act seven: messiah complex

We'll get to the match in just a moment, kids... I've got a few things to go over first, though, a little history lesson, if you will. After-all, the lot of you apparently couldn't get enough of our little classroom session last time, right?

I mean, I couldn't get the image of the lot of you being so hungry for more out of my mind, so congratulations, folks! Class is now in session.

You see, in life-- just as art-- there are lines, shapes, and colors. There's a whole lot of other things too, but let's focus on those three: with them comes a myriad of images created both through the visual medium and the written word. There's the beauty of language taking a form of its own, and then there's the beauty of images created through work of hand. Note the common word there? Beauty.

See, we call these things works of art, and as such we honor them as works of art. Doesn't matter how they were made-- be it a digital program or a paintbrush to canvas, Microsoft Word or a pen to paper, or hell, why not, a combination of all of the above. The truth of it is, we respect them. We encourage them. When it comes to the arts, we need them to survive.

So let's be honest with ourselves here: art is just as important to our society as the air we breathe, the food we eat, and even the water we drink (as if you couldn't see that one coming next...). Art defines us as a race on this planet, it's in everything we do and it's everywhere we look in this world, from the archetecture of a building to the music in our headphones. The man in the retail outlet organizing shelves is nothing but an organizational artist, and the wrestler in the ring fighting in front of millions? Well... he's an artist in his own right, too, isn't he?

We as a society have learned to respect those around us that can excel in the arts, simply because we know that they're creating a myriad of worlds through the medium of the mind, the training of their skills, and the years spent honing those abilities learned. These men and women sustain their worlds with seemingly the greatest of ease, and those with true talent do it simply for the love of doing it.

The love of doing it. Not for the victory that comes with it, not for the glory they gain, not even in order to triumph over a longtime rival... they do it for love, and they respect those who do it for the same. They respect the characters other artists have crafted, they respect the person other artists become. In the end, they practice art because they feel a connection to it that is as real as the many connections they hold with any physical person in their life.

And yes, once again, this point applies to practically anything in our lives. Remember the man working the retail outlet, for example? The man spending his time organizing shelves simply because his superior gave him the option of organization or termination? In many ways, the man isn't doing it simply to save his job, he's doing it because there's a symmetry to the final outcome that, well... that simply looks better.

Visually, he's observing a pattern that is more appealing to his eye and, perhaps later, could be more appealing to the eyes of the customers he hopes to obtain. He organizes the shelves out of neccessity, of course, but the art that comes with his organization is an art that can't be denied. He's created something for the purpose of drawing others in. In that respect? He's an artist, and by the end of the day his efforts will have more than likely resulted in at least one more customer than had he done nothing at all.

When it comes to our sport-- to our business-- I am an artist. As an artist, I aim to appeal to my fans, and to the fans of my organization. Note that right away: I'm not here to appeal to the company, or my coworkers, or anyone else but the fans. I'm aiming to make them happy. Now, let's get something out of the way here: it's not because of some obsessive need to hear their cheers-- far from it, in fact-- that person within me died long ago. Furthermore? It's not because I want to be their hero-- again, far from it-- not only did that person die long ago, too, but the fans have made it clear that I'm going to be that for them anyway.

See, in the end... it's because I love these people. I love this business. Yes, I love the NLCW... I wouldn't have came back to a dying company and tried to take the reigns to save it were it not for the love I had for it. And while I realize I can get caught up in the work I do outside of the ring... while I realize I'm not always there for every weekly show like I, as a champion, should be... I still aim to be one of the most dedicated wrestlers in this place.

And I think I've managed to achieve that goal.

That's not meant to be taken as a bragging right, either. I'm not saying this in an effort to put down anyone around me, it's just... well, it's something I believe, honestly. It's something I try to be. As it stands, with the NLCW, I'm its champion because I'm consistantly trying to push this company forward and, as such, I've pushed myself a decent bit along the way with it.

I'm not here trying to end my story-- once again, the person seeking an end to his story died within me a long time ago, and in his place rose an epiphany that's helped redefine my purpose here in the NLCW. See, when it comes down to it, I've realized that, well... the greatest of all stories told?

They're the ones that leave their readers to imagine what happens to the hero long after the writer has finished his tale.

In the end, I didn't see the need to end my career just because I'm getting older. I don't have to die a ridiculous, implausible, far-fetched death any Martin Stu with a God Complex would be satisfied with in order to fulfill the legacy I'm hoping to leave behind, I... I just have to lead this federation forward to the best of my ability.

And, no offense to the rest of you, but I know I can do this shit ten times better than any of you could ever hope to.

I'm here to promote the competition that comes with the business, I'm not here to discredit the talent and the skills of those surrounding me. Let's face it, in the end, NLCW is filled with some of the most talented individuals on the face of this planet... you pit them against anyone else, and they're almost certainly going to come out on top in the end. Each and every member of our roster can do amazing, incredible things with their career...

... they just won't come close to touching all the shit I've done.

See, I can be as confident as I damn well please when it comes to my own abilities-- shit, I can be downright arrogant if I want. When it came to all the opponents I've faced recently, I've outright told them they didn't stand a prayer against me in the ring and, yes, I've even said that to the man I've always respected more than anyone, too.

I don't tell these people that they don't have a prayer because I look to shut them down entirely... as far as I'm concerned, they're still remarkably talented, it's just... they're not on my level. I can see where their paths are leading, and with some of them, I'll even admit to being frustrated by the fact that they're not following down the right path... but, then again, I had to learn to carve my own way over time, too.

I've seen slack in the legends of the past, and over-the-top bravado in the new blood of the industry. From a fallout of abilities that needed time to heal and grow to a limitless potential just waiting to be unlocked, every fighter left within the NLCW's walls had something to do with themselves for their future. For those I took on myself, I reached out to try and unlock their hidden potential, tried to draw out the fire within them to bring out their best.

In the end, when you make a person feel like they can't possibly take you down... when you corner them and breathe down their neck like the end is an inevitability? You make them find out just how hard they can fight just to try and survive, and over time, you turn it into second-nature for them. Funny thing is, it works every time-- from the roaring lion Carmine Vestieri's burning desire to be the greatest simply because of his shortcomings against me, to the Golden Boy Chris Champion himself shitting ten bricks over the fact that I simply shrugged off his challenge like he was old news.

Bravado works wonders, kids... it gets you pissing yourselves with excitement over the idea of kicking my ass, and it gives me a better fight to look forward to when the bell rings.

See, and the thing about bravado is... even if you don't necessarily agree with everything you say, there's enough venom packed in it to make others think you do, and it puts a desire in them to make you pay for that belief. With Champion, it brought about a desire to turn this Sunday into our final showdown, a means of ending the eternal struggle between he and I.

An end to this war of ours, Chris? Really? Are you fucking dense?

See, therein lies the difference between he and I... while Champion's busy running for cover regardless of how this Sunday's match ends, I'm really just looking for another great fight. What Champion doesn't realize is that even if he manages to kick my ass this Sunday, I've got a rematch clause and a trigger finger I'm just dying to use against him. He can talk 'til his face turns blue about finality and the importance of this Sunday, but... to me? It's just a clusterfuck waiting to bring the NLCW the ratings it needs to survive.

So even if I let the reigns slip from my grasp this Sunday, Champ?

You can bet your ass I'm ready to take them back if I have to.

Of course, in the honesty of it, I shouldn't worry so much about the possibility... it's not like it's going to happen, after-all. Times have changed, you know... and I've changed with them. I've learned things that Chris never had the opportunity to learn, and... well, really, I'm a better person than I used to be because of it.

What Chris never understood was that a loss is nothing more than a learning device, a means to improve and prepare for the next time around. It's something to grow from, not something to grow bitter from, and most certainly not something to make excuses over.

A loss-- like a victory-- is something to improve upon, not point fingers over. A king doesn't hold his throne because of how fucking pretty his kingdom was while he did it, he holds his throne because he stood his fucking ground against the advancing horde.

See, as much as the image of an ill-deserved victory may appeal to the one who came up on the short end of the stick? It... doesn't make it any better for them in the end, especially when the person they think they'll be able to shut down just keeps going back to the well time, and time, and time again, always ready for the next round.

Never relenting, never growing tired... never dying, as it were, or-- perhaps more appropriately-- never copping out.

Still, there's more people here to talk of than the ever-present former king looking to threaten the equally ever-present king and his kingdom in the stories he weaves. We've got a hell of a line-up of competitors to choose from as a potential victory in the war that's about to break out this Sunday, and one can only guess who will make it out with the belt this coming Sunday.

Oh, but trust me... in the end? It won't really be much of a surprise.

Class dismissed.

CONTINUE