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The Reunion
Ten years ago, I entered this industry a novice, arrogant and, at least in my thoughts, deserving. I entered this business with expectations, grand expectations; I entered with youthful charisma and childlike enthusiasm. I entered believing that I would make a difference, that I would be great, that I would be wrestling’s Savior, its second coming. I believed it with all my heart. What a difference Nine years makes. I remember looking down on the veterans that were standing where I am now. I remember laughing at them, ridiculing them because I was somehow “better” than they were. I remember condescending to them, mocking their collective lack of success and boasting of my own victories, no matter how insignificant. I was always better. Key word- was. I have one thing now; not youth, not enthusiasm, what I have is something far more valuable, far more precious. What I have cannot be repossessed from me as easily as a championship belt or as abruptly as fame. What I have now is perspective. What I have now is understanding. I see now what this business really is, what this business really does to a person. I now see the animal in the place of the golden idol I saw 10 years ago. I see now that the notion of sacrifice in this industry isn’t noble, it is necessary and it is painful and it is, more than anything else, unfulfilling. I see the ghosts of stars past, I see their children weep. And every time I close my eyes, I hear every scream I caused in that ring- in my ring. I see reality now, for the first time. I see it every time I look at the Barely Legal Championship… There was a brisk wind in the air on a sunny but chilly morning at the London airport. A charter plane was in the background, just coming to a halt. After a few moments, the door to the plane swung open, some of the crew stepped out, followed by myself. A skull cap covered my head and I was wearing a black leather jacket covering a white t-shirt. I also had ripped blue jeans on. I was carrying a large duffle bag that was slung over my shoulder, my Barely Legal Championship. The black shades I was wearing prevented the sun from blinding my eyes. I looked calm, cool, and collective. I started to walk towards the direction of the camera. I was returning to the England from HIW’s American Tour, and from No Exit. All in all, it was a very good show; accept for a few unexpected surprises. Not only was I obliterated by a pussy wearing a mask and humiliated in front of the entire audience in attendance, but even worse, I’m schedule in a Tag-Team match with my partner Travis Jefferies, in what some are calling a DOA reunion going against Stfye and Alves. But it’s all worth it, carrying this Barely Legal championship a belt I created. And quite frankly, that’s all that really matters to me. A white bandage covered my bruised skull. Rubbing my forehead, I approached the building, opened the door and disappeared. Inside, another camera caught a glimpse of me approaching a soda stand. I set my bag down on a stool next to me at the stand. I then sat down myself, sulking and letting out a big sigh of relief. Somberly looking into the camera, I began to speak. How fitting is it that at Vital Signs, Kat, will be given the opportunity for revenge, an opportunity to snack on whatever I have left in me. I’m exhausted, I’m pooped. I’m not sure if its jetlag, or the fact that I’m too old for this, and not in any way prepared for what lies ahead for me. Regardless of the situation, I’m still upset about what happened at No Exit. Who ever don that mask is a coward. He or she took advantage of a beaten man. For crying out loud, I was set on fire! I still have fresh burn tissuse! I walked out of a war, just to be shot down by some coward looking to be notice. Congratulations, you’ve five minutes of fame has expired This week I team up with Travis Jefferies to face Kathrine Stfye and Antonio Alves. I’ve grown to respect Travis for his battling spirit since my return to the fold. The kid has spunk and a ton of heart which is why I’m more than pleased that I’m tagging with him and not Alves. You see, I’m of the opinion that those two are quite closely matched, but, however, there’s a dogged resilience about Travis that Antiono Alves simply doesn’t possess. Travis is a guy with a good work rate and ability, let’s not forget the success we had waving the DOA flag I guess you’re expecting me to brag about taking your title last Sunday, Kat. I guess you thought that I’d be doing fucking cartwheels and covering myself in superlatives, but the truth is that I’m just happy that things are back to normal. There was no great victory last Sunday; it was to be expected. You came out with a career best performance to topple me the first time we met and, if truth be told, knew that you couldn’t repeat it at No Exit. There’s no shame in that, of course. Still, I don’t suppose you’ll be too disappointed... After all, you’ve made a career out of standing on the sidelines. So, let’s cut the foreplay. This tag match is just the warm up to the next time we go at it. You know it. I know it. Travis and Alves know it. My overbearing ego maintains that I should take this thing seriously and look to win, but I know that in the grand scheme of things it won’t matter a great deal. The only real thing I am concerned about in this one is staring across the ring at you and watching the fear manifest up inside of you because of the ass beating I handed you last time out. You’re never taking this belt away from me, Kat. You’re never pinning my shoulders to the mat for a three count. You’re never getting your hand raised in a match against yours truly. It just won’t happen. Bring your A game, Kat. You’re going to need it. As for me, I’m only bringing one thing... And that’s more of the fucking same. FIN |