Garbageman
Feb 7, 2012 19:49:26 GMT -5
Post by The Rogue on Feb 7, 2012 19:49:26 GMT -5
I came to as the awful smell of garbage hit my nostrils. How long it had been there, I couldn’t say. I tried to lift my head off of the dank bin liner, but a burst of pain shot through my head. I felt around the pile with my right arm, trying to find a clue to how I got here. Nothing came to mind. The cold afternoon air crept down my half bare back. My shirt had been ripped. Next to me, a new smell reached me. Vomit. Possibly my own, I couldn’t tell. Think, Michael. What happened? Mustering up all my courage, I felt my hands push up off the garbage bags below me, and ignored the pain. My brain clouded and my head felt twice it’s usual size. I knew I had a concussion, but couldn’t quite figure out how or why. Slowly I tried opening my eyes, but the sunlight was far too bright for me. It occurred to me that I didn’t know how long I had even been out. On instinct, I dug my hand into the pocket of my trousers. No phone. Great! No keys either. Wallet, also missing. Now I had no idea where I was and had no way of figuring out how to get back.
Kid: Are you ok, Mister?
I paused. His voice sounded genuine. Concern. He couldn’t be any kind of threat to me. Not that I had anything to worry about. I was already battered to shit with all my personal effects missing. What could the kid do even if he was out to hurt me? Mug me? For what? Hurt me? Someone’s already gotten there first. I tried for a second time to open my eyes. The light was again blinding, but I withstood it and ignored the excess water building up in my eyes. As the blurred shadow became a silhouette and then a fully formed picture, I saw the camera phone stuck out in my face.
Mike: I have no idea. What’s with the video? Do I look funny to you?
Kid: You’re that Tomkins guy! You won that FGA tournament my dad took me to! Right?
Mike: Yeah, that sounds like me. Where am I?
Kid: Wow! You must have been wasted. Dad told me a lot of you guys like to drink beer and stuff after the shows. How many beers did you drink?
Mike: Kid, I have no idea where I am or how I got here…
Kid: That many, huh?
Mike: Just humor me for a second, alright?
Kid: Yeah?
Mike: Right, where am I?
Kid: You’re in America, hahaha!
Mike: That’s a start. Want to narrow it down to a state?
Kid: Sure… For a price.
Mike: You’re a good citizen. Really. I’m not going to pay you. Even if I still had my wallet, I wouldn’t pay you.
Kid: Fine. Fuck you then!
I watched the kid turn off his camera before turning on his heel and running off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t help but shout after him.
Mike: You have a dirty mouth for a nine year old!
Kid: Fuck you! I’m eleven!
Mike: You look nine!
I didn’t catch what he said, through the pounding in my head. I didn’t seem to be doing myself any favors. As I slowly managed to make it to my feet, I looked around the garbage to see if any of my belongings were in the pile. No luck. Whoever had done this to me had either robbed me or they had wanted to make things difficult. Perhaps both. Ah well. I had been in worse situations, I guess. My first thought when I saw my reflection in a shop window I walked past was that I didn’t look remotely like me. My previously white shirt was shredded and stained with patches of blood. From the look of my right eyebrow and my nose, I could easily assume that it was my own. Hopefully that will all heal before my fight next week. The first stranger that I came across that would bother to talk to me in this state must have been the twentieth person I encountered. From this I had already guessed I was in New York. What had surprised me was that it was Sunday. Somehow I had missed a day. Was I awake at all through any of it? Or was I taken straight from the ring on Friday and dumped here of all places? It was a mystery that I wouldn’t be able to piece together until I spoke to Jess. Unfortunately with no phone and no money, I had no idea of how to travel back to New Jersey. I spent a good two hours sitting in a doorway, trying to have a brain wave through all the pain and confusion. It wasn’t until someone dropped a twenty dollar bill in my lap that I guessed other people thought my situation was as bad as I did. It took me another fifteen minutes to realize I could use this money to try and call Jessica. The only problem was I couldn’t remember her number. I tried to argue my case with a few taxi drivers, saying I will pay them the rest when I get there. Eventually, I figured I would just ring my father, back in London. Ignoring the time difference, I left him a message to get me a rent-a-car from JFK under my name, letting him know I would pay him back. Also to pay enough over so they gave the ticket to the first person claiming to be Michael Tomkins. It took a further three hours before I was back at the hotel. Jess wasn’t there when I got in, so this was all still a mystery to me.
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When Jess walked through the door, I stood up to meet her. This was a mistake. My head clouded up once again and I fell back into my chair, feeling queasy. She had a look of relief mixed with concern as she rushed forward to tend to me. I couldn’t vocalize a welcome for her. With the state I was in, it was a miracle I had even gotten back here in one piece. I surely was at least uninsurable in this condition. Jessica’s voice sounded distant as my brain wandered in and out of general awareness.
Jess: Mikey, babe. What happened to you? You’ve been gone nearly two days, without a trace.
I felt her hand stroke across my almost numb face. It was one of the most strange sensations I had ever felt.
Jess: We’ve got to get you to the hospital.
I heard that. I couldn’t go. What would they think? I couldn’t explain what happened to me. I had no memory of anything after my match at the Supershow, where I had won my first real Championship of my career. You’d think I would remember the aftermath of that. They would take one look at me, ask me questions I couldn’t answer and then assume I was using. I’d probably get thrown into a holding cell until bail was posted and given a court date where I would face fines or community service. No way could I face…
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My hands felt that cold gold and leather strap and I knew I was right there. I was where I had to be. The world span around me. Head spinning, lost in the moment. I heard them chanting. Tomkins. Me. My name. Champion of the Heavyweights. The incarnation of what a wrestler should be. Jessica’s face swam past my eyes. Was she there? No. That wasn’t right. This was not how it happened. Jessica what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here. You could be hurt. Wait. Hurt? Why hurt? This is a celebration. I have won. Why would you get hurt. Micky O’Reilly’s face came into view. I’m as confused as he is. The smell of whiskey fills the air around me. Around my shapeless nostrils. Nonsense. This is a dream. But I was awake. I didn’t go to sleep. Sirens now. Police? No. Ambulance I think. Perhaps I have gone mad for some reason. But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? I think I hear her calling out to me. But no, my arms pull back behind my head and I feel the agony of the Celtic Knot. Get off of me! You’re ruining it! Mikey?! What? Jess, get out of here! He’ll come for you too! Mikey?! Leave! He’s coming to??? What? Now I am…
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Jess: Mikey?
My eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times in reaction to the light in the room. I felt warm. My body was numb to me. Not fully; just a feeling of vagueness about me. When my eyes caught glimpse of my beautiful girlfriend, I slowly sat up. It took a few moments for me to take in anything that wasn’t her. Then the smell of overly used cleaning products met my nose causing me to not need a second guess as to where I was. Hospital. Great. I guess I must have zoned out on her when she came in and she naturally panicked. I couldn’t blame her for that. As the images of my dream flashed through my eyes, I tried to pick up the pieces of my fragmented memory. But still I couldn’t deduce how I came to be there, in a pile of trash, in New York City. They were sure to think I was either using or crazy. And with the remnants of that strange hazy dream still hanging on in my head, I wouldn’t blame them. If I were to mention any of that they might jump to assumptions. I looked back at Jess, who looked worried. Losing myself in thought as soon as I had woken up must have exacerbated that for her. I fought hard in myself to flash her a very halfhearted smile.
She didn’t seem to buy it.
Mike: I’m fine, love.
She didn’t seem satisfied. Did I really look that bad to her? Again, it took a few seconds for it to dawn on me that she might now know something that I don’t. But I found it hard to press her. Small steps, Mike. Start with something easy.
Mike: So how long was I out?
Jess: Only about an hour. It didn’t take them long to come. You’ve only just gotten here, really.
Mike: That’s not too bad I suppose. Is it concussion then?
Jess: Among other things.
Mike: I see.
There was an awkward silence. She was obviously worried to tell me straight up and I guess I was paranoid as to what had made me lose nearly two days of my life.
Mike: Jess, in case it’s what I assume, I just want you to know that I haven’t…
But she cut me off. I guess she was expecting this out of me.
Jess: I know. You don’t have to explain.
Mike: So, I guess I must have gone out after the Supershow and someone has slipped something into…
Once again, she was there before me.
Jess: That’s not what happened either. You never made it out of the building.
Mike: I guess that explains why I don’t remember anything after my match.
Jess: Yes. I think when the EMTs helped you backstage you were not entirely with it. A few of them had been knocked out and you were missing. I was worried sick, Mikey. Really worried. It wasn’t until your dad rang me that I managed to calm down. After everything that has happened recently it could have been anyone.
Mike: I don’t think Tim is in on this, if that’s what you are suggesting?
Jess: You can’t be sure, after you kicked him in the face!
Mike: Hang on, you sound as if I have done something wrong here?
Jess: I’m not saying that. I understand what happened. I get that your emotions were high and he did go out of his way to cause you trouble, I guess. He was only trying to help you though.
Mike: The guy is clearly high at the moment. His idea of helping has mixed with the delusion that I can’t carry on without him. And any other piece of crap that your Aunt Grace has fed him.
Jess: Will you calm down? I just said I understand.
Mike: That’s not quite how it sounded.
Jess: Michael. Seriously. Let’s not get into anything here. If you don’t think it was Uncle Timmy, then fine. We’ll count him out, for now, at least. Grace is a suspect though. And that Irish guy.
Mike: O’Reilly.
Jess: That one.
Mike: That’s where my money is going. The guy seems to be so confused with all the whiskey inside of him that he has no clue which way is up and which way is down. After he assaulted me, straight after I defeated Jared James, it had to be him.
Jess: Let’s not count our chickens, Mikey. You defeated three guys in that tournament, a few of them with allies. They could have wanted to sabotage your career as Champion before it even started.
Mike: First of all, Jared James wouldn’t be capable of something like this. The guy is on the level. As for the Harvard Connection, I don’t think their brains actually expand this far. They are all talk and show. None of their empty threats hold any water. And although I didn’t exactly defeat Chandler Scott clean, I will make it up to him. As soon as the company lets me, I will defend my Title against him. So we’ll count them out. Scott Reave won’t have any reason to do this either. I ripped him apart in our opening match. Even if he had have beaten me, with the way he’s been fighting recently, he was no threat for this Title. So it has to be Grace or O’Reilly.
Jess: What about Jacques Mercier?
Mike: I didn’t fight him.
Jess: Yes, but you are competing against him on the next Combat Show.
Mike: Am I? I had no idea. Yeah well, Jacques, he’s an alright guy, right? The fans like him. He’s not much of a tosser.
Jess: But he will go to extreme lengths to win. If he’s fighting you, why not drug you and beat the hell out of you before the match? Gives him a big chance to end your streak.
Mike: I’ll write that off now. Jacques and I have a mutual respect. He’s a good guy. Trust me.
Jess: We can’t be too sure, after this, Mikey.
Mike: I’ll tell you what, give me a few hours. I’ll wait until they discharge me and I will send a message out to everyone to let them all know the champion is ready to fight.
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The scene opens to Mike Tomkins, in a pair of black shorts and a grey tee, staring aggressively at the camera.
Mike: If anyone has been on the internet over the past week they would have seen a clip of me uploaded by some kid, waking up in a pile of trash bags. No one read too much into this. I lost two days of my life through no fault of my own. I have a few ideas of who may have been the culprit, but we’ll find that out in due time. No, instead I’ll bypass my opponent for this Wednesday’s show and look at everyone else around me. First, Jared James seems to have the idea that I am anything less than a noble Champion. Jared, what happened to Mr Nice Guy, huh? Where did that guy go? Think back to the Supershow, my friend. Do you remember that night at all? You know, when I pinned you after nailing you with the “Finishing Touch”? Think. During our match, Jared, where was Tim? I didn’t see him. Oh, that’s right! He was out the back, getting seen to by EMTs after I knocked him out cold by introducing him to my left boot. So when you speak of my not deserving this Title, can I ask you? In all seriousness. Did I, or did I not, beat you clean? Not anyone else. YOU. Mr Nice Guy. Mr sore loser. The man who seems to think that he is better than everyone else because he had a streak of six matches without a loss which was ended by someone who has been in this business for five minutes next to his five years. And when I think back, you know, to before the Supershow, do you know what I remember? I remember the same Jared James saying I was talented yet green. Jared said he was going to exploit my weaknesses. He was going to expose my rookie mistakes and that I was going to be as good as gone when he faced me. He even counted me out, as though it would not be likely that I would be the one to meet him in the final. Yet here I stand, the FGA Heavyweight Champion.
And Micky O’Reilly I would much rather talk to you face to face than here. I do things man to man, I don’t sneak up behind them and catch them off guard when they are fatigued. This Wednesday I will address my fans and then I will invite you down to the ring to explain yourself properly.
And Jacques, I like you. I really do. I respect you too. You put up a great effort against Chandler Scott. I didn’t have many kind words to say about him before our match, but I will give him credit; the guy is good. So I must assume you are too and I will be diligent in the ring and make sure not to make any GREEN mistakes shine through. I will see you on Wednesday, mate. But don’t forget, it doesn’t matter how good you are. It takes just three seconds to win a match, just three, and the Champ has them written into his contract. Boom!
The scene fades to nothingness….
Kid: Are you ok, Mister?
I paused. His voice sounded genuine. Concern. He couldn’t be any kind of threat to me. Not that I had anything to worry about. I was already battered to shit with all my personal effects missing. What could the kid do even if he was out to hurt me? Mug me? For what? Hurt me? Someone’s already gotten there first. I tried for a second time to open my eyes. The light was again blinding, but I withstood it and ignored the excess water building up in my eyes. As the blurred shadow became a silhouette and then a fully formed picture, I saw the camera phone stuck out in my face.
Mike: I have no idea. What’s with the video? Do I look funny to you?
Kid: You’re that Tomkins guy! You won that FGA tournament my dad took me to! Right?
Mike: Yeah, that sounds like me. Where am I?
Kid: Wow! You must have been wasted. Dad told me a lot of you guys like to drink beer and stuff after the shows. How many beers did you drink?
Mike: Kid, I have no idea where I am or how I got here…
Kid: That many, huh?
Mike: Just humor me for a second, alright?
Kid: Yeah?
Mike: Right, where am I?
Kid: You’re in America, hahaha!
Mike: That’s a start. Want to narrow it down to a state?
Kid: Sure… For a price.
Mike: You’re a good citizen. Really. I’m not going to pay you. Even if I still had my wallet, I wouldn’t pay you.
Kid: Fine. Fuck you then!
I watched the kid turn off his camera before turning on his heel and running off in the opposite direction. I couldn’t help but shout after him.
Mike: You have a dirty mouth for a nine year old!
Kid: Fuck you! I’m eleven!
Mike: You look nine!
I didn’t catch what he said, through the pounding in my head. I didn’t seem to be doing myself any favors. As I slowly managed to make it to my feet, I looked around the garbage to see if any of my belongings were in the pile. No luck. Whoever had done this to me had either robbed me or they had wanted to make things difficult. Perhaps both. Ah well. I had been in worse situations, I guess. My first thought when I saw my reflection in a shop window I walked past was that I didn’t look remotely like me. My previously white shirt was shredded and stained with patches of blood. From the look of my right eyebrow and my nose, I could easily assume that it was my own. Hopefully that will all heal before my fight next week. The first stranger that I came across that would bother to talk to me in this state must have been the twentieth person I encountered. From this I had already guessed I was in New York. What had surprised me was that it was Sunday. Somehow I had missed a day. Was I awake at all through any of it? Or was I taken straight from the ring on Friday and dumped here of all places? It was a mystery that I wouldn’t be able to piece together until I spoke to Jess. Unfortunately with no phone and no money, I had no idea of how to travel back to New Jersey. I spent a good two hours sitting in a doorway, trying to have a brain wave through all the pain and confusion. It wasn’t until someone dropped a twenty dollar bill in my lap that I guessed other people thought my situation was as bad as I did. It took me another fifteen minutes to realize I could use this money to try and call Jessica. The only problem was I couldn’t remember her number. I tried to argue my case with a few taxi drivers, saying I will pay them the rest when I get there. Eventually, I figured I would just ring my father, back in London. Ignoring the time difference, I left him a message to get me a rent-a-car from JFK under my name, letting him know I would pay him back. Also to pay enough over so they gave the ticket to the first person claiming to be Michael Tomkins. It took a further three hours before I was back at the hotel. Jess wasn’t there when I got in, so this was all still a mystery to me.
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When Jess walked through the door, I stood up to meet her. This was a mistake. My head clouded up once again and I fell back into my chair, feeling queasy. She had a look of relief mixed with concern as she rushed forward to tend to me. I couldn’t vocalize a welcome for her. With the state I was in, it was a miracle I had even gotten back here in one piece. I surely was at least uninsurable in this condition. Jessica’s voice sounded distant as my brain wandered in and out of general awareness.
Jess: Mikey, babe. What happened to you? You’ve been gone nearly two days, without a trace.
I felt her hand stroke across my almost numb face. It was one of the most strange sensations I had ever felt.
Jess: We’ve got to get you to the hospital.
I heard that. I couldn’t go. What would they think? I couldn’t explain what happened to me. I had no memory of anything after my match at the Supershow, where I had won my first real Championship of my career. You’d think I would remember the aftermath of that. They would take one look at me, ask me questions I couldn’t answer and then assume I was using. I’d probably get thrown into a holding cell until bail was posted and given a court date where I would face fines or community service. No way could I face…
----------------------------------------
My hands felt that cold gold and leather strap and I knew I was right there. I was where I had to be. The world span around me. Head spinning, lost in the moment. I heard them chanting. Tomkins. Me. My name. Champion of the Heavyweights. The incarnation of what a wrestler should be. Jessica’s face swam past my eyes. Was she there? No. That wasn’t right. This was not how it happened. Jessica what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here. You could be hurt. Wait. Hurt? Why hurt? This is a celebration. I have won. Why would you get hurt. Micky O’Reilly’s face came into view. I’m as confused as he is. The smell of whiskey fills the air around me. Around my shapeless nostrils. Nonsense. This is a dream. But I was awake. I didn’t go to sleep. Sirens now. Police? No. Ambulance I think. Perhaps I have gone mad for some reason. But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? I think I hear her calling out to me. But no, my arms pull back behind my head and I feel the agony of the Celtic Knot. Get off of me! You’re ruining it! Mikey?! What? Jess, get out of here! He’ll come for you too! Mikey?! Leave! He’s coming to??? What? Now I am…
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Jess: Mikey?
My eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times in reaction to the light in the room. I felt warm. My body was numb to me. Not fully; just a feeling of vagueness about me. When my eyes caught glimpse of my beautiful girlfriend, I slowly sat up. It took a few moments for me to take in anything that wasn’t her. Then the smell of overly used cleaning products met my nose causing me to not need a second guess as to where I was. Hospital. Great. I guess I must have zoned out on her when she came in and she naturally panicked. I couldn’t blame her for that. As the images of my dream flashed through my eyes, I tried to pick up the pieces of my fragmented memory. But still I couldn’t deduce how I came to be there, in a pile of trash, in New York City. They were sure to think I was either using or crazy. And with the remnants of that strange hazy dream still hanging on in my head, I wouldn’t blame them. If I were to mention any of that they might jump to assumptions. I looked back at Jess, who looked worried. Losing myself in thought as soon as I had woken up must have exacerbated that for her. I fought hard in myself to flash her a very halfhearted smile.
She didn’t seem to buy it.
Mike: I’m fine, love.
She didn’t seem satisfied. Did I really look that bad to her? Again, it took a few seconds for it to dawn on me that she might now know something that I don’t. But I found it hard to press her. Small steps, Mike. Start with something easy.
Mike: So how long was I out?
Jess: Only about an hour. It didn’t take them long to come. You’ve only just gotten here, really.
Mike: That’s not too bad I suppose. Is it concussion then?
Jess: Among other things.
Mike: I see.
There was an awkward silence. She was obviously worried to tell me straight up and I guess I was paranoid as to what had made me lose nearly two days of my life.
Mike: Jess, in case it’s what I assume, I just want you to know that I haven’t…
But she cut me off. I guess she was expecting this out of me.
Jess: I know. You don’t have to explain.
Mike: So, I guess I must have gone out after the Supershow and someone has slipped something into…
Once again, she was there before me.
Jess: That’s not what happened either. You never made it out of the building.
Mike: I guess that explains why I don’t remember anything after my match.
Jess: Yes. I think when the EMTs helped you backstage you were not entirely with it. A few of them had been knocked out and you were missing. I was worried sick, Mikey. Really worried. It wasn’t until your dad rang me that I managed to calm down. After everything that has happened recently it could have been anyone.
Mike: I don’t think Tim is in on this, if that’s what you are suggesting?
Jess: You can’t be sure, after you kicked him in the face!
Mike: Hang on, you sound as if I have done something wrong here?
Jess: I’m not saying that. I understand what happened. I get that your emotions were high and he did go out of his way to cause you trouble, I guess. He was only trying to help you though.
Mike: The guy is clearly high at the moment. His idea of helping has mixed with the delusion that I can’t carry on without him. And any other piece of crap that your Aunt Grace has fed him.
Jess: Will you calm down? I just said I understand.
Mike: That’s not quite how it sounded.
Jess: Michael. Seriously. Let’s not get into anything here. If you don’t think it was Uncle Timmy, then fine. We’ll count him out, for now, at least. Grace is a suspect though. And that Irish guy.
Mike: O’Reilly.
Jess: That one.
Mike: That’s where my money is going. The guy seems to be so confused with all the whiskey inside of him that he has no clue which way is up and which way is down. After he assaulted me, straight after I defeated Jared James, it had to be him.
Jess: Let’s not count our chickens, Mikey. You defeated three guys in that tournament, a few of them with allies. They could have wanted to sabotage your career as Champion before it even started.
Mike: First of all, Jared James wouldn’t be capable of something like this. The guy is on the level. As for the Harvard Connection, I don’t think their brains actually expand this far. They are all talk and show. None of their empty threats hold any water. And although I didn’t exactly defeat Chandler Scott clean, I will make it up to him. As soon as the company lets me, I will defend my Title against him. So we’ll count them out. Scott Reave won’t have any reason to do this either. I ripped him apart in our opening match. Even if he had have beaten me, with the way he’s been fighting recently, he was no threat for this Title. So it has to be Grace or O’Reilly.
Jess: What about Jacques Mercier?
Mike: I didn’t fight him.
Jess: Yes, but you are competing against him on the next Combat Show.
Mike: Am I? I had no idea. Yeah well, Jacques, he’s an alright guy, right? The fans like him. He’s not much of a tosser.
Jess: But he will go to extreme lengths to win. If he’s fighting you, why not drug you and beat the hell out of you before the match? Gives him a big chance to end your streak.
Mike: I’ll write that off now. Jacques and I have a mutual respect. He’s a good guy. Trust me.
Jess: We can’t be too sure, after this, Mikey.
Mike: I’ll tell you what, give me a few hours. I’ll wait until they discharge me and I will send a message out to everyone to let them all know the champion is ready to fight.
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The scene opens to Mike Tomkins, in a pair of black shorts and a grey tee, staring aggressively at the camera.
Mike: If anyone has been on the internet over the past week they would have seen a clip of me uploaded by some kid, waking up in a pile of trash bags. No one read too much into this. I lost two days of my life through no fault of my own. I have a few ideas of who may have been the culprit, but we’ll find that out in due time. No, instead I’ll bypass my opponent for this Wednesday’s show and look at everyone else around me. First, Jared James seems to have the idea that I am anything less than a noble Champion. Jared, what happened to Mr Nice Guy, huh? Where did that guy go? Think back to the Supershow, my friend. Do you remember that night at all? You know, when I pinned you after nailing you with the “Finishing Touch”? Think. During our match, Jared, where was Tim? I didn’t see him. Oh, that’s right! He was out the back, getting seen to by EMTs after I knocked him out cold by introducing him to my left boot. So when you speak of my not deserving this Title, can I ask you? In all seriousness. Did I, or did I not, beat you clean? Not anyone else. YOU. Mr Nice Guy. Mr sore loser. The man who seems to think that he is better than everyone else because he had a streak of six matches without a loss which was ended by someone who has been in this business for five minutes next to his five years. And when I think back, you know, to before the Supershow, do you know what I remember? I remember the same Jared James saying I was talented yet green. Jared said he was going to exploit my weaknesses. He was going to expose my rookie mistakes and that I was going to be as good as gone when he faced me. He even counted me out, as though it would not be likely that I would be the one to meet him in the final. Yet here I stand, the FGA Heavyweight Champion.
And Micky O’Reilly I would much rather talk to you face to face than here. I do things man to man, I don’t sneak up behind them and catch them off guard when they are fatigued. This Wednesday I will address my fans and then I will invite you down to the ring to explain yourself properly.
And Jacques, I like you. I really do. I respect you too. You put up a great effort against Chandler Scott. I didn’t have many kind words to say about him before our match, but I will give him credit; the guy is good. So I must assume you are too and I will be diligent in the ring and make sure not to make any GREEN mistakes shine through. I will see you on Wednesday, mate. But don’t forget, it doesn’t matter how good you are. It takes just three seconds to win a match, just three, and the Champ has them written into his contract. Boom!
The scene fades to nothingness….