Post by The Last Real Man on Jul 21, 2016 19:55:19 GMT -5
July 16th, 2016
Hillsborough, California
It’d been exactly a month since it happened. Exactly a month since the biggest win of my career. Exactly a month since the greatest moment of my life - my sons birth be damned, I was too high and hungover to be there for that anyway.
That still haunts me to this day.
But a lot of things do. I haven't been there when I said I would. I’ve missed so many moments, every second that I'm not there to see him smile, to see his eyes light up with curiosity as he looks around a room, every moment I don't get to hold him because I've dedicated my life to chasing something bigger than myself stings.
I live with a lump in my throat, and pain in my chest, all caused by the stress - the stress of wondering if it's all worth it, if being absent, and unavailable will pay off in the long run. As confident as I am, I often doubt myself, stricken with thoughts of regret and crippled by the fear that my sacrifices are meaningless. But no more.
June 25th justified every fucking thing I've ever done.
Every decision, everything. It was all made worthwhile when I raised the FGA World Championship to the sky because it meant one thing.
It meant that I wasn’t a liar anymore.
Before stepping out of the Audi R8 I leaned over to the passenger’s seat to grab the FGA World Title. As I held it in my hands I could see William’s face in the center piece.
I did it for him.
I promised when I came back that I'd be coming back as a champion.
For once I kept my word.
The door was already opened so I let myself in.
“William!” I called out, my voice traveling through her small abode as I searched for my other pride and joy. But he was nowhere in sight.
“William!” I called again, louder this time, fully expecting to hear his lighthearted giggle, and adolescent cry. But he didn't answer.
“We'll look who it is,” in fact, someone else answered the call entirely. “If it isn’t John Richards! Well, what do we owe the pleasure?”
I stepped into the living room to see Kharissa sitting on the couch as if she’d been waiting for me to arrive - however, she wasn't alone. She’d brought company for this intervention in the form of the very woman that carrier her in the womb for nine months. She had gone from delivering babies to delivering depression, because the moment I looked at her mother’s Botox injected face all the happiness had been drained from my soul.
The devil decked in Prada looked me up and down, unimpressed by what she saw. I hissed under my breath whilst faking a smile - “good to see you too, Katherine,” I replied, but she could sense that I was being disingenuous. I suppose that's one of the perks of being a cold heartless bitch -- you can tell when people don't like you.
“Kharissa, I came by to see my handsome son. Where’s he hiding?”
“He’s over at his grandmother’s where he’s been all week,” said Kat, speaking for Riss, twisting up her face in a scowl. She was trying to goad me into a petty altercation but I thought better of it. Showing restraint, I simply rolled my eyes. “I was just about to head back home myself until I saw you pull up in your fancy little car. Rissa you didn’t tell me he drove an Audi now. That's a 2016 model. That couldn't have been cheap.”
“It was a lease,” I replied coldly.
“I’m sure it was,” she said sarcastically, “What else do you do with the rest of your money?”
“I'm not sure that's any of your business, Kat,” I spat back, putting the Word Title on the arm of the couch. I felt stupid holding it now.
“Oh no, it's not any of my business. It's hers,” she said, motioning to Kharissa who looked away. “Isn't that right, princess?”
“Mom…” Kharissa spoke up, almost pleading with her. But the devil doesn't listen to pleas from the weak. She feasts on weakness. She was growing stronger with each second.
“Go ahead and tell him, you have nothing to be afraid of. It's about time he started chipping in and doing his part.”
“What's she talking about, Kharissa?” I asked, visibly irritated. Hadn't been in her presence for five minutes and she'd already had my skin boiling. New record.
“Well,” she started, almost afraid to continue, “we were thinking.”
“You were thinking, or she was,” I said as Kat cursed me under her breath.
“I was thinking,” Kharissa continued, “you know now that you’ve won your belt, and that you're getting paid more and everything that maybe you can help me out - you know, financially. I mean if you want.”
“What do you mean if he wants, Kat said, standing over Kharissa now. “You are a strong, independent woman! You need to stop letting this man walk all over you! Stop letting him dodge his responsibilities and put your goddamn foot down!”
“The fuck are you going on about,” I said. I was ticked now. “Kharissa what the fuck is she talking about?”
“Don't talk to me like that,” Kat yelled, taking offense.
“Fuck you,” I said, right in her face. She was so appalled she almost had a heart attack. If only. I guess God couldn't give me two big wins in a row.
“No fuck you, you deadbeat,” she fired back. “You don't take care of her. You don't take care of your son. You don't give her a damn dime and let her do all the work. She’s raising my grandson on her own and you could give a rats ass.”
“I don't help out,” I said, visibly confused. “I put this bloody roof over her head. I put all this furniture in here. I paid for all of this shit!”
“Yeah, and she can't afford the rent, dumbass. Not everybody makes six figures like you. We can't all buy new cars every week,” she followed up. We were trading blows now. It was the 12th round and we were both looking for the knockout. “Your son’s mother is over here struggling to make ends meet, asking me to help pay the rent while you're out buying sports cars and designer suits.”
“We’re not together. It's not my job to make sure she's living comfortably.”
“No, but it is your job to make sure your son is, asshole. You don't even call to make sure there's food in the fridge, or to see if he needs any diapers. She oughta take your ass to court.”
“Oh so this is all about money, huh?” I said, livid as hell.
“You're damn right.”
“You know what I got your money right here,” I went off, pulling my wallet out my pocket. “You want my fucking money, the money I bled for.”
“John-” Kharissa said, holding her mouth and holding back tears as she tried to get me to calm down.
“No no no, it's fine. I want to help out, since you need money so bad. Here!” I said harshly as I tossed a roll of bills right into Kat’s face. She just stood there, frozen in disbelief. “There, you fucking gold digger.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said, seething as I picked up the World Title and headed for the door. “Both of you, go fuck yourselves.” I slammed the door right behind me.
I pulled right off. Might of been doing a hundred in a thirty zone.
Couldn't believe they pulled that shit.
I’d only been champion for week and people were already holding their hands out begging me this and asking for that.
She just wanted me for the money.
That's all they ever want.
*************************************************************************
I Write Sins Not Tragedies
The scene opens up to the inside of a boat, of which the nautical transportation device is littered with bodies and booze; the former of the female variety, apparently passed out courtesy of the latter -- that brown. Empty bottles of Hennessy, Crown Royal, Jim Beam and undergarments lay strewn all about the vicinity until the camera maneuvers up to the top deck. There holding a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut 2006 in his left hand, while his right holds the FGA World Championship that's draped over his shoulder is none other than Johnny Cannon. The British Mamba soaks in the sun as he as he leans over the edge ala Dicaprio in Titanic, standing tall in a pair of GrigioPerla Maurilio Rubinos, staring at the sea and passing scenery through a pair of vintage Cartier Sunglasses.
Upon taking a long sip from the expensive gold painted bottle, Cannon turns around to lean on the white bars, his bare chest and big gold belt glistening under the sun rays.
“Damn it feels good to be the king,” says Cannon, bragging as he basks in his newfound fortune, “for the last fortnight I've been living larger than life, living like royalty bringing accuracy to my moniker and namesake. It's been a scintillating last couple of days to say the least. I spent Monday afternoon cruising around southern California in the Aston Martin, smoking Cohibas with someone’s wife riding shotgun with a naked ring finger but I'm not judging her -- she was just happy to have escaped her boring life and boring husband just to have a story to tell her clueless friends the next morning, and for that I can't blame her. You only live once anyway.”
“And speaking of the next morning,” he says, stopping to chug some more wine before continuing, “I decided to buy myself a Yacht, and it's been smooth sailing ever since - which is an accurate assessment of my career since April 2nd, 2016. Do you remember the date, Ricky?” He asks with a wry smile. “That was the day I decided that I was wholeheartedly done with middling in mediocrity, done with spiraling down into the abyss, and done with tarnishing my legacy -- which coincidentally, happened to be the same day I proved that the Next Level still had a lot of leveling up to do.”
“I dropped you on your head for looking down on me, Valero. And since then everything has been looking up. Since then I’ve gone on to win the 2016 Gold Rush Rumble, pin the current FGA Pride Champion, and capture this,” the Britton looks at the FGA World Championship draped across his broad shoulder. “This is what makes me the envy of the locker room, because each and every one of you wish you could hold it. You wish you were in my shoes, but the thing is they’re a little too far out of your price range. You could never afford to step in my footsteps, Ricky.”
“Understand that we don't stand on equal ground, because you simply stand under me.” He proclaims.
“I was on a snide, Ricky. You remember, right? Wins had come few and far between, and I looked like a far cry from the man standing before you -- the man, which is the man that I've always been. But I had to find that man again, he had gone into hiding, into seclusion. Sometimes you need to have your back up against the wall to get rid of the monkey on it. After all, adversity is the greatest motivator. Hearing you, and the wrestling community all but write my eulogy woke up the beast. The doubt, it was like kerosine, all I had to do was find a bloody match.”
“You gave me that match, Ricky.” He admits, shaking his wine bottle before pointing it at the camera. “And it was a phenomenal one indeed. “Pretty” Ricky Valero, vs “The British Mamba” Johnny Cannon, in front of thousands in Philadelphia, one of the most historic wrestling cities in the world in front one of the best crowds ever. You and I went at it, Valero. We laid it all out there that night, going blow for blow, grapple for grapple, and hold for hold. It was one of the hardest fought matches that I’ve competed in, in quite some time,” he recants, as he stares out at the sea again for a brief moment.
“We had all the ingredients that you’ll ever need for a great match; no foreign objects, no gimmicks, or any of that rubbish, just two men who desperately needed a win - one man trying to prove he could live up to his own hype with the other trying to prove that he wasn't overhyped. Can you guess which one you were,” he asks. “You wrestled a phenomenal match. But as you and most of this roster is beginning to realize, your best is not close to my best. Jimmy Riley said it better than even I could- I'm great when I want to be great. But just being great is no longer my prerogative. Right now, I refuse to settle for anything other than being the greatest.”
“The greatest FGA World Champion of all time.”
“The greatest professional wrestler of all time.”
“Those are the two goals that I'm working toward, and I have you to thank for that, to a degree. You gave me that fire I’ve been missing, and now I'm blazing trails. I'm just sorry that I couldn't do the same for you,” he claims. “Because after I schooled you, your grades slipped and you lost your way -- lost that same fight you brought against me. Jimmy Page busted you up, and you needed Chandler Scott and divine intervention to save you from an ER visit, you didn't win the Gold Rush Rumble, and worst of all you ended up losing the FGA Tag Team Championships at ASSV.” He shakes his head as he turns back to look over the deck.
“Well you didn't lose them, technically speaking,” he says, looking back over his shoulder with a grin. “It's kind of funny that you guys call yourselves the Next Level, because only one of you looks like they belong on the Main Roster. I know you feel the same way, Ricky. You remind me of myself a few years ago, teaming with a friend that I was far more talented than. Like me you're the more experienced. Like me you've got the higher ceiling, yet unlike me you consciously continue to handicap yourself, and continue to limit what you can accomplish - you're good enough to capture the Mid-Atlantic Legacy, or Pride Title, hell if you buckled down and applied yourself you could even get in the World Title picture in a year or two when hell freezes over.” He jokes.
“So with that said, how long do you intend to be held back by Luke Jackson?”
“You and I both know he's a liability,” he says, looking down at his feet. “And Luke, you know it too.” Isn't that why you doubt yourself so much? The uncertainty, the self-deprecation, you remind me of a kid I use to know - a Philly Young Gun named Blake Jones.” Cannon smiles as he thinks about his old coworker. “He’s one of the most well known names in wrestling today, or was. I think he retired a year or two ago which is a shame because he had a bright career ahead of him, but that's neither here nor there. The reason I'm making the comparison is because like Blake, you have severe confidence issues. When we were under the same roof in San Diego, Jones would constantly be bested by much tougher competition, and would then tweet his frustrations and doubts instead of getting in the gym and using those failures to motivate himself to achieve superstardom.”
“Sound familiar?” He asks rhetorically. “You can't find time to get in the gym and work on your craft, but you've got plenty of time to post thirst traps on Twitter. And you wonder why you're a joke.” He scoffs.
“Blake, despite his God given talent and ability, would go into matches expecting to lose because his name wasn't as big as his opponents, or because he wasn't as well traveled, experienced or successful. Despite having everything he ever needed to be great, he never put it all together because he was always concerned about what he didn't have.”
“He stopped trying to be all he could be, stopped trying to be the best and ended up just happy to be employed before his self-esteem issues drove him out of the company.”
“The two of you are weak minded. You lack the fortitude to compete in the most competitive company in the world, which is your biggest issue because this game itself is ninety percent mental, Luke,” he says, tapping his temple with the top of the bottle. “You lace your boots up already preparing for defeat, and that's why you belong in LDFC. It's not because you can't go - because I'll be honest with you, you're better than a lot of the guys in this company. You simply don't believe you are. And that's what I can't respect.”
“I can't respect a wrestler who doesn't even think he can beat me.”
“I can't respect a man who doesn't believe he should be in the ring with me, when we’ve got wrestlers in developmental who would give up an arm and a leg just for FIVE minutes with the FGA World Champion. We’ve got guys like Nest, Terrence Tillman and the Crimson Baroness who would give anything to go one on one with Johnny Cannon - but they have to keep waiting and wishing to be called up while a guy who thinks he's in over his head holds their spot on the roster.” Cannon scoffs. “Your attitude is what cost you and Ricky the belts. You lack the heart and passion necessary to be winner. You should be out there trying to bite people's heads off, but you don't have that dog in you, that aggression that your partner has which makes you the weak link.”
“When you're out there you look like you're just praying to God that you don't embarrass yourself. And everyone knows it. Everyone knows you're afraid of wetting the bed. Worst of all, Ricky knows it, and it's due to that knowledge that he has no faith in you. He doesn't trust you -- and that's a man who's supposed to be watching your back. That's why he did all the talking a fortnight ago. He was the one laying the law of the land down to Status Quo while you just shrinked in his shadow like a bloody coward.”
“That's why you two will never capture the World Tag Titles again, and that's why you're going to fall to Diamond and myself.” He guarantees.
“The two of you should have the advantage, being the former tag champs and all. But you're not nearly as polished as you should be. Your cohesion is an illusion. You're just one guy who's overcompensating for a partner who's afraid to get in his way. Danny and I don’t have that problem, which makes us a problem for men like you.”
“I don't have to worry about Danny holding his own because he's done it all in this business. “
“I don't have to question Danny’s confidence because I know he thinks he’s the greatest - in fact, I know for a fact that he thinks he's better than me. And he’s supposed to.”
“That's why the Kings rule FGA. We’re self aware, yet totally aware of each other. He knows when I step into that ring that I'm going all out, and that I'm about to put on a performance worth remembering. He knows when that bell rings I’ll be bringing the pain, and kicking heads off shoulders. I'm the Baddest Man on the Planet for a reason. I’m holding this for a reason”, he holds up the FGA World Title. “And this Saturday, in Tucson, Arizona I’m going to remind you why -”
Before Cannon can finish his thought he’s spontaneously interrupted. A rather voluptuous woman, seemingly of Spanish descent walks up to him, beginning to speak in her native tongue.
“Love, I don't understand a bloody word you just said, but whatever it is it sounded as sexy as you look,” replies the smooth talker, garnering a blush of the cheeks and a smile as she proceeds to whisper into his ear, her hand slowly navigating down his chest until she finally comes across his toolkit.
“Now you're speaking my language.” He says with a grin, as she laughs and grabs the bottle of wine from his hand, before turning to walk off. Cannon makes sure to get himself a nice firm squeeze of the cakes as she switches her way out of the shot. Once his meal leaves his sight, his lecherous eyes fill with fire and electricity as he brings them back to the camera.
“Forgive me, I got a little bit distracted there,” he says with a devilish grin. “I found that snack in Miami. Well, rather she found me. Since I knocked Zero McHannon out to become the undisputed King of FGA, well I've seen an increase in a number of areas.”
“My bank account got a lot fatter thanks to some lucrative contract bonuses, I'm now being paraded around the WGN Network talking to execs, doing conference calls and what not. Everyone who pretended I didn't exist a month ago treats me like I'm the Commander and Chief.”
“Everybody wants something from me,” he states. “Women want to fuck me, hoping they’ll get lucky and win child support payments for the next eighteen years. Family I don't even speak to, and friends I've long forgotten keep calling my phone because they want my money and fame.”
The question I pose to you two, is what do you want?” He asks, removing his Cartier sunglasses.
“Do you want to go down as the guys who used to be the FGA Tag Team Champions, or do you want to be more than that.”
“Do you want to be one of the major players in FGA, Ricky. Or are you happy being a guy who was too scared to fly?”
“Do you want to be one of the brightest young stars in the game today, Luke. Or would you rather be a man who could never rise to the occasion?”
“Those are questions only you have the answers for. However, regardless of who you want to be, this Saturday you're going to be my bitches,” he says coldly, as he points his shades at the camera. “Because if ONE King was good enough to beat you, I can only imagine what TWO can do.”
“Senor, Cannooooon!” Calls out our mystery woman, holding the bottle of wine as Cannon throws his shades back on.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, the king has some royal business to handle.”
And with that the scene fades.
