Post by america on Jul 19, 2020 22:54:51 GMT -5
Victory.
It always tasted sweet but in the heart of Tokyo it was even sweeter. He’d had his trepidation going in. A loss at a critical moment shook his confidence and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull it off. But Zaigon Carter had believed in him, told him it was his moment, and he was right. When it was most important America had dug deep and pushed through a worthy champion to take the crown himself. It was a high watermark in his life that shone beyond the many lows. The victory was made sweeter when Zaigon won the World Title in the main event. A clean sweep. They’d come in and been underestimated. They stood their ground, they showed what they were made of, and now they were the top champions in record time. An absolute victory for the Storm.
“FUCK YEAH POUR ONE OUT FOR THE STORM BABY!”
America was off his face drunk on Zaigon’s private jet flying at astounding speeds over the ocean. Titles acquired, Zaigon had no intent of keeping them away from American soil any longer than was absolutely necessary. The flight cost more than both men were paid for the show, but Zaigon assured America that this was a time to focus on their victories and indulge in some celebration. It was entirely possible he regretted that decision when America vomited thousand dollar scotch onto the carpets, but by that point Zaigon had left to his own section of the jet so no one would know.
“Congratulations!” Zaigon had also hired flight attendants with the ability to attend to more than flights. One of them (Candy? Bambi? The names were all fuzzy in America’s head) was swooning over him, giving praise while another sat in the open seat next to him and caressed his title. A third was cleaning puke in the aisle all while maintaining an entirely consistent smile.
“Thanks ladies.” America said, too drunk for anything but sincerity. “I’m happy to be bringing this title back for all the boys ‘n girls ‘n everybody else back home in the GREATEST COUNTRY OF ALL BABY YEAH!” As the women were finding out, volume was difficult for drunken America. “I love America! Heh. I AM America.”
“You sure are.” Candy? said with a little swoon. “Would America like a little celebratory attention? I played a little football in high school. I know how to…” her hand wandered low “…touch down.”
“I’m mighty flattered miss, but I’m a man of god.” America said, gently removing her hand. “Can’t be goin’ down the pants before I’m goin’ down the aisle.”
“Is that a proposal?” Candy asks with a giggle, shrugging off the rejection.
“Aw now you are a feisty one Miss.” America laughs. “I feel a bit’ve a fool sittin’ here drinkin’ and carryin’ on all by my lonesome. Everyone pour one out!”
The flight was twenty-six hours but could have taken no time at all.
The car dropped America off at the old farmhouse. Every time he came home again it seemed smaller. Part of it was how much bigger he’d gotten obviously. World is always larger in the eyes of a child. That wasn’t all of it though. He saw the ways the old wood ached, felt the deck breathe as he stepped onto it. The place felt like a breath in that never stopped. Like it was pulling in on itself harder and harder until eventually it would collapse. He hated coming back to it. Part of him wanted to hit college and never look back. But of course, one thing always brought him back.
“Hey momma.”
She was looking out at the field through the back window. The midday sun shone with a perfect blue sky. America could remember when it was a beautiful sight. The fields were yellowed and barren now. It had been years since anything had grown in them but weeds and ghosts. How many years had it been, America wondered? How long since he last heard his mother’s voice.
“I won momma. Your boy is the APW North American champion. Went all the way across the world to do it in a jet. You wouldn’t believe what the ocean looks like from that high. Or the way the sky looks when you’re up above the clouds, sun just shinin’ on down. Felt like God was tellin’ me it’d be okay. That you were with me and I was gonna do everythin’ I set out to do. You’d love it momma. Maybe Zaigon’ll let me take you...”
America stopped. He didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. Made a deal with himself about that a long time ago and didn’t want to go breaking it now. He knew she couldn’t leave this place. That her home had long since become her tomb. She’d die here, silent as the sun rose and fell upon barren fields. America didn’t have a single bruise or joint that hurt as much as that.
“Good news though momma. All the money I’m makin’ means that I can hire on some labourers here again. We’ll have the fields up nice ‘n pretty just like when I was ‘bout three feet high. Gonna grow up produce again, but I told ‘em to give you a nice row of flowers so when you look out every day you can see somethin’ beautiful.”
He looked out the window and for a moment he could almost picture it. Still, the smile hurt his face. America kissed his mother on the forehead and went out to do what he always did when he needed a clear head. He worked the land. Clearing away the dead things and getting the soil ready to be planted in anew. He knew the labourers may end up replacing his work with their own but sometimes the task was more important than the result.
“She’s happy today.” Mrs. Jacobson said. America hadn’t heard her approach.
“She is?” America asked. “I can never tell.”
“She’s got a little spring to her.” Mrs. Jacobson replied. She’d been looking after his momma since…well, she’d been looking after her. She would know. America smiled. Mrs. Jacobson continued. “You home long?”
“Back on the road tonight.” America said, just digging now as though for a grave. “Just wanted to give her the good news.”
“You’re a good son, America Jackson.” Mrs. Jacobson said.
“No.” America replied. “I’m not.”
What is the measure of success?
It’s a valid question, right? These United States are built on the notion that the truly exceptional will rise up and do just that…excel. But we can look at this business and see lots of moving targets on that.
Is it wins?
Is it longevity?
Is it titles?
While there’s clearly different potential answers for what the true measure of success is, I think we can all agree on something.
Winning the top two titles in just over a month sure makes a good fucking argument.
You can almost see the blueprint for what the next move should be. After all, the BRAND NEW APW WORLD CHAMPION is facing one half of the tag team champions on this very show while our BRAND NEW NORTH AMERICAN CHAMPION is facing a mainstay of this company and someone who has previously held the very belt which he now carries. Upon their victories, surely the next step is to provide them the shot at the tag team titles which their success clearly deserves.
I imagine that we’ll see a roadblock in this. There will be another matter, new challengers will appear for the tag team titles who are not both an undefeated team and the top reigning singles champions. Management will have another answer. There’s always another answer when it comes to denying greatness to the truly great.
Prove me wrong.
With the Storm taking the company from under it, I see the old hands have come in hoping that the new hotness is less potent than those who scared them away in the first place. You can imagine the regret Mr. Carter and America Jackson had, coming in here ready to face a stable who had dominated this company. Yet they had been defeated and dissolved before we even arrived, dust in the wind because they couldn’t handle success.
I suppose you felt no small amount of relief when the Architects left. After all, before they came you were a double champion. A man who held both the gold my client is going to define and the bronze he declined to collect. I don’t mean to diminish your achievements but the Storm have faced the champions of your era.
We were not impressed.
I understand that in your time you were great and the culture shock may be jarring for you. Still, you need to understand that your era is over. The Architects took the original generation and they broke you. Then they broke themselves. Now the Storm has come and I promise you we hit harder than they ever did only WE DO NOT BREAK!
America Jackson’s legacy is beginning in this company.
America Jackson will be THE defining North American champion.
So I present to you the role you get within this new era, ZMAC.
You are a step on the path to greatness.
Your role in this world is to be the challenge the truly great face as they cement themselves among the best of all time. You are the firmament in the structures of a legend for all time. The legend of two great Americans who knew deep in their hearts that they were the best to ever live and came here and proved it. Don’t despair that you’ll never hold the North American title again. Because I assure you that someone better than you will be.
The Storm is here.
Alpha Pro Wrestling is finally…great.
It always tasted sweet but in the heart of Tokyo it was even sweeter. He’d had his trepidation going in. A loss at a critical moment shook his confidence and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull it off. But Zaigon Carter had believed in him, told him it was his moment, and he was right. When it was most important America had dug deep and pushed through a worthy champion to take the crown himself. It was a high watermark in his life that shone beyond the many lows. The victory was made sweeter when Zaigon won the World Title in the main event. A clean sweep. They’d come in and been underestimated. They stood their ground, they showed what they were made of, and now they were the top champions in record time. An absolute victory for the Storm.
“FUCK YEAH POUR ONE OUT FOR THE STORM BABY!”
America was off his face drunk on Zaigon’s private jet flying at astounding speeds over the ocean. Titles acquired, Zaigon had no intent of keeping them away from American soil any longer than was absolutely necessary. The flight cost more than both men were paid for the show, but Zaigon assured America that this was a time to focus on their victories and indulge in some celebration. It was entirely possible he regretted that decision when America vomited thousand dollar scotch onto the carpets, but by that point Zaigon had left to his own section of the jet so no one would know.
“Congratulations!” Zaigon had also hired flight attendants with the ability to attend to more than flights. One of them (Candy? Bambi? The names were all fuzzy in America’s head) was swooning over him, giving praise while another sat in the open seat next to him and caressed his title. A third was cleaning puke in the aisle all while maintaining an entirely consistent smile.
“Thanks ladies.” America said, too drunk for anything but sincerity. “I’m happy to be bringing this title back for all the boys ‘n girls ‘n everybody else back home in the GREATEST COUNTRY OF ALL BABY YEAH!” As the women were finding out, volume was difficult for drunken America. “I love America! Heh. I AM America.”
“You sure are.” Candy? said with a little swoon. “Would America like a little celebratory attention? I played a little football in high school. I know how to…” her hand wandered low “…touch down.”
“I’m mighty flattered miss, but I’m a man of god.” America said, gently removing her hand. “Can’t be goin’ down the pants before I’m goin’ down the aisle.”
“Is that a proposal?” Candy asks with a giggle, shrugging off the rejection.
“Aw now you are a feisty one Miss.” America laughs. “I feel a bit’ve a fool sittin’ here drinkin’ and carryin’ on all by my lonesome. Everyone pour one out!”
The flight was twenty-six hours but could have taken no time at all.
The car dropped America off at the old farmhouse. Every time he came home again it seemed smaller. Part of it was how much bigger he’d gotten obviously. World is always larger in the eyes of a child. That wasn’t all of it though. He saw the ways the old wood ached, felt the deck breathe as he stepped onto it. The place felt like a breath in that never stopped. Like it was pulling in on itself harder and harder until eventually it would collapse. He hated coming back to it. Part of him wanted to hit college and never look back. But of course, one thing always brought him back.
“Hey momma.”
She was looking out at the field through the back window. The midday sun shone with a perfect blue sky. America could remember when it was a beautiful sight. The fields were yellowed and barren now. It had been years since anything had grown in them but weeds and ghosts. How many years had it been, America wondered? How long since he last heard his mother’s voice.
“I won momma. Your boy is the APW North American champion. Went all the way across the world to do it in a jet. You wouldn’t believe what the ocean looks like from that high. Or the way the sky looks when you’re up above the clouds, sun just shinin’ on down. Felt like God was tellin’ me it’d be okay. That you were with me and I was gonna do everythin’ I set out to do. You’d love it momma. Maybe Zaigon’ll let me take you...”
America stopped. He didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. Made a deal with himself about that a long time ago and didn’t want to go breaking it now. He knew she couldn’t leave this place. That her home had long since become her tomb. She’d die here, silent as the sun rose and fell upon barren fields. America didn’t have a single bruise or joint that hurt as much as that.
“Good news though momma. All the money I’m makin’ means that I can hire on some labourers here again. We’ll have the fields up nice ‘n pretty just like when I was ‘bout three feet high. Gonna grow up produce again, but I told ‘em to give you a nice row of flowers so when you look out every day you can see somethin’ beautiful.”
He looked out the window and for a moment he could almost picture it. Still, the smile hurt his face. America kissed his mother on the forehead and went out to do what he always did when he needed a clear head. He worked the land. Clearing away the dead things and getting the soil ready to be planted in anew. He knew the labourers may end up replacing his work with their own but sometimes the task was more important than the result.
“She’s happy today.” Mrs. Jacobson said. America hadn’t heard her approach.
“She is?” America asked. “I can never tell.”
“She’s got a little spring to her.” Mrs. Jacobson replied. She’d been looking after his momma since…well, she’d been looking after her. She would know. America smiled. Mrs. Jacobson continued. “You home long?”
“Back on the road tonight.” America said, just digging now as though for a grave. “Just wanted to give her the good news.”
“You’re a good son, America Jackson.” Mrs. Jacobson said.
“No.” America replied. “I’m not.”
What is the measure of success?
It’s a valid question, right? These United States are built on the notion that the truly exceptional will rise up and do just that…excel. But we can look at this business and see lots of moving targets on that.
Is it wins?
Is it longevity?
Is it titles?
While there’s clearly different potential answers for what the true measure of success is, I think we can all agree on something.
Winning the top two titles in just over a month sure makes a good fucking argument.
You can almost see the blueprint for what the next move should be. After all, the BRAND NEW APW WORLD CHAMPION is facing one half of the tag team champions on this very show while our BRAND NEW NORTH AMERICAN CHAMPION is facing a mainstay of this company and someone who has previously held the very belt which he now carries. Upon their victories, surely the next step is to provide them the shot at the tag team titles which their success clearly deserves.
I imagine that we’ll see a roadblock in this. There will be another matter, new challengers will appear for the tag team titles who are not both an undefeated team and the top reigning singles champions. Management will have another answer. There’s always another answer when it comes to denying greatness to the truly great.
Prove me wrong.
With the Storm taking the company from under it, I see the old hands have come in hoping that the new hotness is less potent than those who scared them away in the first place. You can imagine the regret Mr. Carter and America Jackson had, coming in here ready to face a stable who had dominated this company. Yet they had been defeated and dissolved before we even arrived, dust in the wind because they couldn’t handle success.
I suppose you felt no small amount of relief when the Architects left. After all, before they came you were a double champion. A man who held both the gold my client is going to define and the bronze he declined to collect. I don’t mean to diminish your achievements but the Storm have faced the champions of your era.
We were not impressed.
I understand that in your time you were great and the culture shock may be jarring for you. Still, you need to understand that your era is over. The Architects took the original generation and they broke you. Then they broke themselves. Now the Storm has come and I promise you we hit harder than they ever did only WE DO NOT BREAK!
America Jackson’s legacy is beginning in this company.
America Jackson will be THE defining North American champion.
So I present to you the role you get within this new era, ZMAC.
You are a step on the path to greatness.
Your role in this world is to be the challenge the truly great face as they cement themselves among the best of all time. You are the firmament in the structures of a legend for all time. The legend of two great Americans who knew deep in their hearts that they were the best to ever live and came here and proved it. Don’t despair that you’ll never hold the North American title again. Because I assure you that someone better than you will be.
The Storm is here.
Alpha Pro Wrestling is finally…great.
