Bad Habits And Plenty Contradictions

[The Last Real Man]

Bad Habits And Plenty Contradictions

December 12th, 2015
Hammerstein Ballroom, New York, New York

This isn’t how I pictured things going.

This isn’t how I envisioned things going at all.

To work so hard toward something, just to have it slip through your fingers once is enough heartbreak to last a man for a lifetime. But I’m both a sadist and masochistic for misery.

That’s why I picked myself up off the floor and got back to the chase, climbing back up that ladder after Evangelista threw me down. Each rung, one after the other until it was finally just me and him.

Alone at the top. Carmine and Cannon. Just like it was supposed to be. Lights shining brighter than ever, with what felt like the entire borough in The Big Apple packed inside the Hammerstein Ballroom to witness history, to witness Johnny Cannon capture championship gold, bringing his manifesto to fruition, further adding to his legacy, vindicating his existence, proving to the world that I am everything I say I am, and everything they claim I will never be.

Final Frontier, a fitting stage for the completion of my near half year Odyssey, a comeback that would be punctuated with me holding the Pride Championship, the one thing I had coveted from day one. The one thing that would solidify my position in the company, and remind the world that I am still capable of greatness and that my ceiling has not already been reached.

It was all shaping up so nicely.

It was all there for the taking.

It was all… there.

And then in an instant it was all gone. All my hard work, all dedication, my preparation, the training, the battles and demons I endured and exorcised to reach the mountaintop all nullified and made inconsequential in one moment.

A moment that would live on in infamy.

“Listen, he’s not going to want to see anyone right now. I know him…” I could hear Goodrich don’t damage control from the other side of the door.

As my hand drew closer to the knob I heard another voice.

“I understand that, but I think I should be here for him, to take care of whatever needs he might have.”

I press my forehead against the door, shutting my eyes shamefully, listening to B Misha and Quinn go back and forth, trying to ignore their squabbling but I can’t.

“Yeah, that’s nice and all, and I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, but the man just lost one of the biggest matches of his career. He’s crushed. He needs time to decompress. We can’t bombard him right now, not with him in his current frame of mind, trust me. I know what’s best for him. I’ve known him for over twenty years. You’ve known him for like two weeks.”

I didn’t plan for this outcome. Never even considered the notion, or the idea of defeat, my tunnel vision and ambition was much too strong. As I exhale, the realization starts to set in more and more, as the emptiness in my stomach becomes deeper, and the pain in my chest more intense.

“He wanted me here, Goodrich. I know that bothers you, but it’s what he wanted, and I need to be his rock and his shoulder to lean on.”

I wanted her here to see one of my greatest triumphs, not one of my biggest failures. I can’t even face them like this, drenched in the stench of anguish and bitter defeat. I don’t want her to see my like this, not in this light, not at my lowest point. She thinks so highly of me. Regards me with such respect and adoration.

I was perfect.

“Sssh… here he comes…”

I remove my hand from the doorknob, my heart beating a million times a second as I backtrack from the door. I don’t have the courage. I can’t let her see my like this, in pieces, as this broken shell of a man, of what I was once was.

I can’t show her who I really am beneath the mask.

Beneath the facade lies just a man.

A deeply flawed, and imperfect man.

*************************************************************************

”Do you hear that?“

Asks The British Mamba as the scene begins, opening up to a shot of Johnny Cannon sitting at the end of a barstool. The tavern itself is empty, save for the bartender who walks over and fills the Brit’s empty glass with vodka - Grey Goose specifically.

“There it is again,” says Cannon, as he playfully places a hand behind his right ear pretending to be listening to a voice that simply isn’t there, “that’s the sound of all the people who didn’t have the stones to mention my name before Final Frontier suddenly coming alive like a goddamn orchestra.” He says, smirking as he grabs his drink. “And it’s hilarious, because you all hate Tony Carmine so much, but it wasn’t until he beat me that you all felt like it was safe to suddenly come from behind the bushes.”

“I guess seeing me come up short after chasing the Pride Championship for so long made you all feel like I was one of you,” he says, looking at the ice in the glass, “all pomp and no circumstance.” He scoffs. “I suppose that’s why somebody like Fujiko Mine thinks she has me pegged now, considering the fact she’s spent these last few months middling in the mid-card, unable to get over the hump.”

“Look at you go Fujiko, as if you were just waiting for me to come down to Earth, watching as I skyrocketed up the standings whilst you talked to God on the big white telephone - which ironically, is what we all do whenever you get any camera time,” he says, flashing a wry smile. “And since I’ve been paid to be in front of FGA owned cameras, all I’ve done for a man who’s ’not as good as he claims to be’, is beat the current World Champion, a former Pride Champion, a few FGA veterans and stalwarts, and headline a couple Main Events.” He boasts, taking a sip from the glass now.

“You on the other hand, well you padded your win totals by wrestling Camelia D. Magna in the undercard of every other show,” he says with an eyeroll. “And while you can blame the FGA officials for that, you only have yourself to blame for coming up short against Izzy Anders at the Anniversary Show, or Sunshine himself back at Above and Beyond IV, and hell, even Johnny Karma dusted you up way back at the All Star Showdown IV.”

“You see Fuji, you’re not the only one who does their homework around here. However, the sad reality is that while I’m going to pass my exam, you’re going to fail despite having a take home test and ample time to study,” he scoffs. “And I say that, because you were one of few I named specifically way back at ASSIV when I said I would clean up the Pride Division. So now we’ve got each other in our respective crosshairs, and here I am expecting you to bring something new to the table, yet all you’re contributing to our little party are lines you borrowed right from Zero McHannon’s handbook, along with the same rhetoric that everybody else has said about me since I stepped foot in this company.”

“I guess I gave you too much credit.” He says briskly, before sipping some more vodka. “But to be honest, I can’t say that I’m all that surprised,” he says, shaking his head, “I mean let’s face it, the only thing interesting about you is what you’re packing underneath your T-shirts. And you know it. That’s why you have an entire twitter hashtag dedicated to you at week’s end. You sell sex, simply because you cannot sell tickets on talent alone. You’re a very poor man's Cordy Stevenson.”

“A cheap imitation is what they’re called,” says Cannon who finishes his drink, then raises his glass for a refill. “I don’t even blame you, love. If my career was going nowhere fast like yours seems to be, I’d be grasping at straws too. Actually, that’s not true at all. Unlike you Fujiko, I’m not content to sit on my hands taking whatever life gives me. I take what I want.” He says pridefully.

“And what I want from you this Saturday, is a little head,” he snickers, as the empty glass in his hand is suddenly filled. “I wanted the same thing from Johnny Karma fortnight ago, but I simply ended up busting his poor little Cherry.” He says nonchalantly.

“That was an accident. When I punch you in the face Saturday, that’ll be therapeutic.,” he says coldly. “Because as you, like everyone else is aware of, I’ve been dealing with a few things outside the ring. Certain domestic and personal issues have left me somewhat out of sorts to the point that booze, cigars, and even my darling Misha at times cannot cure all my ailments, because some afflictions can only be managed through violent outbursts.” He claims, gritting his teeth.

“That’s exactly why Chris Bond ended up in the back of an ambulance, and Evangelista on an operating table before him. Quite to the contrary of popular belief, it wasn’t even anything personal.” He suggests.

“I hurt them because I wanted to.”

“Because I needed to.”

“Because I’m the ‘Baddest Man On The Planet’ and I don’t pretend to be anything other than that!” He proclaims.

And that alone is why I’m a real man,” he says, rising from the stool, glass in hand, “real men, and women for that matter, don’t hide behind excuses or a sense of self-righteousness. I embrace what I am, Fujiko. And what I am is a lethal weapon, as God himself intended me to be, because if he didn’t he wouldn’t have bestowed these upon me,” Cannon lifts up his hands. “These are my license to kill.

“And with them I’ve killed hopes.”

“I’ve killed dreams.”

“And I’ve shortened, if not ended… careers.”

“These are all I need to get the job done, Fujiko. I don’t need to pick at your personal life, or do impromptu background checks. I simply use these hands to tear my opponents apart limb by limb, appendage by appendage.” He says, with malice in his blue eyes.

“When I stepped foot into FGA I said I wanted to prove that I was still the best wrestler in the world. I no longer feel the need to do so. I’ve proven that with my ability to steal the show each and every time I walk through those curtains no matter who I’m thrown in the ring with. That is a talent you don’t quite possess, and that’s not a shot against you because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being good.”

“I’m just in a different stratosphere.” Another sip. “I’ve been in wars that I haven’t physically recovered from still to this day. That’s why I can’t move without popping a handful of painkillers every morning. It’s because of what I put myself through for the sake of pride and reputation that’s allowed me to provide for my family.”

“It allowed me to set my mum up financially so that she’ll never have to lift a finger again.”

“It’s put a roof over my son’s head.”

“And that roof is further secured each time I raise one off an arena, and on January 9th, 2016 in the Matthews Arena in front of a few thousand in Boston, it will be business as usual.” Cannon gulfs down his vodka, slamming it and a few big bills onto the counter as he walks toward the camera, a hand disappearing into one of the pocket’s of his grey overcoat.

“In layman's terms; I’m going to hit you in the head.” He says bluntly.

“Again…”

“And again…”

“And AGAIN…”

“And I’m going to take pleasure in it, smiling underneath the calm and collected expression on my face as I listen to your anguish, watching as the light in your big eyes dwindles with each forearm, elbow, uppercut and knee strike I plant into your cranium.”

“And I won’t stop. I’m going to keep coming at you, and you’re going to keep getting up due to some misguided sense of righteousness and civic duty, because you’ll never give up, and all that other rubbish that gets the kids hyped up. And each time you stand up to me, I’m going to hit you just a little bit HARDER until you stay down, or until the referee stops the contest. So with that Fujiko, you’ve gotta ask yourself this: how important is your career to you? Think long and hard over these next two days about your goals, and aspirations, and remember why you became a professional wrestler in the first place.” The distinguished gentleman says as he pulls out a cigar.

“Because I want you to cherish that feeling, and those emotions. I want you to bring them with you to the ring. Let them drive you. Let them carry you through each maneuver. I want that fire in your soul to burn brighter than it ever has because I need it.” He professes as he steps out of the tavern, and proceeds to light the cigar.

“I need Lady Luck to shine like the northern lights because THAT is what I will TAKE from YOU!” He takes a pull now, closing his eyes and he enjoys the long drag. Finally, he blows a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere.

“I’M GOING TO BREAK YOUR SPIRIT AND KNOCK YOU THE FUCK OUT!”

End scene.

*************************************************************************

December 12th, 2015
New York, New York

”You’ve reached Johnny… you know what to do…”

I was staring into the void, into the darkness, looking right at the devil who was grinning right back at me as if he knew we would always get back to this point.

“At the beep please leave a message. After finished recording, you may hang up or press one for more options…”

He was mocking me, laughing as I succumbed to familiar vices - vices I’d been suppressing in recent months thanks to her, but in reality they were never really at an arm’s length. They’re a part of me. They’re who I am. They’re there to put the pieces back together after I’ve been smashed to pieces.

*BEEP*

I gripped the bottle of Everclear in my hand, holding it like a man on his last dying legs, on his last stand. Not even thinking twice I poured the gasoline into my gullet, fighting poison with poison, but to no avail. I just, needed to escape.

“Love, it's been a few hours now. Quinn has been calling, I’ve been calling, your phone is going direct to voicemail. I’m worried. We’re worried about you. Please call me when you get this.”

I wanted to answer, I wanted to let her know that I was fine and that everything would be okay, but I couldn’t fix myself up to lie any longer.

I’d been lying to myself, thinking things could be different, thinking I could do bad things and expect good things to come of it. The simple truth is that there are no happy endings for men like me. There is only hardship and depression. And deep down, I’ve always known it.

“Go ahead, Johnny. You earned it…”

I could hear the devil again. Laughing like it had all gone according to plan. He was telling me how naive of me it was to think I could have the world after everything I had done. How naive and misguided it was to think there was ever any other alternative, that another outcome was possible.

That I was worthy of fucking happiness.

THIS IS WHO YOU ARE. THIS IS WHO YOU’LL ALWAYS BE!

Just when I thought God may have had a different plan for me, I realized I was never in his plans at all. With a white line full of regrets carefully strewn across the dashboard, and a dollar bill between my fingers I peek into the mirror.

And I see myself clearly for the first time in forever. .

*SNIFFFFFFF…*

*SNORTTTTT….*

*COUGHHHH….*

And as the devil welcomes me back into his open arms, I welcome back into mine.