Post by Kurt on Nov 11, 2012 10:23:24 GMT -4
November 12th
6:45 PM
“You ever want to do something…I don’t know, just really great with your life? Like, you were meant to do something special? That’s the feeling I have with wrestling on Meltdown tonight.”
“I mean, I know it’s just a dark match before the show, but I’m really grateful for the opportunity I’ve been given. There are so many guys I’d like to meet; Aubrey’s at the top of my list. That politician guy definitely seems funny. Definitely want to meet Delikado; I hear that guy’s crazy! Plus, my kid loves him.”
“I mean, that’s why I do this, you know? I’m trying to be good enough for him. Family’s everything. I have to put my best foot forward, and hope it comes out alright, you know?”
“If I do that, then I’ve done what I came to do; it’s out of my hands then-“
“What a load of bullshit.”
The sparkle is knocked out of the expression of the twenty-something, clean-shaven man in his somewhat flashy red spandex tights. His eyes lock onto the opened newsletter from which the statement sprang from.
“I’m sorry?” he asks, his eyes frozen on a man sitting on a bench, his face covered by a newsletter.
“What you said, about it ‘being out of your hands… it’s bullshit.” A pair of eyes gaze over the top of the newsletter, before a quick finger flick flips the page….
“Oh,” the man mumbles, his fingers fidgeting as he sits back against the lockers labeled “Meltdown Megastars.”
“Are you a wrestler here on Meltdown?” he asks, causing the eyes to snap back on him.
“In fact, tonight...I am.”
“Like, on the actual card? I guess you’re well-known around here then?”
“You could say that…”
The man taps the headline of the “Wrestling Weekly” newsletter, written in large, bold letters…
“Makes me feel a little better to talk things out, you know? I’m just scared I’m going to do something wrong and upset the fans. You ever feel like that?” the flashy red man asks as the newsletter gets put aside as he faces a man with dark brown hair, black wrestling tights, and piercing green eyes.
“You really don’t know who I am…do you?” Kurt Noble asks, finally making eye contact with the man.
“I…should I?” he stutters, drawing his eyes away as Noble smirks.
“What’s your name, kid?” Noble asks, his tone thick with annoyance.
“The Crimson Turbo.”
“…”
“Oh, sorry. Mike Crim. Friends call me Mikey-”
“Well, Mikey, let me tell you about a bit about this business.” Noble sits forward, flexing his wrists, before holding up a single finger.
“There’s something you need to hold dear in this business. It’s not your opportunities. It’s not your accomplishments. It’s not even your family. It’s one, and one thing only; and it happens to be tucked away in that sad little backpack you have with your kid’s face on it. Hand it to me.”
Noble motions towards the backpack on the ground, causing Mike to reluctantly hand it over, his hand shaking as Noble snatches it from him! He rifles through it, tossing clothes, tape, and even a phone to the ground before pulling out a small white bottle. Mike’s head cocks.
“This, ‘Mikey,’ is a wrestler’s best friend: Advil. It relieves pain, and doesn’t break any sort of health regulations. It’s like crack to some of these guys; but not me. I can’t take this pill, morphine, anything like that; one instance could set me off. I, ’Mikey’, am a former painkiller junkie, and now you’ve given me a drug that could kill three years of being clean. Thanks Mikey.”
“I…how did you know those were in there?” he asks, dumbfounded. Noble rolls his eyes as he opens the bottle, and plops one solid white pill into his hand.
“I was a junkie because of an old injury Mikey; I took meds to stop the hurt. I wrestle each and every match in pain. The guy I’m wrestling tonight is no doubt going to take my knee right here…”
Noble pats his black knee brace.
“…and twist it until I’m screaming. He’s a ruthless son of a bitch like that; it’s why he’s been so successful on Asylum all this time he’s been there. But, there’s one difference between me and Michael Callahan. You know what that is Mikey?”
Noble takes the pill in his palm, and brings it up to his mouth! He downs the pill, before puffing out his cheeks…and spitting the pill back in his palm! He lifts the wet, soggy pill up to Mike.
“That, Mike, is what makes me so different from everyone else in APW. This is called control.”
Noble flings the pull across the floor, before meeting Mike dead-on, the latter’s eyes widening in his skull.
“You’re…”
Silence.
“Finish that statement Mikey,” Noble demands as he lifts up the newsletter title, showing the picture of him covered in Hart’s blood. “The wife-beater? The psychopath? The traitor? Nah Mike…I’m just the guy calling the shots. That’s why I’m here tonight Mikey; I like to remind them all that I’m still here.”
“You’re Kurt Noble,” he mumbles.
“You’re Goddamn right I am.”
Noble leans back on his bench, propping his feet up as Mike’s face pales.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs.
“And that’s why you’re going to end up just like James Noir, Mikey.”
“I…who?” he asks.
“Or Ryan Collins,” Noble continues, counting off on his fingers. “Or Tommy Bartlett, John Combe, or even lowly Benny Horowitz. Never heard of them…?
“That’s the point.
“They were talented guys that had the world at their fingertips, but let someone else run the show. They didn’t know enough, so they let others make their decisions. They let someone else decide who they face, or what their problems were. They let someone else dictate why they were here in the first place. They didn’t have control…but they’re not the real sob stories. The real sob stories are guys like…well, guys like Michael Callahan.
“Here’s a guy with literally everything. He’s wealthy, good-lucking, and good at what he does; everyone loves him. He wins the Suicidal Championship in his first match. He pounds Sally Talfourd’s face into the Goddamn ground. He’s predicted to be the World Heavyweight Champion before year’s end. How does someone with so much promise end up becoming Asylum’s biggest lie?”
Noble pauses, leaning towards Mike, who kicks himself to attention.
“He, uh…he didn’t have control?”
“Now you’re gettin’ it Mikey,” Noble answers. “Associates, constituents, problems… it seems like every time I see Michael Callahan, there’s someone glued to his hip. When you’re a politician, you have every little bird whispering secrets in your ear, and every maggot eating out of your pocket. Michael Callahan danced to the beat of everyone else’s drum, and look where that got him…”
Noble taps the newsletter, specifically a small article near the bottom…
Mike opens his mouth, but Noble’s eyebrow raises, clamping his jaw shut.
“If you ever want to be anything in this business Mikey, you follow one, and only one rule: Never, EVER give up control. Every career comes with an ending; it’s up to you to decide how you get there. You can do it the Benny Horowitz way…or the Kurt Noble way.”
Silent fills the room as Noble lies back, folding his arms as he folds one leg over the other, wincing slightly in the process.
“How…how do you know all this?” Mike asks as he leans inward, his eyes darkening as Noble’s smile widens.
“Because I lived it,” Noble responds in somewhat reserved tone, before shaking his head. “And I intend to never give up control again. Not tonight against Callahan, not next week on Overdrive, not on the last day I ever step into a ring; not ever.”
Mike nods as Noble appears to nod off. However, he soon awkwardly leans in ever farther.
“I don’t want to be forgotten about,” Mike admits. “You seem like you have things figured out; that’s what I want. Is…is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, his youthful features sharpening as Noble’s eyes open, his half-grin displayed quite proudly.
“There’s one thing Mikey; I want you to get me that camera and tripod in my bag.”
Mike reaches for it, handing the red bag to Noble.
“What’s this for?” he asks, as Noble sets up the tripod, facing it directly on the bench where the newsletter lies. He taps a red button on the camera as he faces Mike.
“Learning.”
“I’ve gotten a lot of things thrown my way before. Cheers, boos, weapons, threats, title shots, monsters, Main Event matches; you name it, it’s come my way. This week…well, this week’s a little different, and not just because I’m facing a man I’ve never stepped into the ring with, on a show I’ve never so much as watched. No…tonight’s different because I’m getting something a bit…more unusual on my plate.
“Questions.
“’Why did you smash in your best friend’s face Mr. Noble?’
“’Why did you betray everything you’ve ever stood for?’
“’Are you really as crazy as they say Mr. Noble?’
“You want the answers? I’ve got answers, all right…
“But they’re my answers, and they’ll stay mine until I’m ready to unveil them. Until then, there’s only question I’m interested in answering; it’s one I’m sure Michal Callahan himself is quite interested in hearing…
“’Why are you here Mr. Noble?’
“A lot of people are wondering why I’m here tonight; I mean, I’ve never wrestled on Meltdown before…why start now? Don’t I have anything better to be doing? Maybe, maybe not; but there’s one very important reason I’m here on Meltdown tonight…
“It’s you, Michael Callahan.
“I’ll admit, when I left the Elimination Chamber at One Night in Hell, I was pissed off; borderline unstable, really. But, there’s one thing that calmed me down: I heard about some psychopath that leveled the entire Chamber. I heard about a guy so pissed off by the betrayals of everyone around him, including the womanly kind. I heard about the guy that was pissed off about all the gold he’d lost, the condescending World Champion standing over him, and all the bullshit he was surrounded by. I honestly thought I was hearing my life’s story played out for me…not quite. It didn’t hit me until I heard your name come-up in a conversation I heard backstage.
“You and I are damn near the same guy.
“We had it all Michael; and it was taken from us. We rose at Survive and Conquer. We’ve spent much of this year layered in gold. We lost it Test for the Best. We were both eliminated first in the Chamber…and we both have a tendency to rely on theatrics…
“And by theatrics, I mean beating the shit out of the people in our way.
“But, that’s where there’s one pretty big difference between us Callahan. I have what you don’t. I have what you long for, what you cry every time you step into an Asylum ring. I have what you need:
“Control.
“See, people may see us both as thoughtful dogs without leashes, especially after all the heads we’ve bashed in; but, the difference is that when I attack people, there’s a reason behind it. I attacked CJ because he was part of the enemy. I attacked Terry Marvin because he had to pay for what he’d done to me. Every hit, every slam, every action I take has a reason…even destroying my best friend, Chris Hart. You, on the other hand…
“Not so much.
“Don’t get me wrong: watching you obliterate the Elimination Chamber was one of the most entertaining moments of the entire night…but it showed me that you’re just a weed-whacker with no direction, and no care about who, or what you hurt. It seems ironic, coming from me…but you know it’s true coming from me. So, when I tell you that you’ve lost control Michael…
“You need to believe me.
“But, watching you lash out at Bailey Sally, even that poor little referee shows that you don’t really care who you’re hurting; you just want to hurt someone. So, the question becomes…why would I want to step in the ring with you? Is it because I want to hurt you? Hell no.
“I want to help you.
“Don’t get me wrong: I would love to take all the rage I felt slamming Chris’s face into the canvas, and direct right into someone’s path, maybe even yours. I’d love to take Asylum’s poser-child, arguably the most successful man of 2011, and twist his ankle so bad, he’d swear he was a lifelong Democrat if that’s what it would take to get me to stop! Maybe we’d just beat the shit out of one another, showing who’s the angrier man. That rage you feel; I feel it too, and it feels really, really good…
“But you’re not who I’m after; unless you majorly step out of line tonight, I don’t have any intention of putting you down tonight. When I say I want to ‘help’ you, I don’t mean I want to ‘put you on the right path’ or ‘save’ you. I was fed that bullshit by Chris, CJ, everyone I thought was my friend. You don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to sell it. I’ve got a different sort of plan…
“I’m going to show you how to control that rage.
“When I faced guys like Nick Watson, I was pissed off; I thought really badly about trying to hurt them, but they didn’t deserve that. I’m not a monster Callahan; I’m leveling the playing field. That’s what I want you to be able to do. Guys like you and I…they ask everything of us, and when we don’t deliver, they damn us to Hell. Me? I’ve just got one thing to ask of you. Take that rage you’re feeling…
“And come at me ’bro’/
“I want you to just use every ounce of it against me. I want you to remember how a Goddamn stoner turned you from something special into a nobody. I want you to remember that you career is going absolutely nowhere. I want you to remember that no one gives a shit now about your stupid little ‘Pro-Life’ title run, your winning streak, or any stupid little shit that you hold dear. You are forgotten about, and in two weeks’ time, no one is even going to remember you were in. By 2013, you will be replaced, irrelevant, and so unloved that you’ll find Meltdown to be more than a temporary home.
“You have nothing.
“You are nothing.
“And you can do nothing, unless you take those shaking little fists of yours and aim them in the right direction….and tonight…
“That’s me.
“Give me a taste of the real Michael Callahan; the violent, destructive, winning Michael Callahan. That’s the man I saw put down Sally Talfourd at Mayhem.
“I don’t expect you to be polite tonight.
“I don’t expect you to apologize to the referee when you hold your submissions a little long.
“I don’t expect you to treat me like I’m a man that deserves your respect.
“But I do expect you to do is control your anger. Let me feel the impact of every strike, every slam, and every scowl you throw my way. I expect to see that rage…
“So I can show you how it’s fucking done.
“That’s the only way you’ll learn Callahan; you’re a brilliant wrestler, but you’ve never had to face someone angrier, more aggressive, and more willing to hurt than you are. I want you to be able to hurt the people who’ve wronged you…but you have to control that rage in order to do it. Once you can, they can never take it away from you again. When you see how I do it…you’ll learn. So, when I tell you that it’s not personal when I put my boot against your throat, and grind your face into the canvas…
“It’s really not personal; it’s just me being helpful.
“And maybe…just maybe…you’ll be able to show me that you can control that rage enough to beat me; I don’t deny it’s impossible. But, know that the last time you wrestled on Meltdown, you lost to Terry Marvin…
“And I do not intend to be worse than Terry Marvin.
“So, I’ll give you everything at my disposal. Winner, loser, whatever…we both come out of this contest with something far more valuable: Power. Authority. Understanding. That’s why I’m not here, on Meltdown, for me.
“I don’t do this some bullshit feud between Overdrive and Asylum.
“I don’t do this to let out my hatred for Chris Hart, Terry Marvin, or even my wife.
“I don’t do this for me.
“I do this for you.
“I do this so men like you never have to have your control taken from you again.
“I do this so men like will never be forgotten.
“But, if you think I’m not going to enjoy the thought beating APW’s one and only former Pro-Life Champion…
“I do.
“And I will.”
6:45 PM
“You ever want to do something…I don’t know, just really great with your life? Like, you were meant to do something special? That’s the feeling I have with wrestling on Meltdown tonight.”
*Flip*
“I mean, I know it’s just a dark match before the show, but I’m really grateful for the opportunity I’ve been given. There are so many guys I’d like to meet; Aubrey’s at the top of my list. That politician guy definitely seems funny. Definitely want to meet Delikado; I hear that guy’s crazy! Plus, my kid loves him.”
*Flip*
“I mean, that’s why I do this, you know? I’m trying to be good enough for him. Family’s everything. I have to put my best foot forward, and hope it comes out alright, you know?”
*FLIP*
“If I do that, then I’ve done what I came to do; it’s out of my hands then-“
“What a load of bullshit.”
The sparkle is knocked out of the expression of the twenty-something, clean-shaven man in his somewhat flashy red spandex tights. His eyes lock onto the opened newsletter from which the statement sprang from.
“I’m sorry?” he asks, his eyes frozen on a man sitting on a bench, his face covered by a newsletter.
“What you said, about it ‘being out of your hands… it’s bullshit.” A pair of eyes gaze over the top of the newsletter, before a quick finger flick flips the page….
*Flip*
“Oh,” the man mumbles, his fingers fidgeting as he sits back against the lockers labeled “Meltdown Megastars.”
“Are you a wrestler here on Meltdown?” he asks, causing the eyes to snap back on him.
“In fact, tonight...I am.”
“Like, on the actual card? I guess you’re well-known around here then?”
“You could say that…”
The man taps the headline of the “Wrestling Weekly” newsletter, written in large, bold letters…
“HARTBREAK: THE MOMENT THAT ONE MAN CHANGED OVERDRIVE FOREVER”
“Makes me feel a little better to talk things out, you know? I’m just scared I’m going to do something wrong and upset the fans. You ever feel like that?” the flashy red man asks as the newsletter gets put aside as he faces a man with dark brown hair, black wrestling tights, and piercing green eyes.
“You really don’t know who I am…do you?” Kurt Noble asks, finally making eye contact with the man.
“I…should I?” he stutters, drawing his eyes away as Noble smirks.
“What’s your name, kid?” Noble asks, his tone thick with annoyance.
“The Crimson Turbo.”
“…”
“Oh, sorry. Mike Crim. Friends call me Mikey-”
“Well, Mikey, let me tell you about a bit about this business.” Noble sits forward, flexing his wrists, before holding up a single finger.
“There’s something you need to hold dear in this business. It’s not your opportunities. It’s not your accomplishments. It’s not even your family. It’s one, and one thing only; and it happens to be tucked away in that sad little backpack you have with your kid’s face on it. Hand it to me.”
Noble motions towards the backpack on the ground, causing Mike to reluctantly hand it over, his hand shaking as Noble snatches it from him! He rifles through it, tossing clothes, tape, and even a phone to the ground before pulling out a small white bottle. Mike’s head cocks.
“This, ‘Mikey,’ is a wrestler’s best friend: Advil. It relieves pain, and doesn’t break any sort of health regulations. It’s like crack to some of these guys; but not me. I can’t take this pill, morphine, anything like that; one instance could set me off. I, ’Mikey’, am a former painkiller junkie, and now you’ve given me a drug that could kill three years of being clean. Thanks Mikey.”
“I…how did you know those were in there?” he asks, dumbfounded. Noble rolls his eyes as he opens the bottle, and plops one solid white pill into his hand.
“I was a junkie because of an old injury Mikey; I took meds to stop the hurt. I wrestle each and every match in pain. The guy I’m wrestling tonight is no doubt going to take my knee right here…”
Noble pats his black knee brace.
“…and twist it until I’m screaming. He’s a ruthless son of a bitch like that; it’s why he’s been so successful on Asylum all this time he’s been there. But, there’s one difference between me and Michael Callahan. You know what that is Mikey?”
Noble takes the pill in his palm, and brings it up to his mouth! He downs the pill, before puffing out his cheeks…and spitting the pill back in his palm! He lifts the wet, soggy pill up to Mike.
“That, Mike, is what makes me so different from everyone else in APW. This is called control.”
Noble flings the pull across the floor, before meeting Mike dead-on, the latter’s eyes widening in his skull.
“You’re…”
Silence.
“Finish that statement Mikey,” Noble demands as he lifts up the newsletter title, showing the picture of him covered in Hart’s blood. “The wife-beater? The psychopath? The traitor? Nah Mike…I’m just the guy calling the shots. That’s why I’m here tonight Mikey; I like to remind them all that I’m still here.”
“You’re Kurt Noble,” he mumbles.
“You’re Goddamn right I am.”
Noble leans back on his bench, propping his feet up as Mike’s face pales.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs.
“And that’s why you’re going to end up just like James Noir, Mikey.”
“I…who?” he asks.
“Or Ryan Collins,” Noble continues, counting off on his fingers. “Or Tommy Bartlett, John Combe, or even lowly Benny Horowitz. Never heard of them…?
“That’s the point.
“They were talented guys that had the world at their fingertips, but let someone else run the show. They didn’t know enough, so they let others make their decisions. They let someone else decide who they face, or what their problems were. They let someone else dictate why they were here in the first place. They didn’t have control…but they’re not the real sob stories. The real sob stories are guys like…well, guys like Michael Callahan.
“Here’s a guy with literally everything. He’s wealthy, good-lucking, and good at what he does; everyone loves him. He wins the Suicidal Championship in his first match. He pounds Sally Talfourd’s face into the Goddamn ground. He’s predicted to be the World Heavyweight Champion before year’s end. How does someone with so much promise end up becoming Asylum’s biggest lie?”
Noble pauses, leaning towards Mike, who kicks himself to attention.
“He, uh…he didn’t have control?”
“Now you’re gettin’ it Mikey,” Noble answers. “Associates, constituents, problems… it seems like every time I see Michael Callahan, there’s someone glued to his hip. When you’re a politician, you have every little bird whispering secrets in your ear, and every maggot eating out of your pocket. Michael Callahan danced to the beat of everyone else’s drum, and look where that got him…”
Noble taps the newsletter, specifically a small article near the bottom…
“PSYCHOPATH ELIMINATED FIRST IN BRUTAL ELIMINATION CHAMBER”
Mike opens his mouth, but Noble’s eyebrow raises, clamping his jaw shut.
“If you ever want to be anything in this business Mikey, you follow one, and only one rule: Never, EVER give up control. Every career comes with an ending; it’s up to you to decide how you get there. You can do it the Benny Horowitz way…or the Kurt Noble way.”
Silent fills the room as Noble lies back, folding his arms as he folds one leg over the other, wincing slightly in the process.
“How…how do you know all this?” Mike asks as he leans inward, his eyes darkening as Noble’s smile widens.
“Because I lived it,” Noble responds in somewhat reserved tone, before shaking his head. “And I intend to never give up control again. Not tonight against Callahan, not next week on Overdrive, not on the last day I ever step into a ring; not ever.”
Mike nods as Noble appears to nod off. However, he soon awkwardly leans in ever farther.
“I don’t want to be forgotten about,” Mike admits. “You seem like you have things figured out; that’s what I want. Is…is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, his youthful features sharpening as Noble’s eyes open, his half-grin displayed quite proudly.
“There’s one thing Mikey; I want you to get me that camera and tripod in my bag.”
Mike reaches for it, handing the red bag to Noble.
“What’s this for?” he asks, as Noble sets up the tripod, facing it directly on the bench where the newsletter lies. He taps a red button on the camera as he faces Mike.
“Learning.”
-
-
-
-
-
“I’ve gotten a lot of things thrown my way before. Cheers, boos, weapons, threats, title shots, monsters, Main Event matches; you name it, it’s come my way. This week…well, this week’s a little different, and not just because I’m facing a man I’ve never stepped into the ring with, on a show I’ve never so much as watched. No…tonight’s different because I’m getting something a bit…more unusual on my plate.
“Questions.
“’Why did you smash in your best friend’s face Mr. Noble?’
“’Why did you betray everything you’ve ever stood for?’
“’Are you really as crazy as they say Mr. Noble?’
“You want the answers? I’ve got answers, all right…
“But they’re my answers, and they’ll stay mine until I’m ready to unveil them. Until then, there’s only question I’m interested in answering; it’s one I’m sure Michal Callahan himself is quite interested in hearing…
“’Why are you here Mr. Noble?’
“A lot of people are wondering why I’m here tonight; I mean, I’ve never wrestled on Meltdown before…why start now? Don’t I have anything better to be doing? Maybe, maybe not; but there’s one very important reason I’m here on Meltdown tonight…
“It’s you, Michael Callahan.
“I’ll admit, when I left the Elimination Chamber at One Night in Hell, I was pissed off; borderline unstable, really. But, there’s one thing that calmed me down: I heard about some psychopath that leveled the entire Chamber. I heard about a guy so pissed off by the betrayals of everyone around him, including the womanly kind. I heard about the guy that was pissed off about all the gold he’d lost, the condescending World Champion standing over him, and all the bullshit he was surrounded by. I honestly thought I was hearing my life’s story played out for me…not quite. It didn’t hit me until I heard your name come-up in a conversation I heard backstage.
“You and I are damn near the same guy.
“We had it all Michael; and it was taken from us. We rose at Survive and Conquer. We’ve spent much of this year layered in gold. We lost it Test for the Best. We were both eliminated first in the Chamber…and we both have a tendency to rely on theatrics…
“And by theatrics, I mean beating the shit out of the people in our way.
“But, that’s where there’s one pretty big difference between us Callahan. I have what you don’t. I have what you long for, what you cry every time you step into an Asylum ring. I have what you need:
“Control.
“See, people may see us both as thoughtful dogs without leashes, especially after all the heads we’ve bashed in; but, the difference is that when I attack people, there’s a reason behind it. I attacked CJ because he was part of the enemy. I attacked Terry Marvin because he had to pay for what he’d done to me. Every hit, every slam, every action I take has a reason…even destroying my best friend, Chris Hart. You, on the other hand…
“Not so much.
“Don’t get me wrong: watching you obliterate the Elimination Chamber was one of the most entertaining moments of the entire night…but it showed me that you’re just a weed-whacker with no direction, and no care about who, or what you hurt. It seems ironic, coming from me…but you know it’s true coming from me. So, when I tell you that you’ve lost control Michael…
“You need to believe me.
“But, watching you lash out at Bailey Sally, even that poor little referee shows that you don’t really care who you’re hurting; you just want to hurt someone. So, the question becomes…why would I want to step in the ring with you? Is it because I want to hurt you? Hell no.
“I want to help you.
“Don’t get me wrong: I would love to take all the rage I felt slamming Chris’s face into the canvas, and direct right into someone’s path, maybe even yours. I’d love to take Asylum’s poser-child, arguably the most successful man of 2011, and twist his ankle so bad, he’d swear he was a lifelong Democrat if that’s what it would take to get me to stop! Maybe we’d just beat the shit out of one another, showing who’s the angrier man. That rage you feel; I feel it too, and it feels really, really good…
“But you’re not who I’m after; unless you majorly step out of line tonight, I don’t have any intention of putting you down tonight. When I say I want to ‘help’ you, I don’t mean I want to ‘put you on the right path’ or ‘save’ you. I was fed that bullshit by Chris, CJ, everyone I thought was my friend. You don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to sell it. I’ve got a different sort of plan…
“I’m going to show you how to control that rage.
“When I faced guys like Nick Watson, I was pissed off; I thought really badly about trying to hurt them, but they didn’t deserve that. I’m not a monster Callahan; I’m leveling the playing field. That’s what I want you to be able to do. Guys like you and I…they ask everything of us, and when we don’t deliver, they damn us to Hell. Me? I’ve just got one thing to ask of you. Take that rage you’re feeling…
“And come at me ’bro’/
“I want you to just use every ounce of it against me. I want you to remember how a Goddamn stoner turned you from something special into a nobody. I want you to remember that you career is going absolutely nowhere. I want you to remember that no one gives a shit now about your stupid little ‘Pro-Life’ title run, your winning streak, or any stupid little shit that you hold dear. You are forgotten about, and in two weeks’ time, no one is even going to remember you were in. By 2013, you will be replaced, irrelevant, and so unloved that you’ll find Meltdown to be more than a temporary home.
“You have nothing.
“You are nothing.
“And you can do nothing, unless you take those shaking little fists of yours and aim them in the right direction….and tonight…
“That’s me.
“Give me a taste of the real Michael Callahan; the violent, destructive, winning Michael Callahan. That’s the man I saw put down Sally Talfourd at Mayhem.
“I don’t expect you to be polite tonight.
“I don’t expect you to apologize to the referee when you hold your submissions a little long.
“I don’t expect you to treat me like I’m a man that deserves your respect.
“But I do expect you to do is control your anger. Let me feel the impact of every strike, every slam, and every scowl you throw my way. I expect to see that rage…
“So I can show you how it’s fucking done.
“That’s the only way you’ll learn Callahan; you’re a brilliant wrestler, but you’ve never had to face someone angrier, more aggressive, and more willing to hurt than you are. I want you to be able to hurt the people who’ve wronged you…but you have to control that rage in order to do it. Once you can, they can never take it away from you again. When you see how I do it…you’ll learn. So, when I tell you that it’s not personal when I put my boot against your throat, and grind your face into the canvas…
“It’s really not personal; it’s just me being helpful.
“And maybe…just maybe…you’ll be able to show me that you can control that rage enough to beat me; I don’t deny it’s impossible. But, know that the last time you wrestled on Meltdown, you lost to Terry Marvin…
“And I do not intend to be worse than Terry Marvin.
“So, I’ll give you everything at my disposal. Winner, loser, whatever…we both come out of this contest with something far more valuable: Power. Authority. Understanding. That’s why I’m not here, on Meltdown, for me.
“I don’t do this some bullshit feud between Overdrive and Asylum.
“I don’t do this to let out my hatred for Chris Hart, Terry Marvin, or even my wife.
“I don’t do this for me.
“I do this for you.
“I do this so men like you never have to have your control taken from you again.
“I do this so men like will never be forgotten.
“But, if you think I’m not going to enjoy the thought beating APW’s one and only former Pro-Life Champion…
“I do.
“And I will.”
