Post by Jason Blair on Oct 18, 2010 11:17:07 GMT -6
“Lots of times, when people come to a crossroads in their life, they’ll go back home. Back to where it started.”
Jason stands in the middle of a wrestling ring. Nothing but darkness and silence surround him. A single, shoddy spotlight barely illuminates his body. His facial features aren’t even entirely recognizable. He speaks loudly, with gusto.
“So here I am.”
Blair walks to the side of the ring that is closest to the camera. He leans on the top rope, looking into the empty, dark space in front of him. And it’s just as well. He doesn’t do this for the fans. The seats at Road to the Gold could be empty and dark, too. As long as the clown is there; as long as the National title is there…
“The raw violence, the pain I cause, the pain I receive. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I don’t exist outside of this ring. I’ve searched for a motivation, a meaning for this life. The answers that I found were empty. Simple solutions for simple people that are easily manipulated.”
“I have no use for simple. I don’t need, or want, the answers that people have to offer. All that I want is to be home, inside this ring – across from someone that I want to hurt.”
“I get all of that and more on Sunday at Road to the Gold IV. It’s funny that simplicity would play its part. Freakke the Clown is the personification of simplicity. Every now and then he pretends to be something other than an easy-going, run-of-the-mill wrestling lifer. But we all know it’s a farce. All of us know who the real Freakke the Clown is, and what to expect from him.”
“At least, we think we do.”
Jason’s head tilts to the side, his teeth grind in genuine anger, and the contempt he has for Freakke seeps through every movement he makes, and every word he says.
“Then, he does something stupid. Like planting a metal trash can on the entrance ramp, costing me a victory against Joe Ragnal.”
“Not that I needed the victory. I don’t care that I haven’t won a match since Battlegrounds. I don’t care about the losses on Trauma or Collision, the miscues with hodge-podge tag teams. No, it’s not the loss that is upsetting.”
“I do care about our history. I care about the night that you referenced; a night that I’ll always remember; the night that you, Freakke, single-handedly turned me into the man that I am today.”
“It’s a man I’ve strayed from. The small achievements may have gone to my head a bit: The wrestler of the month award, the #1 contender for the National title. They may have humanized me some. The last few weeks, I’ve been living in two different worlds. I’ve been to Machado’s apartment, I let camera back into my training area.”
His arms went up over his head as his shoulders shrugged.
“I’ve shown weakness.”
“And once again, you were there to snap me out of it.”
His resolve was incredible. His focus was intimidating.
“You did yourself a disservice. Perhaps in your delusional, simple mind you were getting in my head. Perhaps that trash can was meant to throw me off my game. But it’s done nothing of the sort.”
“I’m back now.”
“It’s me, Jason Blair.”
“C’mon, you remember me… The guy who wrecked you the first time we met? The man who single-handedly drove you to the edge of insanity? I know that you remember. We all know how the history really started, don’t we? You enjoy bringing up A Night to Remember, choosing to omit a certain Saturday night Trauma you suffered. Allow me to refresh your memory.”
The flashback freezes on an image of Jason backing down the ramp, a grin plastered across his face. His voice adds sound over the still picture.
“I’ve got to say, looking back on it; that was one of my finest moments. It was where I began to define myself as a wrestler here in the nCw. It was when I started to realize that I am not the same as you.[/color]”
The image fades away, and we see that Blair has exited the empty ring, and made his way to ringside. The spotlight follows him carefully as he strolls leisurely around the ring.
“I hope that I was able to jog your memory. I don’t want you going into this match with the notion that you’re up against someone who is your equal. I need you to realize that if you do not perform beyond your abilities, you will be crushed, again. Hell, I’ve been looking forward to this match for months now. How fortunate that our paths should cross once more, this time with the National title on the line.”
“This time – I won’t just take your sanity. This time I’m taking your legacy. I’m taking your title, I’m taking your respect; this time, Freakke, I will rip your very soul from your body.”
Blair bends down slightly to pick up an old rusted steel chair. He snaps it shut, and measures the weight in his hands.
“It ends how it began. You will submit to me, and I will walk away grinning; your title around my waist, after I leave you in an unconscious pile of bloody humanity.”
Without warning Jason sends the chair flying into the camera, violently. A sudden crash, and then nothing.
Jason stands in the middle of a wrestling ring. Nothing but darkness and silence surround him. A single, shoddy spotlight barely illuminates his body. His facial features aren’t even entirely recognizable. He speaks loudly, with gusto.
“So here I am.”
Blair walks to the side of the ring that is closest to the camera. He leans on the top rope, looking into the empty, dark space in front of him. And it’s just as well. He doesn’t do this for the fans. The seats at Road to the Gold could be empty and dark, too. As long as the clown is there; as long as the National title is there…
“The raw violence, the pain I cause, the pain I receive. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I don’t exist outside of this ring. I’ve searched for a motivation, a meaning for this life. The answers that I found were empty. Simple solutions for simple people that are easily manipulated.”
“I have no use for simple. I don’t need, or want, the answers that people have to offer. All that I want is to be home, inside this ring – across from someone that I want to hurt.”
“I get all of that and more on Sunday at Road to the Gold IV. It’s funny that simplicity would play its part. Freakke the Clown is the personification of simplicity. Every now and then he pretends to be something other than an easy-going, run-of-the-mill wrestling lifer. But we all know it’s a farce. All of us know who the real Freakke the Clown is, and what to expect from him.”
“At least, we think we do.”
Jason’s head tilts to the side, his teeth grind in genuine anger, and the contempt he has for Freakke seeps through every movement he makes, and every word he says.
“Then, he does something stupid. Like planting a metal trash can on the entrance ramp, costing me a victory against Joe Ragnal.”
“Not that I needed the victory. I don’t care that I haven’t won a match since Battlegrounds. I don’t care about the losses on Trauma or Collision, the miscues with hodge-podge tag teams. No, it’s not the loss that is upsetting.”
“I do care about our history. I care about the night that you referenced; a night that I’ll always remember; the night that you, Freakke, single-handedly turned me into the man that I am today.”
“It’s a man I’ve strayed from. The small achievements may have gone to my head a bit: The wrestler of the month award, the #1 contender for the National title. They may have humanized me some. The last few weeks, I’ve been living in two different worlds. I’ve been to Machado’s apartment, I let camera back into my training area.”
His arms went up over his head as his shoulders shrugged.
“I’ve shown weakness.”
“And once again, you were there to snap me out of it.”
His resolve was incredible. His focus was intimidating.
“You did yourself a disservice. Perhaps in your delusional, simple mind you were getting in my head. Perhaps that trash can was meant to throw me off my game. But it’s done nothing of the sort.”
“I’m back now.”
“It’s me, Jason Blair.”
“C’mon, you remember me… The guy who wrecked you the first time we met? The man who single-handedly drove you to the edge of insanity? I know that you remember. We all know how the history really started, don’t we? You enjoy bringing up A Night to Remember, choosing to omit a certain Saturday night Trauma you suffered. Allow me to refresh your memory.”
Amber Ashe: “Here is your winner, by submission...Jason BLAIR!”
Jason wastes no time, rolling out of the ring and grabbing a steel chair from by the timekeeper. He gets back in the ring, measuring Freakke for a chairshot and brushing off Bob Mailville's attempts to take it from him.
Simon Daye: “Wait, what the hell is Blair doing?! Dammit, he's already won!”
When Freakke manages to get to his feet, he is greeted by a chair shot straight to the forehead. He goes down in a heap, and Blair nails him twice more before Mailville's able to get the chair away. Jason drops down out of the ring, grinning, and signals to an unconscious and bloody Freakke with a cut-throat again.
Willy Carter: “To answer your question, he looked like he was sending a message. We'll be right back, people...”
Jason wastes no time, rolling out of the ring and grabbing a steel chair from by the timekeeper. He gets back in the ring, measuring Freakke for a chairshot and brushing off Bob Mailville's attempts to take it from him.
Simon Daye: “Wait, what the hell is Blair doing?! Dammit, he's already won!”
When Freakke manages to get to his feet, he is greeted by a chair shot straight to the forehead. He goes down in a heap, and Blair nails him twice more before Mailville's able to get the chair away. Jason drops down out of the ring, grinning, and signals to an unconscious and bloody Freakke with a cut-throat again.
Willy Carter: “To answer your question, he looked like he was sending a message. We'll be right back, people...”
The flashback freezes on an image of Jason backing down the ramp, a grin plastered across his face. His voice adds sound over the still picture.
“I’ve got to say, looking back on it; that was one of my finest moments. It was where I began to define myself as a wrestler here in the nCw. It was when I started to realize that I am not the same as you.[/color]”
The image fades away, and we see that Blair has exited the empty ring, and made his way to ringside. The spotlight follows him carefully as he strolls leisurely around the ring.
“I hope that I was able to jog your memory. I don’t want you going into this match with the notion that you’re up against someone who is your equal. I need you to realize that if you do not perform beyond your abilities, you will be crushed, again. Hell, I’ve been looking forward to this match for months now. How fortunate that our paths should cross once more, this time with the National title on the line.”
“This time – I won’t just take your sanity. This time I’m taking your legacy. I’m taking your title, I’m taking your respect; this time, Freakke, I will rip your very soul from your body.”
Blair bends down slightly to pick up an old rusted steel chair. He snaps it shut, and measures the weight in his hands.
“It ends how it began. You will submit to me, and I will walk away grinning; your title around my waist, after I leave you in an unconscious pile of bloody humanity.”
Without warning Jason sends the chair flying into the camera, violently. A sudden crash, and then nothing.