Post by adm on Jun 20, 2011 11:16:40 GMT -6
Good god, so soon? Am I really that much of the upper leveler's kicking bag to be put into a #1 contender match in my first Pay Per View back, after a year of being gone, fully knowing that I may be facing Spike Kane, Legend, or Chris Gardener, Douchebag, at the next pay per view, WHEN I win this match. You see, no offense, but this is a four-man match, and anything pretty much goes as far as teaming up and pissing off. Pooler and I have just come off two wins as a team, and probably could soften up the other two, not like we need to, before turning our attention to the REAL challengers for the Honor Title.
I have so much to say this week, and boy am I glad I finally get another chance to show Mr. Everyloss that he is just another undeserving freak to even be in the same ring as me.[/i]
****
The locker room is empty after Collision, and Kristoff Liam Bates is the only man left. He's taking a long hard look in the mirror after being given the card for the Reborn Pay Per View. There is some doubt in him that he's ready, despite the three weeks of solid training before every match. The flab has begun to turn to muscle, albeit not dropping his weight any. He looks healthier than he did when he first came back, but as he reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a fifth of Jack Daniel's whiskey, we all know the way he takes care of even the small aches and pains from the matches.
"Ahh..."
He wipes his mouth and shivers just a little as the stuff warms his body just a tad. A grim smile comes over his face as he begins to break down. Tears begin forming in his eyes and he has to hold onto the sink with both hands to prevent his knees from buckling. The overwhelming emotions are surging through his body, a mixture of happiness and grief.
"A year ago I was a disgrace. A year ago I failed everyone. Now I'm given a chance so soon, a chance to be the one thing I wanted to be in the beginning. A chance to be a technical wrestler."
Of course, to any who know their nCw history, that never happened. Instead of being taken to the National Championship, he was given the darkest path imaginable for a former white-collar worker. He was taken to the realm of Xtreme, and faced Homeless Harold, the living Boogeyman, to win the now-defunct Xtreme Championship. He faced Sexy Jason, Joe Everyman, Mark Evil, Dirty Deal and so many others in Xtreme matches as champion and after. He never truly wanted that, he always wanted to be like the "tax man", IRS. He wished to be better than what he was, and now was his chance.
"This isn't right, putting so much pressure on me. I'm not ready."
As he wipes the tears from his eyes, we fade to the next day, in the gym. Bates is once again only in a pair of swim trunk-like gym shorts. He's doing exercises with Jump Rope to improve his dexterity and work on his cardio.
"I must be ready. I must be fit. I must be the best I can be."
He drops the rope and falls to the ground into the ground position of a push-up and begins to do one after another after another. The gym is as nondescript as the ones he's been in over the last three weeks. He's not one for flash or flair, preferring something more akin to the one he used to have at his home, with his wife, and his children. But last year, he had left that all behind in the divorce. Now the weight room is in his apartment in San Francisco, an hour from his family and former obligations. After finishing fifty, he stands up and moves to a steel chair he has seated near what appears to be an under-used boxing/wrestling ring.
He pulls out a bottle of water and begins to drink vigorously, the water seeping out the corners of his mouth and down his chin, a small reflective stream as it forms to the slightly-untoned contours to his body. He puts the bottle down and stares blankly into the ground before him, his eyes beginning to fill with tears, realizing, yet again, the pressure and the things he's left behind.
"When they caught up to me...I was back in my old job at some bull**** no-name firm making half what I used to a year. I had a cheap apartment and plenty of leftover cash to buy booze, food, and even save for retirement. It was a soulless job, but it was a lot cushier than coming back here. Why did I come back?"
His dedication to getting back into shape, his dedication to the ring, now that there is no real distractions of a family at home, is only a sign of the reason he came back. He wanted to pick up where he left off, to pick himself up from the major failure he had, to come back from it and realize that one mistake from his past, years from now, will not taint his name as much as he initially believed.
"Everyone is tired of me reminding them of my one major failure, fine. How about I tell them about a different failure. The failure to achieve the dreams I had when I first came to this place. I used to want to be a technical master, I still am seen as one of the best. I wanted to work my way to the top in a different way than I did. I wanted to be pure, to be wholesome, but in the end I was dragged down into the abyss of weapons and violence by a man I now consider my friend, Gib...formerly Homeless Harold. He took me to my limits and unleashed a monster within me. The monster used barbed wire, letter openers, thumb tacks, even a stapler. I was turned from a wrestling master into the ultimate example of what happens to a man pushed to his limits. I was paranoid, I was angry, I was violent, and I was a nasty wretched bastard. I took that to my tag title shots against Burning Angels, I took it all the way down my path until I was given the shot at Adam Knite, and tried so hard to beat him. I failed, and regressed into violence. None of you really understand that, except Joe Everyman."
Bates' eyes light up a little and a crooked smile crosses his face.
"So, Mr. Everyman, have you had any curtain jerks lately? How does it feel to be one of the men to have had one of the first World Title matches in nCw, only to become the joke you are now. No one really respects Joe Everyman, he's the whipping boy, despite being here every week, in just about every Pay Per View in some form, and having probably the most matches out of anyone here, including every World Champion. So, Joe, is this another shot at you getting your redemption? Is this a chance to try to show you aren't a choke artist when you are given the ball? Is it another shot at the gold, any gold, to keep yourself relevant? I know, you'll find some way to turn this around on me, a man coming back from a year of being gone, but what have YOU done lately? You've lost, as far as I can tell, a lot more than you've won. You have some sister who is also just as much a failure as you. So I'm just wondering, Joe, when are you going to stop trying and just reinvent yourself like Brad Kane does every couple minutes so you can finally get the drive to win the big one? Or is that just too much creativity for a man who is every man?"
Bates chuckles condescendingly at his own joke. He looks down at the floor, and the smile fades.
"In all seriousness, Joe, I was and am a fan of yours. I know you're good enough to win the World Title, and you should have by now. What I see in you, is a man who has a boat load of wasted potential. You try, and get discouraged, then fail. You are your own worst enemy, and when you see that, you'll understand."
Bates stands up, and stretches, looking around at all the grungy and rusted equipment he has been using since he woke up this morning.
"Joe, this is where you need to be, where I am. Somewhere dank to remind you what you've done, to remind you to be better. I only wish I could say the same thing about your nemesis, Nathan Webb."
He turns his body around and doesn't even face the camera. He is fiddling with his hair, and trying to change his appearance somehow. When he turns around, he looks like the evil twin of himself.
"So, Nate, have any imaginary friends lately? I haven't really seen much of you, all I know is that you and Everyman have been going back and forth with weapons, and you don't really like them. You remind me of a younger me, well...if I had schizophrenia and an imaginary companion that brought me breakfast. By the way, how DO you like your eggs? Me, I prefer mine over easy, sunny side up. Kinda like how it would be if it were just you and me in that ring, instead of all four of us. It'd be over easy, and your solar plexus would be facing the sky. I really don't have much else to say to you, so till then, go talk to your imaginary friend and cry about how I was so mean to you. Freak."
He steps into the ring, looking around the dingy and dark gym. There are sweat stains on the floor from the spots he's been training over the last week, and he knows he needs to go to a new one later this week, one in London. He only wishes he can find a similar venue to release his anger. Inside the ring he can imagine Reborn, the rebirth of his career. He can see the crowds, and though they are not cheering for him, he feels the adrenaline begin to rush. Kristoff Liam Bates, former Xtreme Champion, imagines himself a month from now, as Honor Champion. He comes out of his fantasy to the dark reality, and the smile that was on his face fades.
"Bob Pooler, my comrade for the last two weeks, how is it that we can become so cohesive only to be split apart by a chance at something we both want. You want to prove you are something in this place, a new federation without the ghosts of your past at your back. A new place to prove dominance and superiority. You are just trying to get your name out, and now they give you the big chance, unfortunately you are with an equally-matched competitor. Well, that's what I'd say now, but if you had asked me two weeks ago before we fought together, I'd have seriously underestimated you. You aren't the green-gilled freshman I thought you were, I've seen you work. You're skilled, competent and a mirror of myself. We both seek, like the other two, to make our names here. However both have "fresh starts" of it, compared to Schizo boy and his whipping dog, Everyman. So will we be cohesive again and destroy the other two to focus on the REAL competitors for this Honor Championship, or will we take out frustrations on each other just to try and get a leg up on the other guys? I guess we'll have to wait to find out, but just let it be known. Spike Kane isn't half the man he claims to be, I'd know. I've seen him just like Mr. Everyman has. And if my mind hasn't been bashed in by all the chair shots I used to take, I do recall I have a victory over him. So just be warned, I'm the best in this match, and if you try to stand in the way of my destiny...I'll make you..."
He takes a look around the empty room, before taking a deep breath.
"SHUT UP!"
Her gorgous death-bed! Her rich pyre
Burnt up with aromatic fire!
Her urn, sight high from spoiler men!
Her birthplace when self-born again!
I have so much to say this week, and boy am I glad I finally get another chance to show Mr. Everyloss that he is just another undeserving freak to even be in the same ring as me.[/i]
****
The locker room is empty after Collision, and Kristoff Liam Bates is the only man left. He's taking a long hard look in the mirror after being given the card for the Reborn Pay Per View. There is some doubt in him that he's ready, despite the three weeks of solid training before every match. The flab has begun to turn to muscle, albeit not dropping his weight any. He looks healthier than he did when he first came back, but as he reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a fifth of Jack Daniel's whiskey, we all know the way he takes care of even the small aches and pains from the matches.
"Ahh..."
He wipes his mouth and shivers just a little as the stuff warms his body just a tad. A grim smile comes over his face as he begins to break down. Tears begin forming in his eyes and he has to hold onto the sink with both hands to prevent his knees from buckling. The overwhelming emotions are surging through his body, a mixture of happiness and grief.
"A year ago I was a disgrace. A year ago I failed everyone. Now I'm given a chance so soon, a chance to be the one thing I wanted to be in the beginning. A chance to be a technical wrestler."
Of course, to any who know their nCw history, that never happened. Instead of being taken to the National Championship, he was given the darkest path imaginable for a former white-collar worker. He was taken to the realm of Xtreme, and faced Homeless Harold, the living Boogeyman, to win the now-defunct Xtreme Championship. He faced Sexy Jason, Joe Everyman, Mark Evil, Dirty Deal and so many others in Xtreme matches as champion and after. He never truly wanted that, he always wanted to be like the "tax man", IRS. He wished to be better than what he was, and now was his chance.
"This isn't right, putting so much pressure on me. I'm not ready."
As he wipes the tears from his eyes, we fade to the next day, in the gym. Bates is once again only in a pair of swim trunk-like gym shorts. He's doing exercises with Jump Rope to improve his dexterity and work on his cardio.
"I must be ready. I must be fit. I must be the best I can be."
He drops the rope and falls to the ground into the ground position of a push-up and begins to do one after another after another. The gym is as nondescript as the ones he's been in over the last three weeks. He's not one for flash or flair, preferring something more akin to the one he used to have at his home, with his wife, and his children. But last year, he had left that all behind in the divorce. Now the weight room is in his apartment in San Francisco, an hour from his family and former obligations. After finishing fifty, he stands up and moves to a steel chair he has seated near what appears to be an under-used boxing/wrestling ring.
He pulls out a bottle of water and begins to drink vigorously, the water seeping out the corners of his mouth and down his chin, a small reflective stream as it forms to the slightly-untoned contours to his body. He puts the bottle down and stares blankly into the ground before him, his eyes beginning to fill with tears, realizing, yet again, the pressure and the things he's left behind.
"When they caught up to me...I was back in my old job at some bull**** no-name firm making half what I used to a year. I had a cheap apartment and plenty of leftover cash to buy booze, food, and even save for retirement. It was a soulless job, but it was a lot cushier than coming back here. Why did I come back?"
His dedication to getting back into shape, his dedication to the ring, now that there is no real distractions of a family at home, is only a sign of the reason he came back. He wanted to pick up where he left off, to pick himself up from the major failure he had, to come back from it and realize that one mistake from his past, years from now, will not taint his name as much as he initially believed.
"Everyone is tired of me reminding them of my one major failure, fine. How about I tell them about a different failure. The failure to achieve the dreams I had when I first came to this place. I used to want to be a technical master, I still am seen as one of the best. I wanted to work my way to the top in a different way than I did. I wanted to be pure, to be wholesome, but in the end I was dragged down into the abyss of weapons and violence by a man I now consider my friend, Gib...formerly Homeless Harold. He took me to my limits and unleashed a monster within me. The monster used barbed wire, letter openers, thumb tacks, even a stapler. I was turned from a wrestling master into the ultimate example of what happens to a man pushed to his limits. I was paranoid, I was angry, I was violent, and I was a nasty wretched bastard. I took that to my tag title shots against Burning Angels, I took it all the way down my path until I was given the shot at Adam Knite, and tried so hard to beat him. I failed, and regressed into violence. None of you really understand that, except Joe Everyman."
Bates' eyes light up a little and a crooked smile crosses his face.
"So, Mr. Everyman, have you had any curtain jerks lately? How does it feel to be one of the men to have had one of the first World Title matches in nCw, only to become the joke you are now. No one really respects Joe Everyman, he's the whipping boy, despite being here every week, in just about every Pay Per View in some form, and having probably the most matches out of anyone here, including every World Champion. So, Joe, is this another shot at you getting your redemption? Is this a chance to try to show you aren't a choke artist when you are given the ball? Is it another shot at the gold, any gold, to keep yourself relevant? I know, you'll find some way to turn this around on me, a man coming back from a year of being gone, but what have YOU done lately? You've lost, as far as I can tell, a lot more than you've won. You have some sister who is also just as much a failure as you. So I'm just wondering, Joe, when are you going to stop trying and just reinvent yourself like Brad Kane does every couple minutes so you can finally get the drive to win the big one? Or is that just too much creativity for a man who is every man?"
Bates chuckles condescendingly at his own joke. He looks down at the floor, and the smile fades.
"In all seriousness, Joe, I was and am a fan of yours. I know you're good enough to win the World Title, and you should have by now. What I see in you, is a man who has a boat load of wasted potential. You try, and get discouraged, then fail. You are your own worst enemy, and when you see that, you'll understand."
Bates stands up, and stretches, looking around at all the grungy and rusted equipment he has been using since he woke up this morning.
"Joe, this is where you need to be, where I am. Somewhere dank to remind you what you've done, to remind you to be better. I only wish I could say the same thing about your nemesis, Nathan Webb."
He turns his body around and doesn't even face the camera. He is fiddling with his hair, and trying to change his appearance somehow. When he turns around, he looks like the evil twin of himself.
"So, Nate, have any imaginary friends lately? I haven't really seen much of you, all I know is that you and Everyman have been going back and forth with weapons, and you don't really like them. You remind me of a younger me, well...if I had schizophrenia and an imaginary companion that brought me breakfast. By the way, how DO you like your eggs? Me, I prefer mine over easy, sunny side up. Kinda like how it would be if it were just you and me in that ring, instead of all four of us. It'd be over easy, and your solar plexus would be facing the sky. I really don't have much else to say to you, so till then, go talk to your imaginary friend and cry about how I was so mean to you. Freak."
He steps into the ring, looking around the dingy and dark gym. There are sweat stains on the floor from the spots he's been training over the last week, and he knows he needs to go to a new one later this week, one in London. He only wishes he can find a similar venue to release his anger. Inside the ring he can imagine Reborn, the rebirth of his career. He can see the crowds, and though they are not cheering for him, he feels the adrenaline begin to rush. Kristoff Liam Bates, former Xtreme Champion, imagines himself a month from now, as Honor Champion. He comes out of his fantasy to the dark reality, and the smile that was on his face fades.
"Bob Pooler, my comrade for the last two weeks, how is it that we can become so cohesive only to be split apart by a chance at something we both want. You want to prove you are something in this place, a new federation without the ghosts of your past at your back. A new place to prove dominance and superiority. You are just trying to get your name out, and now they give you the big chance, unfortunately you are with an equally-matched competitor. Well, that's what I'd say now, but if you had asked me two weeks ago before we fought together, I'd have seriously underestimated you. You aren't the green-gilled freshman I thought you were, I've seen you work. You're skilled, competent and a mirror of myself. We both seek, like the other two, to make our names here. However both have "fresh starts" of it, compared to Schizo boy and his whipping dog, Everyman. So will we be cohesive again and destroy the other two to focus on the REAL competitors for this Honor Championship, or will we take out frustrations on each other just to try and get a leg up on the other guys? I guess we'll have to wait to find out, but just let it be known. Spike Kane isn't half the man he claims to be, I'd know. I've seen him just like Mr. Everyman has. And if my mind hasn't been bashed in by all the chair shots I used to take, I do recall I have a victory over him. So just be warned, I'm the best in this match, and if you try to stand in the way of my destiny...I'll make you..."
He takes a look around the empty room, before taking a deep breath.
"SHUT UP!"
Her gorgous death-bed! Her rich pyre
Burnt up with aromatic fire!
Her urn, sight high from spoiler men!
Her birthplace when self-born again!