Post by The Last Real Man on Sept 2, 2016 19:58:21 GMT -5
August 21st, 2016
Anaheim, California
I couldn't sleep.
Every time I tried the same thing kept me up, the same picture mocking me each and every time I closed my eyes to capture a measure of peace that proved to be too elusive. I suppose such a thing was a virtual impossibility in my current state, for the wound was still fresh and and the pain was still searing. I could hear it, the soundtrack to my life. A broken record, the needle scratching over and over again like some sort of technical difficulty, but in reality I was the one that had malfunctioned. The well oiled machine once known as “The British Mamba” was suddenly on the fritz, sparks flying with each and every breath drawn, systems frying with each and word reverberating in my head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match and NEW FGA WORLD CHAMPION … ZERO MCHANNON!”
In silence, in a room full of people, it didn't matter it drowned out the noise until it was the only sound playing in my mind like a prevailing echo, taunting me with its truth. Aldridge’s voice wouldn't let up. The sight of Zero McHannon holding what I had worked so hard to gain, it wouldn't vanish. Even with my eyes open I could see it all so vividly..
Perhaps it was karma catching up to me for all of the reprehensible things that I've done in my life, a list of which is long enough that you could run after for years and never reach. It’d be like running on a treadmill; no matter how fast you went you’d never make any progress, you’d simply be running in place. But I was running with legends. Running with history. I was running for my legacy, but just as I was hitting stride I was undercut before I could even reach the finish by elements not in my control. And that in of itself was the worst part of it all.
To have it all end this way, to have the outcome decided without even being factored into the decision. If I were to meet my demise, for my reign to end so soon, I deserved to have a more decisive conclusion for the sake of my pride at the least. However, the universe is seldom ever that generous.
Life is the biggest troll; the moment everything is going the way you imagined it would, something happens setting off a chain reaction that leads to the foundation of everything you’ve built breaking like a suspect under the pressure and fire of a belligerent prosecutor determined to snuff that confession out of him. A domino effect is what it's called, but I couldn't retrace my steps to the beginning where that first chip went tumbling over. That's the second stage after suffering a failure of this magnitude. The first is disbelief. The second is spent in hindsight, thinking about what if - what if I had seen my mistakes, what if I had seen those distractions. Could I have avoided them? Could I have changed my fate? But I was too caught up in the euphoria to see it - to see the dam breaking. Success is blinding that way. Too much of it limits your awareness of your surroundings, preventing you from noticing the pitfalls that you might have come across had you not been sleeping in a reverie. I was so high up on that cloud that it felt like a dream.
But I’m awake now.
I fell from grace, crash landing to the Earth where the impact shattered my spirit, and my will to continue. I just laid on the floor of my suite, a few empty bottles of the hardest bourbon I could find strewn about my carcass whilst I prayed to God for a bittersweet euthanasia.
But those prayers went unanswered. Instead he kept poking me with his metaphorical stick, checking to see if my body had decomposed. As expected I was still alive, much to my own chagrin, but just enough that’d I’d be wishing I was dead later.
*************************************************************************
August 22nd, 2016
Pasadena, California
“You don't look like you’ve been sleeping much,” she said, staring into my eyes as she helped my face in her hands. It's protocol during a routine physical to check the patient's eyesight, hearing and breathing, but she didn't need to be a medical professional to tell that I wasn't catching many Z’s.
“I'm not sure where you're getting that from. I’ve been sleeping like a bear as of late. That's just the ramifications of getting punched in the eyeballs for a living. Nothing a few eye drops can't heal,” I pretended, “but I’m not here for that.”
“What seems to be bothering you then, Mr. Richards?”
“My left knee has been giving me quite a lot of trouble these last few months. I don't think it's too serious, but I've death with a considerable amount of discomfort,” I started, weaving a white lie in the hopes of getting a refill of my painkillers. The truth is pain had been flaring up in my leg since Gold Rush, attacking me in spurts here and there sometimes during matches, other times while I was doing mundane everyday activities such as watching my song or going for a walk on the trail. It wasn't anything I couldn't bare, but if it was serious enough to score me something more intense than the over the counter grade Ibuprofen it was worth the trouble of a doctor’s visit. “Do you think there could be complications with my surgery? I mean it's been almost two years now.”
“There's always the possibility that you could have retorn part of the ligament,” she explained. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”
“Around a four or a five. Possibly a six when it hurts the most.”
“Are you being honest with my, John?” She asked, shooting straight as she folded her arms, skeptical of my response. “Because you started off this visit telling me you’ve slept soundly, when I can easily tell you’ve gone without proper rest the last day alone, and from the look in your eyes I know this is not a rare occurrence. So if you’d fabricate that, I guess it's not out of the realm of possibility that you would lie about your knee.”
“I'm telling you the truth, doc. I'm not saying that my leg is about to fall off. It's not that serious, but I feel it there. It aches. I just need a few pills to numb the pain is all so it doesn't become even more of a complication and a bigger issue while I'm competing. I just can't afford to have anything hampering me,” I said, trying my best to convince her. “Please doc, I'm begging you here. I’d get on my knees, but you know, the pain.”
“I'll tell you what John, I'll write you up this one time. If you run out I’m not giving you a refill, not until you go see a specialist and make sure there's no significant damage causing the chronic discomfort. I'd also recommend that you take some time off from the ring. That might work better to alleviate the pain.”
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
*************************************************************************
August 22nd, 2016
Los Angeles, California
I popped a handful of Xanax, and swallowed it down with a pint of Guinness. I know you're not supposed to do that, mixing your medication with alcohol, in fact they specifically prohibit that. But you're also not supposed to over do it. I think Dr. Shields prescribed one or two every twenty-four hours. Well I’d already had four in the past thirty-minutes, and the evening had just started so I was batting 0 for 2 in that regard, but who's keeping score? I'm certainly not.
Besides what can I say, taking prescriptions a hell of a feeling.
And I need to feel something, anything other than what I've been feeling lately. The self-loathing, the depression, it's all been setting in along with the realization that I fought so hard, and got so far, but in the end none of it mattered. Everything I accomplished this year, it's all pointless because I couldn't sustain it. All the sacrifices I made, everything I endured to capture the FGA World Championship was nullified the second I allowed it to slip through my fingers and I could feel his shadow over me. I could feel him sneering down on me from the other side.
I bet he was smiling too. My old man didn't care for wrestling. I lost his favor when I retired from MMA, and the only thing that disappointed him more than my acting exploits was my wrestling career. So I know he took pleasure in watching me fail.
“Fuck you.” I said to myself. I knew he was listening.. “This is what you wanted huh, you spiteful prick? Can't stand to see me doing better than you, can you?. You must be happy to see that I'm just like you again, a loser.”
I cracked open another bottle of black lager, taking a break from arguing with ghosts.
“It was supposed to be different…”
I murmured, head leaning against the cabinets of my kitchen as I remained stapled to the floor, wondering how it came to this. Amidst my intoxication I found myself dialing Kharissa.
“You have reached…”
God I fucking hate when she sends me to the goddamn voicemail service. I know because I heard the dial tone twice. Had it gone directly there I would’ve assumed her phone was off. Two times? That's her clicking end because she’s too much of a cunt to pick up the phone.
Through divine intervention I end up behind the wheel of my Audi. Don't get behind the wheel while drunk. You shouldn't drive or operate heavy machinery while taking this medication. All these fucking rules. With my foot down on the gas and my hand on that bottle of Guinness I pulled out of my driveway, ready to conquer the world with some civil fucking disobedience.
*************************************************************************
August 23rd, 2016
Hillsborough, California
It was just after 2 AM when I pulled up to her apartment. The neighborhood was quiet, as it always is which is why I picked it. It was the ideal location for raising a child. A playground and a good middle school on the edge of the block. During the daytime children played in the street while their fathers grilled in the backyard. During the night it was just as tranquil.
However, tonight I was determined to disrupt the peace and give the desperate housewives of Hillsborough something to gossip about.
“RISSA, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. OPEN THE DOOR!” I yelled, whilst banging on the door.
“KHARISSA OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR YOU BITCH!”
I banged and banged on the door like Fred Flintstone, begging for Wilma to let him.
“YOU’VE GOT SOME FUCKING NERVE, SERVING ME A FUCKING SUBPOENA! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
I chugged some more lager.
“AND ON THE DAY OF MY TITLE DEFENSE? YOU KNEW I COULDN’T MAKE IT. YOU DID THAT SHIT DELIBERATELY YOU HEARTLESS BITCH. THAT WITCH PROBABLY PUT YOU UP TO IT. YOU’RE GOING TO END UP JUST LIKE HER. OLD AND LONELY WITH NOBODY TO FUCK YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE A BITCH. YOU HEAR ME? GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW KHARISSA!”
The door started to open now as someone stepped out.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
Just not who I was expecting. Some guy walked up to me, as Kharissa peeked out from behind him. Incensed, I stared at her, and pointed at him.
“WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?”
“Johnny-”.
“YOU GOT SOME MAN IN MY FUCKING HOUSE. AROUND MY FUCKING SON? YOU STUPID WHORE!”
“Hey pal, I think you need to leave,” he said, reaching for my arm. I quickly battled him away.
“DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME.” I told him, clenching my teeth.
“Are you drunk, Johnny-”
“DON’T JOHNNY ME. WHO THE HELL IS THIS. YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH THIS CLOWN IN MY HOUSE. WITH MY SON IN THERE? I’M GOING TO BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECK.” I threatened.
“Alright that's enough,” he said, grabbing me a second time.
“GET OFF ME-” I replied, right before popping him across the jaw. I kept swinging at him, again and again until he was down on the ground. I couldn't even tell what I was doing anymore, or why, but I knew it felt good. For a moment I didn't feel the pain. I only felt my frustrations being expelled. Before I knew it Kharissa had latched onto me, pulling me back to keep me from doing anymore damage. As I looked down at my hand I saw blood all over it. I had blacked out. As I looked around I saw the whole neighborhood watching. Realizing what I had done I tried to approach her, but Kharissa cried and yelled her reservations.
“HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH?”
I had beaten him to a pulp. I had to get away. By the time I was in my car, she was on her feet, full tilt with anger and resentment.
“I DON’T WANT AROUND ME OR MY SON EVER AGAIN. YOU HEAR ME?”
*************************************************************************
As the scene begins we see Johnny Cannon resting on the floor, his back leaning up against a white wall as he clutched a bottle of Belvedere for dear life. Cannon appears to be a small room, one of which lacks any artwork or furniture to give it life. The former FGA World Champion sips his vodka, choking up some of it as a good amount drips down his bare chest. A black tie hands around his neck rather haphazardly, as he cleans himself with his Oxford that was balled up by his feet.
“They say you're as young as you feel. Right now I feel old and I look like shit. My life has gone to shit. Everything that could've went wrong has gone wrong. Murphy's Law is in full effect and it's all due to the events that transpired at Above and Beyond when -” Cannon bites his tongue angrily, stopping his train of thought. “I didn't lose the FGA World Championship. I wasn't pinned, nor was I submitted, yet somehow Zero McHannon walked away with my title, and all the bragging rights that followed the closing of the chapter, and the end of an odyssey between he, Carmine and myself. And it bothers me.”
“It bothers that after everything I accomplished this year, winning countless high profile matches, main evening Vertigo after Vertigo, winning the Gold Rush Rumble, capturing the biggest prize in our industry at All Star Showdown, headlining back-to-back PPV’s, doing interviews and making appearances for the WGN Network - ALL of it suddenly means NOTHING!”
“I feel empty without it. I feel dead inside without it. Without the praise, the adulation, the fame, the fortune, the limelight, the pedestal. I feel different,” he confessed, chugging more vodka, “I feel like you Chris Bond. I feel out of place in the grand scheme. I feel like I don’t matter anymore, like I’m just another name on a card. Here I am Main Eventing our first show on Axxess television, the Main Event of First Wave, and yet such a distinction brings me no pride. It brings me no happiness. It doesn't make me feel like I belong, I’m somebody. It pisses me off.”
“It pisses me off because after all the hard work I put in to reach the top of this company, here I am once again pitted against you, a man I’ve passed by, who’s been passed by, who’s career is going nowhere, whose career if it ended today would not mean a FUCKING thing. YOU a two time Pride Champion, you’re just a fucking afterthought, and it sickens me that I could fallen so hard, that I would end up back here in the same position I was months ago, going into a match with you, knowing a win over you does nothing for my career because I can gain nothing from beating a man who's already been beaten my time.”
“Time has proven you cannot hang anymore, Chris. You’re a relic. A reminder of an FGA that’s dead. I know because I killed it. Along with Carmine and McHannon. WE redefined this company. We took it over. We became, and you became a specter. A ghost. Like a herpes you can keep coming back. You just refuse to die, refuse to go away after all the evidence tells you that you can no longer compete at the highest level. I yook what was it six months off your career? You should've stayed away. Went to raise that son of yours. When I put you out of commission I was doing you a favor. I allowing you to be a good father. I didn't want you to end up like me, missing his birthdays and all the important moments in his life because you couldn't quit your addiction.”
“You're addicted to this, Bond. You're addicted to fights you cannot win. You're addicted to moments that are too big for you. You're addicted to bring in over your head. That's the story of your whole career. Biting off more than you can chew. Trying to walk with giants only to be trampled by them. And now you think this will be different, because you’ve had this circles on your calendar, because you're out for blood, because you waited in a hospital bed, in a rehab facility, counting down the days until you could get your hands on me.”
“You couldn't even beat Chandler. You had an opportunity to show how far you came, to show that Chris Bond was new and improved coming off that surgery. You had your chance to finally come within striking distance of capturing the World Title. But you couldn't do it. You couldn't be more than what you are, and what you are is selfish. You're so selfish that you wouldn't allow the Crimson Baroness to step into the ring with me in a match that would've made her career, that would've guaranteed her a major spot and as major player in FGA. You TOOK that opportunity for her not because you want to perfect your friends, not because you care for her safety, only because you care for yourself.”
“You want me to yourself because you want to revive your dead career. You couldn't have a rookie go on a potentially shock the world, because then she wouldn't need you anymore, and the last thing you have to hang your hat on in this game is being a trainer to the future. So you held her back. You should be ashamed of yourself, but a man who would leave his wife and son to go after the man who put him on the shelf for the sake of retribution has no shame.”
“What you will have however, is my wrath. I’m no feeling well, Bond. Zero’s walking around with my title, my beers not hitting like it used to, I'm having issues with my son’s mother. I’m under tremendous pressure right now, and the only thing that seems to alleviate it is hitting someone as hard as I possibly can until they don't get up.”
“That's where you come in.”
“This Sunday, we’re not having a wrestling match. I proved way back when that I'm a better wrestler than you. By winning the FGA World Title I proved I'm a better wrestler than you. By running rough shot over this company for a year I proved I'm better wrestler than you. No. We’re going to have a fight, Chris. A bloody, drag me out, back alley, barroom brawl because that's what you want. Well I want it too. I want to hit you until I feel good again, until I can't feel the pain of losing everything I worked over two years to get, until I don’t feel like fucking failure anymore.”
“I hope you're ready, Bond. Because when that bell rings I won't responsible for the bad things that’re going to happen to you this time.”
But I'm certainly going to enjoy it.”
