Stop. Collaborate and listen...
Apr 16, 2012 13:07:55 GMT -5
Post by Micky O'Reilly on Apr 16, 2012 13:07:55 GMT -5
4/13/12
I got off the treadmill from my morning run, my arms were slicked with sweat but I wasn't worn out yet. It was just my standard five miles, long enough to keep me in practise for running around the ring but short enough that I would still be able to do a heavy weight session later on. Well, if I didn't still have this damned wrist support on anyway. Last night Sean Fallon had made good on his promise to try and break it, probably would have if Johnny Brave hadn't come down to the ring and grabbed that steel chair. I had spent the rest of the night in a bar trying to work out his motives over four or five whiskeys. I came to the conclusion that it was more to do with their feud that was building rather than to support for me, I just wished that the chair had made contact with Fallon's skull.
I took off my T-shirt and threw it on a pile of others, 5 for $15 at some local discount clothes store, I'd ended up buying about 20 and would probably never need to shop for them again. It was a sound investment. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed some bread, it had gone stale but wasn't mouldy yet, fine for toasting. Opening the fridge I grabbed some eggs and milk and spent the next few minutes making scrambled egg on toast, the breakfast of kings. All the plates were stacked up in the sink so I ate it off of a baking tray and added that to the pile.
I started planning the upcoming day in my mind when the FGA cameraman walked in and interrupted my thoughts
Cameraman: Hey I did what you asked me to. Your next match is in New York, it's a tag match with you and Blaine Harrison against the Harvard Connection.
Micky: Didn't I already beat all three of them?
Cameraman: Well Blaine and Preston yeah, not Chandler though. He's a tough fighter though, good ability and clever with it.
Micky: Gay…
Cameraman: What? No, I just mean uh…
Micky: I know what you meant fella, you like the pork sausage. Anyway, I beat Blaine so he can't be very good and he's on my team?
Cameraman: Dude, you beat him ages ago. He's the Champion now!
Micky: So what's he gonna be like as a tag partner?
Cameraman: Well he had one of these matches once before against Preston and Chandler, he was teamed up with that douchebag Jared James. Jared turned on him at the end of the match. He'll probably be a bit dubious about doing it again but who better to have on your side than the Champ?
I thought about it for a moment. I was injured, there was no way that I could betray Blaine without risking further damage to my arm. If I did he could quite easily leave me to the Harvard Connection, or take me out himself. Usually I might have taken a pop at Blaine, tried to set myself up with a claim to his belt, but it was too dangerous. It could backfire too easily. There was only one other choice, to make the most of the temporary alliance. I needed to trust Blaine and needed to convince him that he could trust me, no, I needed more than that. If I got in to a tough spot, with Preston or Chandler working my bad arm, I needed to know that he would have my back. But how? I had an idea, a ritual that went back centuries, where any agreements made were set in stone. We'd discuss it over a drink.
Micky: Get me his number. Then clean this place up, it's a fucking shit hole.
Cameraman: Dude, I'm not your slave, I don't even live here.
I turned and glared at him. It had the effect I was after. He put down his camera and his scrawny twenty something ass went out of the room quicker than a Mustang, the words "Yes Mr O'Reilly reaching me from the next room.
_________________________________________________________________________
I pick up the phone and put in the the number, a man answers on the third ring.
Blaine: Hello?
Micky: Blaine? It's Micky O'Reilly, I just found out about the next show.
Blaine: Our tag fight, I'm not exactly over the moon about it.
Micky: I was thinking we could meet up and discuss tactics over a drink. I'm heading to New York tomorrow, how about we meet for a drink in Lillie's on Sunday about 8pm? It's an Irish bar in Union Square.
Blaine: Sounds good to me. See you there.
The phone clicks off as Blaine Harrison hangs up, I may be wrong but he seemed a little off with me, maybe It's just an Ohio thing.
_________________________________________________________________________
4/15/12
It's 11pm, I've been here for three hours now and Blaine still hasn't shown up. Two hours ago I gave up waiting for him and started talking to a large group of Irish tourists, the alcohol has been flowing freely, propel have been buying my drinks for me all. It's felt good to have people around me that I can relate to but even in my inebriated state I know it's time for me to leave, I have work to do. I grab my jacket and leave despite their constant suggestions of "Just one more." I've already had three just one more's and my head is spinning. I turn to the cameraman who I invited along to record the meeting that was meant to take place, if we made an agreement on camera Blaine would have had to trust me.
Micky: Start filming.
Cameraman: Is that a good idea, shouldn't you wait until you're sober?
Micky: Fuck you, I am older!
Cameraman: Riiiiight….
He gives me a look that suggests what I'm doing is stupid but starts up his camera anyway. We keep walking while we film, heading towards the cheapest hotel I could find.
___________________________________________________________________________
The FGA logo appears on a black background and cuts to a video of Micky O'Reilly walking down an empty New York street at night time. Despite the obvious lateness the light from the surrounding shops and bars provide adequate illumination for our hero. He is dressed up for possibly the first time in his life wearing a black shirt with white pinstripes, the sleeves are rolled up his elbows, a pair of dark blue jean, and brown leather shoes, we can hear the 1inch heels clicking on the pavement as he walks, weaving side to side.
Micky: Hey Blaine, did you forget about our meeting fella? Three hours I was waiting for you in that bar, you know what they say though, every cloud has a silver lining. I put my time to good use. I even went out and bought some new clothes for the occasion, expensive ones that cost me money I can't afford…
Cameraman: The whole thing cost forty bucks from the Salvation Army dude, hardly breaking the bank.
O'Reilly raises his right index finger to his lips shushing the cameraman for about ten seconds, much longer than necessary.
Micky: Shhh, it's our secret alright lad? Anyway Blaine, I invited you here so we could have and agreement and you didn't show up, so I'm taking matters into my own hands and making you an offer this way. Video evidence that you can hold me to. You didn't show up and I don't blame you, you probably don't trust me, especially after what happened with Jared Lames. Hehe, Jared Lames, good one Micky. Anyway, here's my offer. You saw what Short Fallon did to my already injured arm and I'm guessing you're paranoid about having a target on back. We need to trust each other fella. What I'm suggesting is that for one night we put aside our differences and look out for each other. This is a one time only offer take it or leave it, it's up to you. But remember I'm a man of integrity, if I make a deal I stick to it.
O'Reilly continues walking in silence, the only sounds are his breathing and the click, click, click of his shoes. After about thirty seconds the cameraman speaks up.
Cameraman: Uh, I think you're meant to say something to your opponents now…
O'Reilly stops abruptly and glares at him.
Cameraman: Uh, I mean I just think that the big wigs want a bit more entertainment value… Mr O'Reilly… Sir.
Micky: Fine, but there isn't much to say lad.
The click, click, click resumes as O'Reilly starts walking again. He takes a few seconds before speaking, thinking about what to say.
Micky: Preston. Chandler. What kind of names are those anyway? Sound a bit faggy to me. On the 25th you guys are in for a treat, a painful one but still a treat. On the 25th you get to go into the ring with the Champion and "The Most Dangerous Man In Wrestling". You might come from Harvard but one that bell rings you're going to get an education from the school of hard knocks. You walk around with your heads so far up each other's asses that when I nail you with Murphy's Law and the Drunk Tank, you won't even see it coming. You claim to be the crop and better than every on else but the power rankings tell a different story. Where are they lad?
Cameraman: Last update had them at fourth and sixth.
Micky: And what about Blaine and me, mate?
Cameraman: Second and Third.
Micky: There ya go fellas, the scoreboard even says we're better. Not to mention I seem to remember beating you down last time we met Preston. You know what they say about history repeating itself? Well once I'm done with you it won't be a saying anymore, it'll be a fact. As sure as the sun rises in the morning, I will slap you down. The same goes for you too Chandler. You guys go around thinking that you're better than all of us yet week after week you seem to get put in your rightful place. On your back, with your shoulders against the canvas. You think that people look up to you because of some degrees you've got. We don't, we just look forward to leaving you with a concussion. The only qualifications you two have is in being complete jackasses.
O'Reilly stops as he comes across a stray dog urinating against the side of a building. He smiles and turns back to the camera.
Micky: Take a good look at that guys… That's all you are to me, to anyone in the FGA… A streak of piss in the gutter.
The screen fades to black and the FGA logo appears.
I got off the treadmill from my morning run, my arms were slicked with sweat but I wasn't worn out yet. It was just my standard five miles, long enough to keep me in practise for running around the ring but short enough that I would still be able to do a heavy weight session later on. Well, if I didn't still have this damned wrist support on anyway. Last night Sean Fallon had made good on his promise to try and break it, probably would have if Johnny Brave hadn't come down to the ring and grabbed that steel chair. I had spent the rest of the night in a bar trying to work out his motives over four or five whiskeys. I came to the conclusion that it was more to do with their feud that was building rather than to support for me, I just wished that the chair had made contact with Fallon's skull.
I took off my T-shirt and threw it on a pile of others, 5 for $15 at some local discount clothes store, I'd ended up buying about 20 and would probably never need to shop for them again. It was a sound investment. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed some bread, it had gone stale but wasn't mouldy yet, fine for toasting. Opening the fridge I grabbed some eggs and milk and spent the next few minutes making scrambled egg on toast, the breakfast of kings. All the plates were stacked up in the sink so I ate it off of a baking tray and added that to the pile.
I started planning the upcoming day in my mind when the FGA cameraman walked in and interrupted my thoughts
Cameraman: Hey I did what you asked me to. Your next match is in New York, it's a tag match with you and Blaine Harrison against the Harvard Connection.
Micky: Didn't I already beat all three of them?
Cameraman: Well Blaine and Preston yeah, not Chandler though. He's a tough fighter though, good ability and clever with it.
Micky: Gay…
Cameraman: What? No, I just mean uh…
Micky: I know what you meant fella, you like the pork sausage. Anyway, I beat Blaine so he can't be very good and he's on my team?
Cameraman: Dude, you beat him ages ago. He's the Champion now!
Micky: So what's he gonna be like as a tag partner?
Cameraman: Well he had one of these matches once before against Preston and Chandler, he was teamed up with that douchebag Jared James. Jared turned on him at the end of the match. He'll probably be a bit dubious about doing it again but who better to have on your side than the Champ?
I thought about it for a moment. I was injured, there was no way that I could betray Blaine without risking further damage to my arm. If I did he could quite easily leave me to the Harvard Connection, or take me out himself. Usually I might have taken a pop at Blaine, tried to set myself up with a claim to his belt, but it was too dangerous. It could backfire too easily. There was only one other choice, to make the most of the temporary alliance. I needed to trust Blaine and needed to convince him that he could trust me, no, I needed more than that. If I got in to a tough spot, with Preston or Chandler working my bad arm, I needed to know that he would have my back. But how? I had an idea, a ritual that went back centuries, where any agreements made were set in stone. We'd discuss it over a drink.
Micky: Get me his number. Then clean this place up, it's a fucking shit hole.
Cameraman: Dude, I'm not your slave, I don't even live here.
I turned and glared at him. It had the effect I was after. He put down his camera and his scrawny twenty something ass went out of the room quicker than a Mustang, the words "Yes Mr O'Reilly reaching me from the next room.
_________________________________________________________________________
I pick up the phone and put in the the number, a man answers on the third ring.
Blaine: Hello?
Micky: Blaine? It's Micky O'Reilly, I just found out about the next show.
Blaine: Our tag fight, I'm not exactly over the moon about it.
Micky: I was thinking we could meet up and discuss tactics over a drink. I'm heading to New York tomorrow, how about we meet for a drink in Lillie's on Sunday about 8pm? It's an Irish bar in Union Square.
Blaine: Sounds good to me. See you there.
The phone clicks off as Blaine Harrison hangs up, I may be wrong but he seemed a little off with me, maybe It's just an Ohio thing.
_________________________________________________________________________
4/15/12
It's 11pm, I've been here for three hours now and Blaine still hasn't shown up. Two hours ago I gave up waiting for him and started talking to a large group of Irish tourists, the alcohol has been flowing freely, propel have been buying my drinks for me all. It's felt good to have people around me that I can relate to but even in my inebriated state I know it's time for me to leave, I have work to do. I grab my jacket and leave despite their constant suggestions of "Just one more." I've already had three just one more's and my head is spinning. I turn to the cameraman who I invited along to record the meeting that was meant to take place, if we made an agreement on camera Blaine would have had to trust me.
Micky: Start filming.
Cameraman: Is that a good idea, shouldn't you wait until you're sober?
Micky: Fuck you, I am older!
Cameraman: Riiiiight….
He gives me a look that suggests what I'm doing is stupid but starts up his camera anyway. We keep walking while we film, heading towards the cheapest hotel I could find.
___________________________________________________________________________
The FGA logo appears on a black background and cuts to a video of Micky O'Reilly walking down an empty New York street at night time. Despite the obvious lateness the light from the surrounding shops and bars provide adequate illumination for our hero. He is dressed up for possibly the first time in his life wearing a black shirt with white pinstripes, the sleeves are rolled up his elbows, a pair of dark blue jean, and brown leather shoes, we can hear the 1inch heels clicking on the pavement as he walks, weaving side to side.
Micky: Hey Blaine, did you forget about our meeting fella? Three hours I was waiting for you in that bar, you know what they say though, every cloud has a silver lining. I put my time to good use. I even went out and bought some new clothes for the occasion, expensive ones that cost me money I can't afford…
Cameraman: The whole thing cost forty bucks from the Salvation Army dude, hardly breaking the bank.
O'Reilly raises his right index finger to his lips shushing the cameraman for about ten seconds, much longer than necessary.
Micky: Shhh, it's our secret alright lad? Anyway Blaine, I invited you here so we could have and agreement and you didn't show up, so I'm taking matters into my own hands and making you an offer this way. Video evidence that you can hold me to. You didn't show up and I don't blame you, you probably don't trust me, especially after what happened with Jared Lames. Hehe, Jared Lames, good one Micky. Anyway, here's my offer. You saw what Short Fallon did to my already injured arm and I'm guessing you're paranoid about having a target on back. We need to trust each other fella. What I'm suggesting is that for one night we put aside our differences and look out for each other. This is a one time only offer take it or leave it, it's up to you. But remember I'm a man of integrity, if I make a deal I stick to it.
O'Reilly continues walking in silence, the only sounds are his breathing and the click, click, click of his shoes. After about thirty seconds the cameraman speaks up.
Cameraman: Uh, I think you're meant to say something to your opponents now…
O'Reilly stops abruptly and glares at him.
Cameraman: Uh, I mean I just think that the big wigs want a bit more entertainment value… Mr O'Reilly… Sir.
Micky: Fine, but there isn't much to say lad.
The click, click, click resumes as O'Reilly starts walking again. He takes a few seconds before speaking, thinking about what to say.
Micky: Preston. Chandler. What kind of names are those anyway? Sound a bit faggy to me. On the 25th you guys are in for a treat, a painful one but still a treat. On the 25th you get to go into the ring with the Champion and "The Most Dangerous Man In Wrestling". You might come from Harvard but one that bell rings you're going to get an education from the school of hard knocks. You walk around with your heads so far up each other's asses that when I nail you with Murphy's Law and the Drunk Tank, you won't even see it coming. You claim to be the crop and better than every on else but the power rankings tell a different story. Where are they lad?
Cameraman: Last update had them at fourth and sixth.
Micky: And what about Blaine and me, mate?
Cameraman: Second and Third.
Micky: There ya go fellas, the scoreboard even says we're better. Not to mention I seem to remember beating you down last time we met Preston. You know what they say about history repeating itself? Well once I'm done with you it won't be a saying anymore, it'll be a fact. As sure as the sun rises in the morning, I will slap you down. The same goes for you too Chandler. You guys go around thinking that you're better than all of us yet week after week you seem to get put in your rightful place. On your back, with your shoulders against the canvas. You think that people look up to you because of some degrees you've got. We don't, we just look forward to leaving you with a concussion. The only qualifications you two have is in being complete jackasses.
O'Reilly stops as he comes across a stray dog urinating against the side of a building. He smiles and turns back to the camera.
Micky: Take a good look at that guys… That's all you are to me, to anyone in the FGA… A streak of piss in the gutter.
The screen fades to black and the FGA logo appears.
