Back to basics
Mar 28, 2012 9:44:12 GMT -5
Post by Micky O'Reilly on Mar 28, 2012 9:44:12 GMT -5
I sit in the locker room in pain. Both mental and physical. I just had my ass handed to me by Jacques Mercier and it's not a great feeling. My starting streak, not that you could really call three matches a streak, had been cut short. I heard the door and turned my head to see who it was. Bad idea, Mercier's All for One had really done a number on my neck.
Bobby: What's up, forgotten how is feels to take an ass whooping?
I didn't answer, I turned my back to him and went through my bag looking for painkillers.
Bobby: Silent treatment? What are you, a fucking woman or something?
I carried on ignoring him, popping a couple of ibuprofen from their foil blisters. I threw them in my mouth and swallowed them dry as I'd run out water and couldn't be bothered to refill.
Bobby: You know what, fuck you.
Micky: Fuck me? Fuck me? Fuck you Bobby!
Bobby: Oh so it does talk. Or is this just my imagination?
Micky: Shut the fuck up. You told me I would win. All that shit about "Don't worry Micky you've got this in the bag". All that shit I went through in the gym, for nothing. You lied, fucking cunt.
Bobby just stands there in silence for a few seconds, his arms crossed, flexing his right hand.
Bobby: Answer me this Micky, did it even occur to you that I wasn't the one in that ring? Don't you think maybe someone else is to blame here. I watched that match and I'm not surprised you lost. Where was your spark? Where was that animal that usually comes out? Looked to me like someone neutered him. I gave you the tools, ain't my fault if you don't use them.
I grab my holdall and walk out, not bothering to answer. I hear him shout down the hall after me.
Bobby: See you in the gym tomorrow. Don't be late.
________________________________________________________________
I got back from the gym and dumped my stuff on the bed, Spring Breakage was going to be held in a place called Salem but I was still in Pennsylvania training with Bobby. Things were different now. After my defeat I wasn't sure if Bobby was a help or not. Yeah I'd increased my ability to push weights but I was exhausted. Plus he'd been trying to bring out my aggression, getting in my face, insulting me and my family. Things were getting tense between us and I couldn't see how I was going to beat Tomkins. I looked around the small room. Lumpy bed, horrible decorations and the smell of damp. This place was getting me down. I needed to get out, needed to clear my head.
I walked out of the motel and wandered for over an hour. I didn't have any particular destination in mind, I just wanted something to do that didn't stress me out. It seemed ironic though that the place I ended up was the one place I'd been trying to avoid.
I went over to the barmaid, a woman of about 38 with shoulder length blonde hair, and ordered a coke, it felt weird. The place was empty but they had a small TV in the corner tuned in to some shit chat show. They were arguing about how some guy cheated on his wife with her sister and now they were expecting a baby. I laughed to myself, 'expecting a baby', what else was it going to be, a fucking dog? I turned away from the telly and sat by a window, watching cars pass while I sipped my drink.
After about twenty minutes the barmaid sat down opposite me putting a glass in front of me.
Barmaid: Double whiskey on the rocks, you look like you need it.
I opened my mouth to decline but she cut me off.
Barmaid: No arguing, it's on the house and I won't take no for an answer. I'm Lucy by the way.
MIcky: Micky, nice to meet ya.
Lucy: So what's the problem Micky? What's so bad that a guy has to come in to the shittiest bar in town and sit there looking like his life is over?
Micky: How long have you got?
I pick up the glass of whiskey and just hold it, turning it in my hands. I can smell it, can feel the vapours from the alcohol burning my nasal passage.
Lucy laughs.
Lucy: Have you looked around, I'm not exactly swamped with customers. But why don't you start with the big one, the thing that made you come here.
I take a sip of the whiskey, just a small one. I savour the taste. When I swallow I feel the warmth spread through my chest, as it heads to my stomach. I put the glass back down.
Micky: Have you ever felt like you've lost your sense of who you are? I fucked a few things up recently and tried to change myself. I thought I could shape myself into someone else and now I don't know who I am.
Lucy: That's it? Damn I have guys like you come in every fortnight. Let me guess, you broke up with the girlfriend and now you're trying to win her back?
Micky: Ha, that and a couple of other things. My work has taken a bit of a dive lately too.
Lucy: Do you really want to know what I think?
Micky: Your opinion is as good as anyones.
Lucy: Forget her. What's the point in being with someone if you can't be yourself? All that'll happen is that you both get to be miserable together. So you fucked things up, who doesn't? Be yourself and at least you can say you fucked it up in your own way. It's gotta be better than being miserable your whole life and 'getting by'.
The door goes and a group of six or seven people walk in.
Lucy: Guess I got work to do, drink up before I bar you for wasting my time.
She gets up, pats my shoulder and greets the new customers, from the recognition in their voices I guess that they're regulars. I look at my drink and weigh my options, two paths. One where I live a bland existence nothing going wrong but nothing ever feeling right, or the other, stay true to myself, fuck things up but have some fun while I'm doing it.
Micky: Fuck it, lets grab this fucker by the horns.
I pick up the glass and down the drink, shoving the back of my hand to my mouth to stop me coughing it back up as it burns my throat. Standing, I grab my jacket and walk out of the bar giving a wave to Lucy as I pass. She smiles and winks at me before turning back to her customers.
______________________________________________________________________________________
I stand in the bus terminal, waiting for an announcement. I estimate there's about five minutes to go yet. I turn to the camera-man, a big smile on my face. I'm wearing faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, just tight enough that you can see my chest and arm muscles faintly outlined.
Micky: Hey Tomkins, bet you didn't expect to see me so happy. I'm going to assume you watched my match against Mercier, saw me get beaten and thought "Damn, he isn't the unstoppable force I thought he was." I bet you've been going over the DVD non-stop, looking to see how he did it. I'll save you the time. Yes I was slapped down from the pedestal upon which I placed myself, outclassed and outmatched. Unfortunately for you it wasn't anything Jacques did, it was my own fault. I tried something different, changed my tactics, and it backfired. In a monumental way. I fucked it up by myself.
I start walking towards a Starbucks coffee stand, the camera follows my every move.
Micky: I've done a lot of soul searching and have come to a decision, why mess with a winning formula? I'm back on track, refocused and ready for what ever you throw at me. We're both going into this on a loss, but as far as I'm concerned the odds are stacked in my favour. Look at the facts, every time that we have entered that ring I'm the one who's walked away unhurt. You can talk whatever shit you want about me catching you by surprise or jumping you from behind but what is the number one rule in that ring? Defend yourself at all times.
I join the back of a queue and a couple of people turn to see what is going on but for the most part they ignore me. I turn to face the camera full on.
Micky: Tomorrow night you are going into a street fight me. The most dangerous fight available with the most dangerous man in the FGA. No rules, no count outs, no disqualifications. When I break your ribs on those ring steps or take a steel chair to your skull I want you to remember two things. The first, that you asked for it. It isn't a match that you were forced into, or given some great opportunity if you accepted, no, you wanted it, which means you'll only have yourself to blame when you're laying in that hospital bed waiting for your x-ray results. The second thing I want you to remember is that you deserve it. I've told people for weeks that you're a piece of shit and that all I'm doing is taking out the trash. Tomorrow night I will personally come down into that ring and tell everybody why. The extent of your abuse will be revealed. I advise you to make the most of your fame and glory while you still can.
I make it to the counter and place my order, a black coffee with two sugars. I hand over my money and move to the end of the stand to wait for my drink.
Micky: You claim to be "the man", hell everything I've seen would suggest otherwise. You treat women like shit, dress up like a damn cowboy for kids parties, looking more Brokeback Mountain than Clint Eastwood. You forget that I've seen you in the changing room, what size shoe are you? Like a six or seven? And we all know what they say about guys with small feet….
I raise my right hand to the camera in a fist and poke my little finger out, wiggling it at him through the screen.
Micky: You have all this experience in martial arts and had training from someone who used to be best in the business but when we go into that street fight you have to remember that you're in my territory. I'll be the big dog tomorrow night so you'd better come prepared because I will tear you a new arsehole boy.
My coffee comes and I walk away a few feet.
Micky: Tomorrow night we'll make history in what will no doubt be the greatest match in the FGA so far, but for now I'm going to kick back and enjoy my coffee, but before I do there is one thing left. Like all great things in life, lets make it Irish.
I reach into my holdall and pull out a miniature whiskey that I picked up from the motel lobby, I empty into my coffee and take a small sip.
Micky: Perfect
Announcement: Could all passengers for Virginia please make their way to terminal five. That's all passengers for Virginia to terminal five. Thank you.
Micky: Guess that's me. See you tomorrow Mike, bring your A-game.
The screen fades to black and the FGA logo appears.
Bobby: What's up, forgotten how is feels to take an ass whooping?
I didn't answer, I turned my back to him and went through my bag looking for painkillers.
Bobby: Silent treatment? What are you, a fucking woman or something?
I carried on ignoring him, popping a couple of ibuprofen from their foil blisters. I threw them in my mouth and swallowed them dry as I'd run out water and couldn't be bothered to refill.
Bobby: You know what, fuck you.
Micky: Fuck me? Fuck me? Fuck you Bobby!
Bobby: Oh so it does talk. Or is this just my imagination?
Micky: Shut the fuck up. You told me I would win. All that shit about "Don't worry Micky you've got this in the bag". All that shit I went through in the gym, for nothing. You lied, fucking cunt.
Bobby just stands there in silence for a few seconds, his arms crossed, flexing his right hand.
Bobby: Answer me this Micky, did it even occur to you that I wasn't the one in that ring? Don't you think maybe someone else is to blame here. I watched that match and I'm not surprised you lost. Where was your spark? Where was that animal that usually comes out? Looked to me like someone neutered him. I gave you the tools, ain't my fault if you don't use them.
I grab my holdall and walk out, not bothering to answer. I hear him shout down the hall after me.
Bobby: See you in the gym tomorrow. Don't be late.
________________________________________________________________
I got back from the gym and dumped my stuff on the bed, Spring Breakage was going to be held in a place called Salem but I was still in Pennsylvania training with Bobby. Things were different now. After my defeat I wasn't sure if Bobby was a help or not. Yeah I'd increased my ability to push weights but I was exhausted. Plus he'd been trying to bring out my aggression, getting in my face, insulting me and my family. Things were getting tense between us and I couldn't see how I was going to beat Tomkins. I looked around the small room. Lumpy bed, horrible decorations and the smell of damp. This place was getting me down. I needed to get out, needed to clear my head.
I walked out of the motel and wandered for over an hour. I didn't have any particular destination in mind, I just wanted something to do that didn't stress me out. It seemed ironic though that the place I ended up was the one place I'd been trying to avoid.
I went over to the barmaid, a woman of about 38 with shoulder length blonde hair, and ordered a coke, it felt weird. The place was empty but they had a small TV in the corner tuned in to some shit chat show. They were arguing about how some guy cheated on his wife with her sister and now they were expecting a baby. I laughed to myself, 'expecting a baby', what else was it going to be, a fucking dog? I turned away from the telly and sat by a window, watching cars pass while I sipped my drink.
After about twenty minutes the barmaid sat down opposite me putting a glass in front of me.
Barmaid: Double whiskey on the rocks, you look like you need it.
I opened my mouth to decline but she cut me off.
Barmaid: No arguing, it's on the house and I won't take no for an answer. I'm Lucy by the way.
MIcky: Micky, nice to meet ya.
Lucy: So what's the problem Micky? What's so bad that a guy has to come in to the shittiest bar in town and sit there looking like his life is over?
Micky: How long have you got?
I pick up the glass of whiskey and just hold it, turning it in my hands. I can smell it, can feel the vapours from the alcohol burning my nasal passage.
Lucy laughs.
Lucy: Have you looked around, I'm not exactly swamped with customers. But why don't you start with the big one, the thing that made you come here.
I take a sip of the whiskey, just a small one. I savour the taste. When I swallow I feel the warmth spread through my chest, as it heads to my stomach. I put the glass back down.
Micky: Have you ever felt like you've lost your sense of who you are? I fucked a few things up recently and tried to change myself. I thought I could shape myself into someone else and now I don't know who I am.
Lucy: That's it? Damn I have guys like you come in every fortnight. Let me guess, you broke up with the girlfriend and now you're trying to win her back?
Micky: Ha, that and a couple of other things. My work has taken a bit of a dive lately too.
Lucy: Do you really want to know what I think?
Micky: Your opinion is as good as anyones.
Lucy: Forget her. What's the point in being with someone if you can't be yourself? All that'll happen is that you both get to be miserable together. So you fucked things up, who doesn't? Be yourself and at least you can say you fucked it up in your own way. It's gotta be better than being miserable your whole life and 'getting by'.
The door goes and a group of six or seven people walk in.
Lucy: Guess I got work to do, drink up before I bar you for wasting my time.
She gets up, pats my shoulder and greets the new customers, from the recognition in their voices I guess that they're regulars. I look at my drink and weigh my options, two paths. One where I live a bland existence nothing going wrong but nothing ever feeling right, or the other, stay true to myself, fuck things up but have some fun while I'm doing it.
Micky: Fuck it, lets grab this fucker by the horns.
I pick up the glass and down the drink, shoving the back of my hand to my mouth to stop me coughing it back up as it burns my throat. Standing, I grab my jacket and walk out of the bar giving a wave to Lucy as I pass. She smiles and winks at me before turning back to her customers.
______________________________________________________________________________________
I stand in the bus terminal, waiting for an announcement. I estimate there's about five minutes to go yet. I turn to the camera-man, a big smile on my face. I'm wearing faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, just tight enough that you can see my chest and arm muscles faintly outlined.
Micky: Hey Tomkins, bet you didn't expect to see me so happy. I'm going to assume you watched my match against Mercier, saw me get beaten and thought "Damn, he isn't the unstoppable force I thought he was." I bet you've been going over the DVD non-stop, looking to see how he did it. I'll save you the time. Yes I was slapped down from the pedestal upon which I placed myself, outclassed and outmatched. Unfortunately for you it wasn't anything Jacques did, it was my own fault. I tried something different, changed my tactics, and it backfired. In a monumental way. I fucked it up by myself.
I start walking towards a Starbucks coffee stand, the camera follows my every move.
Micky: I've done a lot of soul searching and have come to a decision, why mess with a winning formula? I'm back on track, refocused and ready for what ever you throw at me. We're both going into this on a loss, but as far as I'm concerned the odds are stacked in my favour. Look at the facts, every time that we have entered that ring I'm the one who's walked away unhurt. You can talk whatever shit you want about me catching you by surprise or jumping you from behind but what is the number one rule in that ring? Defend yourself at all times.
I join the back of a queue and a couple of people turn to see what is going on but for the most part they ignore me. I turn to face the camera full on.
Micky: Tomorrow night you are going into a street fight me. The most dangerous fight available with the most dangerous man in the FGA. No rules, no count outs, no disqualifications. When I break your ribs on those ring steps or take a steel chair to your skull I want you to remember two things. The first, that you asked for it. It isn't a match that you were forced into, or given some great opportunity if you accepted, no, you wanted it, which means you'll only have yourself to blame when you're laying in that hospital bed waiting for your x-ray results. The second thing I want you to remember is that you deserve it. I've told people for weeks that you're a piece of shit and that all I'm doing is taking out the trash. Tomorrow night I will personally come down into that ring and tell everybody why. The extent of your abuse will be revealed. I advise you to make the most of your fame and glory while you still can.
I make it to the counter and place my order, a black coffee with two sugars. I hand over my money and move to the end of the stand to wait for my drink.
Micky: You claim to be "the man", hell everything I've seen would suggest otherwise. You treat women like shit, dress up like a damn cowboy for kids parties, looking more Brokeback Mountain than Clint Eastwood. You forget that I've seen you in the changing room, what size shoe are you? Like a six or seven? And we all know what they say about guys with small feet….
I raise my right hand to the camera in a fist and poke my little finger out, wiggling it at him through the screen.
Micky: You have all this experience in martial arts and had training from someone who used to be best in the business but when we go into that street fight you have to remember that you're in my territory. I'll be the big dog tomorrow night so you'd better come prepared because I will tear you a new arsehole boy.
My coffee comes and I walk away a few feet.
Micky: Tomorrow night we'll make history in what will no doubt be the greatest match in the FGA so far, but for now I'm going to kick back and enjoy my coffee, but before I do there is one thing left. Like all great things in life, lets make it Irish.
I reach into my holdall and pull out a miniature whiskey that I picked up from the motel lobby, I empty into my coffee and take a small sip.
Micky: Perfect
Announcement: Could all passengers for Virginia please make their way to terminal five. That's all passengers for Virginia to terminal five. Thank you.
Micky: Guess that's me. See you tomorrow Mike, bring your A-game.
The screen fades to black and the FGA logo appears.