Post by The Last Real Man on Oct 27, 2016 18:28:08 GMT -5
October 27th, 2016
Hillsborough, California
“I’m trying my best, Kharissa. I'm trying to be what you need me to be. What William needs me to be…” I hear it playing in my head over and over again, my own words, lies I tried to pass off as truths.
“John, I know what I'm asking is a lot, I know you still feel like you’ve got a few years left in you. But I can't wait for you to finish up,” she said to me, “we can't wait for you.” I felt the strings to my heart being severed, as the damn thing sunk to my stomach, leaving a gaping hole, and it was beginning to become hard to breathe.
“It's not about me, Kharissa. I'm sacrificing for him. I'm doing what I have to do…” I can hear my voice trembling, I can hear the fear and uncertainty as clear as thunder during a rainstorm, I hear my excuses echoing in my head.
“You’re doing what you want to do, just like you always have because you want to be famous. You want to be on television. You want to make money. You don’t want to end up like your father, living with regrets, but you're wrong,” she explained to me, “he never had any regrets. He enjoyed his life until the end. He never once thought about what could have been. He chose you over a career and a life that would've shaved off years of his life, and prevented him from being there to raise you to be the man you are today - a successful and proud man, whether you give him credit for it or not,” she confessed to me, “he chose to be there for YOU.”
I held a near empty bottle of Everclear in my hands, clutching it like redemption as I stared around the house. It was all flashing right before my eyes, my whole life was flashing through eyes that were glassy and watery from too much to drink, too many pills popped, and too much cocaine snorted in an effort to cope with my decision. My conscience wasn't cleared, and my suffering hadn't ceased.
“I can't walk away, Kharissa. If I walk away now, I won't be able to forgive myself...”
“I know, John,” she said to me, weeping in her soul with every word, “I can't ask you to do something you're not capable of - and you're incapable of being content. You’ve reached your goals, John. You came from nothing, you came from a poor family, raised in a fucking hole in the wall, and now look at you,” as I thought about her words I glanced over my suit, a five figure wardrobe that I suddenly felt cheap wearing, “What more do you have to accomplish? When is it enough?”
I found my way into what was once a nursery. The crib was missing, along with the solar system that dangled from the ceiling right above it. All the pictures, all the crayola scribbled masterpieces, they were all gone. Nothing but emotionless white walls.
“You're an ambitious man, always have been. You’ve never had anything, and you constantly want more for yourself. I can't hold that against you anymore. You’re obsessed with your desires and your pursuits, and those obsessions have caused you to neglect the things you should cherish the most. Wrestling won't last forever, but your son, a bond between a son and his father, that's everlasting. And you're taking it for granted. You won't even be there to take him Trick or Treating. How many more birthdays are you willing to miss? How many more promises will you break? How many more times will he cry out in the middle of the night for his absent father?”
I stood in the room where I once kissed William, promising him that I’d be his champion.
“You’ve fallen off the wagon, you're using again, you haven't been sleeping, I can tell, John. I can tell that it's driving you crazy, but you can't quit it. You’re addicted to it. You’re addicted to trying to be the man you think your father wasn’t. But what you don't realize is that you're nothing like him because he never did what was best for HIM, he only did what was RIGHT for his FAMILY.”
But I was no champion. I was a liar.
“Kharissa, don't do this… don’t do this to me. Please…”
I dropped to the floor, leaning up against the wall as I looked up to the ceiling, wondering how this all happened as I replayed the situation in my head over and over again.
My life changed so fast. As I sat there in that empty house, I felt the tears swell up in my eyes, I felt my throat close up, I felt my body go numb.
I felt the bottom, rock bottom.
“I didn't, John… you did...”
I screamed out but there was nobody there to hear my cries.
There was nobody there to ease my heartache.
I was all alone.
*************************************************************************
The scene begins at what appears to be a race track, specifically for horses. Inside, we find a well dressed gentleman sitting alone at the betting tables - and from the bloodied tuxedo, the bottle of Belvedere on the table, and a Cuban cigar resting in his fingertips, it's obvious we’re graced by the presence of one Johnny Cannon.
“Odds…” starts The British Mamba, as he puffs on his cigar, before placing it down on the ashtray in front of him, which happens to be next to a large pile of cash, “this Saturday, on WGN America, inside of the Prairie Capital Convention in Springfield, Illinois, the quest to crown the new FGA World Champion will come down to odds,” he explains. Now consider this; it took me a total of 829 days to succeed in my path to redemption, to reclaim my former glory, to once again capture a World Championship. That was at All Star Showdown. That was the night I knocked Zero McHannon the FUCK out for a SECOND time and took what I wanted,” he reminds us, “yet he was given an immediate rematch within TWO months, allowing him to steal my championship, winning a match where I was neither pinned nor submitted. I did NOT lose the FGA World Championship. Yet I was never given the rematch I deserved. Instead, Leonard T. Asherman decided to create a makeshift tournament to determine a new champion, when in reality I'm the ONLY man in this entire crapshoot who actually deserves to wear the crown - what're the odds?”
“Now I could sit here and complain about the fact that the FGA Championship committee has obviously gone out of its way to keep me from reclaiming what is rightfully mine, I could sit here and tell you how much this entire situation pisses me the fuck off, but I won't. I don't need to. My disposition is clear as day. Simply look back at my recent outings, and you’ll understand exactly what type of man you're all dealing with; that's a man who’s no longer in the mood to fuck around,” he says in a baleful tone. “Everyone who has stepped in the ring with me since Above and Beyond has either been beaten to within an inch of their useless fucking lives or been sent home in an ambulance. I've got a lot of blood on these hands,” he says, displaying his white knuckles that are wrinkled and calloused from countless battles, “I've got Bond’s, Tyler’s, Noelle’s, Karma’s, every time I ball up my fists I hear their screams in the back of my head.”
“But I've got a lot of things in my head these days. Lots of different thoughts, and voices. They’ve all been telling me the same thing; reclaim the throne, and my actions speak volumes about the degree to which I'm willing to go to get it. I'm willing to put each and every one of you miserable fucks on the shelf, permanently.,” he says with murderous intent. “So what're the odds that Ryan LeCavalier can stop me, the most dangerous man in FGA, and the Baddest Man on the Planet?”
“She’s not even the best LeCavalier,” he claims, cracking open that bottle of Belvedere for a quick sip, “I would know, I've had the best LeCavalier,” he says, cracking a wry smile. “And like I've done in previous weeks, I'm not going to waste time attempting to build you up to be something you're not. Instead, let's talks about what you are. You're the two sport athlete right? You jumped ship from the Octagon to the squared circle. Newsflash, I did that. You think you're one of the most polished strikers in the game. Guess what, I am the most explosive striker in wrestling today. You’re also a waste of tv time. I can't relate. Every Vertigo over the last few months we’ve been guaranteed a ten minute conversation between you and Fujiko Mine backstage - it's always the least watched segment of the show. Check the ratings. No one cares about your lesbian love story. This is not Lifetime, this is FGA. But in the off chance the two of you are indeed bumping uglies as rumors suggest, I just want to let you know that I fucked her too. I gave her the business. That's why she quit. She knew to get to the top that she’d have to get through me, and she was afraid I’d tear that ass up again.”
“Forgive me, Carmine’s obnoxious humor has rubbed off on me. I'm usually more respectful, usually,” he jokes, “but you don't deserve my respect, Ryan. Whatever you can do, I just do it better. You have as much claim to a World Title as the wanker who runs the FGA Twitter account - but even he has more clout than you do. I don't know what you’ve done in the dozen companies that you probably compete in that I’ve never heard of, or don't care to watch, but I know for a bloody fact you’ve done absolutely NOTHING in FGA - except pick a fight with the ghost of Dom Harter and lose. You couldn't even beat a man who's more known for being a Milf Hunter than a two-time World Champ, so what does that say about you? Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if you’ve even won a match in your FGA tenure - if you have it probably was over one of those curtain jerkers, I wouldn't know I don't arrive to the arena in time to see the opening acts. That's because the best go on last. I’m Mariano Rivera. I'm the closer. You obviously would know nothing about that.”
“So with that said, I don't understand why you were even eligible for the lottery. But that's neither here nor there, what's done is done after all. However, your lack of legitimacy is a cause for concern, yet despite your glaring inefficiencies, and your talent being more imaginary than literal, I'm not overlooking you. I'm treating you as a threat, even though you don't threaten me, even though you're no better than the rest of these mid-card level clowns who could never hold my fucking jockstrap. A bunch of fucking whippersnappers who talk a bigger game than they could ever back up. A bunch of fucking losers who wish they were more than what they are,” he says coldly, “and what you are is my next bitch, my next punching bag. All you are is in the way. But most important of all, you're stuck between a rock and a hard a place.”
“You have to get through the Kings, both of us to get to the promised land. At Gold Rush thirty people couldn't even do that, what makes you think you can? Because you come from a proud family, and you work hard, and all that other boring rubbish, and all those other lines you rehearse in front of a mirror every morning? None of that shit matters. Everybody has a plan until I punch them in the fucking mouth, til’ I knee them in the side of the head, til’ I drive their skull into the canvas, til’ I kick their bloody head off their shoulders!”
“There's a reason the New Kings are the most feared and dominant faction in FGA history - that reason is me. Zero packed his bags and left because he knew he couldn't duck me forever. Mice run whenever the Mamba locks them in its crosshairs, it's in their nature. He’s never beaten me, and he knows he never will, so if you want to leave on a high note, feel free Costanza, don't let the door hit you on the way out,” he says dismissively. “Nevertheless, the absence of a top champion leaves a void in Frontier, and that means someone has to step up and lead the ship. Someone has to sell out arena after arena. Someone has to put on nothing less than a five star performance every single time they step through the curtains. Someone has to walk around every day with a target on their back, the spotlight constantly shining on them as their life and legacy are scrutinized and examined under a microscope -- unreal expectations being thrust upon their shoulders along with the pressure of having to increase FGA’s national brand, and raise our image even higher,” he explains, sipping some more vodka, “and you think you can handle those responsibilities, Ryan? You think you can be that guy? You can't even get yourself over without clinging to the coattails of second rate Pride Champions,” he scoffs.
“You don't deserve to be the FGA World Champion, but neither does he, Cannon suggests, as he pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and grabs a handful of cash, “Tony Carmine. For the last year or so you’ve been on deck. You’ve supposedly had next. You’ve been the one experts and pundits, and those with respected opinions in our business have called the future. Every time we see your name on the card, it's been a safe bet picking you as the winner - until the stakes are high, and the entire world's watching, and you're put in a position to grab the mantle and the throne - then you come up short. You were picked to upset Chandler. You were even the favorite in BOTH of our Triple Threat matches this Summer. Each time Vegas gave you the best odds of winning,” he claims, as he lights the bills on fire, “and each time you went up in smoke,” he says as the Franklins are reduced to ashes.
“That's a metaphor for your life, not just your career. You burn half as long, but twice as bright. You're the sexy pick, the man who should be the guy, but can never grab that brass ring. And we’re always left wondering why? Why Tony? Why have your contemporaries all surpassed you? You let Zero come into FGA, and he became World Champion before you. You let me walk in the door, and then I became World Champion before you. You're like a check point on the path to prosperity - once we reach you on our destination we know we’re on our way, we’re in the right direction,” he says. “Speaking of directions, you've taken a step back. Nobody in their right mind thinks you're better than me at this point. It's been proven who the fuck up is.”
“And that's you, Sunshine,” he says, mockingly blowing a kiss at the camera. “You haven't looked the same since Johnny Karma took your pride, the same Johnny Karma that almost beat us at Retribution because he was beating you from pillar to post - and he would have, had I not saved your ass. But I've been your savior for quite some time now, haven't I? I've saved your career after all,” he claims. “Had we not become business associates, you’d be fighting for scraps with the Salem Cartiers of the world. I saved you from being “The Man That Couldn't Beat Chandler Scott,” he proclaims. “Without me you’d have nobody to push you, and help you tap into your potential. You needed someone to give you that edge. But I can only show you how to be great, I can't make you great. You have to figure out how to win the big one on your own, and until then you’ll just be “The Guy That Can't Keep Up With Johnny Cannon,” he says with a chuckle. “Facts Only.”
“Lately you’ve been asking ‘what does Tony Carmine have to do to get a chance’, but the real question is ‘what does Tony Carmine have to do to win a World Title’ and you have no answer for it. You just have excuses. Chandler got lucky, you would've won if you didn't get concussed. All you have is hypotheticals. You're young so you’ll get plenty of opportunities, you’ll eventually get it done - but no one believes that. YOU don't even believe it at this point, you just say it because that's all you can do anymore. You run your mouth while I just run the show. You talk out your ass while I just talk with my hands - and these hands, they have a lot of questions about you, Anthony. They want to know why, why should we continue to bet on a horse that can’t get out of its own way? At what point do we stop talking about your potential, and start talking about your failure to live up to the hype. I think that time is NOW. I think it's time for the world to admit the TRUTH!”
“And the truth is, you and I are no longer in the same league, Carmine. We're not even in the same conversation. When they talk about the face of FGA, they talk about ME! When they talk about who the face of the New Kings is, they talk about ME! You’re not even mentioned, you have to interject your way into conversations of which I'm the topic of discussion. You're just Solange, wishing you had a seat at the table. You bitch and moan about being overlooked, but conveniently look past the fact that you wet the bed when everyone's looking at you. And you think you should be the top dog? Really, a man who wrestles once every two months, a man who's had countless opportunities but just can't stop fumbling at the goal line - you think you should be the ACE? You're not even the lead man in the group YOU put together!”
“Delusions of grandeur, all across the board, from you to Kevin,” he scoffs, “I don’t trust anybody, so the idea of him costing me this opportunity has crossed my mind. But Hardaway knows the repercussions. He remembers what I did to Ruby, and how Superman had to rush to save Lowest Lane. That’ll happen to him too. I'll turn this into a handicap myself if need be.”
“But we both know it won’t come to that Kevin, because you’re a prideful man. You know what this opportunity represents for you - a chance to be taken seriously again - because let's be honest, just because you and Ruby turned your back on the fans you never had, to say the same things you’ve been saying since RubyWay arrived in FGA, NOBODY cares! Nobody cares because we all know you can't back up a word you say. We all know you’re a washed up hack, while she’s never been anything to begin with. You're mad that nobody's paying attention to you, you're mad that the same people keep playing musical chairs at the top of the card. Well sport, you’d be up there too if you were worth any shit, unfortunately you're just shit.”
“I don't know where you’ve been the last year, but, I didn't do a Hocus Pocus and suddenly appear at the top of the card. I didn't get here with smoke and mirrors, I worked for my position. I know hard work is foreign to you, because since you and your sidekick have been here all you’ve done is brag about shit you accomplished in an unknown company out East Bumblefuck with your hands out as if you should be given anything. When I arrived here I didn't talk about what I did in EXODUS, they did because my resume and reputation precedes me. However, FGA and Johnny Cannon are now synonymous with one another because I've put this company on the map. I've been the brightest star since day one. I'm the man here because I just do it. I do everything that I say I will, and everything you WISH you could do. I go out there and steal the show, I wrestle classics, I compete for World Titles, while you just sit back there in the locker room watching with envious eyes, sucking your teeth, thinking ‘damn that's supposed to be me’ but it will NEVER BE YOU because I'm JOHNNY FUCKING CANNON.. I use to be the FGA World Champion while you're just Kevin Hardaway,” he pauses dramatically, “notice nothing followed. That's because you're NOBODY.”
“But this, this is your chance to actually BE somebody, Kevin. You have a World Title opportunity hanging in the balance, a chance that you will likely never get in your career again. Think about that for a moment - if you were to wrestle another ten, twenty years knowing you’ll NEVER be World Champion? Can you live with that,” he asks, “maybe you can, but I can't. I can't even sleep at night, I can't function because I can't live WITHOUT the FGA World Championship. It's the only thing that matters to me,” he says, as the scene goes dark.
When the picture returns we see Cannon on the race track now, “the odds seem to be stacked against me. I’ve been forced to team with a man I hate, against my own partner at that,” he says as he begins running the track, “but as a gambler, you always have to look at the circumstances first before you hedge your bets - and considering the fact that I’ve been carrying this company since I stepped foot in it last Summer, I should have no problem carrying Kevin Hardaway for one night,” he sprints now, “especially since I've carried Sunshine Scandalous for half a year. Taking that and the rest of the field into account, I have to be the favorite.”
“Because unlike EVERYONE else, all the household names, and the fan favorites, the Cordy Stevenson's, the Dan Herreras, Molly Reid’s and of course the Tony Carmine’s, I'm the ONLY one who’s crossed the finish line. I'm the ONLY one who’s ever been the FGA World Champion,” he says as he lights his cigar, taking a long a pull. And I'm the ONLY one who will be,” he says, blowing smoke at the camera.
FADE.
