Catch Your Breath
Jun 18, 2016 20:06:50 GMT -5
Post by Lou on Jun 18, 2016 20:06:50 GMT -5
New York-Presbyterian Hospital
Manhattan
June 20, 2016
Ricky Valero sits on an exam table inside a room at New York-Presbyterian Hospital for the second time in less than a month. His feet, adorned in a fresh pair of Jordan 5 ‘Grapes’, dangle off the front end of the table and clank against the steel frame. He nibbles at a piece of skin on the inside of his lip as he pecks away at the iPhone resting in his lap.
Suddenly, there’s a knock from outside the room and the heavy wooden door to the exam room swings open.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to be seeing you again, Mr. Valero,” the doctor says with a snicker as he enters the room. His eyes, hidden behind shaded glasses, are buried in Ricky’s records folder.
“I had some work to do first, Doc,” Ricky responds with a sharp tongue. That work he speaks of was a date at Vertigo nearly two weeks ago and a matchup in Japan for the former New Kingdom Puro. “I imagine whatever bad news you have for me could wait another week.”
Ricky fidgets uncomfortably as he sits on the exam table. He fights the urge to get up and run out of the room knowing full well he’s not back in New York-Presbyterian Hospital today for anything positive.
Dr. Mihalcik takes a seat in his chair at the counter and places the manila folder down next to the sink. He removes the eyeglasses from his face, cleaning the dust off of them with his lab coat before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. With his head tilted downward, he peers at Ricky over the top of his glasses.
“Mr. Valero, we found something in one of your CT scans that worries us,” his words send Ricky’s heart sinking into his stomach. “We’re not ready to say definitively what it is, but we’d like to run some more tests over the next few days to gain some clarity on what’s going on with your brain right now.”
Ricky sighs. “Do I have to?”
The doctor stares sternly at him. “Mr. Valero, do you value your health?”
“Depends what day you ask me.”
“Yes, you have to,” he replies. “I’ve spoken to Dr. Ferguson about you. I know how much you value your career despite how physically demanding it can be and the toll it has taken on you. But Mr. Valero, this is much bigger than your career. Your long-term health is at risk, and there are already signs that worried you enough to come here in the first place, correct?”
“Yes,” Ricky says with his voice trailing off.
“Then it’s important we figure it out so that we can decipher what has caused these issues for you and if there are more precautions we must take to ensure your well being.”
“I understand,” Ricky responds as his eyes travel to the tile floor below him. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of fear that is coming from a variety of directions. “So what are we talking about here, Doc? Am I going to have to retire?”
“Not yet, but I’m not taking the possibility off the table, sir.”
“For Christ’s sake, just call me Ricky!”
“Right...Ricky,” the doctor stammers. “It’s possible you may be showing early symptoms of CTE. I’m sure you’re well aware of what that is.”
Ricky nods.
“But the tests we ran were inconclusive and CTE cannot yet be officially diagnosed before someone has passed. CTE is very possible considering your profession, however, so it is a reasonable concern on our end as well as yours. It’s more likely though that you’re merely suffering from a severe case of Post-Concussion Syndrome. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to diagnose sometimes. That would obviously be our preference here, so that’s why we need to run some more tests and make sure.”
“I’m not going to stop wrestling.”
“Excuse me?” The doctor, who had already turned back toward his notes in Ricky’s folder, spins back around in his chair with a surprised look on his face.
“I’m not going to stop wrestling,” Ricky repeats. “If it’s post-concussion syndrome, I don’t care what we need to do, but I need to be able to get in that ring whenever I want regardless of how long it takes for this to pass.”
“Mr. Valero, I--”
“RICKY!”
“Ricky, I understand why you feel so strongly, but it’s not wise to participate in a sport, especially one of professional wrestling’s nature, while still suffering from side effects related to post-concussion syndrome.”
“Yea, that’s great information to have and all,” Ricky fires back with a look of determination on his face. “But I have a big match upcoming that you nor anyone else is going to cause me to miss. I’ve been dealing with this for over a month already. I wrestled two matches since the last time we met, and I’m still standing. This will not sideline me, Doc.”
“Ricky, I cannot approve you getting back in the ring until I feel you’re back at 100 percent,” Dr. Mihalcik asserts.
“Then I’ll find someone who will. Dr. Ferguson has tried playing this game with me too, but at the end of the day, he knows I’m going to get back into that ring no matter how much he pressures me about the potential deterioration of my spine and the inability to walk by the time I’m 40.”
The doctor sighs and shakes his head. He rolls his chair closer to Ricky and looks him firmly in the eyes.
“Ricky, you have a son and a family, right?”
Ricky nods.
“Then maybe you should be smarter about this. You’ve had your time in the ring. You’ve done some really great things at the expense of your health and your family. Maybe it’s time you start thinking about all of them now.”
The doctor’s words cut through Ricky like a knife. He sits suddenly silent...speechless.
.
.
.
Journal Entry #880
Coming to Grips
June 21, 2016
According to Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, there are 5 stages to grieving when it comes to the loss of a loved one: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Of all of them, they say acceptance--the final stage--is the most difficult to overcome. It took me over a year to accept Rochelle’s murder. Hell, I still have trouble with it. It keeps me awake at night. I see shit. I feel shit. I think shit. It eats at me daily. Struggles like that just aren’t overcome in one night.
I feel like I have another instance in my life settling in that’s going to cause me some serious grief, and I’m not ready to accept the reality I’m faced with.
The death of my career. For a decade and a half, pro wrestling has been EVERYTHING to me. Even after my son was born and even after I married Rochelle, life in the ring was my primary concern. Numero uno. When Dr. Ferguson told me I should retire five years ago, that the damage to my spine was a serious threat to my long-term well being, I still chose wrestling. NOTHING was going to take the one thing from me that keeps my heart pumping and gets me out of bed in the morning.
As these days go on though, I can feel the door closing. It gets darker every day, and there’s not much I can do anymore to keep the light on. I have another doctor threatening my livelihood. My brain...it’s not right? Several documented concussions and countless others could be the cause for the migraines, the seizures I’ve told nobody about, the depression and the anxiety. Suddenly I’m a damn lab rat getting tests run on me daily. Nobody has an answer. Maybe it’s just Post-Concussion Syndrome. Maybe it’s early symptoms of CTE. Both are hard to prove. Doc is hesitant to make a diagnosis, but he says that wrestling is the root of the problem.
He hasn’t told me I should quit directly, but he’s made it no secret that he feels that way. This career that has been so good to me...he thinks it’s time I wrap it up and move on. He says it’d be for my son’s sake and for my family and friends. I can sense it in the way he looks at me. I can sense it in the way he talks to me. He’s stunned that I’m so stubborn about this. How could I value my career so much? My son needs me. My family needs me.
But I have to wrestle.
I have to wrestle because I have to be the best. It’s not logical, I know that, especially at this stage in my career. I’ve accomplished plenty. I’ve overcame insurmountable odds in every facet of my life. But I can’t fight the truth: if I’m not competing, I have no purpose. I’m not a good father. I was never a good husband or friend. But I have always been damn good inside that ring and there are still a lot of competitors I need to step foot in that ring and prove myself against before I feel I’m finished...before I can actually hang up the boots and walk away from all of this.
I’m not satisfied. Maybe that’s just who I am, because I have never really been satisfied with anything in my life. There’s just still so much left I want to accomplish. There’s still so much I NEED to accomplish.
I know that my career is going to come to an end one day…
I’m just not ready to come to grips with that just yet.
.
.
.
(rec)
The scene opens as Ricky Valero can be seen leaning back against the white concrete block wall behind him after clicking the camera on. He wears a white t-shirt with a new design and the words ‘IT’S GAME TIME!’ etched across the front. Hanging from his neck is a chain with the dog tags of his late ex-wife Rochelle McCree.
He raises the tortoise-printed wayfarer sunglasses from his face and rests them atop his head. He smiles as his blue eyes meet the camera, and he takes a deep breath to settle in before he begins.
“I relish these moments. You know, the big ones? Sure, the little matches in between all have their special place. You get little gems like the show myself and Mark Storm put on at the last Vertigo, but anyone who has wrestled knows what I’m talking about. When that spotlight is really shining on you and you step into that ring knowing you brought your best stuff with you. Your body goes numb. Fingers tingle. And you’re chomping at the bit just waiting for that bell to ring.
That’s my bliss. Heaven on Earth. Because since day one, I’ve thrived in the big moments. When the gold was on the line and everyone was tuned in, that’s when I step up and put on a show the people could never forget. Those moments are spectacular. It pumps the blood through my veins and my heart leaps out of my chest. I find solace in those moments. I am home in that ring.
All my career I have strived to make an impact. On people. On record books. On the entire sport of professional wrestling. My goal since day one was to be unforgettable. And so every time I step foot in that ring is an opportunity I seize to leave the people wanting more, unable to forget my name, my face, my talent...I strive to leave them in awe and to leave my imprint on every single person I step in the ring with and every single person who witnesses that moment.
There was a time when I believed myself to be a god among men. A boy with an ego far bigger than I had any business having, I’ve matured to know I have my flaws in every instance of my life, but I KNOW that I am as good now as I believed I was then. Here in FGA, it’s been my goal every time I’m inside that squared circle to ensure everyone else watching knows it too.”
He shrugs his shoulders and clasps his hands together.
“Our opponents at All Star Showdown V need no introduction. Their imprint on the FGA is already everlasting. For them, this match is merely an opportunity to pad the FGA resume. That’s not going to happen at my expense.”
He postures, putting off a confident air as he stares down into the camera.
“Since signing with FGA back in November, I have had the chance to wrestle some of the most talented individuals in this sport today. Mistress Ai, Dexter Jacobs, Johnny Cannon, Jimmy Page. All are global stars. None of those individuals carry as much klout as Cordy Stevenson and Dan Herrera do here in FGA despite neither ever having won gold. Heading into the Dynamic Duos tournament, it was cute to try to predict who might win, but I believe any rational person knew who would win when all was said and done.
And dammit if they didn’t run roughshod through the tournament. Did they have a few scares? You bet. But when the dust cleared, the Status Quo stood tall. Their name could not be more appropriate. They are just that: the status quo here in FGA. They are the familiar; a consistent every time they are in a FGA ring. You can bet the house on them putting on a good match, because they always put on a good match. They are fighters. The respect they have garnered over the years is hard earned.
But at All Star Showdown, myself and Luke are set to change the station, flip the script and ignite a fire to the Status Quo. This is a new era here in FGA’s tag team division, and The Next Level is at the forefront. What Cordy and Herrera have done for this company is unforgettable, but Ricky Valero and Luke Jackson are game changers. When we got here, there was NO tag division. Just a few months later, FGA boasts one of the most talented tag divisions in the game today. We sparked that. And now everyone wants to knock us off the pedestal.
That won’t be happening at All Star Showdown. We know we’re stepping into a warzone when we enter the Jenkins Arena in Lakeland, Florida with these FGA World Tag Team Championships on the line...”
He says, flashing his half of the FGA tag title gold to the camera.
“...You better believe we’re coming heavily armed and ready to fight to the death. These tag team titles are everything to us. They define who we are and what we have become since being forced to team in the Joker’s Wild Tag Team tournament. Undefeated as a unit and unwilling to relinquish this gold whether we’re stepping into the ring with you two at All Star Showdown or any other team who wishes to challenges us for these belts.
Former enemies, myself and Luke have developed into brothers with a common goal. So far, we’ve lived up to the hype and delivered on everything we said we would. Status Quo, you two however, presents us with our toughest challenge to date. We know this. But even after all these months, we still have detractors. We still have people who doubt that we work as a tag team. Somehow this baggage over a woman from over a year and a half ago is supposed to still be an issue for us. A tumor slowly growing within us, ready to tear us down at any moment.
Will it happen at All Star Showdown? Will I finally snap and stab Luke in the back at some pivotal moment in the match?”
Ricky cracks that sly, trademark smirk.
“Don’t count on it. I’m not a good guy. I’m also not an idiot. Championship gold has always been more important to me on this Earth than anything, and I’m not about to sacrifice it for some ridiculously contrived notions people apparently have about the friendship Luke and I harbor. We are the best in the sport today with the plan on proving something we already know: we are the best tag team to ever grace a FGA ring. We move one step further to solidifying that at All Star Showdown when we go toe to toe with you two, Cordy and Herrera.
I would be lying if I tried to say I haven’t been counting down the days to this match. Surely you two can sense the anticipation from me, from the fans, from everyone associated with FGA. This match is huge. There might already be two main events for this event, but I confidently believe OUR match will be the one that steals the show. We might go on early, but that energy is going to last the duration of the evening because of the bar we set.”
Excited by his own anticipation, he starts to bounce and sway on his feet before realizing it and letting out a slight chuckle.
“In all seriousness, it’s been fun seeing you two back in the ring. More importantly, it’s been fun to see that even after some time away, you both ‘still got it’, at least as far as I’m concerned. That rust washed away quickly, and what we’re left with is an enticing duo of fan favorites heading into a big-time supercard matchup with a ton of momentum on their side. But it’s time to cut the revival tour short and get back to business. At All-Star Showdown, it’s the Status Quo vs. FGA World Tag Team Champions, The Next Level. To what lengths will you guys go to achieve a goal? Luke and I, we will risk it ALL in the name of victory.
We’ll go to hell and back, whatever it takes to leave Lakeland, Florida with those championship belts still strapped firmly around our waists. That gold is OURS, and make no mistake about it, we will do everything we MUST to ensure it stays OURS! So are you guys ready? Have you studied enough tape, taken enough notes and know everything there is to expect from us? Because if you think you have a handle on what wrestling The Next Level is like, you don’t have a damn clue, my friends!
“Make sure you bring your A-game.”
With a wink and a smirk, the scene fades to black.
Manhattan
June 20, 2016
Ricky Valero sits on an exam table inside a room at New York-Presbyterian Hospital for the second time in less than a month. His feet, adorned in a fresh pair of Jordan 5 ‘Grapes’, dangle off the front end of the table and clank against the steel frame. He nibbles at a piece of skin on the inside of his lip as he pecks away at the iPhone resting in his lap.
Suddenly, there’s a knock from outside the room and the heavy wooden door to the exam room swings open.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to be seeing you again, Mr. Valero,” the doctor says with a snicker as he enters the room. His eyes, hidden behind shaded glasses, are buried in Ricky’s records folder.
“I had some work to do first, Doc,” Ricky responds with a sharp tongue. That work he speaks of was a date at Vertigo nearly two weeks ago and a matchup in Japan for the former New Kingdom Puro. “I imagine whatever bad news you have for me could wait another week.”
Ricky fidgets uncomfortably as he sits on the exam table. He fights the urge to get up and run out of the room knowing full well he’s not back in New York-Presbyterian Hospital today for anything positive.
Dr. Mihalcik takes a seat in his chair at the counter and places the manila folder down next to the sink. He removes the eyeglasses from his face, cleaning the dust off of them with his lab coat before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. With his head tilted downward, he peers at Ricky over the top of his glasses.
“Mr. Valero, we found something in one of your CT scans that worries us,” his words send Ricky’s heart sinking into his stomach. “We’re not ready to say definitively what it is, but we’d like to run some more tests over the next few days to gain some clarity on what’s going on with your brain right now.”
Ricky sighs. “Do I have to?”
The doctor stares sternly at him. “Mr. Valero, do you value your health?”
“Depends what day you ask me.”
“Yes, you have to,” he replies. “I’ve spoken to Dr. Ferguson about you. I know how much you value your career despite how physically demanding it can be and the toll it has taken on you. But Mr. Valero, this is much bigger than your career. Your long-term health is at risk, and there are already signs that worried you enough to come here in the first place, correct?”
“Yes,” Ricky says with his voice trailing off.
“Then it’s important we figure it out so that we can decipher what has caused these issues for you and if there are more precautions we must take to ensure your well being.”
“I understand,” Ricky responds as his eyes travel to the tile floor below him. He’s overwhelmed by a sense of fear that is coming from a variety of directions. “So what are we talking about here, Doc? Am I going to have to retire?”
“Not yet, but I’m not taking the possibility off the table, sir.”
“For Christ’s sake, just call me Ricky!”
“Right...Ricky,” the doctor stammers. “It’s possible you may be showing early symptoms of CTE. I’m sure you’re well aware of what that is.”
Ricky nods.
“But the tests we ran were inconclusive and CTE cannot yet be officially diagnosed before someone has passed. CTE is very possible considering your profession, however, so it is a reasonable concern on our end as well as yours. It’s more likely though that you’re merely suffering from a severe case of Post-Concussion Syndrome. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to diagnose sometimes. That would obviously be our preference here, so that’s why we need to run some more tests and make sure.”
“I’m not going to stop wrestling.”
“Excuse me?” The doctor, who had already turned back toward his notes in Ricky’s folder, spins back around in his chair with a surprised look on his face.
“I’m not going to stop wrestling,” Ricky repeats. “If it’s post-concussion syndrome, I don’t care what we need to do, but I need to be able to get in that ring whenever I want regardless of how long it takes for this to pass.”
“Mr. Valero, I--”
“RICKY!”
“Ricky, I understand why you feel so strongly, but it’s not wise to participate in a sport, especially one of professional wrestling’s nature, while still suffering from side effects related to post-concussion syndrome.”
“Yea, that’s great information to have and all,” Ricky fires back with a look of determination on his face. “But I have a big match upcoming that you nor anyone else is going to cause me to miss. I’ve been dealing with this for over a month already. I wrestled two matches since the last time we met, and I’m still standing. This will not sideline me, Doc.”
“Ricky, I cannot approve you getting back in the ring until I feel you’re back at 100 percent,” Dr. Mihalcik asserts.
“Then I’ll find someone who will. Dr. Ferguson has tried playing this game with me too, but at the end of the day, he knows I’m going to get back into that ring no matter how much he pressures me about the potential deterioration of my spine and the inability to walk by the time I’m 40.”
The doctor sighs and shakes his head. He rolls his chair closer to Ricky and looks him firmly in the eyes.
“Ricky, you have a son and a family, right?”
Ricky nods.
“Then maybe you should be smarter about this. You’ve had your time in the ring. You’ve done some really great things at the expense of your health and your family. Maybe it’s time you start thinking about all of them now.”
The doctor’s words cut through Ricky like a knife. He sits suddenly silent...speechless.
.
.
.
Journal Entry #880
Coming to Grips
June 21, 2016
According to Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, there are 5 stages to grieving when it comes to the loss of a loved one: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Of all of them, they say acceptance--the final stage--is the most difficult to overcome. It took me over a year to accept Rochelle’s murder. Hell, I still have trouble with it. It keeps me awake at night. I see shit. I feel shit. I think shit. It eats at me daily. Struggles like that just aren’t overcome in one night.
I feel like I have another instance in my life settling in that’s going to cause me some serious grief, and I’m not ready to accept the reality I’m faced with.
The death of my career. For a decade and a half, pro wrestling has been EVERYTHING to me. Even after my son was born and even after I married Rochelle, life in the ring was my primary concern. Numero uno. When Dr. Ferguson told me I should retire five years ago, that the damage to my spine was a serious threat to my long-term well being, I still chose wrestling. NOTHING was going to take the one thing from me that keeps my heart pumping and gets me out of bed in the morning.
As these days go on though, I can feel the door closing. It gets darker every day, and there’s not much I can do anymore to keep the light on. I have another doctor threatening my livelihood. My brain...it’s not right? Several documented concussions and countless others could be the cause for the migraines, the seizures I’ve told nobody about, the depression and the anxiety. Suddenly I’m a damn lab rat getting tests run on me daily. Nobody has an answer. Maybe it’s just Post-Concussion Syndrome. Maybe it’s early symptoms of CTE. Both are hard to prove. Doc is hesitant to make a diagnosis, but he says that wrestling is the root of the problem.
He hasn’t told me I should quit directly, but he’s made it no secret that he feels that way. This career that has been so good to me...he thinks it’s time I wrap it up and move on. He says it’d be for my son’s sake and for my family and friends. I can sense it in the way he looks at me. I can sense it in the way he talks to me. He’s stunned that I’m so stubborn about this. How could I value my career so much? My son needs me. My family needs me.
But I have to wrestle.
I have to wrestle because I have to be the best. It’s not logical, I know that, especially at this stage in my career. I’ve accomplished plenty. I’ve overcame insurmountable odds in every facet of my life. But I can’t fight the truth: if I’m not competing, I have no purpose. I’m not a good father. I was never a good husband or friend. But I have always been damn good inside that ring and there are still a lot of competitors I need to step foot in that ring and prove myself against before I feel I’m finished...before I can actually hang up the boots and walk away from all of this.
I’m not satisfied. Maybe that’s just who I am, because I have never really been satisfied with anything in my life. There’s just still so much left I want to accomplish. There’s still so much I NEED to accomplish.
I know that my career is going to come to an end one day…
I’m just not ready to come to grips with that just yet.
.
.
.
“If something stands between you and your success, move it. Never be denied.”
-Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson
-Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson
(rec)
The scene opens as Ricky Valero can be seen leaning back against the white concrete block wall behind him after clicking the camera on. He wears a white t-shirt with a new design and the words ‘IT’S GAME TIME!’ etched across the front. Hanging from his neck is a chain with the dog tags of his late ex-wife Rochelle McCree.
He raises the tortoise-printed wayfarer sunglasses from his face and rests them atop his head. He smiles as his blue eyes meet the camera, and he takes a deep breath to settle in before he begins.
“I relish these moments. You know, the big ones? Sure, the little matches in between all have their special place. You get little gems like the show myself and Mark Storm put on at the last Vertigo, but anyone who has wrestled knows what I’m talking about. When that spotlight is really shining on you and you step into that ring knowing you brought your best stuff with you. Your body goes numb. Fingers tingle. And you’re chomping at the bit just waiting for that bell to ring.
That’s my bliss. Heaven on Earth. Because since day one, I’ve thrived in the big moments. When the gold was on the line and everyone was tuned in, that’s when I step up and put on a show the people could never forget. Those moments are spectacular. It pumps the blood through my veins and my heart leaps out of my chest. I find solace in those moments. I am home in that ring.
All my career I have strived to make an impact. On people. On record books. On the entire sport of professional wrestling. My goal since day one was to be unforgettable. And so every time I step foot in that ring is an opportunity I seize to leave the people wanting more, unable to forget my name, my face, my talent...I strive to leave them in awe and to leave my imprint on every single person I step in the ring with and every single person who witnesses that moment.
There was a time when I believed myself to be a god among men. A boy with an ego far bigger than I had any business having, I’ve matured to know I have my flaws in every instance of my life, but I KNOW that I am as good now as I believed I was then. Here in FGA, it’s been my goal every time I’m inside that squared circle to ensure everyone else watching knows it too.”
He shrugs his shoulders and clasps his hands together.
“Our opponents at All Star Showdown V need no introduction. Their imprint on the FGA is already everlasting. For them, this match is merely an opportunity to pad the FGA resume. That’s not going to happen at my expense.”
He postures, putting off a confident air as he stares down into the camera.
“Since signing with FGA back in November, I have had the chance to wrestle some of the most talented individuals in this sport today. Mistress Ai, Dexter Jacobs, Johnny Cannon, Jimmy Page. All are global stars. None of those individuals carry as much klout as Cordy Stevenson and Dan Herrera do here in FGA despite neither ever having won gold. Heading into the Dynamic Duos tournament, it was cute to try to predict who might win, but I believe any rational person knew who would win when all was said and done.
And dammit if they didn’t run roughshod through the tournament. Did they have a few scares? You bet. But when the dust cleared, the Status Quo stood tall. Their name could not be more appropriate. They are just that: the status quo here in FGA. They are the familiar; a consistent every time they are in a FGA ring. You can bet the house on them putting on a good match, because they always put on a good match. They are fighters. The respect they have garnered over the years is hard earned.
But at All Star Showdown, myself and Luke are set to change the station, flip the script and ignite a fire to the Status Quo. This is a new era here in FGA’s tag team division, and The Next Level is at the forefront. What Cordy and Herrera have done for this company is unforgettable, but Ricky Valero and Luke Jackson are game changers. When we got here, there was NO tag division. Just a few months later, FGA boasts one of the most talented tag divisions in the game today. We sparked that. And now everyone wants to knock us off the pedestal.
That won’t be happening at All Star Showdown. We know we’re stepping into a warzone when we enter the Jenkins Arena in Lakeland, Florida with these FGA World Tag Team Championships on the line...”
He says, flashing his half of the FGA tag title gold to the camera.
“...You better believe we’re coming heavily armed and ready to fight to the death. These tag team titles are everything to us. They define who we are and what we have become since being forced to team in the Joker’s Wild Tag Team tournament. Undefeated as a unit and unwilling to relinquish this gold whether we’re stepping into the ring with you two at All Star Showdown or any other team who wishes to challenges us for these belts.
Former enemies, myself and Luke have developed into brothers with a common goal. So far, we’ve lived up to the hype and delivered on everything we said we would. Status Quo, you two however, presents us with our toughest challenge to date. We know this. But even after all these months, we still have detractors. We still have people who doubt that we work as a tag team. Somehow this baggage over a woman from over a year and a half ago is supposed to still be an issue for us. A tumor slowly growing within us, ready to tear us down at any moment.
Will it happen at All Star Showdown? Will I finally snap and stab Luke in the back at some pivotal moment in the match?”
Ricky cracks that sly, trademark smirk.
“Don’t count on it. I’m not a good guy. I’m also not an idiot. Championship gold has always been more important to me on this Earth than anything, and I’m not about to sacrifice it for some ridiculously contrived notions people apparently have about the friendship Luke and I harbor. We are the best in the sport today with the plan on proving something we already know: we are the best tag team to ever grace a FGA ring. We move one step further to solidifying that at All Star Showdown when we go toe to toe with you two, Cordy and Herrera.
I would be lying if I tried to say I haven’t been counting down the days to this match. Surely you two can sense the anticipation from me, from the fans, from everyone associated with FGA. This match is huge. There might already be two main events for this event, but I confidently believe OUR match will be the one that steals the show. We might go on early, but that energy is going to last the duration of the evening because of the bar we set.”
Excited by his own anticipation, he starts to bounce and sway on his feet before realizing it and letting out a slight chuckle.
“In all seriousness, it’s been fun seeing you two back in the ring. More importantly, it’s been fun to see that even after some time away, you both ‘still got it’, at least as far as I’m concerned. That rust washed away quickly, and what we’re left with is an enticing duo of fan favorites heading into a big-time supercard matchup with a ton of momentum on their side. But it’s time to cut the revival tour short and get back to business. At All-Star Showdown, it’s the Status Quo vs. FGA World Tag Team Champions, The Next Level. To what lengths will you guys go to achieve a goal? Luke and I, we will risk it ALL in the name of victory.
We’ll go to hell and back, whatever it takes to leave Lakeland, Florida with those championship belts still strapped firmly around our waists. That gold is OURS, and make no mistake about it, we will do everything we MUST to ensure it stays OURS! So are you guys ready? Have you studied enough tape, taken enough notes and know everything there is to expect from us? Because if you think you have a handle on what wrestling The Next Level is like, you don’t have a damn clue, my friends!
IT’S GAME TIME BABY!
“Make sure you bring your A-game.”
With a wink and a smirk, the scene fades to black.