Rizz, wake up...we’re almost there.
I open my eyes...forgetting that I was on an airplane, getting drugged up wasn’t my idea...it was Mia’s, but hey...what the hell? I look outside my window and see, yet again, another huge difference from take off to landing on this sucker. The dull dim light of Pittsburgh replaced by the even duller, rainier, craptastic Philadelphia. Why did we even fly here? I mean, a damn mascot is about to drive on a motorcycle in three days from Philly back to Pittsburgh...in full fucking garb. It would have been a better, and much more cheaper idea, just to say “Fuck it, we’re driving.” Hell, if I am not mistaken...there was even a layover. A FUCKING LAYOVER!
I look at Bruce with disdain on my face. He knows exactly what I am talking about.
Dude, your car is in the shop and Mia won’t let you drive her car across the state...not to mention my car is probably strapped with explosives or with someone waiting in the backseat to just pop me off right behind the head. This was the cheapest flight out of Pittsburgh, man.
You couldn’t find a direct flight? I mean, we went to West Virginia for our connector. Doesn’t that tell you it’s a little fucked up?
It was, actually, the ONLY flight on the list going to Philly. What the hell was I supposed to do?
Get a taxi? Walk? Piggy back ride? Anything would have been cheaper than spending this long from getting from Pittsburgh to Philly. It’s a pain in the ass, man. Pain in the fucking ass.
Well, I think it’s fine.
Gah, I hate this town. I really do. I get up from my seat and grab the carry on that I took, which included a backpack filled with my gear and a laptop. I scrape my feet across the floor of the plane and see the cheery personality of the flight attendant, it kind of makes me want to punch her in the ovaries for some reason. We get through the terminal and get to the main area of the airport.
Hey man, I will be right back. I got to take a piss. Damn flight got the best of me.
You know, we would’ve made record time if I would have drove...just because I wouldn’t want you pissing in my damn car.
So, see? That was a plus, right?
Yeah, but it still would have been ten times cheaper than a fucking layover in West Virginia. Go take a piss, man. I’ll watch for the luggage.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages. These next few weeks are going to shock you, rock you, and damn near blow your fucking socks straight off of your bony ass ankles. These next few weeks are going to blow your mind. Two giants of the X-Treme division of the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. Two giants that know each other like a book, that had match after match after fucking match...will have, yet, two more matches...if not three. You are going to bear witness to two of the greatest superstars of the X-Treme Wrestling Federation that are still going today. You are only mere minutes away from having two of the greats, who are still wrestling, go toe to toe with each other. You are going to see two greats of this sport do what they do best: Put on one hell of a show for you guys.
However, Trent...last week, I did something to you...you probably didn’t know. No, I didn’t put a roofie in your drink. No, I didn’t set up a surprise birthday party. No, I didn’t even flush the toilet while you were taking a shower. Trent, I sat down with you for one reason and one reason only...that was to watch my awesome win against Michael Extremer, which got me a match with you. I made you watch that over...and over...and over again.
But Trent, you don’t know why I did that, did you? I did that because I knew, in the back of your mind, you were going to picture that move over...and over...and over again. Each time I showed that clip, you pictured yourself getting hit with the Rizzatude Adjustment. Each time he counted 1, 2, 3, you pictured yourself on that mat getting pinned. Each time you saw me hit that finisher, I saw you clinch that belt...tighter...and tighter...and tighter. How did I know? Your knuckles turned whiter...and whiter...and whiter.
What I did, Trent, was make you think. I made you think of all those times we were in that ring and the better man won. I made you think of all the matches that we had, and the outcome always being the same in each and every instance. I made you think about ME, Trent.
You see, every time I rewound that sucker, after we made that match, I notice your eyes flickering back and forth. Cringing every time that hand struck for the third time. I saw you, Trent, muttering the words “Kick out...Kick out...Kick out” thinking that if you said it a lot of times that it would make Extremer kick out and change the ruling.
Hell, I know the real reason why you are feeling this way about me fighting you and not wanting to drop my title shot after I battled my ass off to win it. You don’t think you can win, Trent. I don’t blame you, but don’t worry big guy...if it was anyone else...I got your back. But, alas, it is I who is challenging you...someone who has had success after success over the Butcher.
This week, won’t be any different old friend. This, to me, isn’t just for a title. I hope you understand that. I hope you understand that this match is for more than just a piece of gold strapped around my waist. This series is to prove to you, to Zero Conformity, to the wrestlers in the back, to the front office geeks who run this damn show that I am, without a shadow of a fucking doubt, someone that deserves to be in the ring with legends, such as yourself.
For the past few weeks, I’ve seen the card and read the background to that card and, wouldn’t you know it? Looking at my match with Michael Extremer, it was to put the winner “one step closer” to legendary status. Hell, I don’t think I can ever take a “close step” the way that people are talking about little ol’ me. But, alas, I have to prove myself, yet again, against another legend, yet again, and that legend, as much as I respect and honor all that you have done for the X-Treme Wrestling Federation, is you Trent and I am not going to pass up, yet, another damn opportunity to not prove myself worthy in being in the Hall of Legends with both of my brothers, Dynamic Dynamite and Trent Gein, both preside. I will see you in the ring, chief.
The baggage carousel has been moving for about five minutes now. I still haven’t seen our bags, yet. I look at Bruce, who is standing on the other end of the carousel checking to see if his bag, a bag that looks like half of the bags that are on the damn thing. I have a seat on the edge of the carousel...nothing looks like mine...nothing at all. Bruce does a fist pump, as he grabs his bag and begins to come towards me. Why did I bring him along with me? Bruce throws down his bag. Now, there is one bag left circling around the carousel...I get up and walk over to the baggage claim lady. Her stupid smile (or lack there of...as she begins picking at the glue holding her fake nails together) gets to me...a lot.
Uh, yeah...my bag hasn’t arrived yet...excuse me, miss? My bags haven’t arrived yet. Can you help?
Uh...well, you sure?
Yes, I am sure.
You pos-I’ive?
Pos-I’ive even a word? What the hell is wrong with this town?
Yes, I am posITive.
I am handed a packet with a clipboard and I begin filling it out, a couple minutes later I hand the lady the paper and she looks at me with a “What the hell you want me to do with this?” look.
What you want me to do wit dis?
DAMN I’m good.
Remember? My bags are missing.
You sure?
Yes...I am one hundred percent positive that I am sure. I would like to know what happened to my bags, please? I need them for this week. It’s really important.
I’m not even going to think of the look she just gave me. Let’s just say she called me white bread somewhere down the lines. The lady takes the piece of paper from the board and slaps it down on the copier. The sounds her acrylic nails hitting against the buttons are like her nails rubbing against a chalk board. The copier is done, I get the copy as she puts it into the pile of complaints that are as tall has her fake acrylics.
I bow my head and walk off with my carry on bags...then, all of a sudden, I hear a sound...a sound that I love to hear on days where my life is just sucking. I look over at a bar that’s located in the airport. The sea of orange, white, and black jerseys begin to walk away in disgust. My smile goes on for miles and miles as I begin to walk up to see what all the commotion was. The television was on seeing the Blackhawks celebrate. Makes me feel happy to see Philly choke under pressure like that. Then...I look down...I see the paper of my luggage being missing and it brings me back to reality.
Reality sucks.