Post by The Last Real Man on Jan 21, 2016 14:16:49 GMT -5
Sins A Good Man’s Brother
January 9th, 2016
Boston, Massachusetts
”What in the bloody hell was that out there?”
It was time for a little tough love, and to be honest, I deserved this tongue lashing. Quinn couldn’t wait to chew into me over this debacle. I’ve always prides myself on being a guy who finished his fights - well, one I’m interested.
“She’s tougher than she looks. I didn’t expect that out of her. She brought it. Nothing I could do…”
Time limit draws are unacceptable, especially at this juncture when I’m trying to build myself back up.
“You could’ve won. You should’ve won. It’s like I’m watching a different guy out there. Ever since Tony beat you you’ve fucking lost your edge. You’ve ceased to be the man who stepped into FGA and set this place on fire, and now, now I don’t even recognize you. Where’s the fight? Where’s the desire? Where’s the hunger?”
As usual he was asking all the tough questions, and a usual I didn’t possess any answers. If I did, I would’ve been able to right the ship by now. Instead, the ship is sinking, and even worse I’ve not that great a swimmer.
“We’ll figure it out Quinn, like we always do,” that’s the key right there. Just say the same bullshit to deflect from the root of your problems. “I’m in a rut. I’ve been in one before, it happens -”
Suddenly my phone goes off. It’s Misha. Talk about timing.
“I’ve gotta take this…”
“Seriously?” He stared at me with a look of absolute disgust. “Don’t you think this is a more important conversation?”
“Not really…” I replied, grabbing my towel to clean myself up. I had to wipe the mediocrity from my face.
“Tony. Bond. And now Fujiko. No wins. Just embarrassment. And you don’t even fucking care.”
“The hell you want me to say Quinn,” I said as I the call go to voicemail, “tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Stop looking for cop outs, and start looking for solutions. Otherwise, you’re wasting both our time. You’ve been out there looking like a guy who’s broken, who doesn’t think he has what it takes anymore. You’ve lost your pride and it’s preventing you from reestablishing your dominance. If you don’t think you can hack it anymore, then QUIT!” He shouted.
“Quinn-”
“No. I’m tired of holding your fucking hand. Be a man, Johnny. Be a fucking man, grab your sack, and make a choice. Get up, look in that mirror, and decide who you see. Do you see a living legend, or a legend in his own mind?”
I stood up and did as instructed.
I looked right into the mirror.
And saw absolutely nothing
*************************************************************************
January 20th, 2016
LAX - Los Angeles, California
”I thought you said you weren’t leaving until Friday.” Kharissa spat, upset that I had broken another promise.
“I know, but things have come up…”
“Things? What things, what could be more important than spending time with your son? It’s like you’re ashamed of him or something.” People walking by through the terminal could hear the scorn in her voice coming through my 6 Plus speakers.
“I’ve got a big match to prepare for. You know that.”
“That’s what you said the last time, and the time before that.” She was right to be angry, but I was also between a rock and a hard place.
“They’re all big, Kharissa. Each one can make or break my career. Nothing’s more important right now then my dream. NOTHING! If I lose focus now, I may never get back to where I was, or where I want to be.”
“So wrestling is more important to you than your own fucking son?”
“That's not what I’m saying…” I was losing her. With each passing second I felt the distance between us grow.
“That’s exactly what you’re saying. You know what, I hope it’s all fucking worth it. Get ready for your stupid fucking match, Johnny. Wouldn’t want to cone between you and your goals.”
*CLICK*
That was all she had to say, and that’s all she needed to.
“Shit.” I buried my face in my palms with a sigh. I knew I had messed up again. But what am I supposed to do? I didn’t plan for any of this.
I mean, I just don’t have the luxury of putting my attention towards anything but the grind because when it’s over, it’s OVER.
I just, I don’t know what to do other than what I’ve always done.
What’s best for me.
*************************************************************************
The scene opens up to a beige crib, where inside resides a baby, resting innocently without a care in the world. Surrounding the structure are various child friendly toys and furniture, giving a good indication that we’re looking at the insides of your everyday home nursery. After a few moments, a figure walks into the shot, giving us nothing but his back as he leans over the crib to stare at the slumbering infant. Finally, his identity is revealed - not that there was any issue deciphering it - for it was obvious the second he strutted into camera view that we were looking at the incomparable Johnny Cannon.
“A lot of things have been said about me recently,” starts The British Mamba, as he leans up against the crib ever so slightly, speaking softly enough not to awaken his descendant, but loud enough to get his point across, “and they’ve been said by a lot of blokes who don’t know the first thing about who I am, what I’ve done, or what I’ve been through”, Cannon pauses a moment to glance back at his son, “like this notion that I’m not a good father, and that I'm not a good man.”
“The thing is, I never once claimed to be either of those things.” He says briskly, and matter of factly. “Never have. Never will.”
“Not once have I ever gone out in front of a crowd and told them that I’m a good father, because I’m not. A good father is the one who’s there to check under your bed for monsters, read you bedtime stories, and tuck you in at night. Based on that criteria alone, it’s impossible for anyone to consider me to be a good father, myself included,” he confesses, grabbing a small stuffed bear from the table beside him. He stares at it for brief second before tossing it aside. “I wish I was - I wish I could be here to do all those things but I simply can’t because despite how far technology has advanced, they still haven’t created a device that allows people to be in two places at once.” He says in a tone that is both candid and sardonic.
“That’ll probably be one of the key features in the iPhone 10s or some rubbish,” he jokes. “Still, when I want to be here I’m out on the road or catching a flight with Goodrich to this city, or that city chasing goals and aspirations, doing what I can to be the best at my chosen profession. I live in a bloody loop. And endless cycle of travel, physical development, punishment, and recovery,” he explains, grimacing slightly as he grabs at his arm - the one Fujiko Mine worked over in their last match. “The grind is tiring - both physically and mentally, so much that I battle with depression on a daily basis. It’s because of my pursuit of my dreams that I’ve missed my own son’s birth, and why I’ll probably miss his first steps, and his first coherent sentence.” He says with a heavy sigh as he exits the room.
“But it's by that same token, and through that same tunnel vision that William will grow up never knowing what it’s like to struggle, because he knew his father did everything in his power to give him everything he’ll ever need. That’s why I refer to myself as a real man,” he proclaims, as he walks down a hallway, passing by various classic paintings and portraits that no doubt cost a fortune. “It’s not because it sounds cool, it's because it's a fact. A real man does his duty, fulfills his obligations, and handles his business without protest.”
“So my checks go to my son. They put clothes on his back, formula in his belly, and a roof over his head. I’m not on good terms with his mother, but I still make sure she’s situated and taken care of because that’s what a real man is supposed to do. And I don’t mention these things to brag, I mention them for the few people out there who constantly question and attack my character based on the truculent and violent manner by which I bring home the bacon,” he explains, as we enter a large, and lavish kitchen, equipped with state of the art appliances, “or because I’m brash, and arrogant, and that I think I’m better than everyone else.”
“But that’s where the confusion lies,” he says, as he grabs a bottle of Jim Beam from the cupboard, “because I don’t think anything, I simply know. I know I’m the best in the world at what I do because I’ve put the time in. People seem to ignore that. There’s this narrative being written about me that suggests I’ve been handed things,” he says sternly, “You see me walk around in custom suits, you see my home with a kitchen I’ve put too much money into for me to barely eat in, and you assume I have some superiority complex caused by my pursuit of worldly possessions - and you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“What you perceive as arrogance is security.”
“I’m secure with who I am because I know where I come from, and that’s humble beginnings. I was born to a father and a mother who had nothing but gave me EVERYTHING they could. I hated my old man’s guts, but may God rest his soul because the bastard made sure I knew the value of hard work, and I’ve worked hard to be where I’m at. So this Saturday when you see me Main Eventing Vertigo for the umtpeenth time whether that’s live in the Carnesseca Arena or at home on the WGN Network, you know I belong there because I deserve to be there.” He claims, finally opening his bourbon to take a quick sip.
“And that’s precisely why it pisses me off when a wanker like Zero McHannon says that I haven’t earned anything, and that I’ve “talked my way into opportunities” and all the other manure he spits from that toilet bowl mouth of his,” he says with a scowl. “You know, for a guy who hates Chandler Scott because of how he looked down upon the rest of the roster, you really should look at yourself in the mirror, McHannon. You’ve been in his seat for ten minutes and you already sound like him,” he scoffs. “You say he represented everything that was wrong in FGA, yet you’re acting just like him - telling people what they have or have not earned, and what they can or cannot become.”
“And I find it interesting how your attitude has shifted over these last few months - it's a very sharp contrast to what you were displaying back in Chicago Ridge, if you recall. Do you? It was voted as the 12th best match of the year. Ring any bells? Ah. I guess you have selective amnesia. Must be one of the side effects of being dropped on your head and pinned in the middle of the ring.” He says with a wry smile, before taking his drink and heading out of the kitchen.
“But I digress. The point is back then you were “Modest McHannon”, the guy who said all the right things, and just wanted to find his stride and be all he could be - which ironically was around the same time you couldn’t win any matches, and you had to come up with pointless statistics and moral victories to cope with your failures. But now, now that you’ve got the big gold belt you can’t be told jack shit, because your shit suddenly doesn't stink and I find that funny. But I guess it’s true what they say, success reveals who a person really is, and what you are Zero is a fake, a hypocrite, and the biggest two face since Harvey Dent.”
“Who you are is predicated on where you are professionally. When you’re down in the dumps you never even make a peep, but as soon as you get on top and see the view from the balcony you suddenly think you’re Ron Jeremy and go from buying Lifestyle’s to Magnum’s when you shop at CVS. The thing is Zero, you shouldn’t get in a dick measuring contest with a man like me because you and I both know mine is bigger,” he suggests, as he sips his bourbon. “And that’s one of the biggest differences between the two of us. The other is that I don’t pretend to be what I’m not.” He claims. “Everyone knows who I am and what I’ve accomplished. Unlike you, I don’t need to list my accolades in my twitter bio, or constantly mention all the pointless benchmarks I’ve hit because I don’t have to sell my legitimacy. Unfortunately, no one's buying your shit, Zero. At least no one outside of your circle of yes-men.”
“Because they won’t shoot it straight with you. They’ll tell you what you want to hear. They allow you to go around passing judgements and questioning people’s morality like that has anything to do with being able to wrestle - and you’re so insecure that you can’t even see how pathetic your shtick is. So while you boast about being World Champion, remember that I’ve seen this movie before. You forget we share more than one company in our employment history. There I watched you play musical chairs until you were the one sitting when the music stopped, just like you won a tournament full of paper contenders to challenge Scott.” He claims.
“And just like then you’re pumping your chest up, and talking about how you’ll be this or that, and you haven’t even defended the belt yet,” he says, shaking his head, “You’re buying things before the money even reaches the direct deposit. Out here writing checks with hypothetical earnings. And you know what happens when you do that, don’t you? Well you’ll find out sooner or later. Not this weekend, no,” he assures us. “February 20th. That’s when you’ll either prove me right, or prove me wrong, which brings me to Cyncity.” He says, as we find ourselves on a back patio, sun shining brightly.
“I wonder how it felt Cyn, I wonder how it felt to have been leapfrogged for so long before your number was called. How long were you in line, two, three years? Long enough I’d say,” he adds, taking another sip of Jim Beam. “You remind me of one of my close friends, and biggest rivals - a girl named Abby Park,” he smiles. “We were in this Tag Team called The Short Change Heroes - and you do know what it means to be short changed right? If not let me educate you. It means despite how hard you work, you’re constantly overlooked and told you’re not quite good enough, while the opportunities you covet are given to lesser qualified individuals.”
“Two years was about the time it took me to get my World Title shot. And even then it was only given to me because of a twitter spat, and not because I had grabbed every brass ring management put in front of me. I’m sure you can relate. I’m sure you’ve been itching for this opportunity your entire FGA career. But that’s your problem right there, you’ve just been waiting.”
“You’ve been playing by the rules in a game where there are no rules. And right now, you’ve got a prime opportunity to actually take your life into your own hands. You’ll be teaming with a man who while he says you might be on his level, deep down thinks otherwise. That should bother you. It should bother you that Zero was able to become World Champion based on his attendance record, and not his actual record. And if I were you, this weekend I’d be out to make a statement.” He declares.
“I’d be out for myself. Because that’s all you’ve got. You’ve got ONE chance. One chance to change your fortune, and you should be looking to get every advantage you can. If that means cheap shotting that wanker, or ignoring his pleas for help, then so be it. Sportsmanship is vastly overrated, especially when a World Championship is at stake. No. You’ve got to think about what you really want. And if you want to be the top dog in FGA, you have to do what’s necessary, and not what’s respectable. And right now, the people adore you. They cheer for you because of how you carry yourself, because of how you handled Dom Harter. You’re a hero and role model. But you can be more than that.”
“Who do you want to be Cyn?”
“Do you want to be the FGA World Champion?”
“Or are you just happy to be here like everyone else?” He questions. “Will you give in to the pressure of being and doing what’s expected of you, or will you decide your own fate and go against the grain?”
“You see there are two types of people in the world; there’s those of us who are running scared, and then there’s the select few of us who are running free. We’re all running, Cyn. The difference is one group is running in place, while the other runs the place. So how are you running?” He asks nonchalantly.
“Saturday you’ll be running into the baddest man on the planet, and right into the dangerzone because held within these hands are the keys to break a man,” he says, raising a fist. “And if you don’t understand that, then I suggest you prepare to stand under me, or worse. I don’t care if you get seriously injured in this match, Cyn. Neither does Jimmy Page and let me tell you a little secret, neither does your partner. I’ll put you in the hospital if it means getting the victory because in the end that’s all that matters - winning.”
“History only remembers the winners. Moral victories are not recorded in the history books. They don’t make movies about the runner-up. And if you want to be remembered as the woman who humbled Zero McHannon, well you’d better be willing to get your hands dirty next month. We’ll find out how badly you want this in Queens, because you’ll need to commit a few sins to leave in one piece.”
“And while sin is a good man’s brother, to a bad man like me, it’s just a right of passage.” He says, chugging his bourbon.
“It’s just a necessary evil, and sometimes you’ve gotta dance with the devil to get to heaven.” Cannon turns away from the camera, staring at the sky contemplatively as we fade to black.
