Post by Level-Two on Oct 26, 2008 11:01:59 GMT -4
OOC: This is just to add some ere to the match, and my position as special ref. I have also gotten permission to post this here.
''One's'' Million dollar answer
A page out of Level-One's Journal
So, how do we start this off? You know; this whole starting over shit. I look at where I stand, and I can’t help but question my choices. Was this the right move? I had everything and even more. Anything anyone in this business would want. The world championship, the main-events and the whores that coming knocking on your tour bus every night in between shows. And yet here I am. Given a new slate. A new chance at starting over…
Yet again though; it comes with faults. I’m unknown to most. Other don’t seem to care, a few take notice. It’s not hard to see I have to prove myself, all over again. To them; I’m just a guy with a large resume. And we all know how that works out, don’t we? 10 time champion comes walking into the doors of a bigger and better federation, only to be squashed underneath their wrestling boots, and then swept under the rope in a John Green type fashion. Never wears old.
And while apart of me understands them. Another part of me pity’s them. They don’t know what their in for. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m in for. I guess that’s just apart of a journey, you never know where it’s going to take you. You take the risk anyways. Maybe because your looking for something different, bigger, or better. Or, maybe you take the risk because your stupid, naïve, and ignorant to the road that lies ahead. I don’t know, you choose.
I’m excited to step into the ring, well, an APW ring. This time however; I’m given a whole new task. It isn’t about ripping your opponent in half. It isn’t about making a fucking impact. No, I’m a ref. little do these competitors know it, I can decide who wins, and who exits the match a little early, just with 3 seconds. 3 seconds in which I can exercise, and have anyone of these competitors running in a gauntlet of failure and misfortune.
And I love it.
Slowly, I closed the book. I can’t allow myself to spend all day writing, filling up these empty pages, wasting time. Fuck, who am I kidding? I already filled up those blank spaces, wrote to the last page, the last line. I didn’t stop until I realized I had no more room to write. Another journal, another numbered book in my already large collection.
I was always big on writing. There was no better way to vent, then putting my words into thoughts on a piece of paper. A few have mocked my habits, but I fail to budge. Maybe if they knew the content in between those lines, they would be quick to shut their mouths and learn a thing or two worthwhile.
Then again; competitors these days are all about the muscle. All about the work outs. Half of the guys in the chamber I knew were hitting the gym excessively, wearing themselves out before the match even began this Sunday. I couldn’t help but laugh; after all, it would only make my counting the pins easier.
I reached over my locker room bench before scrambling through my bag, until I got my hands on what I was looking for. Yanking it out; the shirt hung loosely in my hands. The white and black stripes shouted authority of some kind, even in my much more threatening hands. I sighed deeply knowing what this all meant.
For once I’d have to sit by and let someone else shine. I’d have to award a victor with their prize, even if I didn’t want too. Still; I couldn’t help smirk. If they thought I was going to raise their hand afterwards, well then they have a thing or two coming. I knew I had something to live up too. When Jeff handed over this shirt in my size, he asked me to call it down the middle.
…I told him I’d try.
Promises, promises, promises. I have broken many, even more-so then I do bones in competitor’s bodies. I’ve made promises to my girlfriend, my best friends, and even myself. And I’ve broken them all. They all spawned from one thing. This business. In fact I wasn’t even supposed to be here, in the APW. Done, retired, and searching for something much bigger than whatever a wrestling ring has to offer. My head wants me to believe this is the biggest thing, my life has to offer.
And my head? Can’t be trusted.
Brian had a fit over my move here. With my contract with the EWC nearing to an end, he’s been hammering down on me. Taking great lengths, just to get a contract that I am happy with. Just this morning, he came to me with some new contract offers. While he may be a nuisance when I come to think about it; Brian is one hard worker.
‘’Hey, Level!'’ Brian exclaimed, as I made my way out the hotel door and towards my car. Brian stayed next door in the hotel beside me; I managed to convince him to show up to the APW pay-per-view going on later that night, despite him not even wanting me there. ‘’Those contracts you asked about? I got them. Their hot off the press, take a look’’
I looked at Brian, in hopes I could slip around him, hop in my car, and take off. Unfortunately it just wasn’t possible, I was forced to cope with the submission he put me in. ‘’First of all, Brian. I never asked for any contracts. Infact, I believe I told you to fuck off and give it a rest’’
Brian rolled his eyes. ‘’Well, I must have missed that part’’ He replied with sarcasm in his tone. ‘’Look, just check this out. There has to be something you like in there’’ Brian protested, as he shoved the pile of papers into my arm. ‘’Million dollar offers? Guaranteed television time? An extra large locker room? It’s all in there, Lev’’ Brian claimed, nodding my head aimlessly I couldn’t help but taunt him.
‘’So…’’ I said nearly drifting away. ‘’That all sounds good, but did you get the pop corn machine I asked for?’’ Brian looked at me confused, as I continued on. ‘’I told you, I need a pop corn machine in my locker room, or the deal was a no go’’ Brian closed his eyes; shaking his head back and forth in frustration.
‘’Stop playing games, Level’’ Brian’s tone changed, growing in frustration. ‘’I stayed up all night trying to ink those damn demands for you. All you need to do now is sign it’’ Brian reached into his pocket pulling out a pen, before handing it over to me.
‘’Yeah? And what am I going to do with that?’’ I asked him, grabbing the pen out of his hand.
‘’Sign it’’ Brian quickly responded.
I laughed. ‘’Not so quick, I need to read over the small print’’ I taunted as Brian simply let out a deep sigh. Flipping through the pages; I sheepishly scanned them, as Brian waited on silently. I shoved the papers back to him. ‘’Look, I need to think this shit over alright?’’
Brian was taken a back, as I scooted around him to my car; the driver honked his horn impatiently. ‘’What? What the hell do you need to think about? The EWC has offered you everything, and anything you wanted. All you need to do is sign it’’ Brian told me, as I slipped into the car. Reaching my head out the window, I replied.
‘’Yeah, Brian. And that’s exactly what the problem is’’ Brian looked on confused, as the car pulled out of the parking lot. Brian with his contracts in hand tosses it onto the hard concrete, as the car revs off.
‘’It’s the fucking APW, isn’t it?’’ Brian murmured to himself, as he cursed in frustration…
Brian, he just didn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t even understand. Here I was, in the APW, with-out a contract, with nothing to fall back on. Given nothing but a referee shirt, and a chance. A chance to start over. Now what? What do I do with that chance? The interviewers have been hounding me all day, asking me, some even pleading with me to call it down the line…
‘’APW, APW, APW’’
The chants. They’re ringing in now. I throw on my referee shirt, and take a deep sigh. I can feel the power surging through my veins, the feeling I get when I step into the ring and meet my competition. This is more than me calling the match. This is me proving a point, no matter what.
I go out there, and I screw someone out of their victory. And prove to everyone, I’m the same bad-ass I always been. I prove to everyone, that men like me? They can’t change their stripes, even with a referee shirt. I go out there and prove to myself, that I really am cold, and I’ll never change it. I may not even want too.
Or, I could go out there and call it straight down the middle. For once I can bask in some satisfaction knowing that I did the right thing. I followed through with the honor of my word. I can put back worth into it. More importantly, I can prove to myself. That I really am not the bad guy everyone labeled me as for so long.
They say a zebra can’t change its stripes. But maybe this zebra was a different animal all together.
The questions, failed answers, it all rushes through my head, as the announcer calls out its first competitor. As the rift of the song kicks in, so does my head. It pounds. It kicks the living shit out of me, the lobes vibrate with the snare of the drums. I can’t stop it. I can’t block it. Not this question.
A one dollar question.
‘’Will you call it down the middle?’’
My answer; a million dollar one.
''One's'' Million dollar answer
A page out of Level-One's Journal
So, how do we start this off? You know; this whole starting over shit. I look at where I stand, and I can’t help but question my choices. Was this the right move? I had everything and even more. Anything anyone in this business would want. The world championship, the main-events and the whores that coming knocking on your tour bus every night in between shows. And yet here I am. Given a new slate. A new chance at starting over…
Yet again though; it comes with faults. I’m unknown to most. Other don’t seem to care, a few take notice. It’s not hard to see I have to prove myself, all over again. To them; I’m just a guy with a large resume. And we all know how that works out, don’t we? 10 time champion comes walking into the doors of a bigger and better federation, only to be squashed underneath their wrestling boots, and then swept under the rope in a John Green type fashion. Never wears old.
And while apart of me understands them. Another part of me pity’s them. They don’t know what their in for. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m in for. I guess that’s just apart of a journey, you never know where it’s going to take you. You take the risk anyways. Maybe because your looking for something different, bigger, or better. Or, maybe you take the risk because your stupid, naïve, and ignorant to the road that lies ahead. I don’t know, you choose.
I’m excited to step into the ring, well, an APW ring. This time however; I’m given a whole new task. It isn’t about ripping your opponent in half. It isn’t about making a fucking impact. No, I’m a ref. little do these competitors know it, I can decide who wins, and who exits the match a little early, just with 3 seconds. 3 seconds in which I can exercise, and have anyone of these competitors running in a gauntlet of failure and misfortune.
And I love it.
Slowly, I closed the book. I can’t allow myself to spend all day writing, filling up these empty pages, wasting time. Fuck, who am I kidding? I already filled up those blank spaces, wrote to the last page, the last line. I didn’t stop until I realized I had no more room to write. Another journal, another numbered book in my already large collection.
I was always big on writing. There was no better way to vent, then putting my words into thoughts on a piece of paper. A few have mocked my habits, but I fail to budge. Maybe if they knew the content in between those lines, they would be quick to shut their mouths and learn a thing or two worthwhile.
Then again; competitors these days are all about the muscle. All about the work outs. Half of the guys in the chamber I knew were hitting the gym excessively, wearing themselves out before the match even began this Sunday. I couldn’t help but laugh; after all, it would only make my counting the pins easier.
I reached over my locker room bench before scrambling through my bag, until I got my hands on what I was looking for. Yanking it out; the shirt hung loosely in my hands. The white and black stripes shouted authority of some kind, even in my much more threatening hands. I sighed deeply knowing what this all meant.
For once I’d have to sit by and let someone else shine. I’d have to award a victor with their prize, even if I didn’t want too. Still; I couldn’t help smirk. If they thought I was going to raise their hand afterwards, well then they have a thing or two coming. I knew I had something to live up too. When Jeff handed over this shirt in my size, he asked me to call it down the middle.
…I told him I’d try.
Promises, promises, promises. I have broken many, even more-so then I do bones in competitor’s bodies. I’ve made promises to my girlfriend, my best friends, and even myself. And I’ve broken them all. They all spawned from one thing. This business. In fact I wasn’t even supposed to be here, in the APW. Done, retired, and searching for something much bigger than whatever a wrestling ring has to offer. My head wants me to believe this is the biggest thing, my life has to offer.
And my head? Can’t be trusted.
Brian had a fit over my move here. With my contract with the EWC nearing to an end, he’s been hammering down on me. Taking great lengths, just to get a contract that I am happy with. Just this morning, he came to me with some new contract offers. While he may be a nuisance when I come to think about it; Brian is one hard worker.
‘’Hey, Level!'’ Brian exclaimed, as I made my way out the hotel door and towards my car. Brian stayed next door in the hotel beside me; I managed to convince him to show up to the APW pay-per-view going on later that night, despite him not even wanting me there. ‘’Those contracts you asked about? I got them. Their hot off the press, take a look’’
I looked at Brian, in hopes I could slip around him, hop in my car, and take off. Unfortunately it just wasn’t possible, I was forced to cope with the submission he put me in. ‘’First of all, Brian. I never asked for any contracts. Infact, I believe I told you to fuck off and give it a rest’’
Brian rolled his eyes. ‘’Well, I must have missed that part’’ He replied with sarcasm in his tone. ‘’Look, just check this out. There has to be something you like in there’’ Brian protested, as he shoved the pile of papers into my arm. ‘’Million dollar offers? Guaranteed television time? An extra large locker room? It’s all in there, Lev’’ Brian claimed, nodding my head aimlessly I couldn’t help but taunt him.
‘’So…’’ I said nearly drifting away. ‘’That all sounds good, but did you get the pop corn machine I asked for?’’ Brian looked at me confused, as I continued on. ‘’I told you, I need a pop corn machine in my locker room, or the deal was a no go’’ Brian closed his eyes; shaking his head back and forth in frustration.
‘’Stop playing games, Level’’ Brian’s tone changed, growing in frustration. ‘’I stayed up all night trying to ink those damn demands for you. All you need to do now is sign it’’ Brian reached into his pocket pulling out a pen, before handing it over to me.
‘’Yeah? And what am I going to do with that?’’ I asked him, grabbing the pen out of his hand.
‘’Sign it’’ Brian quickly responded.
I laughed. ‘’Not so quick, I need to read over the small print’’ I taunted as Brian simply let out a deep sigh. Flipping through the pages; I sheepishly scanned them, as Brian waited on silently. I shoved the papers back to him. ‘’Look, I need to think this shit over alright?’’
Brian was taken a back, as I scooted around him to my car; the driver honked his horn impatiently. ‘’What? What the hell do you need to think about? The EWC has offered you everything, and anything you wanted. All you need to do is sign it’’ Brian told me, as I slipped into the car. Reaching my head out the window, I replied.
‘’Yeah, Brian. And that’s exactly what the problem is’’ Brian looked on confused, as the car pulled out of the parking lot. Brian with his contracts in hand tosses it onto the hard concrete, as the car revs off.
‘’It’s the fucking APW, isn’t it?’’ Brian murmured to himself, as he cursed in frustration…
Brian, he just didn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t even understand. Here I was, in the APW, with-out a contract, with nothing to fall back on. Given nothing but a referee shirt, and a chance. A chance to start over. Now what? What do I do with that chance? The interviewers have been hounding me all day, asking me, some even pleading with me to call it down the line…
‘’APW, APW, APW’’
The chants. They’re ringing in now. I throw on my referee shirt, and take a deep sigh. I can feel the power surging through my veins, the feeling I get when I step into the ring and meet my competition. This is more than me calling the match. This is me proving a point, no matter what.
I go out there, and I screw someone out of their victory. And prove to everyone, I’m the same bad-ass I always been. I prove to everyone, that men like me? They can’t change their stripes, even with a referee shirt. I go out there and prove to myself, that I really am cold, and I’ll never change it. I may not even want too.
Or, I could go out there and call it straight down the middle. For once I can bask in some satisfaction knowing that I did the right thing. I followed through with the honor of my word. I can put back worth into it. More importantly, I can prove to myself. That I really am not the bad guy everyone labeled me as for so long.
They say a zebra can’t change its stripes. But maybe this zebra was a different animal all together.
The questions, failed answers, it all rushes through my head, as the announcer calls out its first competitor. As the rift of the song kicks in, so does my head. It pounds. It kicks the living shit out of me, the lobes vibrate with the snare of the drums. I can’t stop it. I can’t block it. Not this question.
A one dollar question.
‘’Will you call it down the middle?’’
My answer; a million dollar one.
