Post by Dark Camelot on Apr 4, 2014 11:41:59 GMT -6
Each time you step into that squared circle you leave a piece of yourself on the canvas before you leave; it's amazing, I still have something left. I've been travelling around the world, wrestling sold out shows for sixteen years non stop. Holidays, birthdays and vacations only exist on my calender, I skip them each and every time all in the name of this sport. Despite all these -facts- some still don't respect what I stand for but their ignorance has been already been forgoten.
One cannot uncover the truth if they don't first see past the lies.
The truth is, I'm willing . . . no not willing I DESIRE to die in the ring. I am ready to stain my bright, red, brave blood all over the canvas in the name of victory. Quitting, is merely a catchphrase murmured by the weak and that is against everything I stand for—who in their right mind can possibly argue against that? Who in their right mind would chalk that up as hype and over inflation of ones, ego? The answer is simple. Those who aren't willing to die in the ring, those who aren't willing to do whatever it takes in the name of victory, and are willing to quit—the minute the fight is no longer worth the pain and mental misery, in other words, the weak.
Many faces have come and gone but mine has been a lasting one. That guy you can depend on to show up, bring his absolute best and blow the roof off the building at the end of the night, no matter what. I remember one night pushing the arena doors open greeted by two things. One was the beautiful darkened skies with street lights casting their shadows upon the pavement below—the other was a young man who asked me a question...
''Do you have any limits?''
My answer was everything you expected it to be, no. I didn't have any limits. There was a time in my career when nothing could touch me. No heights were impossible and death was just something beautiful that would avoid me like the plague. The first scaffold I jumped wasn't high enough; the first chair shot I took wasn't swung fast enough, fuck, the first time I stepped into a hotel suite I looked out the window and the first thing I said to myself was...
''I can fly...''
As time grew older, it matured and became wiser. There was a point when I reached those impossible heights and it brought me face first with the glass ceiling, I broke. The last scaffold I jumped off; nearly broke my back. With each chair shot I eat the taste becomes that much more bitter. It's a goddamn great thing when I look out the window, I marvel and the beautiful scenery, because not even I can fly.
I maybe hard to hit, but I am not untouchable. I may be hard to beat, but I am not unbeatable. I may be the hardest thing to break, but I am not unbreakable. I am Myrddin, I am STALKER KNIGHT; and at the end of the day you can take that for whatever it's worth. It's been fourteen years since that young kid asked me that question and I am not the only one who grew wiser.
A few weeks ago, he caught me in the same situation it was ground hog day, all over again. Well, almost. He asked me a question it was strikingly similar to the question he asked me fourteen years prior, it was very simple.
''What are your limits?''
I didn't answer him. I guess it's something, I'll have to establish sometime soon. Perhaps in three years I'll have an answer for him, but for -now- I merely find myself asking the same question. One can only hope, I receive the answer sooner then later. After all, I can't -do- this forever, right?
I found myself sitting in a relatively small office in attendance for a one on one meeting, with a U.W.A. representative. I didn't trust him.
He sat right in front of me with his hands folded out on his desk in-front of him. I knew he was up to no good—he had a self serving attitude about him which I didn't like but at least he was a bit more upfront about it, compared to most greasy haired car salesmen. Quickly, I jumped into it with him right off the bat.
What exactly about this entire meeting has been mandatory?
I asked. Mr. suit assured me that for better of my career, I'd show up to his meeting. Although, it wasn't quite mandatory, anything that threatened my career would have to be sorted out at all costs.
Nothing at all, Mr. Knight.
Mr. suit expresses with a gentle smile.
I just figured it was in the best of both our interests to meet with each-other today. I hope this isn't a nuisance on my behalf. I understand given your position on a grandeur scale that you are a busy man.
Mr. suit said as if he was trying out for some lame movie roll.
Look, I don't know -if- you had the time to watch the same broadcast you so blatantly represent but we are taking over. As far as I'm concerned, it is MY job to summon you to one on one's and Q&A's, not you
I shot back leaning forward in the direction of Mr. suit, whom tried to hold back a laugh.
I'm sorry, Mr. Knight, it seems as if you are confused. Your position position of assumed power is nothing more then an on air complication. I'm sure it's great for ratings and entertainment which is why you've been able to run around like hooligans but behind the scenes, it's guys like -me- who take over
Mr. suit said holding up a large contract, waving it casually back and forth.
Now any other questions
He asked with sarcasm beaming through his voice.
Yeah. Let me see the contract . . .
I said. Rather then waiting for him to hand the contract to me, I snatched it out of his hands. It was effective and a powerful statement. I flipped through the contract, barely focusing long enough to read through it—why would I? I doubt he was making anything up, it all seemed too easy the way, I had saw it. I tossed the contract to the side as Mr. suit looked on, clearly not impressed.
Mr. Knight, it was important I asked you to come in here face to face because what I am about to offer you is very important in taking that next huge step, in what is already, a very impressive career . . .
Mr. suit said. I must admit, it began to sound tempting, but of course, I never wanted him to know this. He'd feed off of it like a vulture.
Well, I'm all ears. Shoot.
I said, staring a hole through the U.W.A. rep. Mr. suit balled his hands into a fist and coughed into his thumb and index finger, as he fixed his poise, upright and straight. I didn't realize he had began to slouch.
As you may or may not know, U.W.A. is under attack. So Mr. Oliver, and Miss Donelly may not be able to reign you and your little batch of miscreants in. However I CAN and I will.
You? You're going to control us? And how may I ask are you going to do this when you're not even important enough to get your name on the door to the office which you use? Is this even your office?
He blanched then steadied himself again.
Yes this is my off . . .
I cut him off with a glare that would melt steel.
Listen to the boy pretending to be a man. You can believe what you wish about your position of power. But believe me when I say this . . . The Children have receeded into the dark waters from whence they came. Dark Camelot and our doinance is bloiling to the surface. You can shut up, and be permitted to pass in the night like the unimportant little tug that you are . . . or you can present yourself as someone important and therefore a roadblock in our total control and be wiped out like everyone else will be.
I don't know if it was because he felt embarrassed by his amateur mistake or because I corrected him or maybe a little bit of both; what I do know, is he didn't take too kindly by it by the telling look of sourness on his face. He tried to combat it with a fake smile and executed it well.
The point is that the U.W.A. feels it's best if you, the leader of Dark Camelot is put forth on the larger market. Now, I know you have a great deal of fame. I know your a figure head in this business—but I want you to take this one step forward and go out and actually interact with the fans. Show them you are not truly as evil as most people believe, represent the U.W.A.
It's tempting, Mr. Suit . . .
Imagine it. You and Dark Camelot crushing the competitions top stars and instead of the fans hating you . . . they lap it up like the sheep we have bred them to be. The money on this deal is more money than you've made in the entirety of your career. Think about the press your going to gather from doing this? It'll be a huge hit and it'll cement your spot at the top for another few years.
Mr. suit said as he threw his hands up in the air in an animated fashion.
It was a huge offer; how could I actually have the balls to turn it down? The chance of truly facing the best in the world, week in and week out, had been staring me in the face. Rather then waiting a few months at a time for a big headliner, I'd be virtually pulling them off on a weekly basis—and the money? Well, it wasn't worth much—but it certainly wouldn't turn me off.
I can't let him know, I'm willing to bite, a new direction for the family isn't completely out of the question. They will follow where I lead. I needed to play hardball; guys like Mr. suit are vultures and you needed to squeeze whatever you could out of these guys. Although, I didn't want to push too hard, this was a great deal. A big deal. Maybe too great to be actually true? That's the cynic within me.
So if I took this deal; what exactly would be the catch?
I said to which Mr. suit merely threw his hands in the air, in a rather carefree manner.
It's real simple, Lester. I get you one big bus, you get on it and it's a road trip for about six to eight months. Imagine it; Stalker Knight ''Dark Camelot World Tour'' Mr. suit responds clearly not understanding the weight of pressure he was about to rein down upon me.
Six to eight months? No, coming back home at all?
I said with a hint of doubt in my voice. Mr. suit looked at me as if I was crazy, god knows he'd drop everything if it meant earning himself a bigger pay check and some extra recognition.
Sure, you could say that. That's how the life is on the road, Mr. Knight. Besides, this bus I'm planning to set you up with will feel just like home if not better . . .
And what about my promos?
I had quickly interjected. Mr. suit put his hand on my shoulder and took a deep breath.
What about them?
The look on his face was that type of look you're likely to receive when you make a statement that is absolutely, stupid. Though, I myself figured it was a very important one—there is an old saying, and it goes something like this:
Nobody has ever won a match without shooting a promotional video before hand.
I never understood it; but it was a tale that backed itself up, time and time again and I couldn't break it.
You'll still have your promos; and trust me the content is going to drive the fans wild. Life on the road is crazy. You get a few chicks in here, you'll make a few buddies along the way, pop a couple of beers and tape your life on the road from a first person perspective and then mix in a little bit of trash talk and the people will absolutely eat it up
I'm sorry but nobody tells me how to shoot a damn promo, alright? And I am faithful to my wife.
I had shot back, offended by his insinuation, not to mention, it was a fucking horrible idea. Mr. suit waved his hands back and forth as if he never meant it the way he said it.
Mr. Knight, please, I assure you I wasn't trying to step on any toes. I'm just trying to help you out—the point it this is a great opportunity, and I really think you need to capitalize on it.
Mr. suit said. At this point, I stood to my feet and took a deep breath.
Look this is -big- and with all due respect . . .
Mr. suit had quickly sat up from his chair and made his way around the table and approached me from the side. It was clear, he didn't want to make any mistakes with his sales pitch. After all, he was going to make a fortune off of this.
I know, Mr. Knight. It's exactly why I am giving you the opportunity to sleep on it like I know you'd like to. You are a wise man and I respect that. You know my phone number and where to reach me at . . .
Mr. suit told me pointing right to my chair.
Sounds good. I'll give you a call.
I said before making my way to the door carrying a thousand of thoughts with me which had raced through my head colliding with the inner walls of my sanity.
Oh, I know you will, Mr. Knight.
Mr. suit said pointing at me as if I was his favourite client (shit, I had to be, right?) as I twisted the knob on his office door, he said something that I simply couldn't forget . . .
They always do.
...Hello my lady...Goodbye my lady...
The hardest thing in life isn't being wrong; it's admitting it, especially when it comes to a lady. It's been a few weeks since I spoke to my wife. For those who know her and those who will never get the pleasure too, it's hard to believe I am really that stubborn that I spent that long away from her, over something so foolish. After all the trouble I have managed to cause, solely because I was stubborn, I simply couldn't consciously allow myself to make the same mistake, again. Dummies never learn from their mistakes and I am no dummy.
Although, I must admit that I only came to this entire conclusion out of sheer doubt. The fact that I was legitimately thinking of accepting Mr. suit's offer to join the world tour to compete in wrestling promotions all across the globe had very much, if not all to do with it. If I had accepted it; I couldn't leave her here without at least letting her know beforehand.
The offer itself; goes against everything she ever stood for. She was supportive on my choice to wrestle but it was always under the assumption that I would do it in moderation, after all, it was much healthier that way. This offer though, it's a whole different beast. It's heading to arenas every other night at the very least and getting high off the emotion that builds throughout the building. I guess this is exactly what it was all about. I had an addiction to wrestling, and this offer—was nothing more then an addicts wet dream.
Isn't this what I am about? Wrestling is what I am built for and perhaps, this other fifty percent of my life outside the ring, is nothing more then a distraction. Is that crazy? Am I crazy? I ask myself this all the time. The truth is, I have never turned down the opportunity to wrestle. It was almost like walking away from a fight and with a spirit of a warrior that was damn near impossible to do.
I found myself standing on a mound of dirt, bent over knees deep, running my hand through fresh soil—in a way, I owed her this much. It wasn't too long after when I found myself knocking on her front door and ringing twice in display of my impatience. When the door opened my image of a beautiful women changed immediately. No short skirts, no high heels, and no make up—just a plain white tank top and the ugliest pair of grey track pants was enough to drive me wild all over again.
Oh0, hey . . .
She said upon answering the door her long blonde hair fell past her shoulder, she looked down at her pants and then back up me; she was embarrassed.
Sorry, I really didn't expect you to come by today . . .
Running her hands through her hair in attempts to fix it.
Yeah, sorry about that. I promise I won't take too much of your time
Holding the stem of the long flower, I brought it from behind my back to in front of her face, she couldn't help but smile.
This is for you and I'm sorry, can I come in?
I asked, she pondered the thought.
I don't know.
She teased.
Your jeans are dirty.
Patricia laughed pointing at them. Casually, I wiped them off and dully noted her observation.
Odd. I really don't know how that got there.
I lied as she stepped to the side and invited me to her home. We walked over to her kitchen table where she dropped the red rose into a large vase which was located in the centrepiece of the table. I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the large wooden clock hanging on the wall. It really reminded me just how long I have been away from her—and if I ended up accepting, suit's offer, it'll be a hell of a lot longer.
Can I get you anything?
She asked upon pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
No thanks.
I opted out on the drink. I wasn't thirsty nor hungry, perhaps my nervousness was enough to fill me. My beautiful wife carried her tall glass of orange juice towards the table and took a seat right across from me.
So what brings you here today?
Oh, you know . . . just wanted to see how you were doing.
I said remembering the events days before Christmas that set us apart.
Look, I acted out in a childish manner. You were just trying to help and I took your kindness out of context. I'm sorry.
I said, owning up to my mistake. The last time I did that, well, it was hard to pin point but it was a long time ago.
Yeah, you were a jerk.
She teased before taking a sip of her orange juice. The glass clamped against the table she smiled.
A jerk, I can find it in my heart to forgive.
She said leaning over planting, a soft kiss upon my cheek. I sighed and trailed off knowing that it probably wasn't going to be the last time I fuck up. The love of my life looked at me her smile faded as her face became twisted with suspicion.
Max is there something wrong?
She asked. I looked up at her and then down towards the table, I could barely face her now.
When I walked out on you it was a testament to the man I have become. I walked out on you like I had done everything else. I realized that I am not healthy for you. That -I- am not worthy of you. That -I- maybe some big star in a wrestling ring but that's all I really am.
What are you saying to me right now?
I've been offered a chance to go on a six to eight month wrestling world tour that would put me against the best wrestlers in the business on a weekly basis. This means, I'd be on the road—with no time home, in this city, with you. Beautiful hazel eyes merely stared a hole right through me. I never felt something like it before.
And your going?
She countered. It was more of a statement then actual question, she knew me a whole lot better then I thought she did. Who'd knew.
Yeah. I'm going. I said to her; she merely placed her head into her hands for what felt like hours and took a deep breath, raising her head meeting my eyes with hers. No tears. No smiles. Simply, not a hint of emotion.
Well, I'm happy for you. You've always been about the business and I was foolish thinking that I could perhaps pull you back just a bit, long enough for me and you to fall in love.
She said. She seemingly was taking it well, but I knew better. She was a strong woman and has been through her own share of hardships through her life, she just knew how to hide her pain better—just like I did.
I just wanted to say goodbye.
I said to her as she stood up from her chair and forced out a smile, it was the hardest thing to watch.
That's really sweet of you.
She said softly as I walked around the table towards her.
I just hope you understand that I can't wait around for you forever and when you come back; if you do this I want a divorce.
Her words expressed nearly falling short of breath.
I couldn't justify what I was doing to her, yet it never stopped me from doing it. Selfish, self satisfying and self absorbed—what is she really missing in me, here?
And I want you to understand that accepting this; may just be the hardest choice I have made in my life and when I walk out that door, I may never have the chance to walk back to your front door.
I said before I found myself with my arms wrapped around her, giving her the tightest squeeze I could muster up, without hurting her. After all, I've done that in so many other ways, now.
I guess this is goodbye?
She whispered to me. I paused while I fought with the idea. I fought with it and lost.
I don`t know . . . I have to get ready for tonight. So for now atleast . . . Goodbye.
No turning back?
Scene fades.
Later that same day.
I'm a person with problems, I'm a man with his own issues—and running away from them, hiding the realms of a wrestling ring with an impeccable record simply isn't the cure for my disease.
I say this more to myself than ANYONE else, while standing outside of Mr. suit`s office. I walk in.
I do have limits. The truth is I accepted this deal; thinking that I could handle it. I signed this deal as a way to run from what was the true fight—and that is my life outside the ring. A nagging voice in my head told me to take your deal, suit, and tell you to shove it straight up your ass—and that voice was my own. I can't win every battle within myself, but this one, I won.
And I've learnt what they are.
I'm content where I am with my career. There isn't a single person out there that can do what I do as often as I do it. And now? I find myself looking out this window moving forward; asking myself how the hell am I going to turn around and go on back? I know this isn't going to make you happy, or the promoters or anyone else that has something to gain by putting my neck on the line—but I work for myself. I look out for the well being of my health. This is where I am and why, I'll continue to be here five years down the road.
And if I saw that guy who asked me that question; years ago, do you know what I would tell him?
''Today is the first day, the first day in my life—where I've stood up and said no. Where I stood up and said ''I won't do this'' in the name of wrestling. Maybe, just maybe—I really DO have no limits, just a sense of balance that keeps me where I stand today, on top. We all have our limits but I guarantee you, I'll go further then anyone else; in the name of victory.
Before I knew it, I found myself picking up the phone, dialling a set of numbers I'd always remember—and like I expected her to, she was there to answer the phone and to respond to my call when I needed it the most.
I'm coming home baby.
It’s obvious to me that the hot question circulating the U.W.A. is why exactly I am in a match with the World Champion. Believe me I have been asking myself that one as well. I have been asking myself . . . is Oliver putting me in this match to counter any possible interferance by the Children? Is it a way to possibly get the two biggest threats to his company to destroy each other without even thinking of the consequences? Is it because he believes in me? Or is it to punish me for not taking the suits offer?
See that’s exactly Oliver's problem. You take whatever falls in your lap, you don’t ever step out of your comfort zone to go out and get it! You don’t know how to jump on opportunities, you don’t know how to turn tides in your favour and you don’t know how to take the shit that is shovelled and dumped upon your head -every- fucking single day and channel it all into something positive and productive. While me and Dark Camelot took reins over the direction of our lives and we now are in control. You sat back on your asses and sulk about being fucked around and beat yourself up because you couldn’t beat the Children to the punch and protect your roster.
This is something I will always have over each and -every- last one of you people. I’m the World Champion being the ignorant young lass that she is she believes she actually has what it takes to beat me. She believes if she hit’s the gym twice as hard, lifts weights twice as heavy and then follows it up with a diet that keeps her in check, that she’ll suddenly have what it takes to beat me. She ignores the mental game and ignores the core fact that 90% of matches are won and lost before the bell even rings. Aerynn Donnelly simply doesn’t understand how this business really works. However, as She will soon come to find out, it is much easier said then done. You can’t beat me.
The truth is; Aerynn shouldn't even be ina match at all until this internal issue is sorted out with. Not only is it a waste of my time, it's highly uninspiring and it devalues the worth of the men and women in the ring with her to get the 60-75% Aerynn who later could say oh you only beat me because I was distracted. Yes, once again stealing the spotlight of people who would otherwise be a better opponent for me.
I don't know how you sleep with yourself. I don't know how you look your own mother in the eye knowing full well you'd sell her out if it meant advancing yourself a single rung in this business. Aerynn, I don't know how you can lead your fans on with false hope, lies, and fairy tales when you guarantee any other outcome then you lying on your back, staring up at the lights, wishing that you had half the talent I had. Deep down you know this but there is something eating away at you. I'm that chisel on your ego, chipping it away bit by bit—and you feel as if you owe it to yourself, fuck, you feel as if you owe it to the world to put me out of my misery, and because of this, you'll never have peace.
If there was anyone who should have retired it would be you. I shall expose you as the blood sucking vulture you are. Aerynn, this is the last -hoorah- for you. Your spot in the World Championship picture should be enough to get everyone from those incesantly annoying hillbillies to hell the entire roster pissed off enough to finally do something about it. Your pathetic attempts to battle your opponents while worrying about the Children should be enough for Oliver to stop playing hide-n-go-seek and focus on the direction of this company, rather then his public relations with athletes that should have been out of business years ago.
As for our little match on Monday Aerynn? It's nothing more then collateral damage. If anything, she'll simply use another hundred excuses for why she found herself on her back for three seconds or longer. The fact that I ill destroy Aerynn in the ring, will show just how fucking useless she is. How does one expect to hold a World Championship when she can't even tie her own shoelaces?
Yet, I must admit—I admire your audacity. Even though, you are easily walking into the biggest match of your life. Are you fucking kidding me? There was a reason why I am in it; and you shouldn't be because at the end of our match, you'd be lucky if you can voluntarily carry your ass back up the ramp. I on the other hand? I've been known to wrestle back to back. I've been known to show up on cards -twice- even THREE times and look just as fucking great the second or third time up, not missing a single beat in my step. You'd be lucky, if you didn't have a man made bicycle pump, pumping air through your mouth to your lungs—trying to do half of what I have fucking done.
You need to simply come to terms with the fact that you're mid card worthy if you really had an iota of common sense, you wouldn't turn up to this match. You'd nurse your injury, accept your defeat and soak in your inferiority...
I am TIRED of being weighed down by the likes of you and I am TIRED of being held back because people can't even carry their OWN dead weight. Never in my life, would I come to realize that my match is nothing more then a warm up for the main-event that follows . . .
And now it's about time, I out you as the fraud you are, chump.
You aren't on my level.
One cannot uncover the truth if they don't first see past the lies.
The truth is, I'm willing . . . no not willing I DESIRE to die in the ring. I am ready to stain my bright, red, brave blood all over the canvas in the name of victory. Quitting, is merely a catchphrase murmured by the weak and that is against everything I stand for—who in their right mind can possibly argue against that? Who in their right mind would chalk that up as hype and over inflation of ones, ego? The answer is simple. Those who aren't willing to die in the ring, those who aren't willing to do whatever it takes in the name of victory, and are willing to quit—the minute the fight is no longer worth the pain and mental misery, in other words, the weak.
Many faces have come and gone but mine has been a lasting one. That guy you can depend on to show up, bring his absolute best and blow the roof off the building at the end of the night, no matter what. I remember one night pushing the arena doors open greeted by two things. One was the beautiful darkened skies with street lights casting their shadows upon the pavement below—the other was a young man who asked me a question...
''Do you have any limits?''
My answer was everything you expected it to be, no. I didn't have any limits. There was a time in my career when nothing could touch me. No heights were impossible and death was just something beautiful that would avoid me like the plague. The first scaffold I jumped wasn't high enough; the first chair shot I took wasn't swung fast enough, fuck, the first time I stepped into a hotel suite I looked out the window and the first thing I said to myself was...
''I can fly...''
As time grew older, it matured and became wiser. There was a point when I reached those impossible heights and it brought me face first with the glass ceiling, I broke. The last scaffold I jumped off; nearly broke my back. With each chair shot I eat the taste becomes that much more bitter. It's a goddamn great thing when I look out the window, I marvel and the beautiful scenery, because not even I can fly.
I maybe hard to hit, but I am not untouchable. I may be hard to beat, but I am not unbeatable. I may be the hardest thing to break, but I am not unbreakable. I am Myrddin, I am STALKER KNIGHT; and at the end of the day you can take that for whatever it's worth. It's been fourteen years since that young kid asked me that question and I am not the only one who grew wiser.
A few weeks ago, he caught me in the same situation it was ground hog day, all over again. Well, almost. He asked me a question it was strikingly similar to the question he asked me fourteen years prior, it was very simple.
''What are your limits?''
I didn't answer him. I guess it's something, I'll have to establish sometime soon. Perhaps in three years I'll have an answer for him, but for -now- I merely find myself asking the same question. One can only hope, I receive the answer sooner then later. After all, I can't -do- this forever, right?
I found myself sitting in a relatively small office in attendance for a one on one meeting, with a U.W.A. representative. I didn't trust him.
He sat right in front of me with his hands folded out on his desk in-front of him. I knew he was up to no good—he had a self serving attitude about him which I didn't like but at least he was a bit more upfront about it, compared to most greasy haired car salesmen. Quickly, I jumped into it with him right off the bat.
What exactly about this entire meeting has been mandatory?
I asked. Mr. suit assured me that for better of my career, I'd show up to his meeting. Although, it wasn't quite mandatory, anything that threatened my career would have to be sorted out at all costs.
Nothing at all, Mr. Knight.
Mr. suit expresses with a gentle smile.
I just figured it was in the best of both our interests to meet with each-other today. I hope this isn't a nuisance on my behalf. I understand given your position on a grandeur scale that you are a busy man.
Mr. suit said as if he was trying out for some lame movie roll.
Look, I don't know -if- you had the time to watch the same broadcast you so blatantly represent but we are taking over. As far as I'm concerned, it is MY job to summon you to one on one's and Q&A's, not you
I shot back leaning forward in the direction of Mr. suit, whom tried to hold back a laugh.
I'm sorry, Mr. Knight, it seems as if you are confused. Your position position of assumed power is nothing more then an on air complication. I'm sure it's great for ratings and entertainment which is why you've been able to run around like hooligans but behind the scenes, it's guys like -me- who take over
Mr. suit said holding up a large contract, waving it casually back and forth.
Now any other questions
He asked with sarcasm beaming through his voice.
Yeah. Let me see the contract . . .
I said. Rather then waiting for him to hand the contract to me, I snatched it out of his hands. It was effective and a powerful statement. I flipped through the contract, barely focusing long enough to read through it—why would I? I doubt he was making anything up, it all seemed too easy the way, I had saw it. I tossed the contract to the side as Mr. suit looked on, clearly not impressed.
Mr. Knight, it was important I asked you to come in here face to face because what I am about to offer you is very important in taking that next huge step, in what is already, a very impressive career . . .
Mr. suit said. I must admit, it began to sound tempting, but of course, I never wanted him to know this. He'd feed off of it like a vulture.
Well, I'm all ears. Shoot.
I said, staring a hole through the U.W.A. rep. Mr. suit balled his hands into a fist and coughed into his thumb and index finger, as he fixed his poise, upright and straight. I didn't realize he had began to slouch.
As you may or may not know, U.W.A. is under attack. So Mr. Oliver, and Miss Donelly may not be able to reign you and your little batch of miscreants in. However I CAN and I will.
You? You're going to control us? And how may I ask are you going to do this when you're not even important enough to get your name on the door to the office which you use? Is this even your office?
He blanched then steadied himself again.
Yes this is my off . . .
I cut him off with a glare that would melt steel.
Listen to the boy pretending to be a man. You can believe what you wish about your position of power. But believe me when I say this . . . The Children have receeded into the dark waters from whence they came. Dark Camelot and our doinance is bloiling to the surface. You can shut up, and be permitted to pass in the night like the unimportant little tug that you are . . . or you can present yourself as someone important and therefore a roadblock in our total control and be wiped out like everyone else will be.
I don't know if it was because he felt embarrassed by his amateur mistake or because I corrected him or maybe a little bit of both; what I do know, is he didn't take too kindly by it by the telling look of sourness on his face. He tried to combat it with a fake smile and executed it well.
The point is that the U.W.A. feels it's best if you, the leader of Dark Camelot is put forth on the larger market. Now, I know you have a great deal of fame. I know your a figure head in this business—but I want you to take this one step forward and go out and actually interact with the fans. Show them you are not truly as evil as most people believe, represent the U.W.A.
It's tempting, Mr. Suit . . .
Imagine it. You and Dark Camelot crushing the competitions top stars and instead of the fans hating you . . . they lap it up like the sheep we have bred them to be. The money on this deal is more money than you've made in the entirety of your career. Think about the press your going to gather from doing this? It'll be a huge hit and it'll cement your spot at the top for another few years.
Mr. suit said as he threw his hands up in the air in an animated fashion.
It was a huge offer; how could I actually have the balls to turn it down? The chance of truly facing the best in the world, week in and week out, had been staring me in the face. Rather then waiting a few months at a time for a big headliner, I'd be virtually pulling them off on a weekly basis—and the money? Well, it wasn't worth much—but it certainly wouldn't turn me off.
I can't let him know, I'm willing to bite, a new direction for the family isn't completely out of the question. They will follow where I lead. I needed to play hardball; guys like Mr. suit are vultures and you needed to squeeze whatever you could out of these guys. Although, I didn't want to push too hard, this was a great deal. A big deal. Maybe too great to be actually true? That's the cynic within me.
So if I took this deal; what exactly would be the catch?
I said to which Mr. suit merely threw his hands in the air, in a rather carefree manner.
It's real simple, Lester. I get you one big bus, you get on it and it's a road trip for about six to eight months. Imagine it; Stalker Knight ''Dark Camelot World Tour'' Mr. suit responds clearly not understanding the weight of pressure he was about to rein down upon me.
Six to eight months? No, coming back home at all?
I said with a hint of doubt in my voice. Mr. suit looked at me as if I was crazy, god knows he'd drop everything if it meant earning himself a bigger pay check and some extra recognition.
Sure, you could say that. That's how the life is on the road, Mr. Knight. Besides, this bus I'm planning to set you up with will feel just like home if not better . . .
And what about my promos?
I had quickly interjected. Mr. suit put his hand on my shoulder and took a deep breath.
What about them?
The look on his face was that type of look you're likely to receive when you make a statement that is absolutely, stupid. Though, I myself figured it was a very important one—there is an old saying, and it goes something like this:
Nobody has ever won a match without shooting a promotional video before hand.
I never understood it; but it was a tale that backed itself up, time and time again and I couldn't break it.
You'll still have your promos; and trust me the content is going to drive the fans wild. Life on the road is crazy. You get a few chicks in here, you'll make a few buddies along the way, pop a couple of beers and tape your life on the road from a first person perspective and then mix in a little bit of trash talk and the people will absolutely eat it up
I'm sorry but nobody tells me how to shoot a damn promo, alright? And I am faithful to my wife.
I had shot back, offended by his insinuation, not to mention, it was a fucking horrible idea. Mr. suit waved his hands back and forth as if he never meant it the way he said it.
Mr. Knight, please, I assure you I wasn't trying to step on any toes. I'm just trying to help you out—the point it this is a great opportunity, and I really think you need to capitalize on it.
Mr. suit said. At this point, I stood to my feet and took a deep breath.
Look this is -big- and with all due respect . . .
Mr. suit had quickly sat up from his chair and made his way around the table and approached me from the side. It was clear, he didn't want to make any mistakes with his sales pitch. After all, he was going to make a fortune off of this.
I know, Mr. Knight. It's exactly why I am giving you the opportunity to sleep on it like I know you'd like to. You are a wise man and I respect that. You know my phone number and where to reach me at . . .
Mr. suit told me pointing right to my chair.
Sounds good. I'll give you a call.
I said before making my way to the door carrying a thousand of thoughts with me which had raced through my head colliding with the inner walls of my sanity.
Oh, I know you will, Mr. Knight.
Mr. suit said pointing at me as if I was his favourite client (shit, I had to be, right?) as I twisted the knob on his office door, he said something that I simply couldn't forget . . .
They always do.
...Hello my lady...Goodbye my lady...
The hardest thing in life isn't being wrong; it's admitting it, especially when it comes to a lady. It's been a few weeks since I spoke to my wife. For those who know her and those who will never get the pleasure too, it's hard to believe I am really that stubborn that I spent that long away from her, over something so foolish. After all the trouble I have managed to cause, solely because I was stubborn, I simply couldn't consciously allow myself to make the same mistake, again. Dummies never learn from their mistakes and I am no dummy.
Although, I must admit that I only came to this entire conclusion out of sheer doubt. The fact that I was legitimately thinking of accepting Mr. suit's offer to join the world tour to compete in wrestling promotions all across the globe had very much, if not all to do with it. If I had accepted it; I couldn't leave her here without at least letting her know beforehand.
The offer itself; goes against everything she ever stood for. She was supportive on my choice to wrestle but it was always under the assumption that I would do it in moderation, after all, it was much healthier that way. This offer though, it's a whole different beast. It's heading to arenas every other night at the very least and getting high off the emotion that builds throughout the building. I guess this is exactly what it was all about. I had an addiction to wrestling, and this offer—was nothing more then an addicts wet dream.
Isn't this what I am about? Wrestling is what I am built for and perhaps, this other fifty percent of my life outside the ring, is nothing more then a distraction. Is that crazy? Am I crazy? I ask myself this all the time. The truth is, I have never turned down the opportunity to wrestle. It was almost like walking away from a fight and with a spirit of a warrior that was damn near impossible to do.
I found myself standing on a mound of dirt, bent over knees deep, running my hand through fresh soil—in a way, I owed her this much. It wasn't too long after when I found myself knocking on her front door and ringing twice in display of my impatience. When the door opened my image of a beautiful women changed immediately. No short skirts, no high heels, and no make up—just a plain white tank top and the ugliest pair of grey track pants was enough to drive me wild all over again.
Oh0, hey . . .
She said upon answering the door her long blonde hair fell past her shoulder, she looked down at her pants and then back up me; she was embarrassed.
Sorry, I really didn't expect you to come by today . . .
Running her hands through her hair in attempts to fix it.
Yeah, sorry about that. I promise I won't take too much of your time
Holding the stem of the long flower, I brought it from behind my back to in front of her face, she couldn't help but smile.
This is for you and I'm sorry, can I come in?
I asked, she pondered the thought.
I don't know.
She teased.
Your jeans are dirty.
Patricia laughed pointing at them. Casually, I wiped them off and dully noted her observation.
Odd. I really don't know how that got there.
I lied as she stepped to the side and invited me to her home. We walked over to her kitchen table where she dropped the red rose into a large vase which was located in the centrepiece of the table. I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the large wooden clock hanging on the wall. It really reminded me just how long I have been away from her—and if I ended up accepting, suit's offer, it'll be a hell of a lot longer.
Can I get you anything?
She asked upon pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
No thanks.
I opted out on the drink. I wasn't thirsty nor hungry, perhaps my nervousness was enough to fill me. My beautiful wife carried her tall glass of orange juice towards the table and took a seat right across from me.
So what brings you here today?
Oh, you know . . . just wanted to see how you were doing.
I said remembering the events days before Christmas that set us apart.
Look, I acted out in a childish manner. You were just trying to help and I took your kindness out of context. I'm sorry.
I said, owning up to my mistake. The last time I did that, well, it was hard to pin point but it was a long time ago.
Yeah, you were a jerk.
She teased before taking a sip of her orange juice. The glass clamped against the table she smiled.
A jerk, I can find it in my heart to forgive.
She said leaning over planting, a soft kiss upon my cheek. I sighed and trailed off knowing that it probably wasn't going to be the last time I fuck up. The love of my life looked at me her smile faded as her face became twisted with suspicion.
Max is there something wrong?
She asked. I looked up at her and then down towards the table, I could barely face her now.
When I walked out on you it was a testament to the man I have become. I walked out on you like I had done everything else. I realized that I am not healthy for you. That -I- am not worthy of you. That -I- maybe some big star in a wrestling ring but that's all I really am.
What are you saying to me right now?
I've been offered a chance to go on a six to eight month wrestling world tour that would put me against the best wrestlers in the business on a weekly basis. This means, I'd be on the road—with no time home, in this city, with you. Beautiful hazel eyes merely stared a hole right through me. I never felt something like it before.
And your going?
She countered. It was more of a statement then actual question, she knew me a whole lot better then I thought she did. Who'd knew.
Yeah. I'm going. I said to her; she merely placed her head into her hands for what felt like hours and took a deep breath, raising her head meeting my eyes with hers. No tears. No smiles. Simply, not a hint of emotion.
Well, I'm happy for you. You've always been about the business and I was foolish thinking that I could perhaps pull you back just a bit, long enough for me and you to fall in love.
She said. She seemingly was taking it well, but I knew better. She was a strong woman and has been through her own share of hardships through her life, she just knew how to hide her pain better—just like I did.
I just wanted to say goodbye.
I said to her as she stood up from her chair and forced out a smile, it was the hardest thing to watch.
That's really sweet of you.
She said softly as I walked around the table towards her.
I just hope you understand that I can't wait around for you forever and when you come back; if you do this I want a divorce.
Her words expressed nearly falling short of breath.
I couldn't justify what I was doing to her, yet it never stopped me from doing it. Selfish, self satisfying and self absorbed—what is she really missing in me, here?
And I want you to understand that accepting this; may just be the hardest choice I have made in my life and when I walk out that door, I may never have the chance to walk back to your front door.
I said before I found myself with my arms wrapped around her, giving her the tightest squeeze I could muster up, without hurting her. After all, I've done that in so many other ways, now.
I guess this is goodbye?
She whispered to me. I paused while I fought with the idea. I fought with it and lost.
I don`t know . . . I have to get ready for tonight. So for now atleast . . . Goodbye.
No turning back?
Scene fades.
Later that same day.
I'm a person with problems, I'm a man with his own issues—and running away from them, hiding the realms of a wrestling ring with an impeccable record simply isn't the cure for my disease.
I say this more to myself than ANYONE else, while standing outside of Mr. suit`s office. I walk in.
I do have limits. The truth is I accepted this deal; thinking that I could handle it. I signed this deal as a way to run from what was the true fight—and that is my life outside the ring. A nagging voice in my head told me to take your deal, suit, and tell you to shove it straight up your ass—and that voice was my own. I can't win every battle within myself, but this one, I won.
And I've learnt what they are.
I'm content where I am with my career. There isn't a single person out there that can do what I do as often as I do it. And now? I find myself looking out this window moving forward; asking myself how the hell am I going to turn around and go on back? I know this isn't going to make you happy, or the promoters or anyone else that has something to gain by putting my neck on the line—but I work for myself. I look out for the well being of my health. This is where I am and why, I'll continue to be here five years down the road.
And if I saw that guy who asked me that question; years ago, do you know what I would tell him?
''Today is the first day, the first day in my life—where I've stood up and said no. Where I stood up and said ''I won't do this'' in the name of wrestling. Maybe, just maybe—I really DO have no limits, just a sense of balance that keeps me where I stand today, on top. We all have our limits but I guarantee you, I'll go further then anyone else; in the name of victory.
Before I knew it, I found myself picking up the phone, dialling a set of numbers I'd always remember—and like I expected her to, she was there to answer the phone and to respond to my call when I needed it the most.
I'm coming home baby.
It’s obvious to me that the hot question circulating the U.W.A. is why exactly I am in a match with the World Champion. Believe me I have been asking myself that one as well. I have been asking myself . . . is Oliver putting me in this match to counter any possible interferance by the Children? Is it a way to possibly get the two biggest threats to his company to destroy each other without even thinking of the consequences? Is it because he believes in me? Or is it to punish me for not taking the suits offer?
See that’s exactly Oliver's problem. You take whatever falls in your lap, you don’t ever step out of your comfort zone to go out and get it! You don’t know how to jump on opportunities, you don’t know how to turn tides in your favour and you don’t know how to take the shit that is shovelled and dumped upon your head -every- fucking single day and channel it all into something positive and productive. While me and Dark Camelot took reins over the direction of our lives and we now are in control. You sat back on your asses and sulk about being fucked around and beat yourself up because you couldn’t beat the Children to the punch and protect your roster.
This is something I will always have over each and -every- last one of you people. I’m the World Champion being the ignorant young lass that she is she believes she actually has what it takes to beat me. She believes if she hit’s the gym twice as hard, lifts weights twice as heavy and then follows it up with a diet that keeps her in check, that she’ll suddenly have what it takes to beat me. She ignores the mental game and ignores the core fact that 90% of matches are won and lost before the bell even rings. Aerynn Donnelly simply doesn’t understand how this business really works. However, as She will soon come to find out, it is much easier said then done. You can’t beat me.
The truth is; Aerynn shouldn't even be ina match at all until this internal issue is sorted out with. Not only is it a waste of my time, it's highly uninspiring and it devalues the worth of the men and women in the ring with her to get the 60-75% Aerynn who later could say oh you only beat me because I was distracted. Yes, once again stealing the spotlight of people who would otherwise be a better opponent for me.
I don't know how you sleep with yourself. I don't know how you look your own mother in the eye knowing full well you'd sell her out if it meant advancing yourself a single rung in this business. Aerynn, I don't know how you can lead your fans on with false hope, lies, and fairy tales when you guarantee any other outcome then you lying on your back, staring up at the lights, wishing that you had half the talent I had. Deep down you know this but there is something eating away at you. I'm that chisel on your ego, chipping it away bit by bit—and you feel as if you owe it to yourself, fuck, you feel as if you owe it to the world to put me out of my misery, and because of this, you'll never have peace.
If there was anyone who should have retired it would be you. I shall expose you as the blood sucking vulture you are. Aerynn, this is the last -hoorah- for you. Your spot in the World Championship picture should be enough to get everyone from those incesantly annoying hillbillies to hell the entire roster pissed off enough to finally do something about it. Your pathetic attempts to battle your opponents while worrying about the Children should be enough for Oliver to stop playing hide-n-go-seek and focus on the direction of this company, rather then his public relations with athletes that should have been out of business years ago.
As for our little match on Monday Aerynn? It's nothing more then collateral damage. If anything, she'll simply use another hundred excuses for why she found herself on her back for three seconds or longer. The fact that I ill destroy Aerynn in the ring, will show just how fucking useless she is. How does one expect to hold a World Championship when she can't even tie her own shoelaces?
Yet, I must admit—I admire your audacity. Even though, you are easily walking into the biggest match of your life. Are you fucking kidding me? There was a reason why I am in it; and you shouldn't be because at the end of our match, you'd be lucky if you can voluntarily carry your ass back up the ramp. I on the other hand? I've been known to wrestle back to back. I've been known to show up on cards -twice- even THREE times and look just as fucking great the second or third time up, not missing a single beat in my step. You'd be lucky, if you didn't have a man made bicycle pump, pumping air through your mouth to your lungs—trying to do half of what I have fucking done.
You need to simply come to terms with the fact that you're mid card worthy if you really had an iota of common sense, you wouldn't turn up to this match. You'd nurse your injury, accept your defeat and soak in your inferiority...
I am TIRED of being weighed down by the likes of you and I am TIRED of being held back because people can't even carry their OWN dead weight. Never in my life, would I come to realize that my match is nothing more then a warm up for the main-event that follows . . .
And now it's about time, I out you as the fraud you are, chump.
You aren't on my level.
