Epica
Jan 15, 2012 11:12:13 GMT -5
Post by The Rogue on Jan 15, 2012 11:12:13 GMT -5
The pain I felt was intense. Feeling in a way that was reminiscent of how I had felt on a million occasions, and yet somehow it was worse. A whole lot worse. If I were to take the worst beating I’d ever had, focusing on key areas where I had suffered the most damage, and then put it under a microscope so you could really see each detail… Well that might get you to the point of how I feel. I won. Yes, that part I remember. The feeling of elation was enough to keep me going all night. Even after I was dragged to the bar by Tim, with Jessica there to show her support, I still felt on top of the world. Adrenaline rushed around my body, fusing with the alcohol to create an irresistibly immense pleasure. The night went on for hours, until the morning light was threatening to break across the sky before we got in and Jessica and I fell into bed. Nothing after that; I was in a deep sleep probably before my head touched the pillow. And when I woke up, sober and down to Earth again I knew that I was in pain. My shoulder and arm especially felt as if Scott had kept his word and half pulled it out of its socket. The ground was definitely solid and unforgiving as I fell back to normality. It took all of my reserved will just to get out of bed, throw on some shorts and trundle along to sit at the kitchen table. And yet, I couldn’t help but feel like it was worth it. I had won. Scott Reave, the most feared and intimidating man on the roster was defeated on the debut match of the rookie from London. Tim’s boy. That kid tagging along on his free ride. Perhaps they’ll tell me it was a one off. They’ll call it a fluke and tell me that old cliché that “every dog has its day.” At this point, I honestly didn’t care. I had done everything I had said I would do, and now I could revel in the moment and try to get back into peak condition in the week before I would have my second match. The first thing I needed to do was to ice my shoulder. So, grunting and swearing, I eventually managed to reach the freezer. When I pulled it open, I was in disbelief. The first draw was empty. The second draw empty. The third… frozen fish…
Mike: You have to be kidding me.
I didn’t know what else to do. From the other bedroom, where Tim slept, I heard loud snores. I guess he was making the most of our morning off. So, after a moments hesitation I did what I had to and iced my shoulder… With the fish. Trying to think of anything but my present condition and what would have been this evenings supper resting on my shoulder, I thought back to last night. In the heat of it all, something was eating at me. I had forgotten something, and I knew it was important. But what was it? Aside from the fact that I won, because that is something I would not forget, what else was there? Tim caused a distraction, much to my disdain but while we were drinking I confronted him about that. I reiterated the fact that dirty tactics were not how I intend to win anything. But he said something about being provoked and only doing it because Scott was pushing the rules so he has to give me an even playing field. I had watched the stream on my phone and from what I could tell he wasn’t lying. Scott said something to Timmy before Tim reacted. And Scott was really milking that five count when my foot was on the ropes. But I didn’t threat about it. Nothing Tim did won me the match. Scott got a taste of greatness that was enough to earn me my three seconds. What else…? Jess singing on the way home. That was a laugh. If only I could remember what it was that she was singing abo… Jack! The Jack Flener. The three time World Heavyweight Champion, Four time Tag Team Champion and 2010 Hall of Fame inductee. The newest edition of the Frontier roster and my next opponent. First Scott Reave and now Devin Copeland. I guess they gave me the first challenge on Tim’s merit and now they wanted to see if I could pull of my second big upset in a row. Well I knew there was one way to find out.
For the next ten minutes or so, I sat in silence, still holding the piece of fish against my arm as a makeshift icepack. Images were flashing through my mind, where I watched Flener’s past accomplishments. I at least had not had to do my homework on this guy. All three of his World Titles, I had watched on P.P.V because I had to see what the game was all about. Wrestling is about that prestigious title and its Champion. On three separate periods of my life, wrestling was about Devin Lee Copeland aka Jack Flener. But one thing I could not get my head around was the fact that he was here. The FGA was a new independent company full of up and coming stars, Indy lifers and the older guys in the twilight of their career. That’s what Indy companies are always about. Never have I seen someone the likes of Jack amongst that kind of fold. A 28 year old three time World Champion. As this question jumped around the inside of my brain, I begrudgingly stood up and wandered over to the kitchen work top to fix a pot of coffee. Pain shot through my shoulder like a bullet as I reached up for a clean coffee mug from the cupboard overhead. I shook it off as best I as I could. With it being in this much pain, there was no way I would be making it to the gym today. It took me more effort than I would have liked to finish making the coffee, so I took great comfort in taking my seat at the table with the freshly poured cup. No longer wanting to stomach the horrid smell of the slowly warming fish, I had tossed it down the waste disposal unit before I sat down. My hands nursed the handle as I contemplated taking a sip while it was still steaming hot. In one of the rooms behind me I heard a drawer close, and as I no longer heard any snoring I assumed that Tim had finally awoken. Moments later, he emerged into the room wearing nothing but a pair of old black shorts.
Mike: Morning, mate.
Tim failed to reply, but simply walked over to pour himself a cup of the coffee I had just prepared. He was never really any good in the mornings until he had his “wake up juice,” as he liked to call it. He took a seat opposite me, looking very disheveled. As he sapped at his mug, he eyed me up and down suspiciously.
Tim: How are you feeling, then?
Getting down to business as usual. This clearly wasn’t in regards to my emotional state after pulling off the upset in my debut match. This wasn’t a question as to how I felt about the fact that the former World Champion was my next opponent either. No. He wanted to know if my body would allow me a visit to the gym.
Mike: Agony. I can barely lift my arm, it hurts so much. He really knows how to hurt a guy.
Tim: Man up and firm it.
Mike: Firm it?
Tim: Yeah. Man up and firm it.
Mike: What’s that meant to mean exactly?
Tim: It means; be a man and keep doing what you are meant to do. Don’t whine like a little child and complain that your widdle finger hurts or something. Be a man. Man up and firm it.
Mike: That’s all very well but I really think I will have to give the gym a miss today. I don’t want to do any more damage ahead of my next match.
Tim: Mike.
Mike: Seriously, Tim. If I make one wrong movement today, I stand no hope in defeating Jack.
Tim: I’ll be the judge of that, kid. How long have I been in this business? A long time. A damn long time. Do you think I haven’t felt like that before? Do you really think after having a submission match with Plague, a falls count anywhere match with Duality, a barb wired iron man match with Casper Blud… Do you see what I am saying?
Mike: In all fairness, your left knee might argue the point for me.
Tim: What?
Mike: I mean no disrespect but…
Tim: Just for that snide comment, kid. You are going to the gym if I have to drag you there. We’re not in the playground. Conditioning is one of the most important things you have to work on. And this pain that you are feeling can be your weapon or your master. That part’s all up to you. If you let it beat you then every time you take a knock in the ring, you’ll be out quicker than the three seconds it’ll take to beat you. If, on the other hand, you man up and firm it, you’ll be able to live with unprecedented amounts of pain. You’ll cope with anything that they can throw at you. Mike, you will be nigh on undefeatable.
Mike: I do understand, really I do. But how will one day affect this?
Tim: Are you really going to fight me on this? You’re questioning my methods. What gives you the right…
Mike: Seriously? What gives me the right? I’m sure we went over THAT last night, didn’t we? Does that ring a bell? Remember what we agreed on before my match with Scott Reave? I said that I would win it my way, not yours. None of that “win at any cost” bullshit that you tried to feed me. I’m a clean guy. I win the right way and that’s all I wanted to do in my debut. I have what it takes to beat anyone and I would have showed that…
Tim: Oh, really? Scott was bending every rule to beat you and thanks to that he would have if I hadn’t have stepped in.
Mike: You can’t say that! I didn’t tap when he had the hold in on me before. What’s to say I wouldn’t have held up the next time he locked in a submission? Or the time after that? Or after that even? You have to give me more faith than that!
Tim: Faith aside. That idiot started it with me. He goaded me into it and sucker punched me. He deserved to be interrupted because he was doing things the way you don’t agree with. He was doing things my way. So he deserved to lose and between us we made that happen.
Mike: Alright. We’ll forget about Scott Reave. Next time, just leave it to me, alright?
Tim: If you go to the gym with me today, I’ll let you do things your way.
Mike: Alright.
Tim: You’ll come?
Mike: Yeah. I’ll just man up and firm it.
Tim: Ha ha. Good kid. You’ll be a champion yet.
Mike: Yeah. One day.
Tim: Can I just ask one question, though?
Mike: Yeah? What is it?
Tim: Why the hell do you stink of rotting fish?
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Tim had to sort something out before our trip to the gym, so I waited at the table with my third cup of coffee. I guess I was hoping a mixture of caffeine and sheer determination would be enough to get me through the session. Jessica seemed to have finally stirred, and her bedroom door opened to a yawn stifled by her hand. She slowly walked over to the table in her rose satin dressing gown. As she slumped down, I noticed her nose twinge.
Jess: Err, Mikey?
Mike: The fish?
Jess: Yeah…
Mike: Don’t ask. I was trying to hold off the shower until after the gym but I guess I could have two today.
Jess: Yeah, I think you need to.
Mike: Alright! Thanks!
Jess: Are, I love you really.
Mike: Yeah?
Jess: Of course I do.
Mike: Then kiss my shoulder!
I playfully grabbed her shoulder to the girlish screams and her feeble slaps. It made me laugh. The fact that my shoulder was still in agony, but I was able to ignore it made me feel all the better. Perhaps the gym wouldn’t be too bad. Man up and firm it. Tim did know what he was talking about after all.
Jess: So have you been on the companies web site yet?
Mike: No?
Jess: So you don’t know the news?
Mike: What? About fighting Jack Flener next week? I think that has been covered.
Jess: Not that news. Different news.
Mike: What is it?
Jess: Do you want to know?
Mike: Jess! Quit fooling! What is it?
Jess: How much do you want to know?
Mike: I can go look for myself, you know!
Jess: If you go have a shower, like right now, I will tell you.
Mike: Deal.
I stood up, ready to head to the bathroom, but she grabbed my hand, with a huge smile on her beautiful face.
Jess: You’re going to be featured on the 2012: A New Odyssey Pay Per View.
Mike: What?
Without realizing I had sat down.
Jess: You’re fighting Scott Reave in the preliminary match of the tournament.
Mike: I’m. Scott. Tournament… Huh?
Jess: You are in the running to be the first FGA Heavyweight Champion. The eight man tournament. You’ve already made an impression, Mikey. I’m proud of you.
Mike: I’m in the tournament? So I’m three matches away from being the first Champion? Wow…
Jess: Mike?
Mike: I just didn’t expect this to happen. Not now. Not after one match. I thought I would have to really earn my spot, you know? I thought it would take months of grueling to get that Title shot.
Jess: You will earn it. You have to win two matches in the same night to even be in the match. That is earning it.
Mike: Yeah, but I figured I would have to earn even that. I know it’s not because of me or my effort that I have that shot. It’s because of Tim.
Jess: At this stage it might be because of Tim but…
Mike: Gee, thanks. I feel so much better.
Jess: Just hear me out, Mikey. A New Odyssey isn’t for two more weeks. This week you are fighting another big name. The biggest match of your life. After beating Scott Reave in your debut, if you beat Jack… Hell, even if you give him a hell of a fight and just fall short, no one will be arguing about why you are in the tournament.
Mike: I can’t take that risk. I have to beat him. If I beat Jack, I’ll have the three time World Champion saying no one can argue with my place here. I may have ridden on Tim’s success to get here, but that was his choice and that was all he could do for me. From here, it’s all on me. I will prove to the world that I belong in this business. I will.
Jess: I believe in you, babe.
Mike: Thanks. I do too.
Jess: So one more thing.
Mike: What?
Jess: Go take a shower!
Mike: Ha. Yeah alright.
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Standing in front of the familiar FGA backdrop in Timmy Brown’s studio room is Michael Tomkins, wearing a pair of Levi jeans and a black tank top with the FGA logo printed in red on the front. In his right hand is a microphone. In the back ground a soft urban beat starts to play. As his musical cue hits, he begins to rap.
Mike: Now look who we have from Louisville, Kentucky.
The narcissistic dick who doesn’t give a fucky.
He’s finally making a comeback to our very own FGA
And the guy has laid a warning that he’s not just here to play.
Says he has his eyes set on the Frontier Wrestling Gold.
But I’ll say it for the record, that he’s just being bold.
For in his FGA debut, would you all believe?
He’s got the English rookie that just put down Scott Reave.
There is a slight break in verse, where Mike looks like he’s having fun. The mocking grin on his face suggests he is enjoying this game.
Mike: The “Epitome of Excellence” can put Frontier on the map.
But that may be as likely as me making another rap.
‘Cos while you’re posing for Maxim and on the front of Vogue.
The one thing your forgetting is that English kid, the Rogue.
You may have been World Champ, believe me I did see.
But Jack I should tell you, those three seconds belong to me.
And all though I respect you, I can’t say I like you much.
So come Wednesday we’ll see who lays the “Finishing Touch.”
And come the “End of Our Story,” it’s me who will stand tall.
Just you’ll be on the ground, there’s no “Downfall of us all.”
I promise you, I won’t get caught in your “Crossfire.”
I’ll send you back to Kentucky, back to teach your little choir.
Where here in the FGA, I’m bound to find my loot.
But before that happens, I’m sure we’ll have a hoot.
As on my way to greatness, while I’m on the route.
You’ll get a warm introduction to my left boot.
The beat stops and Michael Tomkins bursts out laughing. He throws the microphone to the side, and manages to pull himself together as his trademark cocky smile appears across his face.
Mike: Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m not much or a rap star. I can barely hold a beat so I’ll never sell any records. But don’t worry, I can live with that. I’m not a musician, you see. My life is headed down a different path full of wrestling rings and ass kicking’s. Some I’ll dish out and some I will receive, no doubt. Take last week, for example; I can not argue that in the end Scott Reave kicked my ass all over the ring. Through some dirty tactics of ignoring rope breaks and cheap shotting me, he was able to gain the upper hand. And I am suffering for it right now. I won’t lie. But as you would have seen, no matter what he threw at me he couldn’t keep me down. Every pin attempt resulted in my shoulder coming off of the ground. Every submission he put on me ended with me escaping. I took every single ounce of punishment and he still did not prevail. And why is that? Is it because I was the better wrestler on the night? Definitely not. Every time I managed to get any momentum going, he had some way of stopping me in my tracks. Clean or dirty; it didn’t seem to matter to him. And he had me on the ground, in the same submission hold that has claimed so many victims and made lesser men give up. But not me. Not Michael Tomkins. The Rogue affectively came out of nowhere, found his opening and poor Scott Reave tasted greatness. And what followed? One… Two… Three. What separated us in the end? My never say die attitude. My unequivocal and unequalled fortitude that makes me a hard guy to derail.
Michael’s expression changes for a second, growing slightly darker. His eyebrows drop causing a crease to form above his nose.
Mike: And now the question that everyone has been asking me. A dozen emails from fans. A few guys that followed us to the bar that night, wanting to party with the Frontier boys. I’m sure Scott Reave wants to ask it. You probably do too. “Would I have won if Tim hadn’t have stepped in?” Now what do you think? After everything Scott Reave had done, it might be fair to say no because without the breach in his concentration, where would my opening have been? Scott is merciless, there’s not question there. The week before I watched him refuse to release the hold after the match, furiously trying to break Blaine’s arm. He’s sadistic and relentless. However, if you think that would have stopped me, then a rude awakening awaits you.
The darkness disappears from his expression, being replaced by the confident cheeky smile.
Mike: So that’s your’s and everyone else’s question out of the way. Now time for mine. Tell me, please; why is a three time World Heavyweight Champion slumming it in a newly opened Indy fed with little following and hardly any reputation? It just doesn’t make sense to me. You’re 28 years old. I’m guessing you still have a lot of gas in your tank, seeing as my 43 year old mentor is in the best shape of his life. You have shown that you have what it takes to conquer the big leagues. Yet here you are. In Frontier. In the FGA. Now don’t, for a second, tell me that it is in your interest to put this company on the map. That’s not your style. I know you have only ever looked out for number. Don’t try to tell me anything different. You said your aim is to be crowned as the first ever FGA Heavyweight Champion too, which is understandable. It’s an impressive feat for most… But not really you. FGA might not ever be a big deal. So why would a three time World Champion care about something that some people might not ever recognize as being worth mentioning?
Michael reaches down into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a folded up sheet of paper. He unfolds it in front of us, and straightens it out before looking back at the camera.
Mike: Now this is interesting. I’ll forget your reasoning for being here for a second. We’ll put that to the side and concentrate on this seemingly inconsequential piece of paper. I have in front of me the provisional line up for the 2012: A New Odyssey Pay Per View at the end of the month. Now if everything is worked out the way it looks, then our match this week could very well be a preview of the main event match for the belt. Funny isn’t it. As it looks like your first victory will put you against the winner of Jay James and Preston Blake. And mine looks like I will face the winner of Chandler Scott and Jacques Mercier. Unless the semi final is drawn out separately after the first round match, I’d possibly put my stake on this actually being the final as well. For you see, if I do what I did last week and defeat Scott Reave, well then I don’t think I will find it too difficult to defeat either of those two. Again, I am not showing them any disrespect, but Scott Reave was the man before you and I came here. Jay James may be on a hot streak, this is true, but Scott Reave is something else entirely. And as for you, well who can argue against the concept of a three time World Champion reaching the finale of a tournament like this? Unless we’re all just buying in to the hype and the competition on the World Stage is not actually any different than it is here, with the exception of the pay checks and the Television coverage. That would be a huge disappointment. I guess we might get a taste of that this week. The hot rookie against the seasoned veteran. That was the real inspiration behind that tacky rap, by the way. I was thumbing through youtube, that’s a video sharing website on the internet in case you are too old to know, and came across a guy named nicepeter. He and a guy called Epiclloyd have a program called Epic Rap Battles of History, so I thought I would pay my tribute.
Michael pauses for a moment and caresses the logo on the front of his shirt, before turning around to look at the Frontier symbol on the backdrop behind him. He turns side on so that the camera can see his profile.
Mike: That symbol, for me is what it is all about. This company is the first to give me my shot here in the states, so I can show the world what I do. The days of tape traders is gone with the era of youtube and file sharing; so the little bit of exposure I get here can build my following if I so deserve it. And the other thing it can do is build this company. Already, we have had some great matches, created by our small but solid roster. So for the FGA, I owe it to do whatever I can to make sure anyone that are just here to consume the company from within is stopped in their tracks. Let’s get one thing straight; I don’t trust you. I don’t know why you are here and I do not trust it. Simple. So Wednesday, I will throw everything I have into that ring. And believe me when I say that I will have your number, Jack. I may respect you and I may know what a talent you are in that ring, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe that I can beat you. Given my day, I can and I will beat anyone. Mark my words. It takes three seconds to win a match, Dev, just three. And like I always say, those seconds belong to me.
The beat in the background starts up again, causing Mike to smile, holding back the laughter, as his cue comes in again.
Mike: Jack, you won’t beat me even if you pay off the ref.
I don’t believe in intimidation even if I face the “Black Death.”
So Jack, Devin or Lucas, it doesn’t matter who you are.
As your opponent on combat is the Raise-the-Bar-Superstar.
I have your “Remedy” right here when I strike out with “Epica.”
And you’ll know why I’m Rogue when I hit you with the “Defector.”
You’ll see you’re not the “Harbinger” as I make you look a mess.
When for once in your life you’ll get a “Taste of fucking Greatness.”
The beat ends, with Mike smiling widely and the scene slowly fades out. The FGA logo appears. And then nothing.
Mike: You have to be kidding me.
I didn’t know what else to do. From the other bedroom, where Tim slept, I heard loud snores. I guess he was making the most of our morning off. So, after a moments hesitation I did what I had to and iced my shoulder… With the fish. Trying to think of anything but my present condition and what would have been this evenings supper resting on my shoulder, I thought back to last night. In the heat of it all, something was eating at me. I had forgotten something, and I knew it was important. But what was it? Aside from the fact that I won, because that is something I would not forget, what else was there? Tim caused a distraction, much to my disdain but while we were drinking I confronted him about that. I reiterated the fact that dirty tactics were not how I intend to win anything. But he said something about being provoked and only doing it because Scott was pushing the rules so he has to give me an even playing field. I had watched the stream on my phone and from what I could tell he wasn’t lying. Scott said something to Timmy before Tim reacted. And Scott was really milking that five count when my foot was on the ropes. But I didn’t threat about it. Nothing Tim did won me the match. Scott got a taste of greatness that was enough to earn me my three seconds. What else…? Jess singing on the way home. That was a laugh. If only I could remember what it was that she was singing abo… Jack! The Jack Flener. The three time World Heavyweight Champion, Four time Tag Team Champion and 2010 Hall of Fame inductee. The newest edition of the Frontier roster and my next opponent. First Scott Reave and now Devin Copeland. I guess they gave me the first challenge on Tim’s merit and now they wanted to see if I could pull of my second big upset in a row. Well I knew there was one way to find out.
For the next ten minutes or so, I sat in silence, still holding the piece of fish against my arm as a makeshift icepack. Images were flashing through my mind, where I watched Flener’s past accomplishments. I at least had not had to do my homework on this guy. All three of his World Titles, I had watched on P.P.V because I had to see what the game was all about. Wrestling is about that prestigious title and its Champion. On three separate periods of my life, wrestling was about Devin Lee Copeland aka Jack Flener. But one thing I could not get my head around was the fact that he was here. The FGA was a new independent company full of up and coming stars, Indy lifers and the older guys in the twilight of their career. That’s what Indy companies are always about. Never have I seen someone the likes of Jack amongst that kind of fold. A 28 year old three time World Champion. As this question jumped around the inside of my brain, I begrudgingly stood up and wandered over to the kitchen work top to fix a pot of coffee. Pain shot through my shoulder like a bullet as I reached up for a clean coffee mug from the cupboard overhead. I shook it off as best I as I could. With it being in this much pain, there was no way I would be making it to the gym today. It took me more effort than I would have liked to finish making the coffee, so I took great comfort in taking my seat at the table with the freshly poured cup. No longer wanting to stomach the horrid smell of the slowly warming fish, I had tossed it down the waste disposal unit before I sat down. My hands nursed the handle as I contemplated taking a sip while it was still steaming hot. In one of the rooms behind me I heard a drawer close, and as I no longer heard any snoring I assumed that Tim had finally awoken. Moments later, he emerged into the room wearing nothing but a pair of old black shorts.
Mike: Morning, mate.
Tim failed to reply, but simply walked over to pour himself a cup of the coffee I had just prepared. He was never really any good in the mornings until he had his “wake up juice,” as he liked to call it. He took a seat opposite me, looking very disheveled. As he sapped at his mug, he eyed me up and down suspiciously.
Tim: How are you feeling, then?
Getting down to business as usual. This clearly wasn’t in regards to my emotional state after pulling off the upset in my debut match. This wasn’t a question as to how I felt about the fact that the former World Champion was my next opponent either. No. He wanted to know if my body would allow me a visit to the gym.
Mike: Agony. I can barely lift my arm, it hurts so much. He really knows how to hurt a guy.
Tim: Man up and firm it.
Mike: Firm it?
Tim: Yeah. Man up and firm it.
Mike: What’s that meant to mean exactly?
Tim: It means; be a man and keep doing what you are meant to do. Don’t whine like a little child and complain that your widdle finger hurts or something. Be a man. Man up and firm it.
Mike: That’s all very well but I really think I will have to give the gym a miss today. I don’t want to do any more damage ahead of my next match.
Tim: Mike.
Mike: Seriously, Tim. If I make one wrong movement today, I stand no hope in defeating Jack.
Tim: I’ll be the judge of that, kid. How long have I been in this business? A long time. A damn long time. Do you think I haven’t felt like that before? Do you really think after having a submission match with Plague, a falls count anywhere match with Duality, a barb wired iron man match with Casper Blud… Do you see what I am saying?
Mike: In all fairness, your left knee might argue the point for me.
Tim: What?
Mike: I mean no disrespect but…
Tim: Just for that snide comment, kid. You are going to the gym if I have to drag you there. We’re not in the playground. Conditioning is one of the most important things you have to work on. And this pain that you are feeling can be your weapon or your master. That part’s all up to you. If you let it beat you then every time you take a knock in the ring, you’ll be out quicker than the three seconds it’ll take to beat you. If, on the other hand, you man up and firm it, you’ll be able to live with unprecedented amounts of pain. You’ll cope with anything that they can throw at you. Mike, you will be nigh on undefeatable.
Mike: I do understand, really I do. But how will one day affect this?
Tim: Are you really going to fight me on this? You’re questioning my methods. What gives you the right…
Mike: Seriously? What gives me the right? I’m sure we went over THAT last night, didn’t we? Does that ring a bell? Remember what we agreed on before my match with Scott Reave? I said that I would win it my way, not yours. None of that “win at any cost” bullshit that you tried to feed me. I’m a clean guy. I win the right way and that’s all I wanted to do in my debut. I have what it takes to beat anyone and I would have showed that…
Tim: Oh, really? Scott was bending every rule to beat you and thanks to that he would have if I hadn’t have stepped in.
Mike: You can’t say that! I didn’t tap when he had the hold in on me before. What’s to say I wouldn’t have held up the next time he locked in a submission? Or the time after that? Or after that even? You have to give me more faith than that!
Tim: Faith aside. That idiot started it with me. He goaded me into it and sucker punched me. He deserved to be interrupted because he was doing things the way you don’t agree with. He was doing things my way. So he deserved to lose and between us we made that happen.
Mike: Alright. We’ll forget about Scott Reave. Next time, just leave it to me, alright?
Tim: If you go to the gym with me today, I’ll let you do things your way.
Mike: Alright.
Tim: You’ll come?
Mike: Yeah. I’ll just man up and firm it.
Tim: Ha ha. Good kid. You’ll be a champion yet.
Mike: Yeah. One day.
Tim: Can I just ask one question, though?
Mike: Yeah? What is it?
Tim: Why the hell do you stink of rotting fish?
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Tim had to sort something out before our trip to the gym, so I waited at the table with my third cup of coffee. I guess I was hoping a mixture of caffeine and sheer determination would be enough to get me through the session. Jessica seemed to have finally stirred, and her bedroom door opened to a yawn stifled by her hand. She slowly walked over to the table in her rose satin dressing gown. As she slumped down, I noticed her nose twinge.
Jess: Err, Mikey?
Mike: The fish?
Jess: Yeah…
Mike: Don’t ask. I was trying to hold off the shower until after the gym but I guess I could have two today.
Jess: Yeah, I think you need to.
Mike: Alright! Thanks!
Jess: Are, I love you really.
Mike: Yeah?
Jess: Of course I do.
Mike: Then kiss my shoulder!
I playfully grabbed her shoulder to the girlish screams and her feeble slaps. It made me laugh. The fact that my shoulder was still in agony, but I was able to ignore it made me feel all the better. Perhaps the gym wouldn’t be too bad. Man up and firm it. Tim did know what he was talking about after all.
Jess: So have you been on the companies web site yet?
Mike: No?
Jess: So you don’t know the news?
Mike: What? About fighting Jack Flener next week? I think that has been covered.
Jess: Not that news. Different news.
Mike: What is it?
Jess: Do you want to know?
Mike: Jess! Quit fooling! What is it?
Jess: How much do you want to know?
Mike: I can go look for myself, you know!
Jess: If you go have a shower, like right now, I will tell you.
Mike: Deal.
I stood up, ready to head to the bathroom, but she grabbed my hand, with a huge smile on her beautiful face.
Jess: You’re going to be featured on the 2012: A New Odyssey Pay Per View.
Mike: What?
Without realizing I had sat down.
Jess: You’re fighting Scott Reave in the preliminary match of the tournament.
Mike: I’m. Scott. Tournament… Huh?
Jess: You are in the running to be the first FGA Heavyweight Champion. The eight man tournament. You’ve already made an impression, Mikey. I’m proud of you.
Mike: I’m in the tournament? So I’m three matches away from being the first Champion? Wow…
Jess: Mike?
Mike: I just didn’t expect this to happen. Not now. Not after one match. I thought I would have to really earn my spot, you know? I thought it would take months of grueling to get that Title shot.
Jess: You will earn it. You have to win two matches in the same night to even be in the match. That is earning it.
Mike: Yeah, but I figured I would have to earn even that. I know it’s not because of me or my effort that I have that shot. It’s because of Tim.
Jess: At this stage it might be because of Tim but…
Mike: Gee, thanks. I feel so much better.
Jess: Just hear me out, Mikey. A New Odyssey isn’t for two more weeks. This week you are fighting another big name. The biggest match of your life. After beating Scott Reave in your debut, if you beat Jack… Hell, even if you give him a hell of a fight and just fall short, no one will be arguing about why you are in the tournament.
Mike: I can’t take that risk. I have to beat him. If I beat Jack, I’ll have the three time World Champion saying no one can argue with my place here. I may have ridden on Tim’s success to get here, but that was his choice and that was all he could do for me. From here, it’s all on me. I will prove to the world that I belong in this business. I will.
Jess: I believe in you, babe.
Mike: Thanks. I do too.
Jess: So one more thing.
Mike: What?
Jess: Go take a shower!
Mike: Ha. Yeah alright.
---------------------------------
Standing in front of the familiar FGA backdrop in Timmy Brown’s studio room is Michael Tomkins, wearing a pair of Levi jeans and a black tank top with the FGA logo printed in red on the front. In his right hand is a microphone. In the back ground a soft urban beat starts to play. As his musical cue hits, he begins to rap.
Mike: Now look who we have from Louisville, Kentucky.
The narcissistic dick who doesn’t give a fucky.
He’s finally making a comeback to our very own FGA
And the guy has laid a warning that he’s not just here to play.
Says he has his eyes set on the Frontier Wrestling Gold.
But I’ll say it for the record, that he’s just being bold.
For in his FGA debut, would you all believe?
He’s got the English rookie that just put down Scott Reave.
There is a slight break in verse, where Mike looks like he’s having fun. The mocking grin on his face suggests he is enjoying this game.
Mike: The “Epitome of Excellence” can put Frontier on the map.
But that may be as likely as me making another rap.
‘Cos while you’re posing for Maxim and on the front of Vogue.
The one thing your forgetting is that English kid, the Rogue.
You may have been World Champ, believe me I did see.
But Jack I should tell you, those three seconds belong to me.
And all though I respect you, I can’t say I like you much.
So come Wednesday we’ll see who lays the “Finishing Touch.”
And come the “End of Our Story,” it’s me who will stand tall.
Just you’ll be on the ground, there’s no “Downfall of us all.”
I promise you, I won’t get caught in your “Crossfire.”
I’ll send you back to Kentucky, back to teach your little choir.
Where here in the FGA, I’m bound to find my loot.
But before that happens, I’m sure we’ll have a hoot.
As on my way to greatness, while I’m on the route.
You’ll get a warm introduction to my left boot.
The beat stops and Michael Tomkins bursts out laughing. He throws the microphone to the side, and manages to pull himself together as his trademark cocky smile appears across his face.
Mike: Alright, I’ll admit it. I’m not much or a rap star. I can barely hold a beat so I’ll never sell any records. But don’t worry, I can live with that. I’m not a musician, you see. My life is headed down a different path full of wrestling rings and ass kicking’s. Some I’ll dish out and some I will receive, no doubt. Take last week, for example; I can not argue that in the end Scott Reave kicked my ass all over the ring. Through some dirty tactics of ignoring rope breaks and cheap shotting me, he was able to gain the upper hand. And I am suffering for it right now. I won’t lie. But as you would have seen, no matter what he threw at me he couldn’t keep me down. Every pin attempt resulted in my shoulder coming off of the ground. Every submission he put on me ended with me escaping. I took every single ounce of punishment and he still did not prevail. And why is that? Is it because I was the better wrestler on the night? Definitely not. Every time I managed to get any momentum going, he had some way of stopping me in my tracks. Clean or dirty; it didn’t seem to matter to him. And he had me on the ground, in the same submission hold that has claimed so many victims and made lesser men give up. But not me. Not Michael Tomkins. The Rogue affectively came out of nowhere, found his opening and poor Scott Reave tasted greatness. And what followed? One… Two… Three. What separated us in the end? My never say die attitude. My unequivocal and unequalled fortitude that makes me a hard guy to derail.
Michael’s expression changes for a second, growing slightly darker. His eyebrows drop causing a crease to form above his nose.
Mike: And now the question that everyone has been asking me. A dozen emails from fans. A few guys that followed us to the bar that night, wanting to party with the Frontier boys. I’m sure Scott Reave wants to ask it. You probably do too. “Would I have won if Tim hadn’t have stepped in?” Now what do you think? After everything Scott Reave had done, it might be fair to say no because without the breach in his concentration, where would my opening have been? Scott is merciless, there’s not question there. The week before I watched him refuse to release the hold after the match, furiously trying to break Blaine’s arm. He’s sadistic and relentless. However, if you think that would have stopped me, then a rude awakening awaits you.
The darkness disappears from his expression, being replaced by the confident cheeky smile.
Mike: So that’s your’s and everyone else’s question out of the way. Now time for mine. Tell me, please; why is a three time World Heavyweight Champion slumming it in a newly opened Indy fed with little following and hardly any reputation? It just doesn’t make sense to me. You’re 28 years old. I’m guessing you still have a lot of gas in your tank, seeing as my 43 year old mentor is in the best shape of his life. You have shown that you have what it takes to conquer the big leagues. Yet here you are. In Frontier. In the FGA. Now don’t, for a second, tell me that it is in your interest to put this company on the map. That’s not your style. I know you have only ever looked out for number. Don’t try to tell me anything different. You said your aim is to be crowned as the first ever FGA Heavyweight Champion too, which is understandable. It’s an impressive feat for most… But not really you. FGA might not ever be a big deal. So why would a three time World Champion care about something that some people might not ever recognize as being worth mentioning?
Michael reaches down into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a folded up sheet of paper. He unfolds it in front of us, and straightens it out before looking back at the camera.
Mike: Now this is interesting. I’ll forget your reasoning for being here for a second. We’ll put that to the side and concentrate on this seemingly inconsequential piece of paper. I have in front of me the provisional line up for the 2012: A New Odyssey Pay Per View at the end of the month. Now if everything is worked out the way it looks, then our match this week could very well be a preview of the main event match for the belt. Funny isn’t it. As it looks like your first victory will put you against the winner of Jay James and Preston Blake. And mine looks like I will face the winner of Chandler Scott and Jacques Mercier. Unless the semi final is drawn out separately after the first round match, I’d possibly put my stake on this actually being the final as well. For you see, if I do what I did last week and defeat Scott Reave, well then I don’t think I will find it too difficult to defeat either of those two. Again, I am not showing them any disrespect, but Scott Reave was the man before you and I came here. Jay James may be on a hot streak, this is true, but Scott Reave is something else entirely. And as for you, well who can argue against the concept of a three time World Champion reaching the finale of a tournament like this? Unless we’re all just buying in to the hype and the competition on the World Stage is not actually any different than it is here, with the exception of the pay checks and the Television coverage. That would be a huge disappointment. I guess we might get a taste of that this week. The hot rookie against the seasoned veteran. That was the real inspiration behind that tacky rap, by the way. I was thumbing through youtube, that’s a video sharing website on the internet in case you are too old to know, and came across a guy named nicepeter. He and a guy called Epiclloyd have a program called Epic Rap Battles of History, so I thought I would pay my tribute.
Michael pauses for a moment and caresses the logo on the front of his shirt, before turning around to look at the Frontier symbol on the backdrop behind him. He turns side on so that the camera can see his profile.
Mike: That symbol, for me is what it is all about. This company is the first to give me my shot here in the states, so I can show the world what I do. The days of tape traders is gone with the era of youtube and file sharing; so the little bit of exposure I get here can build my following if I so deserve it. And the other thing it can do is build this company. Already, we have had some great matches, created by our small but solid roster. So for the FGA, I owe it to do whatever I can to make sure anyone that are just here to consume the company from within is stopped in their tracks. Let’s get one thing straight; I don’t trust you. I don’t know why you are here and I do not trust it. Simple. So Wednesday, I will throw everything I have into that ring. And believe me when I say that I will have your number, Jack. I may respect you and I may know what a talent you are in that ring, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe that I can beat you. Given my day, I can and I will beat anyone. Mark my words. It takes three seconds to win a match, Dev, just three. And like I always say, those seconds belong to me.
The beat in the background starts up again, causing Mike to smile, holding back the laughter, as his cue comes in again.
Mike: Jack, you won’t beat me even if you pay off the ref.
I don’t believe in intimidation even if I face the “Black Death.”
So Jack, Devin or Lucas, it doesn’t matter who you are.
As your opponent on combat is the Raise-the-Bar-Superstar.
I have your “Remedy” right here when I strike out with “Epica.”
And you’ll know why I’m Rogue when I hit you with the “Defector.”
You’ll see you’re not the “Harbinger” as I make you look a mess.
When for once in your life you’ll get a “Taste of fucking Greatness.”
The beat ends, with Mike smiling widely and the scene slowly fades out. The FGA logo appears. And then nothing.