten seconds, let alone three. As far as what your 'ulterior motives' could be, it's kinda hard not to guess if I'm honest, seeing it's probably the same one Jason and I have as well; walk out this Sunday as the nCw World Champion. Unless you've got something else in mind that doesn't result in that outcome for you, in which case you really have got me confused. I mean, actively encouraging your opponents to strive to work harder in kicking your head around the ring is a tactic that I've not really seen that often...or at all, if I'm honest."
Hammond chuckles quietly in the darkness of his hotel room, shrugging his shoulders.
"It seems that you've got nothing but praise to cast at my feet, which is nice and all, but them's hardly fightin' words, Falcon. Despite the fact you seem to be in the kitten stomper camp, all I've had poured in my ear from your end is honey. Now I like my ego getting stroked as much as the next man, but quite frankly it sounds like you're trying to groom me in your image; I know I may be a mini-version of a wrestler, but I hardly think I'm a Mini-Falcon. I will admire your determination and I respect your abilities and boundless talent, but it is getting a bit creepy when a man whose you hope you're going to pound into the canvas before he pounds yours starts giving you the kind of speech that you'd expect to hear before he hands out a lifetime achievement award."
Jack's eyes sparkle again with mirth as he grins once more, his face being lit up again briefly.
"And as for people who deserve awards and my latent desire to get 'The Hammos' let's give one to Sexy Jason, called the 'Greased Piggy' award for the wrestler who seems to have used enough oil on his own body that it looks as though he could help baste a whole block of Christmas turkeys and have enough left over to become the 'world's first frictionless man' and break the sound barrier every time he falls down a hill. Honestly, I came away from last week's match and after trying to grab ahold of him a few times, I still have trouble picking up small objects without them slipping from my hands thanks to the oil that seems to have rubbed off from him onto me; I tried jumping into bed the other night and I just slid off the sheets onto the floor. The residue left on said sheets was actually considered a fire hazard, and when we burned it outside, the oil made it last for three whole days."
Jack stops himself short of actually causing Jason to reach through his TV to silence the cheeky Hamster, holding up his hands disarmingly, but the grin still firmly fixed across his face.
"Okay, so perhaps I'm beating this little joke into a slow and agonising death that's not all that dissimilar to the one that Jason himself if dreaming up for me right now, but you'll have to excuse me for seeming a mite bitter considering the oily git managed to pin me last week and then promptly went ape on myself and Falcon for a reason that I couldn't quite identify apart from maybe the sight of people being nice to each other perhaps sends him into a frothing, oily rage."
Hammond pauses.
"That said, 'Oily Rage' sounds like a really good name for a teenage punk band who all suffer from really bad acne."
That random thought is quickly shaken loose as he continues, his cheeky expression shifting to one that reflects a more serious tone.
"I'll admit, it's getting a little difficult to find fault in your opponents when they've had such resounding victories and they find themselves on a roll whilst you yourself find yourself coming away smarting from losses, the last one in particular coming from one of the aforementioned opponents on a roll. And he's right in some respects, saying that he knows what it can take to pin me, to take me down and make me break. But it's not going to be a case of picking off an opponent one at a time here Jason. It will hardly be a repeat of last Sunday when you wanted so desperately for me to give up when you put me in that Sexy Stretch, because as soon as you were distracted by Falcon, as soon as you take your eyes off one of us, you saw that I was ready to pounce; I was a hairsbreadth away from driving that Mustang into your chest."
Hammond seems to emphasise the point by holding up a thumb and forefinger and nearly bringing them together, trying to measure the width of a hair before shrugging nonchalantly.
"Admittedly, you caught me and then planted me into the mat hard enough to shake not just my fillings loose, but also the fillings of people who happened to be passing the arena that night and I was seeing double for a short while after, but I saw a chance, an opportunity and I took it. The second you give in to your hope, the moment you hear the orchestra start to play your happy little ending, when the credits are supposed to roll and the curtain falls, the surprise twist ending will come out of nowhere in the form of two knees to the chest, Jason."
Jack shakes his head, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dark, his tone dropping once more into a low, threatening growl.
"Hoping that one of us is down for the count, hoping that you'll be the best, hoping that perhaps you won't run out of baby oil before you've covered your abs with a layer of the slippery stuff that's about an inch thick isn't going to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again, nor will it put the title in your greasy hands. Harping on about who you've hurt or supposedly retired will not matter, nor does trying to intimidate a man who puts his own body at risk in order to come out on top. You know what to expect from me, you know what I'm capable of and you know that if you slip up even for one second I will gladly send you and your smug little arse back to the locker room, leaving you wondering how a guy the size of your bicep could hit that hard."
There's another pause before a long sigh passes Hammond's lips, another shake of the head and a lightening of his voice, his darker side put to one side as he begins to sum up.
"But of course, who's to say? All I know is that I've been given an opportunity and I'm never one to look a gift horse in the mouth...well, gift-pony in my case, but you get the point. Call me opportunistic or selfish, but with the World Title dangled in front of me, I will fight with everything I have and I will not quit or give up until I'm knocked senseless or I've won."
Jack arches an eyebrow and coughs, shifting uncomfortably on his bed again.
"Hopefully it'll be the latter rather than the former. I do hate passing out...waking up the last time with that creepy old doctor poking me in a rather inappropriate place was not something I'd like to repeat."
He shifts on his seat once again, waving a hand to dismiss the possible questions that could arise and the nasty rumors of that ongoing lawsuit.
"So I guess all I've got left to say is good luck. Whatever the result, Falcon, Jason and Hammond for the World Title should be a laugh."
A final pause.
"Winner take all."
A cheeky grin is what Hammond leaves us with as the darkness overwhelms him, filling the screen and the sounds of the sleeping city fading with it.
