Game On!
Feb 3, 2016 21:33:56 GMT -5
Post by Lou on Feb 3, 2016 21:33:56 GMT -5
Valero Fight Club
Brooklyn, NY
02/04/2016
2:37 p.m.
The scene opens inside the Valero Fight Club’s training room where we find rising FGA star Ricky Valero sprawled out on the table flat on his stomach with his shirt off. The head athletic trainer at the facility, John Simon, is checking his back out as he always does leading up to a big match.
“It’s never going to be good, Ricky,” John said with an unmistakably concerned look on his face. “I’ve been telling you that for years though.”
With his head propped up on his arms, he shakes his head. He is unusually frantic this afternoon, constantly moving, and his eyes look like they haven’t gotten rest in days.
“Am I going to die, Doc?” he snided. That son of a bitch is so sarcastic.
The doctor just sighed.
These two weren’t in the room alone, however, as sitting across from them was Ricky’s older brother, Logan Redfield, and his best friend, Jessica Sears. Logan leaned against the counter while Jessica twisted back and forth on John’s spinning stool.
“Always the smartass, aren’t you, Ricky?” Logan asked with a chuckle.
Ricky smirked. “Why so serious?”
“Ricky-sama, please…” Jessica frowned. Her T.A.R.D.I.S. dress stopped flowing when she ceased her movement on the stool.
“I know you don’t like hearing it Ricky, but I tell you this every time: you’re pushing your boundaries. Every time you step inside that ring, you put yourself at risk,” the athletic trainer reminds Ricky.
“We’ve been through this 100 times, Doc.”
“More than that,” John fires back. “And yet it still hasn’t been beaten into your brain enough. You keep wrestling. You keep working at the rate that you’re working...you’re going to wind up in a wheelchair sooner rather than later. Do you want that?”
But Ricky doesn’t respond.
Jessica presses her lips together, taking in the new information, and she speaks up. “Ricky… That’s not the kind of future you want. You’re only thirty-three. You don’t want to live the rest of your life confined in a wheelchair. What about your son, Little Richie?”
“Yes! Think about your son,” John follows. “He’s seven years old now, right? Loves sports like you do I’m sure, right? How are you going to play catch with him? Go for a friggin walk with him? Ricky, I understand how important wrestling is to you...but is it really more important to you than your son?”
But again Ricky doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes himself up to his knees and hops off the table. He forces another smirk as he looks at Logan. “You guys ready to do some work in the gym or what?”
And without a second of hesitation, he walks through the doorway and into the gym. In a nearby ring, some new students are working with trainer Quinn Conlon while Frankie Figueroa and Damion Carter watch from the outside. Ricky walks with pride as he admires all he’s built on the back of his professional wrestling career.
“Without wrestling, none of this exists. Plain and simple.”
Jessica looks on in disbelief. She glances over at John, glances over at Logan, and she shakes her head. She seems to whisper “I’m sorry” as she rises from the stool and runs after Ricky. Her eyes shimmer in the lights above the training ring as she calls out to him. “Is wrestling all that matters to you, Ricky?” She doesn’t receive an answer, so she quickens her pace, moves around and stops directly in front of him. She looks up to him from where she stands, her eyes soft and her features strong. “You have a wonderful son in Little Richie, an amazing girlfriend in Mayu, a supportive family in Logan, Angelina, Nicky, and Dominick... Are you willing to sacrifice them?”
She doesn’t want to be cruel, but she’s running out of options. She takes a deep breath and her body trembles. “Are you going to let Rochelle’s death be in vain?”
Ricky is stunned and his inability to say something or even move indicates that. He and Jessica have never had a confrontation like this before, and frankly, no one has ever been this blunt to him about how much of an ass he can be. He doesn’t know how to respond, in part because he’s afraid his response will come out far more crude than he intends. That or he’ll just wind up falling to the floor in a heap, balling his eyes like a little bitch, and he’s not about to make himself look weak to anyone. Not today.
He sighs and holds his arms out, once again looking at Logan over Jessica’s blonde ponytail. “Are we gonna lift or what?” And he turns and walks away again, grabbing the handle and pushing the door open to the Valero Fight Club’s weight room. It’s empty, just the way Ricky likes it when he’s homed in on something he’s set his sights on. In this instance, it’s the FGA World Tag Team Championships.
“Luke and I, we’ve been working our tails off for this opportunity. I can’t afford to squander that now. We have a chance to firmly place ourselves among the best FGA has to offer. My focus has to be on the weight room, the film room, and the ring. Victory is the only option here.” He starts stretching as he stands in front of the gym’s abundance of workout stations, machines, benches and squat racks. “I can do that with support from you guys or not at all. It doesn’t matter to me.”
He chose to blatantly ignore his own best friend, the young woman who’s been there for him time after time. Jessica remains still, astonished by his words and actions. An uncomfortable ache quells within her heart as she breathes slowly.
“...Richard Nicholas Valero!”
The ache grows, but so does her temper. Speculation begins to pick up as she makes her way into the weight room. Once again the petite girl stands her ground in front of Ricky and looks him in the eye. “Victory means nothing without your loved ones. Victory is insignificant without heart, passion, and respect. This business may have given you fame and fortune, but your family and friends gave you life. For you to even consider championship gold more important than your own girlfriend? Your own family? Your ONLY son?!”
Shaking her head, she throws her arms out and takes a step back. “...If something bad happened to me, would the gold, the business, and the glory be more important than my wellbeing? If I ended up in another coma, would it not matter to you?” She takes in another breath and slowly lowers her arms. “You told me you wanted to become a better person. You expressed to me you were going to work hard to be involved in your son’s life. You confided in me your feelings and your promises. We’re always there for you when you need us. When are YOU going to be there for US when we need you?!”
Her body trembles and her eyes focus on him again. “When are you going to live like a real human being, Ricky...?”
His heart sunk into his gut as she spoke those words. He could sense the anger in her voice, and her face did nothing to hide her frustration. He stood there and stared at her for a few moments, thinking...Logan was doing the awkward turtle in the background, unsure of whether he should interject in this situation right now. He chose wisely and stayed clear of it.
Ricky didn’t. He chose not to respond at all, instead moving toward the weight bench and taking a seat. He continued to stare at Jessica, their eyes locked in a silent, heated battle that Ricky refused to lose. He knew deep down that everything she had said was true. He knew he was a bad friend, a worse brother, and horrible person all together. He understood his priorities were completely out of whack. But this had always been an issue for Ricky: he strongly believes he wasn’t a good person, and so much of what he chose to do for his friends, his family, his girlfriend, it all supported that thought.
Once again, Ricky didn’t respond to Jessica. Instead, he hung his head before laying back and prepping himself for his first set on the bench press. “You ready, Logan?”
Logan was hesitant for a moment. His decision to be silent was disappointing, too. Ricky survived 33 years without Logan ever really acting like a true big brother, but he could have used some brotherly guidance today. Logan was faced with this decision once upon a time too. Wrestling or family. Health or his children. He left the ring. He made the better choice. But he gave Ricky nothing today. No, he just let Ricky do his thing even when he agreed with Jessica. Even when he knew Ricky would regret the choices he’s made such as this one--wrestling over family. Wrestling over his physical and mental well-being.
He nodded his head, stepping out from behind Jessica and taking his place behind the bench. She was left in the same position as before, ignored and unanswered, only this time there was no one to support her. Although her anger begins to recede itself, the ache in her heart only manifests more anguish. Her once-bright blue eyes grow dim and fill with tears.
“...You don’t deserve to be my best friend…”
She let out a defeated sigh before turning on her heels and heading for the exit. From the bench, Ricky watched her go. His blue eyes refused to be removed from her till she disappeared into the doorway. He still didn’t say anything, just lifted the bar off the rack and started his workout.
.
.
.
Journal Entry #738
Coming Out Swinging
02/04/2016
I guess I’ve made some progress. This is Day 738 since I last took a single drug. No coke, no pills, not even weed. After over a decade of drug abuse, I’d say that’s a success. But even with an accomplishment as huge as that worth celebrating--over two years clean!!--my focus is apparently not where it belongs. It is at least not where others believe it should be.
Instead, the anticipation for my upcoming FGA has been suffocating. I’m chomping at the bit, completely on edge waiting to step foot inside that ring and take the next big step in my FGA career. Nothing is more important than that right now, and it’s a shame my so-called friends are unable to understand why my priorities currently are the way they are.
I’m optimistic, as usual, heading into this match. Luke and I have managed to formulate quite the duo and I really think this could be a lengthy run if we can remain focused on getting the job done inside the ring. Luke has been competing better than I’ve ever seen from him before, and even though there’s a part of me that worries about our past coming up again, I believe I can trust him.
Even with all those positive thoughts, I can’t deny I’ve been more disheveled than I usually am heading into a big match. I know I always get this way, I guess I just didn’t realize how important succeeding in FGA really was to me. Almost 16 years in the game and I still feel like I have something to prove.
My first big achievement is now in sights. Nothing will keep me from accomplishing all I have set out to do here in FGA. Ai and Rottentreats are merely the next stepping stone on my way to the top of the mountain.
Stand them up, I’ll knock them down.
.
.
.
“The difference between the possible and the impossible lies in a person’s determination.”
-Tommy Lasorda
(rec)
In a well-lit room, Ricky Valero stands before us. He wears a sweat-soaked sleeveless grey t-shirt and navy blue basketball shorts with a hand towel draped over his left shoulder. It’s apparent he has just completed another training session at the Valero Fight Club facility not far from where Vertigo will take place in a few short days. His determination is unmistakable as his blue eyes stare directly into the camera in front of him.
“We’re finally here,” he begins. “The Joker’s Wild Tag Team Tournament Finals. The Franchise Thrillers versus The Creampuff Killers. Luke and myself versus Mr. Rottentreats and Mistress Ai. Four athletes vying for an opportunity to challenge for the FGA World Tag Team Championships. Championship gold that has been held by some of the highest regarded talent in FGA history...The Murder, the Super Mario Wrestling Bros., #Sparklebuddies, The Spitfires had one hell of a reign, and most recently, Whiskey and Dexter Jacobs. We could all use the rub, and we’d love nothing more than to etch our names among those great teams I just rambled off.
But before we can even consider that possibility, we must go to war with one another. Two teams left to fight and only one can stand tall among the rest. I’m honored to even be a part of it all, and proud of my partner, Luke Jackson, because together we have formed what I believe is the most formidable unit FGA has seen in years. That belief will be tested Saturday night inside the Westchester County Center in White Plains, N.Y., and I’m confident in everything Luke and I are bringing to the table.”
Ricky pauses for a moment. His confident demeanor shifts slightly, as his voice takes on a much more serious tone.
“Up to this point, I think I have had most of my fans and most of my fellow competitors fooled,” he says. “There’s this perception of me that I’m this spoiled brat who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. Everything was handed to me on a silver platter. I’m good looking, a supremely talented, gifted athlete with the physical tools and mental makeup most of my contemporaries could only dream of possessing.
But the perception could not be further from reality. I’m not some privileged little punk from the Hamptons. I damn sure don’t come from a strong wrestling bloodline like Ai. Opportunities weren’t presented to me, I literally had to scratch, claw, fight, climb and crawl for everything I have ever had. My parents were crackheads. I don’t mean that in some insulting fashion either, they were literally crackheads who abandoned me and my sister. We were left with nothing. Me just 12 years old trying to take care of my three-year-old sister, begging for scraps on the streets of Stapleton Heights--a place no 12-year-old child should ever be. Everyday was a struggle. Everyday was a fight.”
He pauses once again, his eyes travelling embarrassed to the floor.
“I had to learn how to fend for myself. To earn my keep and keep earning. Keep scraping. People tried to tell me a few years ago that I’d hit rock bottom when I was getting a little too crazy with the painkillers. THEY HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ROCK BOTTOM IS. Rock bottom was coming home at 15 year old to my aunt getting her ass whooped by her boyfriend and having no other resort but to leap on his back and squeeze my arms around his throat while my aunt clobbered him with a baseball bat until he collapsed to the floor. I knew then my whole life would always be a fight, and I needed to find a way to make sure if I was always going to find myself in a fight, I could at least thrive under the circumstances.
That’s when I found wrestling. Sure, I had been a fan growing up, but my home life was too much of a mess to ever get into extracurriculars at a young age. I had to take care of my mother or feed my sister. But in high school, I finally put myself first, and just like I always have been, I was an instant success. My dominant high school career opened up collegiate opportunities for me, but I didn’t have time to chase someone else’s dreams--I wanted to be a pro wrestler."
He paces slowly for a moment, not taking his eyes from the camera. He takes a deep breath and stops again, this time standing a bit closer to us now.
“All I have ever really had was wrestling,” he continues. “Wrestling is my family. It is what fuels me, what runs through my veins and keeps me waking up in the morning. It consumed me and I engulfed myself in this never-ending endeavor to be the best from the very beginning. Everything I do is to prove to anyone who doubts me that I am the best. Because if I fail, I’ve wasted my life chasing a dream I was never able to attain. If I fail, every chair to the skull, every tendon torn, every vertebrae shattered, every ounce of blood spilled was for nothing. I’ve said it before, this is why I came to FGA. I need to prove once again that I am everything I have ever said I was, everything I have made myself to be. I need to prove to myself and everyone else that I can still compete with the best in the world, and the best in the world are right here in FGA!
Let me be clear: this isn’t meant to be some pity party for me. I promise you I got over my childhood issues a long time ago. But my entire life has been an obstacle course. I’ve hit some road bumps along the way, sure, but I’ve traversed my path successfully, overcoming every challenge thrown my way. I don’t everything about Luke’s background, but he’s a fighter too. We are fighters, and at Vertigo, we’re going to fight with everything we got to become the number one contenders for the FGA World Tag Team Championships. Ai and Rottentreats, they’re just another road block we need to plow through en route to our final destination!"
He shakes his head.
“Do not mistake my confidence for arrogance here. Ai and Mr. Rottentreats may not be the most dynamic duo in the business, but they both bring with them years of experience and a list of accomplishments nobody can scoff at. Luke and I, we know we have our hands full.
I have the utmost respect for Ai. We’ve battled alongside each other in Japan, and now we’ll have the opportunity to go toe to toe here in FGA. I’m relishing the chance. She is an elite global superstar whose talent makes her a dream opponent for me. Even after all my years in the ring, I know there’s still more I can learn from just squaring up against her.
And then there’s Mr. Rottentreats. He may look like a coked up clown, but this man is no joke. Dangerous and unpredictable, he brings an element to this match Luke and myself have yet to come across as a team.
Yea, I think it’s fair to say our opponents present quite the challenge for us. But as we have proven time and time again, both in singles competition and as a tag team in this tournament, we only get better when the pressure is on, and the pressure can’t get much worse than it is right now. We’re faced with a must-win situation and our ascent up the proverbial ladder here in FGA on the line. We cannot afford to lose.
Ai, I got all the love in the world for you, girl, but I’m not about to play nice when we finally clash this Saturday at Vertigo. Like I said, wrestling is everything that fuels me and championship gold is the only thing that can settle my hunger. NOTHING will stand in our way from earning those belts around our waists! Rottentreats, you want to retire, we’re gladly going to send you gently into the night, because at Vertigo we take no prisoners. No punches will be pulled, no actions will be off limits. The only option for Luke and myself is victory. By any means necessary."
He chuckles.
“Tick...tock...the time is drawing near and an unfortunate end awaits dear old Mr. Rottentreats and my homegirl Ai…”
He smirks as his blue eyes shine in the spotlight.
“Are you ready?”
With a wink and a kiss blown to the camera, we fade to black.
Brooklyn, NY
02/04/2016
2:37 p.m.
The scene opens inside the Valero Fight Club’s training room where we find rising FGA star Ricky Valero sprawled out on the table flat on his stomach with his shirt off. The head athletic trainer at the facility, John Simon, is checking his back out as he always does leading up to a big match.
“It’s never going to be good, Ricky,” John said with an unmistakably concerned look on his face. “I’ve been telling you that for years though.”
With his head propped up on his arms, he shakes his head. He is unusually frantic this afternoon, constantly moving, and his eyes look like they haven’t gotten rest in days.
“Am I going to die, Doc?” he snided. That son of a bitch is so sarcastic.
The doctor just sighed.
These two weren’t in the room alone, however, as sitting across from them was Ricky’s older brother, Logan Redfield, and his best friend, Jessica Sears. Logan leaned against the counter while Jessica twisted back and forth on John’s spinning stool.
“Always the smartass, aren’t you, Ricky?” Logan asked with a chuckle.
Ricky smirked. “Why so serious?”
“Ricky-sama, please…” Jessica frowned. Her T.A.R.D.I.S. dress stopped flowing when she ceased her movement on the stool.
“I know you don’t like hearing it Ricky, but I tell you this every time: you’re pushing your boundaries. Every time you step inside that ring, you put yourself at risk,” the athletic trainer reminds Ricky.
“We’ve been through this 100 times, Doc.”
“More than that,” John fires back. “And yet it still hasn’t been beaten into your brain enough. You keep wrestling. You keep working at the rate that you’re working...you’re going to wind up in a wheelchair sooner rather than later. Do you want that?”
But Ricky doesn’t respond.
Jessica presses her lips together, taking in the new information, and she speaks up. “Ricky… That’s not the kind of future you want. You’re only thirty-three. You don’t want to live the rest of your life confined in a wheelchair. What about your son, Little Richie?”
“Yes! Think about your son,” John follows. “He’s seven years old now, right? Loves sports like you do I’m sure, right? How are you going to play catch with him? Go for a friggin walk with him? Ricky, I understand how important wrestling is to you...but is it really more important to you than your son?”
But again Ricky doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes himself up to his knees and hops off the table. He forces another smirk as he looks at Logan. “You guys ready to do some work in the gym or what?”
And without a second of hesitation, he walks through the doorway and into the gym. In a nearby ring, some new students are working with trainer Quinn Conlon while Frankie Figueroa and Damion Carter watch from the outside. Ricky walks with pride as he admires all he’s built on the back of his professional wrestling career.
“Without wrestling, none of this exists. Plain and simple.”
Jessica looks on in disbelief. She glances over at John, glances over at Logan, and she shakes her head. She seems to whisper “I’m sorry” as she rises from the stool and runs after Ricky. Her eyes shimmer in the lights above the training ring as she calls out to him. “Is wrestling all that matters to you, Ricky?” She doesn’t receive an answer, so she quickens her pace, moves around and stops directly in front of him. She looks up to him from where she stands, her eyes soft and her features strong. “You have a wonderful son in Little Richie, an amazing girlfriend in Mayu, a supportive family in Logan, Angelina, Nicky, and Dominick... Are you willing to sacrifice them?”
She doesn’t want to be cruel, but she’s running out of options. She takes a deep breath and her body trembles. “Are you going to let Rochelle’s death be in vain?”
Ricky is stunned and his inability to say something or even move indicates that. He and Jessica have never had a confrontation like this before, and frankly, no one has ever been this blunt to him about how much of an ass he can be. He doesn’t know how to respond, in part because he’s afraid his response will come out far more crude than he intends. That or he’ll just wind up falling to the floor in a heap, balling his eyes like a little bitch, and he’s not about to make himself look weak to anyone. Not today.
He sighs and holds his arms out, once again looking at Logan over Jessica’s blonde ponytail. “Are we gonna lift or what?” And he turns and walks away again, grabbing the handle and pushing the door open to the Valero Fight Club’s weight room. It’s empty, just the way Ricky likes it when he’s homed in on something he’s set his sights on. In this instance, it’s the FGA World Tag Team Championships.
“Luke and I, we’ve been working our tails off for this opportunity. I can’t afford to squander that now. We have a chance to firmly place ourselves among the best FGA has to offer. My focus has to be on the weight room, the film room, and the ring. Victory is the only option here.” He starts stretching as he stands in front of the gym’s abundance of workout stations, machines, benches and squat racks. “I can do that with support from you guys or not at all. It doesn’t matter to me.”
He chose to blatantly ignore his own best friend, the young woman who’s been there for him time after time. Jessica remains still, astonished by his words and actions. An uncomfortable ache quells within her heart as she breathes slowly.
“...Richard Nicholas Valero!”
The ache grows, but so does her temper. Speculation begins to pick up as she makes her way into the weight room. Once again the petite girl stands her ground in front of Ricky and looks him in the eye. “Victory means nothing without your loved ones. Victory is insignificant without heart, passion, and respect. This business may have given you fame and fortune, but your family and friends gave you life. For you to even consider championship gold more important than your own girlfriend? Your own family? Your ONLY son?!”
Shaking her head, she throws her arms out and takes a step back. “...If something bad happened to me, would the gold, the business, and the glory be more important than my wellbeing? If I ended up in another coma, would it not matter to you?” She takes in another breath and slowly lowers her arms. “You told me you wanted to become a better person. You expressed to me you were going to work hard to be involved in your son’s life. You confided in me your feelings and your promises. We’re always there for you when you need us. When are YOU going to be there for US when we need you?!”
Her body trembles and her eyes focus on him again. “When are you going to live like a real human being, Ricky...?”
His heart sunk into his gut as she spoke those words. He could sense the anger in her voice, and her face did nothing to hide her frustration. He stood there and stared at her for a few moments, thinking...Logan was doing the awkward turtle in the background, unsure of whether he should interject in this situation right now. He chose wisely and stayed clear of it.
Ricky didn’t. He chose not to respond at all, instead moving toward the weight bench and taking a seat. He continued to stare at Jessica, their eyes locked in a silent, heated battle that Ricky refused to lose. He knew deep down that everything she had said was true. He knew he was a bad friend, a worse brother, and horrible person all together. He understood his priorities were completely out of whack. But this had always been an issue for Ricky: he strongly believes he wasn’t a good person, and so much of what he chose to do for his friends, his family, his girlfriend, it all supported that thought.
Once again, Ricky didn’t respond to Jessica. Instead, he hung his head before laying back and prepping himself for his first set on the bench press. “You ready, Logan?”
Logan was hesitant for a moment. His decision to be silent was disappointing, too. Ricky survived 33 years without Logan ever really acting like a true big brother, but he could have used some brotherly guidance today. Logan was faced with this decision once upon a time too. Wrestling or family. Health or his children. He left the ring. He made the better choice. But he gave Ricky nothing today. No, he just let Ricky do his thing even when he agreed with Jessica. Even when he knew Ricky would regret the choices he’s made such as this one--wrestling over family. Wrestling over his physical and mental well-being.
He nodded his head, stepping out from behind Jessica and taking his place behind the bench. She was left in the same position as before, ignored and unanswered, only this time there was no one to support her. Although her anger begins to recede itself, the ache in her heart only manifests more anguish. Her once-bright blue eyes grow dim and fill with tears.
“...You don’t deserve to be my best friend…”
She let out a defeated sigh before turning on her heels and heading for the exit. From the bench, Ricky watched her go. His blue eyes refused to be removed from her till she disappeared into the doorway. He still didn’t say anything, just lifted the bar off the rack and started his workout.
.
.
.
Journal Entry #738
Coming Out Swinging
02/04/2016
I guess I’ve made some progress. This is Day 738 since I last took a single drug. No coke, no pills, not even weed. After over a decade of drug abuse, I’d say that’s a success. But even with an accomplishment as huge as that worth celebrating--over two years clean!!--my focus is apparently not where it belongs. It is at least not where others believe it should be.
Instead, the anticipation for my upcoming FGA has been suffocating. I’m chomping at the bit, completely on edge waiting to step foot inside that ring and take the next big step in my FGA career. Nothing is more important than that right now, and it’s a shame my so-called friends are unable to understand why my priorities currently are the way they are.
I’m optimistic, as usual, heading into this match. Luke and I have managed to formulate quite the duo and I really think this could be a lengthy run if we can remain focused on getting the job done inside the ring. Luke has been competing better than I’ve ever seen from him before, and even though there’s a part of me that worries about our past coming up again, I believe I can trust him.
Even with all those positive thoughts, I can’t deny I’ve been more disheveled than I usually am heading into a big match. I know I always get this way, I guess I just didn’t realize how important succeeding in FGA really was to me. Almost 16 years in the game and I still feel like I have something to prove.
My first big achievement is now in sights. Nothing will keep me from accomplishing all I have set out to do here in FGA. Ai and Rottentreats are merely the next stepping stone on my way to the top of the mountain.
Stand them up, I’ll knock them down.
.
.
.
“The difference between the possible and the impossible lies in a person’s determination.”
-Tommy Lasorda
(rec)
In a well-lit room, Ricky Valero stands before us. He wears a sweat-soaked sleeveless grey t-shirt and navy blue basketball shorts with a hand towel draped over his left shoulder. It’s apparent he has just completed another training session at the Valero Fight Club facility not far from where Vertigo will take place in a few short days. His determination is unmistakable as his blue eyes stare directly into the camera in front of him.
“We’re finally here,” he begins. “The Joker’s Wild Tag Team Tournament Finals. The Franchise Thrillers versus The Creampuff Killers. Luke and myself versus Mr. Rottentreats and Mistress Ai. Four athletes vying for an opportunity to challenge for the FGA World Tag Team Championships. Championship gold that has been held by some of the highest regarded talent in FGA history...The Murder, the Super Mario Wrestling Bros., #Sparklebuddies, The Spitfires had one hell of a reign, and most recently, Whiskey and Dexter Jacobs. We could all use the rub, and we’d love nothing more than to etch our names among those great teams I just rambled off.
But before we can even consider that possibility, we must go to war with one another. Two teams left to fight and only one can stand tall among the rest. I’m honored to even be a part of it all, and proud of my partner, Luke Jackson, because together we have formed what I believe is the most formidable unit FGA has seen in years. That belief will be tested Saturday night inside the Westchester County Center in White Plains, N.Y., and I’m confident in everything Luke and I are bringing to the table.”
Ricky pauses for a moment. His confident demeanor shifts slightly, as his voice takes on a much more serious tone.
“Up to this point, I think I have had most of my fans and most of my fellow competitors fooled,” he says. “There’s this perception of me that I’m this spoiled brat who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth. Everything was handed to me on a silver platter. I’m good looking, a supremely talented, gifted athlete with the physical tools and mental makeup most of my contemporaries could only dream of possessing.
But the perception could not be further from reality. I’m not some privileged little punk from the Hamptons. I damn sure don’t come from a strong wrestling bloodline like Ai. Opportunities weren’t presented to me, I literally had to scratch, claw, fight, climb and crawl for everything I have ever had. My parents were crackheads. I don’t mean that in some insulting fashion either, they were literally crackheads who abandoned me and my sister. We were left with nothing. Me just 12 years old trying to take care of my three-year-old sister, begging for scraps on the streets of Stapleton Heights--a place no 12-year-old child should ever be. Everyday was a struggle. Everyday was a fight.”
He pauses once again, his eyes travelling embarrassed to the floor.
“I had to learn how to fend for myself. To earn my keep and keep earning. Keep scraping. People tried to tell me a few years ago that I’d hit rock bottom when I was getting a little too crazy with the painkillers. THEY HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ROCK BOTTOM IS. Rock bottom was coming home at 15 year old to my aunt getting her ass whooped by her boyfriend and having no other resort but to leap on his back and squeeze my arms around his throat while my aunt clobbered him with a baseball bat until he collapsed to the floor. I knew then my whole life would always be a fight, and I needed to find a way to make sure if I was always going to find myself in a fight, I could at least thrive under the circumstances.
That’s when I found wrestling. Sure, I had been a fan growing up, but my home life was too much of a mess to ever get into extracurriculars at a young age. I had to take care of my mother or feed my sister. But in high school, I finally put myself first, and just like I always have been, I was an instant success. My dominant high school career opened up collegiate opportunities for me, but I didn’t have time to chase someone else’s dreams--I wanted to be a pro wrestler."
He paces slowly for a moment, not taking his eyes from the camera. He takes a deep breath and stops again, this time standing a bit closer to us now.
“All I have ever really had was wrestling,” he continues. “Wrestling is my family. It is what fuels me, what runs through my veins and keeps me waking up in the morning. It consumed me and I engulfed myself in this never-ending endeavor to be the best from the very beginning. Everything I do is to prove to anyone who doubts me that I am the best. Because if I fail, I’ve wasted my life chasing a dream I was never able to attain. If I fail, every chair to the skull, every tendon torn, every vertebrae shattered, every ounce of blood spilled was for nothing. I’ve said it before, this is why I came to FGA. I need to prove once again that I am everything I have ever said I was, everything I have made myself to be. I need to prove to myself and everyone else that I can still compete with the best in the world, and the best in the world are right here in FGA!
Let me be clear: this isn’t meant to be some pity party for me. I promise you I got over my childhood issues a long time ago. But my entire life has been an obstacle course. I’ve hit some road bumps along the way, sure, but I’ve traversed my path successfully, overcoming every challenge thrown my way. I don’t everything about Luke’s background, but he’s a fighter too. We are fighters, and at Vertigo, we’re going to fight with everything we got to become the number one contenders for the FGA World Tag Team Championships. Ai and Rottentreats, they’re just another road block we need to plow through en route to our final destination!"
He shakes his head.
“Do not mistake my confidence for arrogance here. Ai and Mr. Rottentreats may not be the most dynamic duo in the business, but they both bring with them years of experience and a list of accomplishments nobody can scoff at. Luke and I, we know we have our hands full.
I have the utmost respect for Ai. We’ve battled alongside each other in Japan, and now we’ll have the opportunity to go toe to toe here in FGA. I’m relishing the chance. She is an elite global superstar whose talent makes her a dream opponent for me. Even after all my years in the ring, I know there’s still more I can learn from just squaring up against her.
And then there’s Mr. Rottentreats. He may look like a coked up clown, but this man is no joke. Dangerous and unpredictable, he brings an element to this match Luke and myself have yet to come across as a team.
Yea, I think it’s fair to say our opponents present quite the challenge for us. But as we have proven time and time again, both in singles competition and as a tag team in this tournament, we only get better when the pressure is on, and the pressure can’t get much worse than it is right now. We’re faced with a must-win situation and our ascent up the proverbial ladder here in FGA on the line. We cannot afford to lose.
Ai, I got all the love in the world for you, girl, but I’m not about to play nice when we finally clash this Saturday at Vertigo. Like I said, wrestling is everything that fuels me and championship gold is the only thing that can settle my hunger. NOTHING will stand in our way from earning those belts around our waists! Rottentreats, you want to retire, we’re gladly going to send you gently into the night, because at Vertigo we take no prisoners. No punches will be pulled, no actions will be off limits. The only option for Luke and myself is victory. By any means necessary."
He chuckles.
“Tick...tock...the time is drawing near and an unfortunate end awaits dear old Mr. Rottentreats and my homegirl Ai…”
IT’S GAME TIME BABY!
He smirks as his blue eyes shine in the spotlight.
“Are you ready?”
With a wink and a kiss blown to the camera, we fade to black.