[Session #9] The Dom Harter Game

[Jerry]

9

The Dom Harter Game: Failed Ambition?

Chris Tryon’s rule of thumb was this: find the biggest dog in the yard and rattle his chain. Never mind that Tryon virtually had no experience in the sport of Professional Wrestling. At the time it seemed like a sound plan to get himself noticed. He never anticipated that he’d feel the bite of dog so fast. A month long prodding of The Tenacious Little Bastard on Twitter resulted in Chris nearly having his skull caved in by an iPad. What’s worse, Dom Harter seemed offended enough by this brash rookie to make his presence felt during Tryon’s subsequent matches.

In the end, Chris Tryon’s actions may not have only cost The Usual Suspects the chance to become the first Mid-Atlantic Tag Team Champions but also the opportunity to ever wear gold at all. Following the events that unfolded in Richmond, Virginia, Chris began to doubt his plan and the company that seemingly ruined it by crowning the Murder as its tag team champions. It’s been a period of self-reflection for the arrogant young upstart. He’s asked himself if he crossed the line with FGA management. He felt punished for pushing the envelope too far every time he spoke up and defended Chandler Scott. He felt penalized for questioning their opened arms to outside talent for the Dynamic Duos tournament. Had he initiated his own downfall?

Then came the big event; the FGA vs. PW Frontier annual show.

Chris felt slighted again by FGA management for being omitted from the card. After all, he had offered the services of the Usual Suspects to fight under the FGA banner in order to show that his Frontier was supreme. Nevertheless he was happy to hear that the show would be held close enough to travel to. In the end, he felt somewhat happy that he had been overlooked. Being off not only kept him fresh for his upcoming match at Above and Beyond, but he’d also get a front row seat to watch Chandler Scott defeat Kevin Hardaway.

Unfortunately that plan had also been destroyed by none other than Dom Harter. Another Twitter squabble started by Tryon had angered Harter. Tryon had hit Harter where he felt he could actually hurt the Tenacious Little Bastard: Heather Halliwell. Not only did Tryon find himself the victim of yet another iPad headshot, but Harter took it up a level by physically assaulting Tiffany Lawrence Michaels. It’s one thing to embarrass a man twice with a tablet headshot, but physically assaulting his female companion had effectively emasculated Chris.

It didn’t matter that he’d previously felt little to no compassion for his red-headed cohort. Natural instinct dictated that a man should always protect his female companion. He had failed, just like he had failed to become one half of the inaugural FGA Mid-Atlantic Tag Team Champions. His world was unraveling before him.

- @#$@*$#@*#$*%@#$%^*@$#%^*@$#*%$@%#$%^@#$%^$@#%^$
- @#$@*$#@*#$*%@#$%^*@$#%^*@$#*%$@%#$%^@#$%^$@#%^$
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:The constant chirping of crickets echoed throughout the late summer night in New Jersey. Jason Marx had made the back deck of the second story apartment his sanctuary from his tag team partner. Not only had he found it an easy spot to clear his mind and unwind from the constant annoyance of Chris Tryon and Tiffany Lawrence Michaels, but it had also allowed him to partake in his dirty habit. The crafty ring veteran grabbed the black hard pack from the top of the deck’s wooden safety barrier with his right hand, and a silver Zippo lighter with his left.:

Flick…flick…flick…

:Marx ignited the Camel Crush cigarette in his mouth and initiated the first sweet inhale. He closed his eyes, savoring the pleasure as the smoke filled his lungs momentarily before exiting through his mouth and nostrils. His second story refuge overlooked a grass courtyard with two young Red Oak trees at each end surrounded by two identical three story complexes on each side and a third one across. The automatic night lights placed on each level of the adjacent complexes illuminated the courtyard before him. His moment of peace and tranquility immediately ended, indicated by a flashing scowl, as the door behind him opened and Chris Tryon walked out onto the deck.:

:An awkward moment of silence ensued between the two tag team partners. Marx had never exactly hidden his habit from the young rookie; instead he had prudently waited for late nights in order to avoid a lecture about how smoking affected his stamina. Tryon leaned forward against the safety barrier with his elbows and interlocked his fingers. Marx eyed the dried blood on the bandage that covered the wound from his latest encounter with Dom Harter. He noted that Tryon’s eyes looked glassed over, almost as if his mind was elsewhere.:

Marx: How’s she doing?

Tryon: Okay I guess. She’s sleeping.

Marx: Bruised?

Tryon: Yeah – a nasty one on her cheek. It’s starting to swell.

:Another moment of silence passed until Chris asked the unthinkable.:

Tryon: You got an extra one of those?

:Marx’s eyebrows questioningly raised.:

Marx: You sure?

Tryon: Yeah…

:Marx passed over the hard pack and his lighter. Chris grabbed them with his left hand but failed to continue the process of actually lighting one up. His eyes followed a moth darting in various directions as it rose from the deck below.:

Tryon: I’m going to get that son…of…a…bitch.

Marx: Really?

Tryon: It’s one thing for him to put his hands on me, another for him to hit me with an iPad, but Harter went too far tonight when he put his hands on her.

Marx: Hmmph…

:Tryon looked up and turned toward his partner, almost as if he were taken aback by the response.:

Tryon: You don’t think so?

:Marx took another drag off of the cigarette and slowly exhaled with his mouth closed leaving only his nostrils for the smoke’s escape.:

Marx: It’s all about perspective. You’ve goaded Harter ever since we stepped foot in FGA. He responds by smashing a tablet over your head. You respond by continuing the verbal jabbing. He responds by distracting you in our matches. You respond by bringing up something personal, something he obviously wanted to forget. The situation constantly escalated to the point where somebody was going to be cited as…collateral damage.

:Tryon lowered his head, began trembling, and bit his bottom lip in anger. Everything that Marx had just said may have been correct, but it just didn’t matter right now. The relationship between the two men had been shaky at best, especially with the constant arrogance the young rookie threw at his mentor. Tryon honestly felt betrayed by Marx’s logistical comments and his general lack of concern.:

Tryon: I just want to know one thing, Jason. When we enter that ring at Above and Beyond, are you with me? I intend on doing whatever it takes to win that match. I’ll run through a fucking brick wall if it meant taking those straps off of the Murder. I want to embarrass Harter where it counts, in that ring.

:Marx snuffed out his cigarette on the deck’s wall before dropping it in the empty plant pot he used for his discarded butts and turned toward his partner. A sudden wave of heat consumed his body, not from anger, but from the dryer vent blowing above him. The annoying neighbors upstairs; he hated them with a passion. His room was directly underneath the room of their children, the loud obnoxious kids who felt it was okay to stomp around at 1AM since it was summertime.:

Marx: I’m with you, but only if you want this win for the right reason. If you go in there the way you are now, like this…Harter’s already won. Mind games, Chris; he’s got you wrapped around his finger if you go in there full of piss and vinegar trying to avenge the honor of some woman.

:Marx momentarily paused and briefly scoffed before he continued.:

Marx: Women, they’re like poison; killing you with a slow silent death. They alter your desires and shatter your dreams. You have two paths in front of you, Chris. One leads to victory, the other leads to charged emotion and anger that will end up costing you this match – our shot to capture the tag team titles. I’m with you, but you have to ask yourself: are you with me, or are you with her?

:Marx slowly walked away from Tryon, leaving him to think about his words, and closed the door behind him.:

- @#$@*$#@*#$*%@#$%^*@$#%^*@$#*%$@%#$%^@#$%^$@#%^$
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- @#$@*$#@*#$*%@#$%^*@$#%^*@$#*%$@%#$%^@#$%^$@#%^$

I guess this is supposed to be where I admit that I was humbled at the hands of Michael Tomkins and Adam Stryker in Richmond.

Get bent, both of you.

I never said that you weren’t talented; I only stated that you just wouldn’t be good enough. I was proven right despite all of the sheep who decided to predict a victory for Bad Attitude. I took every ounce of punishment that you could both dish out, and my resiliency took over and I REFUSED to lose. Just when you thought it was about to be over without Jason Marx even entering the ring, the Suspects took over like we ALWAYS do. I counted no less than four times in a row where I almost had you pinned Tomkins. Obviously almost doesn’t count but everyone in that building could sense the frustration building up in you and Stryker, unable to put away this arrogant young rookie.

Maybe that should prove to both of you that no matter what you do, no matter how long I’m cut off from making a tag, you just won’t be able to put me away. Sometimes your best just isn’t good enough and you have to live with that. Me? I’m going into this match at Above and Beyond with all the confidence in the world because everybody knows that Bad Attitude’s time was numbered in Richmond. I saw the look in your eyes, Stryker; the fear. As glassed over as you were even you knew that once I leapt from that turnbuckle and snapped your neck with Mass Destruction – it was lights out. You can thank Dom Harter for saving your ass.

At the very least, this match at Above and Beyond should be a three way dance to determine the first ever Mid-Atlantic Tag Team Champions: Bad Attitude, The Usual Suspects, and The Murder. The fact that it’s considered the first defense of those belts by The Murder is an insult to integrity. The fact that Wayne Carruthers and Heather Halliwell have somehow weaseled their way into this match is an even bigger miscarriage of justice.

Weather, you already had your chance to achieve tag team greatness, and you failed. Carruthers, there’s a part of me that actually likes you. I’m not going to throw out pre-school insults about your weight like that idiot Johnny Karma; we see where that got him, right? Instead I’m actually going to do something that is a rarity for Chris Tryon. I’m going to compliment you. I’ve been a huge fan of yours on Twitter and an avid fan of the Wayne’s World show. I respect your in-ring abilities that should have carried you to a Pride Title victory, if it weren’t for that douche bag Tomkins sticking his nose in your business. With that said, you have no claim on this match at Above and Beyond. Despite a valiant effort, you and Halliwell were beaten by Bad Attitude when Tomkins pinned your shoulders to the mat.

That’s right, Wayne, you were pinned in the middle of the ring. As good as we all know you are the doubt that keeps you from achieving greatness is apparent to all of us. You wear it on your transparent face every single time you’re conducting Wayne’s World. Your forehead begins to sweat and that reservation laden voice of yours asks: “What do I have to do around here to move up in the rankings?” Instead of caring about what your fans think and why you’re not higher in the power rankings, perhaps you should DEMAND respect and DEMAND what’s rightfully yours. Another shot at the Pride title; NOT the Mid-Atlantic Tag Team titles. Those belts belong to me and Jason Marx.

Halliwell, you’re a great wrestler. Nobody doubts that in spite of what that simpleton Wade Nolan says on Twitter. We’ve all heard how you did the unthinkable and defeated a seemingly unstoppable world champion over in that other promotion. Congratulations, you earned it. However when you fell to the outside and landed like a brick on that concrete floor in Providence, you lost the right to be a part of this match at Above and Beyond. I don’t care if you were injured prior to that match. This is wrestling, not golf. You don’t get a mulligan.

It’s obvious that your placement in this match has everything to do with the soap opera story between you and Dom Harter; nothing more than a way for this pathetic company to cash in on ticket sales. Aside from that, you both had your chance and if you had an ounce of integrity you would bow out of this match and get in line for a later date. But we all know that’s not going to happen, why should it? Only morons would pass up a chance to win those beautiful gold belts, even if it’s not earned. So, I expect that I’ll see both of you walk down that aisle, slapping the filthy, bacteria ridden, hands of those moronic fans and give it your best shot.

Four teams – two belts on the line and there can only be one victor. Let there be no doubt that Chris Tryon is going to lay everything on the line during this match. There’s no room for throwing caution to the wind. I need this win to prove a point. I may be the young upstart rookie but I’m every bit as good as anybody on the FGA roster. That includes Malcolm Drake and Dom Harter – the “feared” members of The Murder. Harter, I’ll admit that you’ve gotten the better of me on two occasions now. Unfortunately for you, that means jack shit going into this match.

You’re a brawler while I’m an athlete, a pure wrestler through and through. Your environment is underhanded tactics and gang warfare, especially sneak attacks in the back. My environment is in that ring and that’s where I thrive. Everything that The Murder has accomplished in Frontier Grappling Arts has been through cheating and outnumbering your opponents, whether it’s your world title win against Q., or this illegitimate tag team title reign for you and Drake. The infamous tag line has been: “Don’t cross The Murder.” I have, repeatedly, and I’m still standing here to throw whatever I feel like in your face. You won’t find me tucking my tail and running like Pat Gordon, Jr. or Ryan Kidd.

I won’t succumb to the words of a false prophet, like Drake. I won’t fear a swarm of crows. I’ll be the one who clips your wings, ending your ascension. I’ll be the one who brings respectability to the budding tag team division in FGA by giving them champions they can be proud of, champions who aren’t interested in trying to reshape the company in their ridiculous image. Champions who only wish to represent this company as what matters to me most. Being a champion…period.

Drake…Harter, your reign is numbered. It’s just gotta be that way sometimes.