Hurt, Pt. V
Jun 23, 2016 20:00:29 GMT -5
Post by Chandler Scott on Jun 23, 2016 20:00:29 GMT -5
Tampa, FL
April 1, 2016
•OFF-CAM
BZZZ-BZZZ!
Chandler’s eyes opened during the late hours of Friday, April 1. He looked over and noticed the sound coming from the nightstand. As he continued to awake from his slumber, he reached over and noticed he had three missed calls and three voicemails from the same number. He recognized the area code. It was from Greensboro, NC. But he didn’t recognize the number as it surely wasn’t Emily Carter’s. After sliding his thumb on the voicemail notification and putting in his passcode, he attempted to listen to the messages. But he never made it past the first. Since he was Emily’s emergency contact, he had learned what happened to her well before Page decided to broadcast it for the world to see the following day. Not even 10 seconds into the call, the phone slipped from his grasp and hit the bedroom floor. Chandler continued to lay there in stunned silence as the frantic messages blared from the cellphone below.
Moses H. Cone Memorial Hospital
Greensboro, NC
April 2, 2016
•OFF-CAM
Chandler was seated outside of Room 359, hugging his knees as he looked straight ahead. His face showed a raw mix of emotions: anger, sorrow, pain, regret, fear. His teared at the thought of her laying on the other side of that door. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he kept thinking to himself. “Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to her”. He was right. Emily was the sweetest person he knew. She was a far better person than he could ever dream of being. She did nothing to warrant being on the receiving end of such brutality. But there’s really no reasoning with a blood-thirsty monster with an insatiable desire for revenge. Chandler couldn’t ask himself the Hows and Whys. He knew why this happened and knew exactly who the culprit was.
In the days that followed, we’d see various people put their two cents. Like Dom Harter playing Devil’s Advocate and blaming him for this. Or Sean Sands intimating that if he were in Chandler’s shoes, he’d feel bad. Like anyone asked for their fucking opinion. But maybe they’re right. Emily being his sister shouldn’t have put her in harm’s way. Yet here she is.
Maybe this really is his fault. After all, turnabout is fair play. How many times had Chandler uttered the name of Kevin Hardaway’s dead wife, telling Hardaway that she must be rolling in her grave at the thought of him? How many times had he mocked Sands for his wife divorcing him and losing custody of his son? And that’s just off the top of the head! Chandler never put his hands on anyone’s family. But he’s spent the last several years being a habitual line stepper. Last time I checked, karma didn’t discriminate.
Chandler slowly rose from his seated position. He wiped the tears from his eyes, turned and placed his hands on the cwindow. There, in the dim lights, laid his little sister. Defenseless. Helpless. Unresponsive. The victim of an act of savagery.
The only motion coming from her was the rising and falling of her chest. Her eyes were bruised. Lip split. Scratches, discoloration and stitches adorned various sections of her angelic face. Sitting bedside was their mother, Dr. Angela Davenport, who immediately flew down from the Boston suburbs upon receiving the unfortunate news from her oldest son. She slowly turned back and gazed at Chandler. Tears began to well up in her eyes. It was a look that had been seared into his brain nine years ago. It was the look that his mother gave him under eerily similar circumstances. But instead of Emily laying on a hospital bed, it was another sibling. It was his younger brother Wesley after a horrible car crash. The crash left Wes paralyzed from the waist down. It was a tragic accident… caused by Chandler’s reckless actions. The incident damaged his already-strained relationship with the majority of his family, leading him to become estranged from them for the eight years that followed. After finally mending fences in the wake of his Father’s death last year, the family have been dealt another punch to the gut. Angela looked on with the knowledge that yet another one of her precious children had been hurt because of Chandler. He purses his lips. His eyes water upon seeing the pain on her face. Chandler can’t even look her in the eyes anymore. Instead, he turns and rushes to the nearest stairwell...
California/Florida
June 16, 2016
•OFF-CAM
“You're letting him get into your head,” exclaimed Cordy Stevenson during an impromptu phone call. Cordy was still out in Cali. Chandler figured she had much better things to do with her time. Imagine his surprise when her number showed up on his cell. “Jimmy is the most dangerous when you let him do that; when you're controlled by that rage and all you see is red... believe me, I've been there with him. You know this.”
Chandler remembers all too well. Fresh off a 2014 Frontier Lions Cup win, all Cordy wanted to do was test herself against the best. At the time, that was Jimmy Page. But upon seeing Page bend a steel chair over Cyncity’s skull, a World Championship was the last thing on her mind. The only thought that consumed her was maiming Jimmy Page.
“But what else was I supposed to do?”
“I know what you mean. Jimmy has a knack for pushing people and luring them to the edge. He's trying to bring you to the same madness that he revels in. Don't let that anger consume you, Chandler.” Too late. “I know it feels as if it's damn near impossible. Hell, it might be for you because it sure enough was for me. But you were always able to stay a step ahead of Jimmy because you were able to outsmart him. Don't let rage and anger take away that advantage. That is what he's banking on.”
She was right. By playing this dangerous game, Chandler was walking right into Page’s trap. He was falling for it hook, line and sinker.
“This just all feels strange to me, you know? It's like I'm the one that's always in control... Pulling strings. I'm the one that's usually in someone's head. And I didn't take his bait initially. But what he did to Em…” He starts to seethe. Just the thought caused his jaw to clench. “It had been eight years since we last spoke. Having her back in my life after all this time... then to see what Page did... I can't even put into words the anger that I was feeling. I'll be honest with you, a lot of that anger is still there and I don't think I can suppress it.”
It was Chandler that was usually the master manipulator. He knew which buttons to press, from Page, Laurel, Karma, Sands, Tony to even Cordy herself. Yet look at him now. He’s acting without thought. He’s acting off of raw emotion. Reckless actions, from punching a police officer to attacking officials and throwing steel steps into the crowd, have defined him over the past two months. He’s traveling down a dangerous road. If he doesn’t course correct, it’ll lead to his demise.
“I understand it more than you probably even realize. Which is why I'm just trying to give you that heads up because I see that same anger consuming you that once consumed me.”
There was something about those last words, and the conversation in general, that touched Chandler. He hasn’t always been easy to deal with. But the fact that a peer of his - especially one that wasn’t Andreas or Savannah or Noelle - cared enough to reach out to him… it brought a smile to his face. It’s pretty much been the only thing he’s been able to smile about in a long while.
“Cordelia Stevenson looking out for Chandler Scott. Who would've thought, right?”
He could hear her smiling through the phone.
“Right? Who would have thought.”
He sighed.
“I really appreciate it though. It means alot coming from you.”
“You're welcome man. We've come a long way, haven't we?”
In was this time last year that the two of them were in the midst of their bitter rivalry; a rivalry which netted them Feud of the Year. After the smoke had cleared and all was said and done, they were two top level athletes that begrudgingly respected each other. But it was their heart to heart while trapped in that Chicago elevator last Summer that gave them both a new perspective and appreciation for each other. Chandler recalled back to a few weeks later, when Chandler was one of the first people to visit Cordy in the hospital after having her ankle broken. He still remembered those encouraging words he gave to her. “You'll get out of this hospital. You'll heal, physically, mentally and emotionally. When you do return and you WILL... you'll be back, better than ever... and you'll win that World Championship, either from me or someone else. And when that moment comes, Cordy, I'll be proud to call you my World Champion.” He might have to settle for World Tag Team Champion, but the words still ring true. He also knew that Cordy wasn’t coming to him because she “owed him”. Cordy was coming to him… because she cared.
“Yeah, we've definitely been on an interesting journey. From bitter rivals to... friends?”
There was silence on the other end.
“I... believe so. An interesting journey indeed.”
He smiled.
“... Good luck out there. I'll be rooting for you... and even Dan.”
“Ha, thanks. I don't even think it needs to be said that I'll be rooting for you as well.”
•ON-CAM
Six months. That’s the amount of time that’s passed since I last wrestled a match. It’s the amount of time that I’ve spent on the sidelines recovering from surgery, rehabbing several injuries and finally waiting to be cleared. It’s the amount of time that the FGA World Championship has been out of my possession.
I had these grand plans, you know. Once my body was right and the FGA doctors gave me the okay to get back in there and do what I do best, I’d make another run for the World Title. I didn’t just spend the last year being the best champion in company history, I spent that time making our championship the biggest prize in our sport. It was a daunting task. But it was a task that I fully planned on undertaking once again. But as plans will be, plans change. Priorities shifted. It was no longer about professional goals. It was now about settling a personal grudge, once and for all.
Jimmy Page, I heard you loud and clear. I heard you for weeks and months on end. You called my name. But I never responded. You yearned for my attention. But I never gave it to you. You called me every name under the sun to try and get a rise out of me. But I remained unfazed. In your eyes, it was because I was scared. I believe the word you used was… coward. You called me, of all people, a coward because I wouldn’t respond to your guttural wails for attention. But you see, Page, I didn’t ignore you out of cowardice. I didn’t respond because of fear. Simply put, I ignored you because you weren’t worth my time. You calling me out was ignored just like the Arik Blaydes, Chris Vectors and Tony Carmines of the world would’ve been ignored had they called me out, too. You, just like all of them, didn’t deserve my attention. You didn’t deserve my time. You didn’t deserve to be blessed with the opportunity of stepping into the ring with me.
In your warped perception of reality, you thought things were left unsettled between us. But the age old argument of “who would win between Chandler and Page” was deaded last year when I handed you your ass not once, but twice! Since that time, I did nothing but move forward while you harbored hate and resentment in your heart. While I went on to cement myself as the very best in this promotion’s history, your career fell into a rut and it’s been stuck there ever since. No one would ever mistake you for being materialistic. But for you, image is everything. You’ve cast yourself as this wrestler on hard times who's had to resort to sleeping in his car, even though the reality is that you’ve been making that good six figure HKW money for well over a year now. You took extreme measures inside the ring to paint yourself as this dangerous figure to psyche out future opponents. For well over a year, you walked around here with this well-crafted aura of invincibility that intimidated even the greatest wrestlers…
… except for one.
Last February, I shattered that aura of invincibility when I won the World Championship from you. And we’ve seen your level of success, or lack thereof, since. You no longer had the match won before it even started. You were no longer scaring opponents stiff by just seeing their name next to yours on a card. Once that illusion was broken, the fear of going up against Jimmy Page faded. People that you would’ve handled with ease ended up besting you. Your aura was broken on that February night. And in the months that followed, so were your spirits and eventually, your psyche. Of course, you placed the blame on me.
These thoughts of yours, they’re nothing new. They’ve been festering inside of you for well over a year. But it wasn't until I was put on the injured list that you decided to get brave and start hollering my name. But if you had such an issue with me, why didn’t you do something about it last year when I was healthy? You claimed that I was in hiding this entire time. But you knew full well where I was while I was on the sidelines. You knew I was an instructor for HKW at their training school. This could’ve been settled right then and there. No pomp. No circumstance. Just fists flying in a back alley. But as the weeks turned to months and no action was ever taken, I figured you were all talk.
But I could not have been more wrong.
Settling things face to face, that’s never been your M.O. You’re a “jump ‘em from behind” type of guy. But if we were to let you tell it, I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, the guy that calls me out then hides behind a line of police officers. But I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, the guy that pulls a fan in front of him so that she can get hit instead of him. But I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, a guy who won’t confront me to my face… but will lurk around, hide in the shadows for God knows how long and attack my sister when she least expects it. But I’m the coward.
And why?
Because I took your precious championship once upon a time? Becaused I usurpsed you as the top dog? Because I made these people go from “OMG, JIMMY PAGE” to “LOL, JIMMY PAGE”? In three seconds, you were reverted back to the kid who grew up in the slum tenements of Flint. In three seconds, you went from being FGA Wrestler of the Year… ORC Wrestler of the Year… the Most Feared Man On The Planet… to just another guy. And oh yeah, Page. I flaunted it. I flaunted that belt in your face. Not only that, but you didn’t even have to get on your knees and grovel for a rematch. I willingly gave it to you. I named the time, date and location where I’d smacked the shit of you. And guess what happened? You once again left the ring empty handed. If you were half as good as you claimed you were, you would’ve beaten me in the rematch and proved my initial win was a fluke. But all you did was prove that you could no longer hack it.
Now I get it, Page. Losing a championship is hard, especially for someone like you who attached his whole identity to it. But most adults, they’d get over it in time. But not you. You’re an emotionally stunted child that fails to understand normal thinking. So you lashed out at McHannon, just like you lashed out at me all these months later after Fujiko became the latest in a long list of people who cleaned your clock. And when you didn’t get your way, what did you do? You acted out. You resorted to violence. You savagely beat my sister.
Was it fun, Page? Was it fun attacking a trainee from behind?
Was it fun cracking her jaw with your elbow?
Did you get the release you were looking for as you knocked her around the gym?
Did you get your jollies as you mounted her and rained down fist after fist after fist on her face?
Powerbombing her across the apron, I bet that made you hard as a rock, didn’t it?
That pinging sound after you sent her crashing face first into the steel ringpost, I bet that was music to your ears, wasn’t it?
When you took her by that blonde hair and you rammed her face over and over and over into that bathroom door, it was borderline orgasmic for you, wasn’t it?
When you smashed her face into that mirror, shattering it into dozens of pieces… that feeling of euphoria was like none other, wasn’t it?
Are you happy with yourself? Are you proud of your actions? Do you feel fulfilled now? I bet you felt like such a man after you kicked the dogshit out of her didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?
Let me ask you another question. Does it feel good knowing that you finally got one over on me? Hmm? Does it feel good knowing that you got to me like no one else before? Does it feel good knowing that you hurt me worse than anyone else could’ve imagined? I’ll tell you what. Enjoy it, Page. Hold onto that feeling, because it’s the only pleasure you’ll be experiencing for a VERY long time. You see, this thing between you and me… at this point, it’s beyond “personal”. It’s no longer about wins and titles. This is about me putting you out of your misery.
For weeks now I’ve had thoughts. Thoughts of wrapping my hands around your neck and squeezing until my knuckles turned white. Thoughts of watching as the air slowly escaped your body. Thoughts of severing your head from your body. I wanted to run to whatever seedy motel you hole yourself up in maim you right then and there. But why do that? Why get myself hauled off and throw in jail for life… when I can simply wait till Showdown and get paid to do as I please without consequence?
You’ve taken up residence in my head these last few months. You pushed my buttons. Pulled my strings. Had me acting out in ways that I never would’ve before. But now? That’s over and done with. A good friend reached out and you know what? She actually saved me. She pulled me back from the edge that you were leading me right off of. You want to know what her advice was? Don’t let the anger consume you. Don’t let him win. Well we both know that if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s never letting you win in the end.
What you’ll see across the ring from you this Saturday won’t be your own reflection - a monster. Standing across from you will be controlled aggression. I won't act without thought. I won't act off of raw emotion. Instead, I will take you apart at my own pace. You’ll beg me to put you out of your misery. But I won’t react to your desires. Not anymore.
I’ll take my time breaking your kneecaps.
I'll take my time ripping your arms from their sockets.
I’ll take my time crushing every rib.
I'll take my time shattering your jaw.
I'll take my time beating the every living SHIT out of you.
But I won't enjoy a moment of it. No, I won't. Because this isn't about me or my need for revenge.
I'm doing this for Emily.
I'm doing this for FGA.
I'm doing this for humanity.
At Showdown V, Chivalry won't be the only thing dead...
April 1, 2016
•OFF-CAM
BZZZ-BZZZ!
Chandler’s eyes opened during the late hours of Friday, April 1. He looked over and noticed the sound coming from the nightstand. As he continued to awake from his slumber, he reached over and noticed he had three missed calls and three voicemails from the same number. He recognized the area code. It was from Greensboro, NC. But he didn’t recognize the number as it surely wasn’t Emily Carter’s. After sliding his thumb on the voicemail notification and putting in his passcode, he attempted to listen to the messages. But he never made it past the first. Since he was Emily’s emergency contact, he had learned what happened to her well before Page decided to broadcast it for the world to see the following day. Not even 10 seconds into the call, the phone slipped from his grasp and hit the bedroom floor. Chandler continued to lay there in stunned silence as the frantic messages blared from the cellphone below.
Moses H. Cone Memorial Hospital
Greensboro, NC
April 2, 2016
•OFF-CAM
Chandler was seated outside of Room 359, hugging his knees as he looked straight ahead. His face showed a raw mix of emotions: anger, sorrow, pain, regret, fear. His teared at the thought of her laying on the other side of that door. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he kept thinking to himself. “Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to her”. He was right. Emily was the sweetest person he knew. She was a far better person than he could ever dream of being. She did nothing to warrant being on the receiving end of such brutality. But there’s really no reasoning with a blood-thirsty monster with an insatiable desire for revenge. Chandler couldn’t ask himself the Hows and Whys. He knew why this happened and knew exactly who the culprit was.
In the days that followed, we’d see various people put their two cents. Like Dom Harter playing Devil’s Advocate and blaming him for this. Or Sean Sands intimating that if he were in Chandler’s shoes, he’d feel bad. Like anyone asked for their fucking opinion. But maybe they’re right. Emily being his sister shouldn’t have put her in harm’s way. Yet here she is.
Maybe this really is his fault. After all, turnabout is fair play. How many times had Chandler uttered the name of Kevin Hardaway’s dead wife, telling Hardaway that she must be rolling in her grave at the thought of him? How many times had he mocked Sands for his wife divorcing him and losing custody of his son? And that’s just off the top of the head! Chandler never put his hands on anyone’s family. But he’s spent the last several years being a habitual line stepper. Last time I checked, karma didn’t discriminate.
Chandler slowly rose from his seated position. He wiped the tears from his eyes, turned and placed his hands on the cwindow. There, in the dim lights, laid his little sister. Defenseless. Helpless. Unresponsive. The victim of an act of savagery.
The only motion coming from her was the rising and falling of her chest. Her eyes were bruised. Lip split. Scratches, discoloration and stitches adorned various sections of her angelic face. Sitting bedside was their mother, Dr. Angela Davenport, who immediately flew down from the Boston suburbs upon receiving the unfortunate news from her oldest son. She slowly turned back and gazed at Chandler. Tears began to well up in her eyes. It was a look that had been seared into his brain nine years ago. It was the look that his mother gave him under eerily similar circumstances. But instead of Emily laying on a hospital bed, it was another sibling. It was his younger brother Wesley after a horrible car crash. The crash left Wes paralyzed from the waist down. It was a tragic accident… caused by Chandler’s reckless actions. The incident damaged his already-strained relationship with the majority of his family, leading him to become estranged from them for the eight years that followed. After finally mending fences in the wake of his Father’s death last year, the family have been dealt another punch to the gut. Angela looked on with the knowledge that yet another one of her precious children had been hurt because of Chandler. He purses his lips. His eyes water upon seeing the pain on her face. Chandler can’t even look her in the eyes anymore. Instead, he turns and rushes to the nearest stairwell...
California/Florida
June 16, 2016
•OFF-CAM
“You're letting him get into your head,” exclaimed Cordy Stevenson during an impromptu phone call. Cordy was still out in Cali. Chandler figured she had much better things to do with her time. Imagine his surprise when her number showed up on his cell. “Jimmy is the most dangerous when you let him do that; when you're controlled by that rage and all you see is red... believe me, I've been there with him. You know this.”
Chandler remembers all too well. Fresh off a 2014 Frontier Lions Cup win, all Cordy wanted to do was test herself against the best. At the time, that was Jimmy Page. But upon seeing Page bend a steel chair over Cyncity’s skull, a World Championship was the last thing on her mind. The only thought that consumed her was maiming Jimmy Page.
“But what else was I supposed to do?”
“I know what you mean. Jimmy has a knack for pushing people and luring them to the edge. He's trying to bring you to the same madness that he revels in. Don't let that anger consume you, Chandler.” Too late. “I know it feels as if it's damn near impossible. Hell, it might be for you because it sure enough was for me. But you were always able to stay a step ahead of Jimmy because you were able to outsmart him. Don't let rage and anger take away that advantage. That is what he's banking on.”
She was right. By playing this dangerous game, Chandler was walking right into Page’s trap. He was falling for it hook, line and sinker.
“This just all feels strange to me, you know? It's like I'm the one that's always in control... Pulling strings. I'm the one that's usually in someone's head. And I didn't take his bait initially. But what he did to Em…” He starts to seethe. Just the thought caused his jaw to clench. “It had been eight years since we last spoke. Having her back in my life after all this time... then to see what Page did... I can't even put into words the anger that I was feeling. I'll be honest with you, a lot of that anger is still there and I don't think I can suppress it.”
It was Chandler that was usually the master manipulator. He knew which buttons to press, from Page, Laurel, Karma, Sands, Tony to even Cordy herself. Yet look at him now. He’s acting without thought. He’s acting off of raw emotion. Reckless actions, from punching a police officer to attacking officials and throwing steel steps into the crowd, have defined him over the past two months. He’s traveling down a dangerous road. If he doesn’t course correct, it’ll lead to his demise.
“I understand it more than you probably even realize. Which is why I'm just trying to give you that heads up because I see that same anger consuming you that once consumed me.”
There was something about those last words, and the conversation in general, that touched Chandler. He hasn’t always been easy to deal with. But the fact that a peer of his - especially one that wasn’t Andreas or Savannah or Noelle - cared enough to reach out to him… it brought a smile to his face. It’s pretty much been the only thing he’s been able to smile about in a long while.
“Cordelia Stevenson looking out for Chandler Scott. Who would've thought, right?”
He could hear her smiling through the phone.
“Right? Who would have thought.”
He sighed.
“I really appreciate it though. It means alot coming from you.”
“You're welcome man. We've come a long way, haven't we?”
In was this time last year that the two of them were in the midst of their bitter rivalry; a rivalry which netted them Feud of the Year. After the smoke had cleared and all was said and done, they were two top level athletes that begrudgingly respected each other. But it was their heart to heart while trapped in that Chicago elevator last Summer that gave them both a new perspective and appreciation for each other. Chandler recalled back to a few weeks later, when Chandler was one of the first people to visit Cordy in the hospital after having her ankle broken. He still remembered those encouraging words he gave to her. “You'll get out of this hospital. You'll heal, physically, mentally and emotionally. When you do return and you WILL... you'll be back, better than ever... and you'll win that World Championship, either from me or someone else. And when that moment comes, Cordy, I'll be proud to call you my World Champion.” He might have to settle for World Tag Team Champion, but the words still ring true. He also knew that Cordy wasn’t coming to him because she “owed him”. Cordy was coming to him… because she cared.
“Yeah, we've definitely been on an interesting journey. From bitter rivals to... friends?”
There was silence on the other end.
“I... believe so. An interesting journey indeed.”
He smiled.
“... Good luck out there. I'll be rooting for you... and even Dan.”
“Ha, thanks. I don't even think it needs to be said that I'll be rooting for you as well.”
•ON-CAM
Six months. That’s the amount of time that’s passed since I last wrestled a match. It’s the amount of time that I’ve spent on the sidelines recovering from surgery, rehabbing several injuries and finally waiting to be cleared. It’s the amount of time that the FGA World Championship has been out of my possession.
I had these grand plans, you know. Once my body was right and the FGA doctors gave me the okay to get back in there and do what I do best, I’d make another run for the World Title. I didn’t just spend the last year being the best champion in company history, I spent that time making our championship the biggest prize in our sport. It was a daunting task. But it was a task that I fully planned on undertaking once again. But as plans will be, plans change. Priorities shifted. It was no longer about professional goals. It was now about settling a personal grudge, once and for all.
Jimmy Page, I heard you loud and clear. I heard you for weeks and months on end. You called my name. But I never responded. You yearned for my attention. But I never gave it to you. You called me every name under the sun to try and get a rise out of me. But I remained unfazed. In your eyes, it was because I was scared. I believe the word you used was… coward. You called me, of all people, a coward because I wouldn’t respond to your guttural wails for attention. But you see, Page, I didn’t ignore you out of cowardice. I didn’t respond because of fear. Simply put, I ignored you because you weren’t worth my time. You calling me out was ignored just like the Arik Blaydes, Chris Vectors and Tony Carmines of the world would’ve been ignored had they called me out, too. You, just like all of them, didn’t deserve my attention. You didn’t deserve my time. You didn’t deserve to be blessed with the opportunity of stepping into the ring with me.
In your warped perception of reality, you thought things were left unsettled between us. But the age old argument of “who would win between Chandler and Page” was deaded last year when I handed you your ass not once, but twice! Since that time, I did nothing but move forward while you harbored hate and resentment in your heart. While I went on to cement myself as the very best in this promotion’s history, your career fell into a rut and it’s been stuck there ever since. No one would ever mistake you for being materialistic. But for you, image is everything. You’ve cast yourself as this wrestler on hard times who's had to resort to sleeping in his car, even though the reality is that you’ve been making that good six figure HKW money for well over a year now. You took extreme measures inside the ring to paint yourself as this dangerous figure to psyche out future opponents. For well over a year, you walked around here with this well-crafted aura of invincibility that intimidated even the greatest wrestlers…
… except for one.
Last February, I shattered that aura of invincibility when I won the World Championship from you. And we’ve seen your level of success, or lack thereof, since. You no longer had the match won before it even started. You were no longer scaring opponents stiff by just seeing their name next to yours on a card. Once that illusion was broken, the fear of going up against Jimmy Page faded. People that you would’ve handled with ease ended up besting you. Your aura was broken on that February night. And in the months that followed, so were your spirits and eventually, your psyche. Of course, you placed the blame on me.
These thoughts of yours, they’re nothing new. They’ve been festering inside of you for well over a year. But it wasn't until I was put on the injured list that you decided to get brave and start hollering my name. But if you had such an issue with me, why didn’t you do something about it last year when I was healthy? You claimed that I was in hiding this entire time. But you knew full well where I was while I was on the sidelines. You knew I was an instructor for HKW at their training school. This could’ve been settled right then and there. No pomp. No circumstance. Just fists flying in a back alley. But as the weeks turned to months and no action was ever taken, I figured you were all talk.
But I could not have been more wrong.
Settling things face to face, that’s never been your M.O. You’re a “jump ‘em from behind” type of guy. But if we were to let you tell it, I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, the guy that calls me out then hides behind a line of police officers. But I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, the guy that pulls a fan in front of him so that she can get hit instead of him. But I’m the coward.
Jimmy Page, a guy who won’t confront me to my face… but will lurk around, hide in the shadows for God knows how long and attack my sister when she least expects it. But I’m the coward.
And why?
Because I took your precious championship once upon a time? Becaused I usurpsed you as the top dog? Because I made these people go from “OMG, JIMMY PAGE” to “LOL, JIMMY PAGE”? In three seconds, you were reverted back to the kid who grew up in the slum tenements of Flint. In three seconds, you went from being FGA Wrestler of the Year… ORC Wrestler of the Year… the Most Feared Man On The Planet… to just another guy. And oh yeah, Page. I flaunted it. I flaunted that belt in your face. Not only that, but you didn’t even have to get on your knees and grovel for a rematch. I willingly gave it to you. I named the time, date and location where I’d smacked the shit of you. And guess what happened? You once again left the ring empty handed. If you were half as good as you claimed you were, you would’ve beaten me in the rematch and proved my initial win was a fluke. But all you did was prove that you could no longer hack it.
Now I get it, Page. Losing a championship is hard, especially for someone like you who attached his whole identity to it. But most adults, they’d get over it in time. But not you. You’re an emotionally stunted child that fails to understand normal thinking. So you lashed out at McHannon, just like you lashed out at me all these months later after Fujiko became the latest in a long list of people who cleaned your clock. And when you didn’t get your way, what did you do? You acted out. You resorted to violence. You savagely beat my sister.
Was it fun, Page? Was it fun attacking a trainee from behind?
Was it fun cracking her jaw with your elbow?
Did you get the release you were looking for as you knocked her around the gym?
Did you get your jollies as you mounted her and rained down fist after fist after fist on her face?
Powerbombing her across the apron, I bet that made you hard as a rock, didn’t it?
That pinging sound after you sent her crashing face first into the steel ringpost, I bet that was music to your ears, wasn’t it?
When you took her by that blonde hair and you rammed her face over and over and over into that bathroom door, it was borderline orgasmic for you, wasn’t it?
When you smashed her face into that mirror, shattering it into dozens of pieces… that feeling of euphoria was like none other, wasn’t it?
Are you happy with yourself? Are you proud of your actions? Do you feel fulfilled now? I bet you felt like such a man after you kicked the dogshit out of her didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?
Let me ask you another question. Does it feel good knowing that you finally got one over on me? Hmm? Does it feel good knowing that you got to me like no one else before? Does it feel good knowing that you hurt me worse than anyone else could’ve imagined? I’ll tell you what. Enjoy it, Page. Hold onto that feeling, because it’s the only pleasure you’ll be experiencing for a VERY long time. You see, this thing between you and me… at this point, it’s beyond “personal”. It’s no longer about wins and titles. This is about me putting you out of your misery.
For weeks now I’ve had thoughts. Thoughts of wrapping my hands around your neck and squeezing until my knuckles turned white. Thoughts of watching as the air slowly escaped your body. Thoughts of severing your head from your body. I wanted to run to whatever seedy motel you hole yourself up in maim you right then and there. But why do that? Why get myself hauled off and throw in jail for life… when I can simply wait till Showdown and get paid to do as I please without consequence?
You’ve taken up residence in my head these last few months. You pushed my buttons. Pulled my strings. Had me acting out in ways that I never would’ve before. But now? That’s over and done with. A good friend reached out and you know what? She actually saved me. She pulled me back from the edge that you were leading me right off of. You want to know what her advice was? Don’t let the anger consume you. Don’t let him win. Well we both know that if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s never letting you win in the end.
What you’ll see across the ring from you this Saturday won’t be your own reflection - a monster. Standing across from you will be controlled aggression. I won't act without thought. I won't act off of raw emotion. Instead, I will take you apart at my own pace. You’ll beg me to put you out of your misery. But I won’t react to your desires. Not anymore.
I’ll take my time breaking your kneecaps.
I'll take my time ripping your arms from their sockets.
I’ll take my time crushing every rib.
I'll take my time shattering your jaw.
I'll take my time beating the every living SHIT out of you.
But I won't enjoy a moment of it. No, I won't. Because this isn't about me or my need for revenge.
I'm doing this for Emily.
I'm doing this for FGA.
I'm doing this for humanity.
At Showdown V, Chivalry won't be the only thing dead...