The Book of America 1.5 - The Building Blocks of Greatness
Jun 28, 2020 22:11:21 GMT -5
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Post by america on Jun 28, 2020 22:11:21 GMT -5
“DAMMIT!”
America was in a foul mood. Despite the victory of Zaigon Carter in the night’s main event, he had been left a loser in his match. A failure, left out of the decision entirely, simply watching as Sarah Lacklan made Masada Jubei submit in their match. Unable to break it up. Unable to stop it. He’d been told it was tough luck. That it was his first triple threat match and he wasn’t used to positioning the way Zaigon was. That he’d get the next one. But it burned at him. He’d sworn that when the time came, he would crush both Jubei and Lacklan, yet he had come out of the match unsatisfied.
“It’s fine.” Zaigon said.
“I had ‘em.” America said. “I should’ve had ‘em and I blew it.”
“It’s fine.” Zaigon repeated. “Come Bulletproof, I’ll have the World Title. Sarah Lacklan has opted to take her shot at the Hardcore title, so I’ve just got confirmation that you’ll be challenging for the North American Title.”
“I’m…I don’t think I’ve earned it.” America said, the image of Jubei submitting burning through his mind. “Not after that.”
“We live in the land of opportunity.” Zaigon said. He gave his drink a swirl without really thinking of drinking it. In the distance, Prosperity nipped the fingers of a handler. “Jubei hasn’t earned his title shot. Osbourne didn’t really earn his title. Lacklan is content to fight in the grinds. We made out demands, they have accepted them in part. Opportunity.”
“I know, I know. I just…” America struggled with the words. “I hate shortcuts.”
“You’re one of the best wrestlers this country has.” Zaigon said, finally taking that drink. Zaigon gave a little look of disappointment before putting it down, waving his hand to signal for another to be made. “I wouldn’t have backed you if I thought you didn’t deserve it. Professional wrestling record or no, you’ve put in the work to get here.” Prosperity broke free of his handlers, flying directly at them. Zaigon extended his arm and the Eagle landed on the perch with a perfect motion. “This was always the plan. Shock and awe. Take the top titles, use that power to make this place the greatest display of American athleticism it can be.”
“Right.” America affirmed.
“You want to settle things with Lacklan? When we hold the belts, we can make that happen. Jubei too if you feel like it.” Zaigon said. He scratched at Prosperity’s head but there wasn’t any sign of emotion behind his eyes. “Hell, you can even finish off Jason Ryan after I’m done with him. We’re going to own this damn company. May as well have some fun with it. But first…you win the title. Beating the champion will make you the champion. Being the champion makes the statement.”
“Ain’t no land but the land of the free.” America said. Zaigon finally flashed a smile.
“Oo-rah.”
In any industry, you have your lifers.
They’re not the names that come to you when you think of greatness. They don’t have the best matches, the biggest moments, the most victories. They cling around the edges, finding their spots to latch onto greatness. Sometimes they even manage to get unearned victories. They think of themselves as great because they adorn themselves with minor accomplishments and give themselves the greatest of celebrations for so doing.
It feels as though APW breeds them.
On top, an opportunist who got one unbelievably lucky night and has immediately walked into a trap which will spell a swift end to his fortunes.
Second to that however we have...Steven Osbourne.
I’ll give you this, you’re a persistent one. A lot of great talent has walked through the doors of APW since it started and there you are one year ago on the very first show...losing. And yet within a month you had a Junior Title shot...which you lost. But you just stuck around, waiting for the next chance, the next opportunity to ride Lucy Sixx’s coattails. You pretty much defined yourself by following her from one thing to another. Maybe you can even blame her for making it a year without winning the APW title.
I’m not unsympathetic. Certainly America had a lapse of his own this past week. First time in a triple threat match, these things happen. Fortunately his excellence could not be denied in time for this showdown in Tokyo. He’s already pinned the Hardcore Champion and boasts a 3-1 record, with none yet able to pin or submit him while you’ve sad idle, doing precisely nothing since winning your belt.
I want to make something clear to you, Steven.
You’re going to lose.
When it happens, you’re going to make a lot of excuses.
He didn’t deserve a shot.
It was too soon.
I wasn’t ready.
I was rusty.
He was lucky.
You’re going to go through all the lines in the book because you’re a lifer.
You think that showing up and doing the work earns you something. That you’re *owed* something. Just like those parasites demanding fifteen dollars an hour to flip patties, you think that showing up makes you entitled to the same greatness that the excellent achieve. Then when you’ve been outpaced, outperformed, and outdone you look at their achievements and you whine and complain that you deserve those achievements as well.
I will acknowledge it hasn’t gotten you nothing.
This is your second time holding that North American title after all.
It makes me sick to see it around your shoulder though.
It makes me sick to see you think of it as some kind of reward for consistency.
You couldn’t beat Lex Collins, so you stepped into the void his absence created.
You couldn’t outshine Lucy Sixx so you waited until she had faded away.
You couldn’t be the best, so you settled for being the most consistent.
You embraced a life of mediocrity and in so doing made that belt more mediocre within your hands.
What comes next is what had to in a company with champions like Steven Osbourne and Jason Ryan.
The Storm has fallen upon you to make APW great.
America knew when the hand hit the mat that he’d fucked up.
It was a round robin for a chance to go to nationals and he’d slipped. He thought he could push his way out, but he couldn’t quite make it before his shoulders hit the mat for the count. All the work he’d put in wasn’t worth shit now. He wouldn’t get the chance. He wouldn’t be able to bring his daddy some good news to distract him from the court hearings and the neighbors spitting at him when they saw him. America knew he’d go to church and hear the boys calling his daddy a killer again and he wouldn’t be able to say shit, because he was just a loser himself.
“Rough match.” Coach James said, handing America a bottle of water. “Caught you nappin’.” America nodded. Coach nodded as well, an acknowledgement that America already knew his mistake and didn’t need the lecture. “You’ll need to be a little sharper when we go to nationals.”
“But coach, I lost.” America said, dejected.
“America, you were 4-0 goin’ in there. You had it locked in before the match started.” Coach said with a little chuckle. “You ain’t gonna get them all. Even the best can’t go 100% the whole way. Eventually someone will catch you, whether it be because they’re better or just lucky. Now today, Caleb was lucky. Nationals you may get someone good. ENOUGH OF THAT YOU TWO!” Coach admonished two of America’s peers who were roughhousing on the benches. The two stopped and sat alert, pretending at being well behaved. Coach smiled and continued. “A lot of these boys are good hands. Great mechanics, can do good work day in and day out. Men like that keep this country moving. But you? You got somethin’ special. Don’t doubt it. Don’t be afraid of it. You keep pushing and you could be the best thing to come from here.”
“Lot of pressure there.” America said with a laugh.
“Boy with the name of the best country in the world talkin’ ‘bout pressure.” Coach said, laughing. “You can handle it.”
“Can they?” America said, looking over his peers.
“Fuck em.” Coach said. “America is made for people who can make themselves by people who can’t.”
America nodded, taking in every word.
You’ve peaked already.
You need to accept that if you’re going to be able to keep going.
Steven Osbourne isn’t World Title material.
Steven Osbourne is a blip on the radar of the North American Title.
Steven Osbourne is a man with four title defenses in four reigns.
A man who wins titles but can never keep them.
A man who sees every success slip through your fingers like quicksand.
One day you’re going to be doing the retired wrestler’s circuit, cutting promos on names who have long since forgotten yours, citing each and every secondary title you held and every time you came close to winning but couldn’t quite do it. You’ll cite making it to the end of Rumbles and tournaments as though just placing is an honour in itself. You’ll talk about how you came SO CLOSE to being World Champion and boy you really did push the greats, all the while ignoring that you could never BEAT the greats.
You’ll brag about coming in tenth place in history because it’s not last.
And that’s fine.
It’s fine.
America needs men like you.
BUT THAT’S NOT HOW WE DO THINGS!
As I told the Light Heavyweight Champion and Hardcore Champion before The Storm handed them a concrete defeat, our ambition doesn’t end at placement. We will not be satisfied with contention. This doesn’t end until the Storm holds every major title in APW. Then and only then, can Zaigon Carter and America Jackson step into the ring against one another and decide who the REAL Best in the World is.
You couldn’t dream of that.
You couldn’t even whiff it.
Because you are a small man with small ambitions.
A man who will brag about how many titles he held and not how long he held them.
A man satisfied with less.
So when America takes the title from you, let there be no hard feelings.
This is a liberation.
A necessity.
Don’t think of it as a failing on your part.
This is your role.
This is who you were meant to be.
A stepping-stone to greatness.
It may not be the World Title aspirations you had for yourself as a child, but I promise you, your name will be spoken of forever in wrestling history.
A footnote in America’s legend.
I like to think I’m a good man.
I go to church every Sunday, no matter where I’m at.
I work at the local mission when I’m back home.
I do my best to do right by God and country.
There’s a part of me that wants to believe that this shot is the big man telling me I’m doing good down here.
I slipped against Lacklan.
I’ll own that. She’s a hell of a competitor and I let my ideas about her colour how I took after her in the match. I’m itchin’ for a rematch but it’ll have to wait until it’s champ vs. champ by the look of it.
I can’t say if I deserve this title shot.
Zaigon says I do. I’m sure Riley will talk a good game about why I do too.
I was raised on hard work.
I was raised on paying your dues.
I was raised on respect.
I keep tryin’ to get myself hyped up for the match and there’s that nagging feeling that I should’ve won some more matches or beat a contender or somethin’ to get here. Each and every fight has been a hell of a bout so far, but I look around and I see each and every person in this company busting their asses night after night.
So why me?
That’s the question, right?
Why America Jackson?
That’s the question that tells me why I can’t afford to lose this.
I need to beat you, Osbourne.
Not because of who you are, although like I said to Breezy and Verez before ya, that belt earns you no small amount of respect in my eyes.
Not because I need that title to stand side by side with my boy Zaigon and make everything we planned come true, although that’s a big part of it as well.
I need to beat you because when I do, no one can question my skills anymore.
I’ll be a champion representing the whole continent, including the most beautiful country in the world.
I’ll carry the weight of that on my shoulder.
I won’t buckle.
I won’t break.
I won’t lose.
I’ll hold the North American title from Bulletproof until the day I retire.
A lot of folks underestimate me, still.
They say I haven’t done enough yet.
They say that I’m dumb ‘cause I’m a Texas boy.
They say I’m ignorant ‘cause I’m a proud son of God.
They talk and they talk and they talk.
Then they realize they wrote a check with their mouths that their bodies can’t cash.
When I beat you, there’s no question I deserved the shot.
There’s no question about me being good enough or having done enough or being smart enough.
There’s no question that I’m great.
So I have to beat you.
I NEED to beat you for that title!
So come hell or high water, I will.
I like to think I’m a good man.
But at Bulletproof?
To be the best?
I’ll do bad things.
America was in a foul mood. Despite the victory of Zaigon Carter in the night’s main event, he had been left a loser in his match. A failure, left out of the decision entirely, simply watching as Sarah Lacklan made Masada Jubei submit in their match. Unable to break it up. Unable to stop it. He’d been told it was tough luck. That it was his first triple threat match and he wasn’t used to positioning the way Zaigon was. That he’d get the next one. But it burned at him. He’d sworn that when the time came, he would crush both Jubei and Lacklan, yet he had come out of the match unsatisfied.
“It’s fine.” Zaigon said.
“I had ‘em.” America said. “I should’ve had ‘em and I blew it.”
“It’s fine.” Zaigon repeated. “Come Bulletproof, I’ll have the World Title. Sarah Lacklan has opted to take her shot at the Hardcore title, so I’ve just got confirmation that you’ll be challenging for the North American Title.”
“I’m…I don’t think I’ve earned it.” America said, the image of Jubei submitting burning through his mind. “Not after that.”
“We live in the land of opportunity.” Zaigon said. He gave his drink a swirl without really thinking of drinking it. In the distance, Prosperity nipped the fingers of a handler. “Jubei hasn’t earned his title shot. Osbourne didn’t really earn his title. Lacklan is content to fight in the grinds. We made out demands, they have accepted them in part. Opportunity.”
“I know, I know. I just…” America struggled with the words. “I hate shortcuts.”
“You’re one of the best wrestlers this country has.” Zaigon said, finally taking that drink. Zaigon gave a little look of disappointment before putting it down, waving his hand to signal for another to be made. “I wouldn’t have backed you if I thought you didn’t deserve it. Professional wrestling record or no, you’ve put in the work to get here.” Prosperity broke free of his handlers, flying directly at them. Zaigon extended his arm and the Eagle landed on the perch with a perfect motion. “This was always the plan. Shock and awe. Take the top titles, use that power to make this place the greatest display of American athleticism it can be.”
“Right.” America affirmed.
“You want to settle things with Lacklan? When we hold the belts, we can make that happen. Jubei too if you feel like it.” Zaigon said. He scratched at Prosperity’s head but there wasn’t any sign of emotion behind his eyes. “Hell, you can even finish off Jason Ryan after I’m done with him. We’re going to own this damn company. May as well have some fun with it. But first…you win the title. Beating the champion will make you the champion. Being the champion makes the statement.”
“Ain’t no land but the land of the free.” America said. Zaigon finally flashed a smile.
“Oo-rah.”
In any industry, you have your lifers.
They’re not the names that come to you when you think of greatness. They don’t have the best matches, the biggest moments, the most victories. They cling around the edges, finding their spots to latch onto greatness. Sometimes they even manage to get unearned victories. They think of themselves as great because they adorn themselves with minor accomplishments and give themselves the greatest of celebrations for so doing.
It feels as though APW breeds them.
On top, an opportunist who got one unbelievably lucky night and has immediately walked into a trap which will spell a swift end to his fortunes.
Second to that however we have...Steven Osbourne.
I’ll give you this, you’re a persistent one. A lot of great talent has walked through the doors of APW since it started and there you are one year ago on the very first show...losing. And yet within a month you had a Junior Title shot...which you lost. But you just stuck around, waiting for the next chance, the next opportunity to ride Lucy Sixx’s coattails. You pretty much defined yourself by following her from one thing to another. Maybe you can even blame her for making it a year without winning the APW title.
I’m not unsympathetic. Certainly America had a lapse of his own this past week. First time in a triple threat match, these things happen. Fortunately his excellence could not be denied in time for this showdown in Tokyo. He’s already pinned the Hardcore Champion and boasts a 3-1 record, with none yet able to pin or submit him while you’ve sad idle, doing precisely nothing since winning your belt.
I want to make something clear to you, Steven.
You’re going to lose.
When it happens, you’re going to make a lot of excuses.
He didn’t deserve a shot.
It was too soon.
I wasn’t ready.
I was rusty.
He was lucky.
You’re going to go through all the lines in the book because you’re a lifer.
You think that showing up and doing the work earns you something. That you’re *owed* something. Just like those parasites demanding fifteen dollars an hour to flip patties, you think that showing up makes you entitled to the same greatness that the excellent achieve. Then when you’ve been outpaced, outperformed, and outdone you look at their achievements and you whine and complain that you deserve those achievements as well.
I will acknowledge it hasn’t gotten you nothing.
This is your second time holding that North American title after all.
It makes me sick to see it around your shoulder though.
It makes me sick to see you think of it as some kind of reward for consistency.
You couldn’t beat Lex Collins, so you stepped into the void his absence created.
You couldn’t outshine Lucy Sixx so you waited until she had faded away.
You couldn’t be the best, so you settled for being the most consistent.
You embraced a life of mediocrity and in so doing made that belt more mediocre within your hands.
What comes next is what had to in a company with champions like Steven Osbourne and Jason Ryan.
The Storm has fallen upon you to make APW great.
America knew when the hand hit the mat that he’d fucked up.
It was a round robin for a chance to go to nationals and he’d slipped. He thought he could push his way out, but he couldn’t quite make it before his shoulders hit the mat for the count. All the work he’d put in wasn’t worth shit now. He wouldn’t get the chance. He wouldn’t be able to bring his daddy some good news to distract him from the court hearings and the neighbors spitting at him when they saw him. America knew he’d go to church and hear the boys calling his daddy a killer again and he wouldn’t be able to say shit, because he was just a loser himself.
“Rough match.” Coach James said, handing America a bottle of water. “Caught you nappin’.” America nodded. Coach nodded as well, an acknowledgement that America already knew his mistake and didn’t need the lecture. “You’ll need to be a little sharper when we go to nationals.”
“But coach, I lost.” America said, dejected.
“America, you were 4-0 goin’ in there. You had it locked in before the match started.” Coach said with a little chuckle. “You ain’t gonna get them all. Even the best can’t go 100% the whole way. Eventually someone will catch you, whether it be because they’re better or just lucky. Now today, Caleb was lucky. Nationals you may get someone good. ENOUGH OF THAT YOU TWO!” Coach admonished two of America’s peers who were roughhousing on the benches. The two stopped and sat alert, pretending at being well behaved. Coach smiled and continued. “A lot of these boys are good hands. Great mechanics, can do good work day in and day out. Men like that keep this country moving. But you? You got somethin’ special. Don’t doubt it. Don’t be afraid of it. You keep pushing and you could be the best thing to come from here.”
“Lot of pressure there.” America said with a laugh.
“Boy with the name of the best country in the world talkin’ ‘bout pressure.” Coach said, laughing. “You can handle it.”
“Can they?” America said, looking over his peers.
“Fuck em.” Coach said. “America is made for people who can make themselves by people who can’t.”
America nodded, taking in every word.
You’ve peaked already.
You need to accept that if you’re going to be able to keep going.
Steven Osbourne isn’t World Title material.
Steven Osbourne is a blip on the radar of the North American Title.
Steven Osbourne is a man with four title defenses in four reigns.
A man who wins titles but can never keep them.
A man who sees every success slip through your fingers like quicksand.
One day you’re going to be doing the retired wrestler’s circuit, cutting promos on names who have long since forgotten yours, citing each and every secondary title you held and every time you came close to winning but couldn’t quite do it. You’ll cite making it to the end of Rumbles and tournaments as though just placing is an honour in itself. You’ll talk about how you came SO CLOSE to being World Champion and boy you really did push the greats, all the while ignoring that you could never BEAT the greats.
You’ll brag about coming in tenth place in history because it’s not last.
And that’s fine.
It’s fine.
America needs men like you.
BUT THAT’S NOT HOW WE DO THINGS!
As I told the Light Heavyweight Champion and Hardcore Champion before The Storm handed them a concrete defeat, our ambition doesn’t end at placement. We will not be satisfied with contention. This doesn’t end until the Storm holds every major title in APW. Then and only then, can Zaigon Carter and America Jackson step into the ring against one another and decide who the REAL Best in the World is.
You couldn’t dream of that.
You couldn’t even whiff it.
Because you are a small man with small ambitions.
A man who will brag about how many titles he held and not how long he held them.
A man satisfied with less.
So when America takes the title from you, let there be no hard feelings.
This is a liberation.
A necessity.
Don’t think of it as a failing on your part.
This is your role.
This is who you were meant to be.
A stepping-stone to greatness.
It may not be the World Title aspirations you had for yourself as a child, but I promise you, your name will be spoken of forever in wrestling history.
A footnote in America’s legend.
I like to think I’m a good man.
I go to church every Sunday, no matter where I’m at.
I work at the local mission when I’m back home.
I do my best to do right by God and country.
There’s a part of me that wants to believe that this shot is the big man telling me I’m doing good down here.
I slipped against Lacklan.
I’ll own that. She’s a hell of a competitor and I let my ideas about her colour how I took after her in the match. I’m itchin’ for a rematch but it’ll have to wait until it’s champ vs. champ by the look of it.
I can’t say if I deserve this title shot.
Zaigon says I do. I’m sure Riley will talk a good game about why I do too.
I was raised on hard work.
I was raised on paying your dues.
I was raised on respect.
I keep tryin’ to get myself hyped up for the match and there’s that nagging feeling that I should’ve won some more matches or beat a contender or somethin’ to get here. Each and every fight has been a hell of a bout so far, but I look around and I see each and every person in this company busting their asses night after night.
So why me?
That’s the question, right?
Why America Jackson?
That’s the question that tells me why I can’t afford to lose this.
I need to beat you, Osbourne.
Not because of who you are, although like I said to Breezy and Verez before ya, that belt earns you no small amount of respect in my eyes.
Not because I need that title to stand side by side with my boy Zaigon and make everything we planned come true, although that’s a big part of it as well.
I need to beat you because when I do, no one can question my skills anymore.
I’ll be a champion representing the whole continent, including the most beautiful country in the world.
I’ll carry the weight of that on my shoulder.
I won’t buckle.
I won’t break.
I won’t lose.
I’ll hold the North American title from Bulletproof until the day I retire.
A lot of folks underestimate me, still.
They say I haven’t done enough yet.
They say that I’m dumb ‘cause I’m a Texas boy.
They say I’m ignorant ‘cause I’m a proud son of God.
They talk and they talk and they talk.
Then they realize they wrote a check with their mouths that their bodies can’t cash.
When I beat you, there’s no question I deserved the shot.
There’s no question about me being good enough or having done enough or being smart enough.
There’s no question that I’m great.
So I have to beat you.
I NEED to beat you for that title!
So come hell or high water, I will.
I like to think I’m a good man.
But at Bulletproof?
To be the best?
I’ll do bad things.
