Post by Your JESUS on Jul 7, 2012 17:35:37 GMT -4
Covered with sweat, I roll out of the ring. Silence almost overcomes me. I am competitive by nature, and the knot in my stomach after things like this, is something I never get used too. Through the silence I can feel the pulse of the music and know it isn't mine. With a look over my shoulder toward the ring I see Shane Borderland celebrating his win and I walk that ramp. The crowd noise is none existent as I get to the top of the walkway and the gestures from the fans don't bother me in the slightest. I look toward the man in the ring and my stomach turns just a bit. A smirk mixed with a chuckle is all I offer up before ducking behind the curtain. I pause as I enter the backstage area, and am instantly met by one of the stage hands in the back.
"Lively...you ok..."
I simply shrug my shoulders and pat dude on the back. In most case I would have backhanded this dude just for lipping off. After putting it all out there I am in no mood, possibly why he picked this opportune time to come at me. Either way job is done for the night, time to change, and prepare for the road. Life on the move. I stroll through the back still trying to get the bad taste in my mouth to loose it's sting of sour. With a deep breath I open my locker room door, and things for me flipped as I had forgotten about my mothers presence. There she sits legs crossed with an ice pack on her jaw.
"I just saw what happened."
"You would think the ice pack would have reminded of how our relationship works."
"But..."
"There is no buts. Tonight is over and I have moved on. The fact that you are still here after I showed you the working conditions, can lead me to believe you are hard up for money and are willing to subject yourself to the punishment of your egotistical son."
"A son that seems to resent his mother."
I almost explode with intensity, but swallow it down. We both are silent as it seems we have entered an arrangement once more.
"Listen, you stay in the back, during my matches, if you step through that curtain, I go from focusing my fury on my opponent, and shift toward ruining your existence. I will leap from the ring and beat you from pillar to post...understood!!!"
My mother simply nods her head as the ice pack rattles and crinkles. I leave her seated on the couch and take a shower. To cleanse my body and clear my head. After the refreshing barrage of water I dress in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I walk out of the bathroom and toss my ring gear at my mother. The sweaty garments land on her lap as her eyes roll. I guess things pick up right where they left off. She packs up my bag as I check my phone. I received a text while freshening up. Looks like it's next weeks card. My eyes skim the listing and then the see my name. A triple threat match with title implications tied to it.
This is where I normally would have that evil grin, the plotting of another accolade to add to my treasure shelf. You add in the fact this is a new title and one that I have to hold, and two years ago I would be a hungry lion licking his chops. Now you could say I am broken, or changed, because I simply have zero emotion flowing through my veins. I place the phone in my pocket as my mother zips up my road bag.
"You know a friend of mine when I first got into the business gave me some advice. He said pick your spots, take every advantage you can, and build your legacy. It's all hard work along the way. I entered APW when it was young, full of big name stars. I found the guy making the most noise, holding the attention of the crowd. Kenny Lambardo was the man when I joined this company.
My mother sits on the couch as I stand there rambling on. Her eyes fixated on my face.
"We all get the cliche' talk of working our way up the ladder, earning your stripes. I didn't want to be just a solider in the platoon mixed in with all the other grunts. I needed to prove I was more then just your average run of the mill recruit. I walked right up to the Sargent poked him in the chest. I knew what I was capable of and I knew that I would match myself up with any other person on gods green earth. Sure I might not walk out with the win, but that person would know that their victory had just come at a hefty price. I challenged people to bring their very best, to step up their game. When they squeaked out the 'W' over me, unlike another match they knew the entire time that I had the skills to make their night end differently. They knew it wasn't a walk in the park and they knew they had to dig deeper then they have had before just to earn that victory."
As I pause from my audible thought process my mother looks puzzled. I really pay her no mind and just keeping vomiting my self loving motivation.
"People were always shocked when they faced off with me. Surprised by my tenacity, my heart, my undying drive to come out the winner. The fact that I have as much energy and hit just as hard as I do from bell to bell."
I sit on the couch and shove my mother off so I don't have to be next to her. She hits the ground on her ass, and smile comes over my face. Bully doesn't really do me justice, Ultra Rugged All-star Asshole maybe just a little more flashy and more deserving.
"Listen, I guess the point I am trying make is the roster here on Meltdown is missing that flare, that in your face aggression. The I am worthy of the top spot, hell I'm worthy of your spot kind of attitude. Sure there is in ring ability, there is on the mic talent here, but that cut throat competitive environment seems to be lacking. Thirds fuckers need to dig deep each week, need to push harder then they thought even possible."
As my mother now has taken a spot across the room standing she tosses the ice pack down and looks toward me rather confused.
"So what is this the new Michael Lively, the Mentor, the teacher, the motivator?"
My head whips up from the downward position and lights a hole through my mothers faces as she has that look of nervousness like a person would when confronted with a bomb. You are unsure if it will blow up right now or not.
"Teacher...pssh, Mentor...please, Motivator...maybe. I have returned and it has motivated all sorts of things. I motivated Gabe Anslem to realize wrestling wasn't his bag of tricks, I motivated a rather lazy and inconsistent former Mega-star so much that he found out how to get over under the bright lights of the main event. My levels of motivation are unending, look at Envi. I motivated the North American champion to step up and poke me in the chest when his plate was plenty full. Mother you know I am not one for compliments but that kid has it figured out. He doesn't sit around waiting for things to come to him, he doesn't hope people will just notice him among the sea of talent. Like me he is a winner in so many ways, steps up and makes you take notice."
Still my mother is unaware with where I am going.
"Next week I have a match that quite frankly I could care less about the moment I read it. When I inked my deal to return here, I had no aspirations to be in the title picture because I honestly felt there was no need. What do I have to prove. Yet, if I win this match and I take a title shot from another man. His motivation will intensely grow like virus. Him being so close to getting a glimpse of glory then loosing could be the thing that lights this mans competitive beast on fire. There's motivation! Take it a step further and say I focus on becoming the North American champion, the hatred I have earned the disgust I beg for will fuel an entire roster to step the fuck up. They will challenge themselves like they never thought possible all with the hopes to not just beat one of the bests there is, not to just beat a hall of Famer, but to capture a title from someone who isn't going to just lie down or step aside. You would have to enter hell itself, stare the devil in the face and have to endure everything he has to offer. Once you have done the unthinkable, your JESUS will enter and challenge you to push yourself a step further. Those that can endure that can endure the world title scene, the pressures of greatness. In motivating others I have found my motivation."
I stand from the couch snapping my fingers for my mother to grab my stuff so we can get out of Dodge. A few days pass, and here I am in the back of a town car driven to a house show. Sunglasses cover my eyes as I sit in the backseat foot tapping with anxiousness. That's when you know you are born to be in this sport. Even at a house show the hairs on your neck stand up. We come to a stop and my door is opened by my mother.
"This is really a little much don't you think Michael."
I pull of my shades and give her the once over. I forced her to dress in a chauffeur's outfit, hat and all.
"Do you look silly? Yes, do I care? No, now grab my bags Jeeves!"
I place my sunglasses on my forehead as I stand at the back door of the arena waiting for my mother. I look down at my watch almost as if she were holding me up. Moments later she looks at me as if she doesn't understand why I am just standing here. Clarity sinks in and she opens the door for me. I walk in and my attention is diverted by a cameraman is equipment. I whistle real fast toward my mother.
"Find my locker room, set out my gear then get my pre match hydration ready."
She looks puzzled once more. I inform her what I meant.
"My Gatorade regiment woman...geez"
My mother strolls off with my bags in hand and I walk toward the cameraman. A whistle again leaves my lips as my arrogance seems to spill out of every pore in my body.
"Prop that thing on your shoulder, I have some things to get off my chest."
In reality this guy has every right to glare at me and say go fuck yourself, but in this realm he knows what that would earn him. So rather then testing the waters he does what I demand and the red light flickering on is my signal.
"Opportunity, what will you do with it when it is given. Will you shit the bed or step the fuck up? Borderland, congrats, you sneaked it out Not really sure you are one to seize the moment though, so it all could be for nothing. I don't sweat losses, and Shane will surely fuck off this opportunity he has been given, this momentum swing in his favor. Kind of funny that it's me in a match with title implications, despite a loss. Guess my resume speaks for itself. Either way I have a chance to snag a North American title shot this Monday...simply pin Stephan Raab."
I pause briefly and cock my head sideways with a shoulder shrug.
"A little harder then it sounds because I am not the only man granted this opportunity. Shadow is given the very same chance to earn a shot. Pin Raab simple as that. What did you do Stephan that the company hates you this much. You earn your shot, and now have to defend it against two other people, doesn't seem fair to me. Then again I don't care for fair. I will use what ever means necessary. If the ref misdirect's his focus, the king of opportunity will seize the day. Ring bell, chair, lead pipe, brass knuckles, the ugly woman in the first rows loaded purse, you had better keep your eyes peeled gentleman."
"That title deserves someone like myself, the people of APW need a person like me once again to stand on the ladder begging the roster to bring the very best that they have to the table. Lord knows it takes all that and then some to pry a belt from my grasps. I was the longest reigning Overdrive champion for quite some time. In my mind same shit different strap, so Monday night boys the quest begins."
"The first topic of discussion is Stephan Raab, a prideful German. I have so many directions I could come at you. I could talk about how you look like a sloppy sloth, a pasty white chicken breast, or I could take the easy route and talk about the Fuzz or Fizz carrying your baby mutant child in her gut. I couldn't imagine the horrible looking offspring that you could create."
I quiver a bit a continue on.
"None of that is relevant to the task at hand, which is to take your spot in the title chain. Can I say it's disgraceful that you are up for a shot in the first place. Thankfully I am here to resolve the half ass effort put forth. People like you are to blame for the fact that Meltdown is classified as a cut rate show. Do you have what it takes to be the man? I can't answer that question only you can. What I have to offer is the test to prove to yourself, to the fans, to the match makers. Against me Raab, it's kill or be killed, so suit up buddy. You want to keep your spot time to dig deep fat body. Let's see if a Marshmallow Man from the arm pit of the world, otherwise called Germany, can hack it. History proves you guys fold under pressure. Monday night pudge I will lean on your with the weight of the world."
"Pinning your Porky the Pig ass is the main objective, but dealing with Shadow is quite possibly the meat and potatoes of the match. The man is an asskicker, a fellow Hall of Famer, and like the paper that Kash uses to wipe his ass Shadow's value is nothing more then flushable. He has returned after injury just like myself. Well ass kicker we do the man dance on Monday, I suggest you leave the garter belt and thigh highs at home unless you plan on wearing that duster the whole match to cover up, because the key word is Man! It takes balls to go to the wall like I do. Balls is just what I have and once dispose of you two, that's just what I will dangle over all of Meltdown's heads as I stand atop the ladder with the North American title. If you fuckers don't like the view from below then take the vision of my nutsack as a symbol for you to sack up. I will make no claims of being unbeatable, but will tell you it takes a stud to get on over me. I am not sure either of you are on my level. I can tell you that I am going to light that ring on fire Monday night. Come Tuesday morning the fans won't be tweeting about the main event, they will be clamoring about how I brought it. You two have to make a decision because there is time, will you be the topic of discussion, or will your name only be muttered as the ones I shit on in the ring. Will you prove me wrong or be just more fuel to the fire that feeds my ego. Up to you gentlemen. Monday night I climb that ladder and raise that bar. You are welcome to join me."
With that I strike the I am JESUS pose, and then whip a super kick in the chin of the cameraman knocking him to the ground. I bend over and smirk into the lens and walk off.
"Lively...you ok..."
I simply shrug my shoulders and pat dude on the back. In most case I would have backhanded this dude just for lipping off. After putting it all out there I am in no mood, possibly why he picked this opportune time to come at me. Either way job is done for the night, time to change, and prepare for the road. Life on the move. I stroll through the back still trying to get the bad taste in my mouth to loose it's sting of sour. With a deep breath I open my locker room door, and things for me flipped as I had forgotten about my mothers presence. There she sits legs crossed with an ice pack on her jaw.
"I just saw what happened."
"You would think the ice pack would have reminded of how our relationship works."
"But..."
"There is no buts. Tonight is over and I have moved on. The fact that you are still here after I showed you the working conditions, can lead me to believe you are hard up for money and are willing to subject yourself to the punishment of your egotistical son."
"A son that seems to resent his mother."
I almost explode with intensity, but swallow it down. We both are silent as it seems we have entered an arrangement once more.
"Listen, you stay in the back, during my matches, if you step through that curtain, I go from focusing my fury on my opponent, and shift toward ruining your existence. I will leap from the ring and beat you from pillar to post...understood!!!"
My mother simply nods her head as the ice pack rattles and crinkles. I leave her seated on the couch and take a shower. To cleanse my body and clear my head. After the refreshing barrage of water I dress in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I walk out of the bathroom and toss my ring gear at my mother. The sweaty garments land on her lap as her eyes roll. I guess things pick up right where they left off. She packs up my bag as I check my phone. I received a text while freshening up. Looks like it's next weeks card. My eyes skim the listing and then the see my name. A triple threat match with title implications tied to it.
This is where I normally would have that evil grin, the plotting of another accolade to add to my treasure shelf. You add in the fact this is a new title and one that I have to hold, and two years ago I would be a hungry lion licking his chops. Now you could say I am broken, or changed, because I simply have zero emotion flowing through my veins. I place the phone in my pocket as my mother zips up my road bag.
"You know a friend of mine when I first got into the business gave me some advice. He said pick your spots, take every advantage you can, and build your legacy. It's all hard work along the way. I entered APW when it was young, full of big name stars. I found the guy making the most noise, holding the attention of the crowd. Kenny Lambardo was the man when I joined this company.
My mother sits on the couch as I stand there rambling on. Her eyes fixated on my face.
"We all get the cliche' talk of working our way up the ladder, earning your stripes. I didn't want to be just a solider in the platoon mixed in with all the other grunts. I needed to prove I was more then just your average run of the mill recruit. I walked right up to the Sargent poked him in the chest. I knew what I was capable of and I knew that I would match myself up with any other person on gods green earth. Sure I might not walk out with the win, but that person would know that their victory had just come at a hefty price. I challenged people to bring their very best, to step up their game. When they squeaked out the 'W' over me, unlike another match they knew the entire time that I had the skills to make their night end differently. They knew it wasn't a walk in the park and they knew they had to dig deeper then they have had before just to earn that victory."
As I pause from my audible thought process my mother looks puzzled. I really pay her no mind and just keeping vomiting my self loving motivation.
"People were always shocked when they faced off with me. Surprised by my tenacity, my heart, my undying drive to come out the winner. The fact that I have as much energy and hit just as hard as I do from bell to bell."
I sit on the couch and shove my mother off so I don't have to be next to her. She hits the ground on her ass, and smile comes over my face. Bully doesn't really do me justice, Ultra Rugged All-star Asshole maybe just a little more flashy and more deserving.
"Listen, I guess the point I am trying make is the roster here on Meltdown is missing that flare, that in your face aggression. The I am worthy of the top spot, hell I'm worthy of your spot kind of attitude. Sure there is in ring ability, there is on the mic talent here, but that cut throat competitive environment seems to be lacking. Thirds fuckers need to dig deep each week, need to push harder then they thought even possible."
As my mother now has taken a spot across the room standing she tosses the ice pack down and looks toward me rather confused.
"So what is this the new Michael Lively, the Mentor, the teacher, the motivator?"
My head whips up from the downward position and lights a hole through my mothers faces as she has that look of nervousness like a person would when confronted with a bomb. You are unsure if it will blow up right now or not.
"Teacher...pssh, Mentor...please, Motivator...maybe. I have returned and it has motivated all sorts of things. I motivated Gabe Anslem to realize wrestling wasn't his bag of tricks, I motivated a rather lazy and inconsistent former Mega-star so much that he found out how to get over under the bright lights of the main event. My levels of motivation are unending, look at Envi. I motivated the North American champion to step up and poke me in the chest when his plate was plenty full. Mother you know I am not one for compliments but that kid has it figured out. He doesn't sit around waiting for things to come to him, he doesn't hope people will just notice him among the sea of talent. Like me he is a winner in so many ways, steps up and makes you take notice."
Still my mother is unaware with where I am going.
"Next week I have a match that quite frankly I could care less about the moment I read it. When I inked my deal to return here, I had no aspirations to be in the title picture because I honestly felt there was no need. What do I have to prove. Yet, if I win this match and I take a title shot from another man. His motivation will intensely grow like virus. Him being so close to getting a glimpse of glory then loosing could be the thing that lights this mans competitive beast on fire. There's motivation! Take it a step further and say I focus on becoming the North American champion, the hatred I have earned the disgust I beg for will fuel an entire roster to step the fuck up. They will challenge themselves like they never thought possible all with the hopes to not just beat one of the bests there is, not to just beat a hall of Famer, but to capture a title from someone who isn't going to just lie down or step aside. You would have to enter hell itself, stare the devil in the face and have to endure everything he has to offer. Once you have done the unthinkable, your JESUS will enter and challenge you to push yourself a step further. Those that can endure that can endure the world title scene, the pressures of greatness. In motivating others I have found my motivation."
I stand from the couch snapping my fingers for my mother to grab my stuff so we can get out of Dodge. A few days pass, and here I am in the back of a town car driven to a house show. Sunglasses cover my eyes as I sit in the backseat foot tapping with anxiousness. That's when you know you are born to be in this sport. Even at a house show the hairs on your neck stand up. We come to a stop and my door is opened by my mother.
"This is really a little much don't you think Michael."
I pull of my shades and give her the once over. I forced her to dress in a chauffeur's outfit, hat and all.
"Do you look silly? Yes, do I care? No, now grab my bags Jeeves!"
I place my sunglasses on my forehead as I stand at the back door of the arena waiting for my mother. I look down at my watch almost as if she were holding me up. Moments later she looks at me as if she doesn't understand why I am just standing here. Clarity sinks in and she opens the door for me. I walk in and my attention is diverted by a cameraman is equipment. I whistle real fast toward my mother.
"Find my locker room, set out my gear then get my pre match hydration ready."
She looks puzzled once more. I inform her what I meant.
"My Gatorade regiment woman...geez"
My mother strolls off with my bags in hand and I walk toward the cameraman. A whistle again leaves my lips as my arrogance seems to spill out of every pore in my body.
"Prop that thing on your shoulder, I have some things to get off my chest."
In reality this guy has every right to glare at me and say go fuck yourself, but in this realm he knows what that would earn him. So rather then testing the waters he does what I demand and the red light flickering on is my signal.
"Opportunity, what will you do with it when it is given. Will you shit the bed or step the fuck up? Borderland, congrats, you sneaked it out Not really sure you are one to seize the moment though, so it all could be for nothing. I don't sweat losses, and Shane will surely fuck off this opportunity he has been given, this momentum swing in his favor. Kind of funny that it's me in a match with title implications, despite a loss. Guess my resume speaks for itself. Either way I have a chance to snag a North American title shot this Monday...simply pin Stephan Raab."
I pause briefly and cock my head sideways with a shoulder shrug.
"A little harder then it sounds because I am not the only man granted this opportunity. Shadow is given the very same chance to earn a shot. Pin Raab simple as that. What did you do Stephan that the company hates you this much. You earn your shot, and now have to defend it against two other people, doesn't seem fair to me. Then again I don't care for fair. I will use what ever means necessary. If the ref misdirect's his focus, the king of opportunity will seize the day. Ring bell, chair, lead pipe, brass knuckles, the ugly woman in the first rows loaded purse, you had better keep your eyes peeled gentleman."
"That title deserves someone like myself, the people of APW need a person like me once again to stand on the ladder begging the roster to bring the very best that they have to the table. Lord knows it takes all that and then some to pry a belt from my grasps. I was the longest reigning Overdrive champion for quite some time. In my mind same shit different strap, so Monday night boys the quest begins."
"The first topic of discussion is Stephan Raab, a prideful German. I have so many directions I could come at you. I could talk about how you look like a sloppy sloth, a pasty white chicken breast, or I could take the easy route and talk about the Fuzz or Fizz carrying your baby mutant child in her gut. I couldn't imagine the horrible looking offspring that you could create."
I quiver a bit a continue on.
"None of that is relevant to the task at hand, which is to take your spot in the title chain. Can I say it's disgraceful that you are up for a shot in the first place. Thankfully I am here to resolve the half ass effort put forth. People like you are to blame for the fact that Meltdown is classified as a cut rate show. Do you have what it takes to be the man? I can't answer that question only you can. What I have to offer is the test to prove to yourself, to the fans, to the match makers. Against me Raab, it's kill or be killed, so suit up buddy. You want to keep your spot time to dig deep fat body. Let's see if a Marshmallow Man from the arm pit of the world, otherwise called Germany, can hack it. History proves you guys fold under pressure. Monday night pudge I will lean on your with the weight of the world."
"Pinning your Porky the Pig ass is the main objective, but dealing with Shadow is quite possibly the meat and potatoes of the match. The man is an asskicker, a fellow Hall of Famer, and like the paper that Kash uses to wipe his ass Shadow's value is nothing more then flushable. He has returned after injury just like myself. Well ass kicker we do the man dance on Monday, I suggest you leave the garter belt and thigh highs at home unless you plan on wearing that duster the whole match to cover up, because the key word is Man! It takes balls to go to the wall like I do. Balls is just what I have and once dispose of you two, that's just what I will dangle over all of Meltdown's heads as I stand atop the ladder with the North American title. If you fuckers don't like the view from below then take the vision of my nutsack as a symbol for you to sack up. I will make no claims of being unbeatable, but will tell you it takes a stud to get on over me. I am not sure either of you are on my level. I can tell you that I am going to light that ring on fire Monday night. Come Tuesday morning the fans won't be tweeting about the main event, they will be clamoring about how I brought it. You two have to make a decision because there is time, will you be the topic of discussion, or will your name only be muttered as the ones I shit on in the ring. Will you prove me wrong or be just more fuel to the fire that feeds my ego. Up to you gentlemen. Monday night I climb that ladder and raise that bar. You are welcome to join me."
With that I strike the I am JESUS pose, and then whip a super kick in the chin of the cameraman knocking him to the ground. I bend over and smirk into the lens and walk off.
