Post by doc on Jun 25, 2011 9:53:38 GMT -6
>> Ten//Twelve//Fourteen//Sixteen//Twenty//Twenty-Three//Twenty-Seven//Twenty-Eight
It was the last day of the Scottish school calendar, and as far as Glasgow's Corpus Christi was concerned, the work was already over. Kids could bring in bring their toys, board games or whatever else they could find to amuse themselves while their teacher tidied up the classroom for the summer. Meanwhile, the year sevens would have the chance to say goodbye to their old teachers, as they looked forward naively to the Vietnam they would be calling high school once their last holiday of innocence came to an end.
Doc wasn't thinking about any of that when his alarm woke him that morning. He still had another year until high school loomed, but as far as he was concerned, it was something to look forward to. At 'primary school', he was already standing out from his peers, both for the breadth of his knowledge, and even more so, his athletic ability, which brought a certain "cool factor" intelligence on its own could never bring.
As he opened his bedroom door, dressed in the grey trousers and red jumper his school had uniformed, his eyes met that of a dark-skinned, dark haired gentleman who turned his head in surprise, staring at the boy for a second before opening the front door and slamming it shut behind him. There was nothing new to see, just another man he didn't know leaving in the morning as he rose for school, another of his mother's 'one night boyfriends' who came and went, leaving behind only the feel of a hotel invading the home of her children.
He walked along the hall to the TV room, which also contained an open-plan kitchen on it's far side. His mother was in the kitchen, busy at the sink when Doc approached. He stood silently behind her, waiting for his breakfast. After a moment or so passing that you might have wondered whether his mother was even aware of his presence, she turned off the tap at the sink and turned to hand Doc his bowl of Weetabix and accompanying spoon.
"Go to your room and eat your breakfast."
"Why can't I-"
"I said go to your room and eat it!"
In the moment before he moved to return to his room, he examined the black eye last night's boyfriend had left behind. He knew she had cried from the mascara smudged around it, and he took the bowl and left her alone.
It made him feel upset to see his mum like that. Yet in a way, she felt like a shield, constantly harassed by these whiskey scented gentlemen while he played quietly in his room.
He knew he would never have a mother who rushed around after him, providing care and attention when he needed it most.
But he knew that when he shut his bedroom door, he was safe.
And that was more than some of his friends could hope for.
Ace'd, right?
Wow. How could I ever have guessed you were going to pull that card.
But let me clarify something for you Kyle, since you seem to have..
MISSED THE ENTIRE DAMN POINT
Doc promo one. I laid the facts bare.
Falcon promo one. You said that I had lied, followed by more lies and cover ups, followed by asking me to go and find you proof of what I'd said.
My preferred course of action? Take you to court and sue you for slander. Ruin your image so bad that nCw has to release you from contract, be awared your money in damages and live happily ever after in Barbados somewhere.
But? My nCw contract prevents me from suing a fellow worker over work-related issues.
My choice? Keep my mouth shut and allow you to paint me as the liar.
Not gonna happen.
Or.
Expose you in a promo instead.
Maybe if you want to set the agenda, you'd do well to promo first instead of jumping on whatever your opponent says every week.
And let me tell you something Kyle. If you want that to be the last time I Ace someone here in nCw, I suggest management fire Alex Jones pretty f*cking quickly. How this company allows someone who lies in every single promo to represent the place by holding one its the top belts is beyond me. Well, it would have been beyond me, if you hadn't already paved the way for him.
So I guess you have taught me something about nCw after all! Lying is absolutely fine, as long as you're "cooler than The Ace".
Right Kyle?
As for Steve Awesome, unhappy as sh*t, but possibly our next World Champion?
Give me that any day. 'Cause since you don't seem to pick up on the subtle hints I lace throughout my promos, sacrifice equals success. We all make our own choices Kyle. We all decide whether or not we want something more than the next man.
And when I lose a match, I'm not unhappy in my life because of my morals or my lifestyle. I'm unhappy because I'm a competitor. I don't care if we're wrestling at Madison Square Gardens or racing to see who can set the most knives and forks on the table in thirty seconds - I have to win. You weren't born like me Kyle, we aren't the same - either in terms of our physical stature or the chemical imbalance in our brains. But, if you actually knew about the "how and why of reality", you would see that we've all been wired up differently - not only from you, but from each other.
So you see Kyle, what makes us happy, depends on the individual.
And by default, since your message on what makes people happy is consistent across the board, you have to be wrong somewhere.
That simple enough for ya, or do you need Everyman'd next time as well?
See, the day my hunger for success allows me to be "happy" without being the best, it's not going to make the chocolates taste sweeter, the roses bloom quicker or whatever benefit you think avoiding those pitfalls is going to provide.
It'll be the day I leave nCw - without coming back.
And even after trying so hard to embarrass me in to not pointing out all of your lies, you decided to go right ahead and make more things up, didn't you Kyle?
Falcon says - Charlie brought in Jason Blair to replace Doc. This means Charlie thinks Doc sucks.
True story - Doc and Charlie chose Jason Blair to replace JFK. This means Doc was still in the group when the decision was taken to bring Jason in.
I thought I'd make that short and sweet, since you know, I'd hate to bore you like the Ace and all. But let me get this straight - you're not just the expert on success in nCw and happiness in life any more - you're a private detective spying on Young Gun meetings too? Damn Kyle, I knew you were talented, but where do you find the time to do all this stuff?
But I get the point. I was replaced. In a stable at war with the rest of the company. After I chose to leave. Oh dear. My feelings.. I- I-
Mock tears.
If that's the kind of thing that would make you unhappy Falcon, I think you have a few pitfalls of your own to look out for.
And on that note, haven't you been telling us all that you've been a little under the weather recently? Depressed, even? I wonder how someone who can't seem to find happiness in their own life can be considered enough of an expert in the field to tell everyone else what they should and shouldn't do.
By the way, the current Young Guns, not being as regarded as highly as the originals?
Thanks for that invaluable piece of information.
But I already covered it last week.
Pretty much the only thing you said of any importance came at the end, just like your first promo. And again, not important because you totally destroyed me with some ubber slick punch line, but because you keep on showing those little cracks in your image. You keep talking like I'm nothing, a nobody, like there's no chance in hell I could ever beat you.
People a hundred times my calibre have come for your career and failed?
Wow, a hundred times better than me?
That leads me to one of two conclusions Falcon.
Either you're stupid.
Or you don't know me.
But it's a pretty pointless subject to debate. It's something only the passing of time and the changing of the seasons can prove.
But you have to retire sometime Kyle, and I don't plan on leaving nCw until that day comes.
'Cause I will end your career. And when I do, I might just roll the clip of you saying I would never do it-
And Ace you.
One last time.
Wow. How could I ever have guessed you were going to pull that card.
But let me clarify something for you Kyle, since you seem to have..
MISSED THE ENTIRE DAMN POINT
Doc promo one. I laid the facts bare.
Falcon promo one. You said that I had lied, followed by more lies and cover ups, followed by asking me to go and find you proof of what I'd said.
My preferred course of action? Take you to court and sue you for slander. Ruin your image so bad that nCw has to release you from contract, be awared your money in damages and live happily ever after in Barbados somewhere.
But? My nCw contract prevents me from suing a fellow worker over work-related issues.
My choice? Keep my mouth shut and allow you to paint me as the liar.
Not gonna happen.
Or.
Expose you in a promo instead.
Maybe if you want to set the agenda, you'd do well to promo first instead of jumping on whatever your opponent says every week.
And let me tell you something Kyle. If you want that to be the last time I Ace someone here in nCw, I suggest management fire Alex Jones pretty f*cking quickly. How this company allows someone who lies in every single promo to represent the place by holding one its the top belts is beyond me. Well, it would have been beyond me, if you hadn't already paved the way for him.
So I guess you have taught me something about nCw after all! Lying is absolutely fine, as long as you're "cooler than The Ace".
Right Kyle?
As for Steve Awesome, unhappy as sh*t, but possibly our next World Champion?
Give me that any day. 'Cause since you don't seem to pick up on the subtle hints I lace throughout my promos, sacrifice equals success. We all make our own choices Kyle. We all decide whether or not we want something more than the next man.
And when I lose a match, I'm not unhappy in my life because of my morals or my lifestyle. I'm unhappy because I'm a competitor. I don't care if we're wrestling at Madison Square Gardens or racing to see who can set the most knives and forks on the table in thirty seconds - I have to win. You weren't born like me Kyle, we aren't the same - either in terms of our physical stature or the chemical imbalance in our brains. But, if you actually knew about the "how and why of reality", you would see that we've all been wired up differently - not only from you, but from each other.
So you see Kyle, what makes us happy, depends on the individual.
And by default, since your message on what makes people happy is consistent across the board, you have to be wrong somewhere.
That simple enough for ya, or do you need Everyman'd next time as well?
See, the day my hunger for success allows me to be "happy" without being the best, it's not going to make the chocolates taste sweeter, the roses bloom quicker or whatever benefit you think avoiding those pitfalls is going to provide.
It'll be the day I leave nCw - without coming back.
And even after trying so hard to embarrass me in to not pointing out all of your lies, you decided to go right ahead and make more things up, didn't you Kyle?
Falcon says - Charlie brought in Jason Blair to replace Doc. This means Charlie thinks Doc sucks.
True story - Doc and Charlie chose Jason Blair to replace JFK. This means Doc was still in the group when the decision was taken to bring Jason in.
I thought I'd make that short and sweet, since you know, I'd hate to bore you like the Ace and all. But let me get this straight - you're not just the expert on success in nCw and happiness in life any more - you're a private detective spying on Young Gun meetings too? Damn Kyle, I knew you were talented, but where do you find the time to do all this stuff?
But I get the point. I was replaced. In a stable at war with the rest of the company. After I chose to leave. Oh dear. My feelings.. I- I-
Mock tears.
If that's the kind of thing that would make you unhappy Falcon, I think you have a few pitfalls of your own to look out for.
And on that note, haven't you been telling us all that you've been a little under the weather recently? Depressed, even? I wonder how someone who can't seem to find happiness in their own life can be considered enough of an expert in the field to tell everyone else what they should and shouldn't do.
By the way, the current Young Guns, not being as regarded as highly as the originals?
Thanks for that invaluable piece of information.
But I already covered it last week.
Pretty much the only thing you said of any importance came at the end, just like your first promo. And again, not important because you totally destroyed me with some ubber slick punch line, but because you keep on showing those little cracks in your image. You keep talking like I'm nothing, a nobody, like there's no chance in hell I could ever beat you.
People a hundred times my calibre have come for your career and failed?
Wow, a hundred times better than me?
That leads me to one of two conclusions Falcon.
Either you're stupid.
Or you don't know me.
But it's a pretty pointless subject to debate. It's something only the passing of time and the changing of the seasons can prove.
But you have to retire sometime Kyle, and I don't plan on leaving nCw until that day comes.
'Cause I will end your career. And when I do, I might just roll the clip of you saying I would never do it-
And Ace you.
One last time.
"Good Afternoon."
"Good af-ter-noon mih-ster Trayyy-nor," came the rhymed off reply from several hundred young kids, snot-nosed and bleary-eyed, not yet demonized by adolescence. They sat cross-legged in disciplined rows, forming a perfect audience of keen listeners as their headmaster began his usual assembly speech. The Our Father came first, followed by a reminder to his pupils that this was a catholic primary school, and each of them were expected to uphold its values.
The children, products of hundreds of years of Irish emigration, nodded in agreement. Even the boys who had no intention of attending mass outside of school recognized that in the West of Scotland, their religion was a part of their identity.
It meant they represented one half of the great divide that had split Ireland in two with civil war.
"Now as we know, every year at the end of year assembly, we reward a pupil from the school who has done something extra special over the past twelve months." Even though Mr Traynor's tone carried an air of authority, he needn't have used it, as the children in front of him sat obediently. "In March of this year, one of our year six pupils represented the school in the Glasgow Youth Games, winning a silver medal for the 200 metre sprint. Where's Chris Docherty?"
A tall, wiry frame stood up to break the discipline of the rows and walked to the front to accept his award. The other kids clapped in unison as Doc, perhaps drunk on naivety, carried a rare confidence for someone of his age, swaggering slightly in his movement. He wore a mop of bleach blonde hair, which covered his ears and was longer than the crew-cuts sported by most of the boys in his class. This was clearly a kid still too young to prevent a forceful mother dictating his image. Mr Traynor shook Doc's his right hand while offering his left a laminated certificate and five pound book token. As they shook hands, Mr Traynor leaned in and whispered "stay behind for a moment please Chris. I'd like to have a word." Doc nodded, and waited silently as the crowd of obedient children dispersed in a frenzy, jubilant that their six weeks of freedom had arrived.
When the hall emptied, Mr Traynor, a grey-rimmed middle aged man, approached Doc and patted him on the shoulder, offering more congratulations for his efforts in the race.
"The reason I kept you behind Chris, is I was wondering if you had starting giving any though to your future?"
Doc shrugged, the 'not really' communicated only by his shoulders.
"I'm telling you this now Christopher, because you're smart enough to understand it. Over the years that I've been in charge of this school, I've seen pupils who were brilliantly smart, pupils who were athletically gifted, and sometimes Chris, we get pupils in your mould, who are equally recognized in the classroom and on the field. Once you reach the age of fourteen, fifteen - you're going to find yourself with a lot of options in life. Perhaps too many. It's important that you start planning for your career now, do you understand?"
Doc nodded. "Yes sir."
"What kind of job do you think would be most suited to someone like you?"
"I'm not sure sir. I might become a police man."
Mr Traynor smiled and patted Doc on the shoulder again, his lips expressing the initial happiness while the windows to his soul remained unconvinced. He hoped, but knew the answer would not be the same in a few years, once the young boy had begun to understand that authority and institution would be outlawed concepts in his environment.
"That would be a very, very good choice. Listen Chris, have you given any thought to high school as yet?"
"Not really sir. I still have another year. But I'm confident. I see it as another challenge."
"Is it true that you've begun attending an amateur boxing club?"
"Yes sir."
"Yes, good. Good. You see Chris-" This time he didn't pat his pupil, but rested his right hand on Doc's shoulder, letting the boy know that he was about to receive some important information. "Most of those talented pupils I mentioned.. they tend to fall by the wayside. Do you understand that phrase?"
"I think so sir. Does it mean that they don't achieve their potential?"
"That's exactly what it means. Unfortunately Chris, you're going to see that in some parts of this city, it isn't 'cool' to do well. There will be children sitting beside you in high school who are third, maybe even fourth generation unemployed, people to whom getting a job and being good at something is an unknown concept." He stared in to Doc's eyes. Mr Traynor knew the boy in front of him wasn't stupid, but didn't want to risk allowing this conversation go over his head. "Are you following me?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Now these kids, when they eventually see someone who is good at something, are going to single that person out as being 'different'. They're going to be jealous, and you have to understand, it's easier for these people to make you one of them, than it is for them to ever be like you, Chris. And they will try to drag you down, believe me."
He paused for a moment, before delivering a final sentence.
"You have to be careful, or you will become like one of them."
"I'm not bothered about them sir. I don't care what anyone else thinks."
He kept staring at Doc's eyes, trying to work out whether this polite young boy really had such unwavering determination, or whether he was simply too young to understand.
Mr Traynor removed his hand from Doc's shoulder, congratulated him a final time, and then allowed him to leave for the summer.
All of the teachers he had learned from noted something extra special about him. And as far as Mr Traynor was concerned, he had one more year to ensure the boy would achieve what they all knew he was capable of.
After that.. it would be out of his hands.