Post by Spartan on Jul 20, 2019 0:04:21 GMT -5
Sometime Ago
The three men, three muscular men stand around the backyard barbeque. The first is Tristan Cross; jeans, a t-shirt, black hat and glorious ginger beard. The second is his friend and current employer, Dante Jones; white singlet, jeans, tied back dreadlocks and a deliberate three day growth. The third, is a lifelong friend of both Jones and Cross. His name is Quinn Black - he is substantially shorter than the other two men. He is wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. He wears a short mohawk proudly and is the only member of the trio that is clean shaven.
The trichotomy is currently shooting the breeze, standing around the dormant barbeque; each holding a domestic beer in their dominant hand. This is men being men, just socialising in a situation that wives wouldn’t understand, but important to the male psyche and their own mental health.
“So what do you guys know about that Eisenhower guy?” asks Cross of his two pals. He follows with a swig of his beer.
“The old guy?” Black comes back.
“Yeh, the old guy.”
“He’s a bit of a strange one, but I don’t see him much.” Black answers. “But, truth be told I ain’t in the gym much anymore. What do you know of him, D?”
Dante Jones takes a mouthful from his beer and sets it down on the bench next to his unused barbeque. “Yeh, Q - the old guy is a bit odd. Talks about the good ole days a lot. Gets a few kids there in there to train - but mostly just sits in a little office smoking cigars.”
“Fair enough, “ says Cross nodding, “he trained anyone decent?”
“Just one, I reckon.” says Quinn Black drinking from his own vestibule full of amber fluid. “He always cracks on ‘bout this kid, Alex Brooks. Fact, even rips on anyone he works with for not wantin’ it as my as the kid.”
As he takes a mouthful from the bottle, Dante Jones looks at Tristan Cross, “Why? You thinking of wrestling?”
“Can’t be a cleaner on minimum wage the rest of my life.” Cross answers back.
“You’re not much of one, now.” retorts Jones. “So it’s probably not a bad career choice, brah.” chuckles Jones.
“Shut up man,” says Cross as he playfully punches Jones in the arm. “Gotta do something…” Cross pauses in thought and then looks at Black. “Q, did I hear you see who don’t the gym much anymore.”
“Yeh, got busy.” he replies.
“More like he got whipped.” laughs Jones uproariously.
“Shut the fuck up, D.” Quinn rips back.
“W-Chear. W-Chear.” laughs Dante almost falling over while making a whipping motion.
Quinn tackles Dante to the ground and the two grown men rumble around like children in the playground, trying to gain an advantage over the other without really hurting them. After what feels like several minutes, but in reality is only a few seconds, Jones finds a position of dominance and holds Black on the ground.“W-chear. W-chear. You’re whipped more than soft serve ice cream and you know, brah.” laughs Dante Jones as he stands up. Black stands up after him and gives a shove before the trio laugh at the whole scenario.
Do I?
“I think I understand.”
I’m not not sure I do.
Spartan is sitting on a weight bench. He is wearing black shorts and his own merchandise, a white t-shirt with the circular Spartan logo prominently displayed in the middle of it. He is also wearing a black Alpha Pro hat. He learns forward and continues speaking.
“I think I understand Zombie McMorris - and truth be told that scares the shit out of me. And when I understand him, I don’t mean I understand what motivates him on a visceral level. I don’t think anyone other than himself can truly do that. When I say I understand, you, Z-Mac. I’m referring you to your methodology.”
“It’s true - you put workin’ class asses in workin’ class seats. No one can deny that. You appeal to the general masses, the unwashed if you well. And it’s clear how you do that - when you do a whole lot talking loud and saying nothing.”
Spartan blinks and has a small head shake.
“Quite simply it’s the Roger Ailes method. Just be the loudest voice in the room. And that’s what you do - it’s what you do so damn well. And it compliments your incredible ability inside the squared circle and is certainly amplified by your penchant for violence.”
“I don’t have a chance to match your on your ability to spew bile is unmatched by every other than Linda Blair. But, it doesn’t change the fact that a lot of what disseminate is not grounded in reality. And it doesn’t need to be - because you appeal to people you want to appeal to simply by being the loudest voice in the room. You can say want. You can say it how you want and the masses that share your toothbrush they eat it up simply because you shout louder and you shout for longer than any.one standing next to you.”
“It is what it is.”
“It’s good fuckin’ psycological warfare.”
“And it works. By the time it gets to bell time, most of your opponents have succumbed to the spit, the venom, the insults and anything you have thrown an them. And for a wrestler of your ability that advantage is all you need to dominate and succeed.”
“And it works. In the ring, your take exemplary ability and your thirst for blood into the skull of your opponents. You are willing to turn your battlegrounds into legend. You are willing to make the Somme seem like a child’s playground. You will burn the world, just because you can - in many ways - victory is just a by-product for you.”
“When you are in that ring and in front of the camera what you commit could be considered by many as war crimes. That’s your schtick.”
“And it works.”
“But it’s not my way - I’m a fighter and I will keep fighting until I can’t no more. It’s just what it is and what I am.”
“You and me, Z-Mac - are we two sides of the same coin, probably not. But I will do what I need to come Alpha Showdown to see me walk out with the Hardcore Title…”
“No matter how many bolts of fucking lightning you ride.”
Sometime Ago
“Ya heard o’ Alex Brooks” asks Jerry Eisenhower through the cigar smoke.
Tristan Cross shakes his head ‘no’, as he sits across the desk from Jerry Eisenhower. The desk is a mess of paperwork and junk - a computer that looks like it might be pre- pentium processor.
“Yeh, well. Whatta bout SHOOT Project? Ya heard of that.” presses Eisenhower.
“No. Not that.”
“Ya been livin’ under a rock, son?”
“No, Sir.”
“Sir? I like that, son, keep it up.” smiles Eisenhower through the cigar smoke he is blowing out.
“So can you teach me?”
“Sorry, son?”
Tristan Cross looks at Eisenhower puzzled for a moment before realising the statement of ‘Sir’ just passed.
“Can you teach me, sir?”
“Sure, son. I can teach ya ta wrestle. But ain’t gonna teach ya no flippy shit the kids are so fond of these days. Ya wanna do flips and shit, go put on a tutu and be a ballerina, son.”
Eisenhower blows a big puff of smoke right into the face of Cross.”Now, son, ya get three strikes. Three strikes and I stop teachin’ ya the tools o’ the trade, son. Now go get me a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs.”
“What?” says Cross looking at Eisenhower quizzically.
“Strike one, son.”
Cross pauses and looks at Eisenhower still confused. Eisenhower issues Cross a ‘hurry up’ motion’ with his hands.
“Yes, Sir. Bread and Eggs.”
Cross gets up from his seated position and leaves the office, as he is exiting he looks over his shoulder at Eisenhower who a look of bemusement before closing the door behind as Eisenhower blows smoke circles into the air above his head.
“Dean Wolf - you are constructed differently to Z-Mac. And that’s not a bad thing. I’m not sure the world could two men cut from the same cloth as Zombie McMorris.”
Spartan is laying on the weight bench. He swings his feet over the edge and uses the momentum to sit up.
Different man. Different mission.
“Dean Wolf - you’ve got things that drive you. Motivation that pushes to succeed now where in the past you may have failed. And it works, so far. You’re bitter regret that has been seething inside you has driven you to become the Hardcore Champion of Alpha Pro Wrestling - the very first.”
“No one else can lay claim to those facts. Pretty sure I’ve told you that. Pretty sure you’ve made that known. Pretty sure that Z-Mac has flat out run it down as a meaningless achievement. But Z-Mac has got inside your head - even I can see that. He has hit you with ‘Yo Momma’ jokes to wind you and reel you in into his game. Will it work, only time will tell. It’s not my game; not my style to lay you out with insults like that.”
“But, just because I am not going to insult your mother, doesn’t mean I am willing to let you off easy.”
Ha.
Why did I find that funny?
“See - Dean, you are the one who actually holds the prize. You are the Hardcore Champion. And no matter how much fun it would to go toe to toe with the coked up madman, the man I need to beat is you.”
You alone
“Sure that’s not going to be a walk in the park. I’ve already seen that any time I steps in between those ropes in Alpha Pro there is going to be no such thing as an easy night. But, when a title on the line - it’s another whole level. When it involves two of the most violent men in history, is another step up. And when it involves two men that Odin Balfore almost puts on the same level as him - you may as well be fighting in the penthouse. But, Dean, when you in the penthouse, even one covered in the blood of your enemies, like you are now. There is only one to go and that is down - you know I don’t need to tell who intends to take you down.”
“But I will anyway. Me. I was the ‘almost guy’ in the One Big Brawl, I was the guy that didn’t get pinned last week on Metal. I don’t have any fucking intention of being that almost guy again.”
No fucking way
“Dean, you’re a beast. You wouldn’t carrying the gold if you weren’t. Shit, you’re a fucking Lion, king of the jungle. But even as the Alpha you have to fight every young pup that seeks your throne. You have to beat them. If you don’t you’re cast out in the cold to die in shame. But, see with every fight, the king of the pride, gets a little weaker - takes a little bit longer to recover. Every fight leaves the king just a bit more battle scarred. And eventually the king is dethroned.”
“I know what One Big Brawl took out of you. I saw the struggle you faced at the end of last week’s Metal. I saw it all.”
Spartan takes a deep breath.
“Which begs the question - Do you have enough left to survive the next fight and keep your throne?”
We’ll See.
