Post by Chris Gardner on Feb 4, 2011 22:48:24 GMT -6
It's Friday evening and I'm doing paperwork at home. The forthcoming days are set to be hectic for me. Atlanta on Saturday, Detroit on Sunday. So little time to train, think or what have you. Leaves of all kinds rest over my desk - contracts, paychecks, fan mail, reports from a mind institute, charters... And I have patience to read none of them. My attention is focused partly on one blank sheet of paper where I write notes about the coming days, partly on the webcam, as I talk with my sister-in-law and one of my loyalest friends in Gabrielle Crimson. I might want to spare my sister from the news, but I can trust her.
Gabrielle, in the first place, was the one that called the police on the fateful day that my father was arrested. With no fear or mercy whatsoever, she testified for the local police, and scarelessly confronted the old bastard. Unlike me, we grew to learn that Gabrielle is an orphan, never having the opportunity to meet her actual parents. We never knew if her parents are dead or were just retarded enough to leave her behind. That made her to be a badass of an independent young woman.
Gabrielle: So you talked to the old man?
Christian: Yep. He wanted me to get a lawyer. I denied him, of course.
Gabrielle: It's not like it's gonna make any difference at this point. State'll provide him with one.
Christian: Not like he's going to get a lawyer through ME. I'd rather see him rot in jail for crying out loud.
Gabrielle: Hatedom leads nowhere, Chris. Also, we're gonna have to deal with this sooner or later. Whenever he's going to trial, we're gonna have to testify again.
I let out a deep sigh. When I think of this trial, it's like picturing the old guy screaming at the top of his lungs nonstop when the girls come out.
Christian: Let's worry about this when the time comes. Right now, I wanna focus on my job.
Gabrielle: Sounds fair. When are you going to go to Detroit?
Christian: As soon as we're done in Atlanta.
Gabrielle notices that I'm grinning. It's pretty hard to contain my excitation.
Gabrielle: You must be pretty anxious.
Christian: Well? It's my first PPV appearance in a long career... And it's a title match.
Gabrielle: I'm sure you can pull it off, teach. If I can be a Tag Team and Television Champion, you can be Honor Champion. And you don't have to break a sweat.
I rest against my seat and ponder. Be a champion? Yes, perfectly possible. No sweating?
Christian: It's gonna be a lot of work, yanno, Gabbs? The man is a berserker mammoth. I'm not exactly what you'd call a tall wrestler either, so I'm gonna have a tough job in front of me. But nothing I can't accomplish. Who knows? I may just walk out of Detroit with a golden belt.
Gabrielle: That's the spirit. Hey, I'm gonna have to jet now. Our plane is about to take off, so no more lappy for me.
Christian: I understand. Have a nice flight, we'll talk when you come back.
Gabrielle: Okay. Kisses!
The cam is shut down. I'm accompanied by the papers now, and nothing else. This is pretty boring, and is probably going to take me the entire night.
Suddenly, the thought of my daughter comes to my mind. She's watching television at the living room, while my wife is showering. Is this paperwork more important than she is? Oh, come ON.
I see myself leaving the office and walking into the living room, where Gladdy is sleeping, with the television turned on. Part of me is saddened with this sight but, hey - the little rascal is the cutest thing ever. What's left for me right now is just to shut the television off and carry the 7-year-old little punk off to her bed. I then lay her and cover her with the blanket, turning the air conditioner on on my way out.
Christian: Love you, sweetheart.
I'm almost closing the door, when the little pest surprises me.
Gladys: Luv you too, pa.
I snicker and shake my head. Alright, you got me.
This time, my promo comes from a generic place. Make of it what you want. My mood for games is not all that good tonight, so no mo' Dr. House and jokes. This is Chris Gardner in all of his essence, torment and soul.
My head is hanging as I ponder. What is my goal for the moment?
Honor... Damn. Not something you can really look up in the dictionary for a definition, eh? But if you do, you'll most likely learn that honor is defined as the evauation of one's procediment and social status based on his or her character and behavior. It's pretty abstract, really - we usually live under a code of honor when conviving in society. Other people live under their own code of honor, and are liable to stand up for their own beliefs and reasons. Honor may also be considered a social status, paired to fame, rank, respect, loyalty and fairness. Myself, I live under a strict code of honor, taught to me by my British, somewhat conservative antecessors: "aid the young, respect the elder, lead your family firmly yet open mindedly, love your wife and protect your children".
It amuses and even intrigues me that there is such an... honor in NCW called the Honor Championship. Secondly, its legacy is also amusing, when we're led to realize that it's a wrestling concept created by one and only Spike Kane as a test to the prowess of a warrior inside the ring, given so many limitations only a mat expert would be able to pull it off perfectly cleanly. But what intrigues me the most is the fact that a mindless, ruthless and, ultimately, honorless man currently holds this belt. That has got to be a major error.
I lift my head. You see my eyes now. They're blazing with the confidence of a warrior.
If that's how you want to roll, Lex Sense, so be it. You can threaten me in as many ways and as many times you may want to - I won't buy it. A man that managed to conquer this accolade via disqualification in the first place shouldn't be too happy about it - it can and much probably will get back to you, rather sooner than later. And even if it doesn't, well... You can brag as much as you'd like to about the pile of bodies that you hide underneath your bed, or the gallons of blood you have collected to fuel your hellish craving for human pain. If your mission is to scare me and make me think twice before entering the ring to face you, you have failed. Whereas you fight for your subconscious necessity of self-affirmation and the defense of an accomplishment you don't deserve, I have a lot to fight for, and not only for a taste at championship gold.
Honestly, that's the least of the consequences right now.
Think of everything that I carry within myself. A family of great names that came before mine. All the expectations on me. The predictions, the commentary, everything. They hurt just like they freshen up.
I do carry a lot of weight whenever I enter inside a ring. I carry the weight of being a brother to a wrestler that prides in having being taught what she knows by me. I carry the weight of being married to another wrestler, that achieved worldwide greatness before I could even step inside a wrestling ring to stand up for myself. I carry the weight of a father that sees his offspring grow to be fond of the family's business and feels the yen to be a part of it. I carry the weight of a school that has the demand of seeing me thrive whenever I'm inside that square. Every time that bell rings, I'm defending my own honor - I'm fighting for my own future, whether I'm facing an incensed jumbo such as you or a smaller, flashy young man with the spark that drives him to be a giant. I also carry the weight of being undefeated, which only adds to the expectations people have in me. All this summed up, it's a mass of feelings, sensations and heat that you... That no human being is sanely capable to describe.
This whole heaviness cast upon my shoulders, I use it to feed my drive to be a better man. A better person, a better fighter, a better champion. It's something that you, a senseless sorry devil with no perspective, apart from the circle of chaotic, circus-bent madlings that surround you, cannot understand until you step out of the inner world built inside your head. Once you do that, IF you do, though, it may be a little too late for your liking.
For some reason, I feel that my soul has been cleansed.
A man that fights with no honor is undeserving to be honored. If you have nothing to be honorful to... I do.
Be ready. I'm coming for it. And there's a whole lotta world coming with me.
You're off the hook.
Gabrielle, in the first place, was the one that called the police on the fateful day that my father was arrested. With no fear or mercy whatsoever, she testified for the local police, and scarelessly confronted the old bastard. Unlike me, we grew to learn that Gabrielle is an orphan, never having the opportunity to meet her actual parents. We never knew if her parents are dead or were just retarded enough to leave her behind. That made her to be a badass of an independent young woman.
Gabrielle: So you talked to the old man?
Christian: Yep. He wanted me to get a lawyer. I denied him, of course.
Gabrielle: It's not like it's gonna make any difference at this point. State'll provide him with one.
Christian: Not like he's going to get a lawyer through ME. I'd rather see him rot in jail for crying out loud.
Gabrielle: Hatedom leads nowhere, Chris. Also, we're gonna have to deal with this sooner or later. Whenever he's going to trial, we're gonna have to testify again.
I let out a deep sigh. When I think of this trial, it's like picturing the old guy screaming at the top of his lungs nonstop when the girls come out.
Christian: Let's worry about this when the time comes. Right now, I wanna focus on my job.
Gabrielle: Sounds fair. When are you going to go to Detroit?
Christian: As soon as we're done in Atlanta.
Gabrielle notices that I'm grinning. It's pretty hard to contain my excitation.
Gabrielle: You must be pretty anxious.
Christian: Well? It's my first PPV appearance in a long career... And it's a title match.
Gabrielle: I'm sure you can pull it off, teach. If I can be a Tag Team and Television Champion, you can be Honor Champion. And you don't have to break a sweat.
I rest against my seat and ponder. Be a champion? Yes, perfectly possible. No sweating?
Christian: It's gonna be a lot of work, yanno, Gabbs? The man is a berserker mammoth. I'm not exactly what you'd call a tall wrestler either, so I'm gonna have a tough job in front of me. But nothing I can't accomplish. Who knows? I may just walk out of Detroit with a golden belt.
Gabrielle: That's the spirit. Hey, I'm gonna have to jet now. Our plane is about to take off, so no more lappy for me.
Christian: I understand. Have a nice flight, we'll talk when you come back.
Gabrielle: Okay. Kisses!
The cam is shut down. I'm accompanied by the papers now, and nothing else. This is pretty boring, and is probably going to take me the entire night.
Suddenly, the thought of my daughter comes to my mind. She's watching television at the living room, while my wife is showering. Is this paperwork more important than she is? Oh, come ON.
I see myself leaving the office and walking into the living room, where Gladdy is sleeping, with the television turned on. Part of me is saddened with this sight but, hey - the little rascal is the cutest thing ever. What's left for me right now is just to shut the television off and carry the 7-year-old little punk off to her bed. I then lay her and cover her with the blanket, turning the air conditioner on on my way out.
Christian: Love you, sweetheart.
I'm almost closing the door, when the little pest surprises me.
Gladys: Luv you too, pa.
I snicker and shake my head. Alright, you got me.
This time, my promo comes from a generic place. Make of it what you want. My mood for games is not all that good tonight, so no mo' Dr. House and jokes. This is Chris Gardner in all of his essence, torment and soul.
My head is hanging as I ponder. What is my goal for the moment?
Honor... Damn. Not something you can really look up in the dictionary for a definition, eh? But if you do, you'll most likely learn that honor is defined as the evauation of one's procediment and social status based on his or her character and behavior. It's pretty abstract, really - we usually live under a code of honor when conviving in society. Other people live under their own code of honor, and are liable to stand up for their own beliefs and reasons. Honor may also be considered a social status, paired to fame, rank, respect, loyalty and fairness. Myself, I live under a strict code of honor, taught to me by my British, somewhat conservative antecessors: "aid the young, respect the elder, lead your family firmly yet open mindedly, love your wife and protect your children".
It amuses and even intrigues me that there is such an... honor in NCW called the Honor Championship. Secondly, its legacy is also amusing, when we're led to realize that it's a wrestling concept created by one and only Spike Kane as a test to the prowess of a warrior inside the ring, given so many limitations only a mat expert would be able to pull it off perfectly cleanly. But what intrigues me the most is the fact that a mindless, ruthless and, ultimately, honorless man currently holds this belt. That has got to be a major error.
I lift my head. You see my eyes now. They're blazing with the confidence of a warrior.
If that's how you want to roll, Lex Sense, so be it. You can threaten me in as many ways and as many times you may want to - I won't buy it. A man that managed to conquer this accolade via disqualification in the first place shouldn't be too happy about it - it can and much probably will get back to you, rather sooner than later. And even if it doesn't, well... You can brag as much as you'd like to about the pile of bodies that you hide underneath your bed, or the gallons of blood you have collected to fuel your hellish craving for human pain. If your mission is to scare me and make me think twice before entering the ring to face you, you have failed. Whereas you fight for your subconscious necessity of self-affirmation and the defense of an accomplishment you don't deserve, I have a lot to fight for, and not only for a taste at championship gold.
Honestly, that's the least of the consequences right now.
Think of everything that I carry within myself. A family of great names that came before mine. All the expectations on me. The predictions, the commentary, everything. They hurt just like they freshen up.
I do carry a lot of weight whenever I enter inside a ring. I carry the weight of being a brother to a wrestler that prides in having being taught what she knows by me. I carry the weight of being married to another wrestler, that achieved worldwide greatness before I could even step inside a wrestling ring to stand up for myself. I carry the weight of a father that sees his offspring grow to be fond of the family's business and feels the yen to be a part of it. I carry the weight of a school that has the demand of seeing me thrive whenever I'm inside that square. Every time that bell rings, I'm defending my own honor - I'm fighting for my own future, whether I'm facing an incensed jumbo such as you or a smaller, flashy young man with the spark that drives him to be a giant. I also carry the weight of being undefeated, which only adds to the expectations people have in me. All this summed up, it's a mass of feelings, sensations and heat that you... That no human being is sanely capable to describe.
This whole heaviness cast upon my shoulders, I use it to feed my drive to be a better man. A better person, a better fighter, a better champion. It's something that you, a senseless sorry devil with no perspective, apart from the circle of chaotic, circus-bent madlings that surround you, cannot understand until you step out of the inner world built inside your head. Once you do that, IF you do, though, it may be a little too late for your liking.
For some reason, I feel that my soul has been cleansed.
A man that fights with no honor is undeserving to be honored. If you have nothing to be honorful to... I do.
Be ready. I'm coming for it. And there's a whole lotta world coming with me.
You're off the hook.