Post by Azrael Goeren on Dec 21, 2012 22:57:36 GMT -4
Again.
Johan Metzger wipes the sweat from his balding head and grimaces as he watches the two students in front of him struggle with their latest lesson. Johan reclines back against the ring ropes here at Gleason's Gym in downtown Brooklyn and barks out a short command to one of the young men. After another subpar attempt, Johan steps in and kneels between the two in order to offer further instructions.
He moves slower these days then he used to. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep up with his students, most of whom are barely in their 20s. Every day a new ache or pain develops and he has a mental debate over whether or not he should just hang up the boots for good. Retire to Florida and live the rest of his life playing golf and sipping Metamucil.
He reminds himself he still has a lot to give to the sport of professional wrestling. Scattered across the wall of Gleason's are photos of all of the great boxers and wrestlers who trained there. Johan isn't the type of man to brag, but his black and white posed photo hangs near the entranceway, his hands on his hips in a stereotypical wrestling pose of the time. He never made it big, but he likes to think he will be remembered fondly by the diehard wrestling enthusiasts. Besides, his work as a trainer has been far more rewarding for him than his in-ring career ever was.
Keep training the new generation.
That thought always gets him through the day.
Now boy, you see what you're doing wrong? When you apply the crossface, you have to scissor his arm with your legs, otherwise he can smack you upside the head.
To demonstrate, Johan slaps his student on the back of his head with a smile. The group of eight students along the outside of the ring chuckle as they watch their trainer work over their classmates.
Now do again, only this time lock the arm.
Johan slowly gets back to his feet and reclaims his position against the ring ropes. He motions for the two students to do the move again, this time the one student properly locks the leg and leans back with the crossface, causing the other student to tap out almost immediately.
Good! That is quick way to end match as long as it’s done properly. Now shake hands boys and we'll move onto another submission hold.
The two students quickly get to their feet and agreeably shake hands, eager to obtain the next weapon in their blossoming wrestling arsenal. Odds are most of the people in this wrestling class won't make it. They might float around the independent scene for a while, maybe a handful of them make it to some regional promotions with a TV deal here or there, but it’s very likely none of them make it to the big time of APW. There is a passion in all of them though that Johan appreciates and makes his effort with them seem worthwhile.
He gives them wisdom and they keep him young.
Johan shuffles forward in his dull gray sweat suit and calls for two new volunteers from his class. Two young men scramble up from outside the ring and stand before him, willing sacrificial lambs to whatever painful move he's about to show them. Johan begins his next instruction in his heavily accented and gruff English that his students have grown accustomed to.
Now, we are going to do new move. I already show you crossface, let’s do chickenwing. It’s always a good idea to work on your opponent's head before you apply, this way it causes maximum damage and...
JOHAN METZGER! You old he-she, come on down and give me a hug!
Johan and the students turn towards the gym entrance and spot Azrael Goeren standing in the doorway of Gleason's Gym, his arms outstretched. Azrael is all smiles and dressed for the chilly New York winter outside, a red and gold scarf with his initials stitched into it wrapped across his neck. He removes his thin-framed red sunglasses and breathes deeply, retrospectively taking all of his surroundings in. Michael Robinson, Goeren's longtime assistant, is standing next to him and is clutching a brown box. Mike looks completely dismayed at being here but still takes a moment to glance about the gym in a silent moment of remembrance. Goeren's new valet Angel, who has locked arms with Goeren as he entered, has a disgusted look on her face.
Oh my god, this place stinks like poor people and wet dog! I thought we were goin' for dinner Azzy baby.
Hush darling, I'm soaking it all back in. Come on Johan, don't act like you don't remember your prized pupil!
...Goeren?
Boom! Good to see that senility hasn't kicked in quite yet. Or if it has you hide it very well.
The demented German makes his way towards the worn ring in the center of the gym, casually pushing past the students who stare back at him in awe. The whispering and hushed voices have begun, as most of the doe-eyed youngsters immediately recognize the crazed Mega Star. Azrael throws his arms around Johan's shoulders and pulls him in close, giving him a kiss on each side of his face.
Mein freund, Sie riechen wunderbar heute, wie frisch gepflückten Äpfel!
Henrik. What are you doing here?
English? Oh dear me, you've been in this country for far too long.
I ask again. What are you doing here?
Azrael continues his own line of thought, ignoring the very basic question.
You know, when I walked in here I noticed a shockingly dismal amount of Azrael Goeren pictures hanging on these walls. Is that a way to treat your most illustrious alumni? Michael? Fix the problem.
Come on. Have some respect, we were brought up in the business here.
Operation: Christmas Chaos Kitsch must continue! Fix the problem!
Ya, fix it ya stupid eye-talian!
Love the enthusiasm, my little muffin! See! Angel gets it.
The only thing Angel gets is chlamydia from Brazilian sailors.
You're gonna get a stiletto up ya ass!
Just...stop. Not now. Michael? The photographs if you will.
Michael lets out a sigh and reaches into the box, removing a handful of framed pictures displaying Azrael in a series of candid shots. One shows him partially nude on a bearskin rug, another shows him shaking hands with a photoshopped Abraham Lincoln and Taylor Swift. Goeren's personal assistant looks back at Johan as if he's desperately trying to apologize to him for what’s about to happen. He then starts tearing down the black and white photographs on the wall and replacing them with images of Goeren.
Hey! Stop that Michael!
Awww, that’s cute. You remember Mike, too! No need to be cross with him o' geriatric one...he's simply getting this place up to par in time for Christmas Chaos. You know, I'm disappointed in you old man. After all of these years apart I'm getting the distinct impression you are not happy to see me. I thought this little surprise visit would make your day considering how important I was to your life. Let's be honest here, how many of your other students went on to as much success as I did?
Henrik. Please, this is not the time or place to discuss this.
Nein, it’s the perfect time to talk. After all, you were the man who brought me to this country to compete.
Johan swallows hard as his students at ringside glance up at him with shocked stares.
When I did that, you were a different man. You were...troubled. I thought bringing you here would help you find purpose.
It did indeed, mein freund. It did indeed.
Not in a good way. Not the way I had hoped.
Azrael smirks, seemingly oblivious to the insult that was just tossed at him. He reaches up and pinches Johan's cheeks before he slides out of the ring.
Always the charmer. Angel! Come here, I want to show you my old locker. That is if this old pederast didn't sell it for a subscription to Boy's Fancy. You would not BELIEVE how many bottles of Percocets you could store in that bad boy.
Angel scurries across the gym and locks arms with her man, looking like she's trying not to touch anything. The two of them disappear into the locker room as Mike dejectedly walks over to the busted-down ring and climbs inside it, giving Johan a genuine hug.
I'm so sorry, I tried to call you before we left the hotel.
It’s okay Mikey. It’s okay.
Johan smiles and playfully pats Mike across his cheek.
How have you been? How’s the family?
As good as can be expected I suppose. How's your daughter?
She's doing well. Wants me to move to Tampa to be with her, you know how it is.
I hope she's kidding. Gleason's without Johan Metzger is like a day without sunshine.
Ah, they'd forget about me in a second.
I really am sorry about this.
Mikey. Please. It’s okay, if you couldn't stop him from coming here nobody could. Who is this horrible woman with him by the way?
Oh God. That’s Angel. A stripper he "rescued" from a dive club a few weeks back. She's a fucking nightmare, Johan.
That voice of hers...
I know. It's like the Bostonian equivalent of Fran Drescher. Just horrible.
Where is Evelyn?
They divorced.
What?!
Yeah. About two years back. Took their kid. Took the company. Took half of his money. Went home to Germany.
...Christ. She was the only thing keeping him from completely losing it.
It’s gotten a lot worse since then, as you can imagine.
I know, I've seen him on the television. I can't help feel...responsible. The things that he says and does...
...are not your fault. You just trained him. You didn't create him. If that makes any sense.
JOHAN!
Storming out of the locker room is an irate Azrael Goeren, gesturing wildly behind him as Angel trots out in tow.
How dare you sir! How dare you clean up the blood from my match against Kurt Korbin! I wanted that dark brown stain preserved for posterity's sake! I was going to cut up the tile and have it sent to the official Azrael Goeren Commemorative Museum back home in Eberswalde! You sir have just raped history!
Wait a second...how in the hell can you remember something like that? That was ten years ago!
I remember all of my matches.
That's...that's just amazing. You can't even remember my name half the time. You called me Antonio for a solid week once.
Duh. He only remembers things worth rememberin'.
Mike shakes his head despondently as Azrael crawls back into the ring, staring into Johan's tired face. Azrael breaks into another smile and runs the ropes quickly, glancing down and taking notice of the students who are standing around the ring in stunned silence.
Oh dear, it looks like your students can't stop staring at me. How many times have you name-dropped me in your lessons? At least a dozen times per session, eh? You always were a bit of a glory hog!
They have no idea that you were a student of mine.
That's just bad business! Imagine the type of talent you would get if you promoted yourself as the man who trained the great Azrael Goeren. Former CWC World Heavyweight Champion and Future APW Overdrive Champion.
I apparently taught you no humility.
Humility has no business in professional wrestling. It’s bad for promotion.
You would know, I suppose. I've seen your advertisements all over the city.
Ach, yes! You've seen the flyers? The billboards? The ad-space I took out on the bus line? How about the homeless people I paid to wear the sandwich boards?
How about how you got yourself kicked out of Rock of Ages after you went on-stage and talked about your match against Mania during a live performance?
I SANG about my match against Mania. SANG. It totally fit the venue.
How about how you got forcibly removed from FAO Schwarz by tearing down the APW section and replacing all of the action figures with just Azrael Goeren ones.
I also removed any DVDs featuring Mark Mania and inserted my "APW: Best of Azrael Goeren" DVD in its place. It’s a nine-disc set with over twenty hours of action!
You've only wrestled in four matches!
Admittedly, most of it is just me doing nude calisthenics and smoking opium. Still worth the $99.95 price tag though if you ask me.
Well if you ask me, you've been nothing but a giant asshole since you came back to this city.
Oh shit. It’s on now.
Michael...if you think all I've done is be disruptive in public, you've obviously missed the point of the last two weeks. This is viral marketing, this is a new form of art and advertising blended together into one beautiful smoothie. People are talking about Goeren vs Mania at Christmas Chaos more than any other match on the card. Everyone wants to see this damn thing. That's a job well done. That's how you make sure the world takes notice and would never dream of looking away.
There's an old saying that when you want to kill a king, you don't kill him in private...you kill him so the whole court can watch you do it.
That's what this is about. That's what the world will be talking about on December 24th. Not the World Heavyweight Title Match. Not the Undisputed Title Match. They'll all be talking about every horrific little moment of torture that I drag our false champion through. Break his spirit, then break the man. Wouldn't you agree, Johan? Isn't that what you taught me all of those years ago?
I taught you nothing of the sort.
Come now, don't be modest.
It's not modesty Henrik...or Azrael or whatever in God's name you call yourself these days. The things that you do are...
Johan pauses abruptly.
Please. Don't hold back. Let's hear the truth.
Johan glances down at his students who are watching him wide-eyed. With no amount of fear or trepidation, he looks into Azrael's eyes and tees off.
The reason I don't advertise that I trained you is simply because I am ashamed to have had anything to do with your career. You have a sickness of the soul, Henrik...I should have seen that then as clearly as I see it now. You were the worst mistake of my career. Instead of making this sport of ours greater with all of your athletic talent, you've perverted it beyond recognition. The fact that I gave you the tools to do what you do makes me sick to my stomach. The best thing you can do for the sport of wrestling and for all of its fans is to retire and die.
Otherwise, I fear for the future of APW.
Silence.
Baby, break his stupid neck. Don't let him talk to you like...
Azrael holds up his hand to silence his valet. He takes a step towards his old trainer, not saying a word...before he slowly embraces him. He leans close to Johan's ear before quietly whispering to him in a contorted and apathetic voice.
You always understood me, old friend. Thank you for everything...I want you to know none of it would have been possible without you.
With that, he pulls back and glances over towards Michael.
Michael...fetch the camera. Johan suddenly put me in a talkative mood.
We slowly fade in on the back alley behind Gleason's gym, the dark night barely illuminated by a row of fluttering street lights that stand watch over the now vacant parking lot. Azrael Goeren emerges from the far end of the lot, running his fingers across the faded bricks of Gleason's with a smile on his face.
It all started here for me, over a decade ago.
I trained in squalor from a man who had talent but possessed a horribly archaic and old-fashioned view of the wrestling world.
Like you, Herr Mania.
Unlike you though, Johan Metzger knew when to get out of the way and leave the future of professional wrestling in my hands.
My dirty, dirty hands.
I can't say I'm overly surprised with how you view me going into this match. It was to be expected really, men who know that the proverbial clock is ticking on their own careers tend to be quick to cast judgment on those looking to hasten it. The good news for you is that a majority of what you've said about me is 100% correct.
I have yet to earn my way here in APW. I was actively recruited by a management staff based on past accomplishments that have no bearing on my current standing. I'm shady, deviant and wicked. I have no respect for those who have come before me and the sacrifices that were made by them to make sure that APW is the juggernaut it is today.
All true statements.
The bad news for you is I'm already fully aware of the man who stares back at me in the mirror every morning.
I know exactly who I am so nothing you've told me so far is anything that will shock me into submission or have me calling for the smelling salts to clear up a bad case of the vapors. These are facts that anyone that has followed my career so far in APW can see very clearly.
Based on what you've said about me publically however, you clearly have no idea who I am.
I am a man who is not ashamed of who he is or what he's done, no matter how hard you or Johan or the public wags their finger disapprovingly at me. I know what's best for APW and I will do everything in my power to make sure that this company reaches new heights of popularity and international recognition with me as its figurehead.
APW is my home just as much as it’s yours, Herr Mania. To try and claim squatter's rights in it like you are doing just comes off as the acts of a desperate man who has buried his head in the sand and is out of touch with his own reality.
You see Herr Mania, I am no longer an outsider here in APW. I'm not going away any time soon. I've got big plans for this promotion and all of them begin with me taking the Overdrive Title at Christmas Chaos. Not for any personal glory of to move any merchandise, no nothing like that. I'm looking to start a fire that will burn away the dead branches here and make room for true growth.
I prove my commitment to this dream each and every week when I go out to that ring and dismantle former champions like Chris Hart and Delikado, men who you insinuate aren't even in my league. I don't play mind games with my opponents, never had time for that garbage. Instead, all I do is bring them into my ring and methodically take them apart. No remorse or pity, just action. That's how APW should be.
Your arrogance and the title across your shoulder blind you from these facts.
You mistake my vices for weakness when they are anything but. I do the things I do in my personal life...the boozing...the women...the pills...because that's what brings me pleasure. Some find it in training. Some find it in business. I find it in hedonism. I don't think twice about what the media would think about my lifestyle choices or what will happen if my shareholders find out...I just act. Its rather refreshing and far superior to the scheming that you do, mein freund. How long do your daily affirmations take every day? Do you have to routinely convince yourself that you're the good guy? That you deserve the fan's adulation? These...things...that attend our APW shows are barely human, you know. They're bloodthirsty parasites that symbiotically attach themselves to Mega Star after Mega Star until they've sucked the last bit of blood from their carcass and move on to the next flavor of the month. As an outside observer, I would say these fans have just about sucked you bone dry, haven't they?
You work so hard to be loved by them but we both know all they really want is to see you bleed and go down swinging.
How does that make you feel? To know that they've already lost faith in your ability to beat me at Christmas Chaos? We all hear what the fans say and you know as well as I do they are terrified on your behalf. Sure you put on a strong face for them and keep that prosthetic Mark Mania bluster intact when you're in public, but when you're demoralized to the point where you have the audacity to question why I'm even allowed in APW? Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. That reeks of despair and both you and they know it.
You pretend that "new" is bad and my "confidence" is overrated, but you are merely afraid of the change I bring with me. I know you'd like to keep things the way they've always been but I swear to you, Herr Mania...I will drag you into the future a crippled mess of a human being and force you to see the beauty in the APW I am looking to create.
An APW that is synonymous with Azrael Goeren.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I do not lie. I don't hide who I am as you do. I embrace it. Every flaw, every perversion...I take them all in and learn from every mistake I've made in my life. Every match I've ever been in and every war I've ever fought has been leading up to the moment when you and I step into the ring against each other at Madison Square Garden. The time I spent in this building behind me, the time I spent as CWC World Heavyweight Champion and everything in-between has given me the strength to stand against you Mania and declare that I am ready for the best that my APW has to offer.
While it’s true that my time here has been limited, you will be hard-pressed to find a man who has been through as much as I have within this promotion in such a short amount of time. Your arrogance about my time in APW is nothing truly short of astounding. You harp about my inexperience in APW but perhaps you simply choose to ignore the fact that I fought through over 84 men and women at Survive and Conquer last year? A match in which I eliminated world champions and pinned Kurt Noble cleanly in my march to the finale. Funny. I didn't see you there. Too busy relaxing in retirement, hmm?
I proved that I belonged in APW that night and despite what you believe, I earned the respect of every man and woman who dared to stand against me. I couldn't care less what the locker room thinks of me as a person. When I have that Overdrive Title across my shoulder, I guarantee they'll loathe me even more. That's not the point. The point is they can hate me as a man but respect the talent. They do. You don't. Not yet anyways.
I go into this match knowing exactly what awaits me. I've seen your hardcore matches here in APW, I know you are prepared for the match itself. You deserve all the credit in the world for standing up to some of the craziest animals that APW has to offer, but I ask you...what are you willing to do to stop me?
You talk on and on about how high of a standard you hold yourself up to, about how much the respect of your peers and the fans mean to you...are you willing to sacrifice all of that "respect" in order to stop me? Because you surely will have to. You'll have to dig down to your core, that ugly twisted center all of us have and then dig even deeper than that to slow me down. You've been through hell here in APW before, that I do not deny, but there is a huge difference between violence and depravity. Those lines between business and pleasure...between work and home...those limitations are non-existent to me.
I know you, Herr Mania and I know you are unwilling to sacrifice everything you've built here in APW to stop me.
You'll put up a great fight, I know you will...I believe in you, Herr Mania. When push comes to shove though and you're staring back at me with blood caked in your eyes and a barely functioning lower torso...you'll realize you drastically underestimated what levels I will go to in order to usher in Azrael Goeren's APW at your expense. You fancy yourself the conscience of this company but you should know by now that the only thing a conscience gets you in this business is a handshake and a kick out the door. When they induct you into the Hall of Fame years from now, be happy that you'll have kept your conscience clean at the expense of your Overdrive Title. Perhaps that will soften the blow.
It truly amazes me that you still cannot comprehend what I'm all about. After everything we've been through in the last few weeks, you still think I'm driven solely by personal glory and a sense of entitlement. Nothing can be further from the truth.
If all I was concerned about was winning that title from you don't you think I would have stacked the odds in my favor by now? You know my history and are well aware of the things that I am capable of doing. Hell, I once kneecapped a referee in the parking lot because he was wearing white shoes after Labor Day...and yet I've remained strangely calm with you throughout this entire ordeal.
Why?
Because this isn't just about us tearing at each other like beasts, this is about bringing new beginnings for all of us.
You are not just a man to me, Mark Mania...you are a reflection of everything that APW and Overdrive used to stand for before I arrived on the scene. The bravado, the arrogance, the blindness...all relics from an age that is soon to be eclipsed by something far greater. I've got the chessboard exactly as I want it. I've forced you into a match you did not want and forced you to put up a title up for grabs that you never wanted to defend. I've gotten your contempt and arrogance in response, as if I should be the one who is embarrassed to have even inserted myself into the Overdrive Title conversation against the mighty Mania. It’s honestly kind of cute. The Overdrive Title needs to be around the waist of an individual who personifies everything that Overdrive stands for.
Look around you, Herr Mania and tell me that APW hasn't already started to devolve since I arrived. The Overdrive Title needs to be taken to the places you are unwilling to go to. It needs to stay ahead of the curve. I don't expect this match to be easy and I definitely do not expect it to be pretty. The only thing I expect is for us to go to war and have my dream reign supreme at night's end. You say I don't deserve what I've been given? I say Overdrive doesn't deserve a coward as a champion who hides from his responsibilities. I saw the fear in your eyes that night when I challenged you and I've seen it every time since.
You belittle my accomplishments and call me unworthy like some spoiled sovereign who sits on his throne and judges Overdrive like a tyrant. You do these things because, just like every royal since Tiberius, you know when your time is coming to an end.
Throughout my efforts over the last two weeks here in New York City, I've brought millions of eyes to our match.
Millions of eyes to watch the emperor of the old regime fall at my hands.
The king is dead, Herr Mania.
Long live the King.
Johan Metzger wipes the sweat from his balding head and grimaces as he watches the two students in front of him struggle with their latest lesson. Johan reclines back against the ring ropes here at Gleason's Gym in downtown Brooklyn and barks out a short command to one of the young men. After another subpar attempt, Johan steps in and kneels between the two in order to offer further instructions.
He moves slower these days then he used to. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep up with his students, most of whom are barely in their 20s. Every day a new ache or pain develops and he has a mental debate over whether or not he should just hang up the boots for good. Retire to Florida and live the rest of his life playing golf and sipping Metamucil.
He reminds himself he still has a lot to give to the sport of professional wrestling. Scattered across the wall of Gleason's are photos of all of the great boxers and wrestlers who trained there. Johan isn't the type of man to brag, but his black and white posed photo hangs near the entranceway, his hands on his hips in a stereotypical wrestling pose of the time. He never made it big, but he likes to think he will be remembered fondly by the diehard wrestling enthusiasts. Besides, his work as a trainer has been far more rewarding for him than his in-ring career ever was.
Keep training the new generation.
That thought always gets him through the day.
Now boy, you see what you're doing wrong? When you apply the crossface, you have to scissor his arm with your legs, otherwise he can smack you upside the head.
To demonstrate, Johan slaps his student on the back of his head with a smile. The group of eight students along the outside of the ring chuckle as they watch their trainer work over their classmates.
Now do again, only this time lock the arm.
Johan slowly gets back to his feet and reclaims his position against the ring ropes. He motions for the two students to do the move again, this time the one student properly locks the leg and leans back with the crossface, causing the other student to tap out almost immediately.
Good! That is quick way to end match as long as it’s done properly. Now shake hands boys and we'll move onto another submission hold.
The two students quickly get to their feet and agreeably shake hands, eager to obtain the next weapon in their blossoming wrestling arsenal. Odds are most of the people in this wrestling class won't make it. They might float around the independent scene for a while, maybe a handful of them make it to some regional promotions with a TV deal here or there, but it’s very likely none of them make it to the big time of APW. There is a passion in all of them though that Johan appreciates and makes his effort with them seem worthwhile.
He gives them wisdom and they keep him young.
Johan shuffles forward in his dull gray sweat suit and calls for two new volunteers from his class. Two young men scramble up from outside the ring and stand before him, willing sacrificial lambs to whatever painful move he's about to show them. Johan begins his next instruction in his heavily accented and gruff English that his students have grown accustomed to.
Now, we are going to do new move. I already show you crossface, let’s do chickenwing. It’s always a good idea to work on your opponent's head before you apply, this way it causes maximum damage and...
JOHAN METZGER! You old he-she, come on down and give me a hug!
Johan and the students turn towards the gym entrance and spot Azrael Goeren standing in the doorway of Gleason's Gym, his arms outstretched. Azrael is all smiles and dressed for the chilly New York winter outside, a red and gold scarf with his initials stitched into it wrapped across his neck. He removes his thin-framed red sunglasses and breathes deeply, retrospectively taking all of his surroundings in. Michael Robinson, Goeren's longtime assistant, is standing next to him and is clutching a brown box. Mike looks completely dismayed at being here but still takes a moment to glance about the gym in a silent moment of remembrance. Goeren's new valet Angel, who has locked arms with Goeren as he entered, has a disgusted look on her face.
Oh my god, this place stinks like poor people and wet dog! I thought we were goin' for dinner Azzy baby.
Hush darling, I'm soaking it all back in. Come on Johan, don't act like you don't remember your prized pupil!
...Goeren?
Boom! Good to see that senility hasn't kicked in quite yet. Or if it has you hide it very well.
The demented German makes his way towards the worn ring in the center of the gym, casually pushing past the students who stare back at him in awe. The whispering and hushed voices have begun, as most of the doe-eyed youngsters immediately recognize the crazed Mega Star. Azrael throws his arms around Johan's shoulders and pulls him in close, giving him a kiss on each side of his face.
Mein freund, Sie riechen wunderbar heute, wie frisch gepflückten Äpfel!
Henrik. What are you doing here?
English? Oh dear me, you've been in this country for far too long.
I ask again. What are you doing here?
Azrael continues his own line of thought, ignoring the very basic question.
You know, when I walked in here I noticed a shockingly dismal amount of Azrael Goeren pictures hanging on these walls. Is that a way to treat your most illustrious alumni? Michael? Fix the problem.
Come on. Have some respect, we were brought up in the business here.
Operation: Christmas Chaos Kitsch must continue! Fix the problem!
Ya, fix it ya stupid eye-talian!
Love the enthusiasm, my little muffin! See! Angel gets it.
The only thing Angel gets is chlamydia from Brazilian sailors.
You're gonna get a stiletto up ya ass!
Just...stop. Not now. Michael? The photographs if you will.
Michael lets out a sigh and reaches into the box, removing a handful of framed pictures displaying Azrael in a series of candid shots. One shows him partially nude on a bearskin rug, another shows him shaking hands with a photoshopped Abraham Lincoln and Taylor Swift. Goeren's personal assistant looks back at Johan as if he's desperately trying to apologize to him for what’s about to happen. He then starts tearing down the black and white photographs on the wall and replacing them with images of Goeren.
Hey! Stop that Michael!
Awww, that’s cute. You remember Mike, too! No need to be cross with him o' geriatric one...he's simply getting this place up to par in time for Christmas Chaos. You know, I'm disappointed in you old man. After all of these years apart I'm getting the distinct impression you are not happy to see me. I thought this little surprise visit would make your day considering how important I was to your life. Let's be honest here, how many of your other students went on to as much success as I did?
Henrik. Please, this is not the time or place to discuss this.
Nein, it’s the perfect time to talk. After all, you were the man who brought me to this country to compete.
Johan swallows hard as his students at ringside glance up at him with shocked stares.
When I did that, you were a different man. You were...troubled. I thought bringing you here would help you find purpose.
It did indeed, mein freund. It did indeed.
Not in a good way. Not the way I had hoped.
Azrael smirks, seemingly oblivious to the insult that was just tossed at him. He reaches up and pinches Johan's cheeks before he slides out of the ring.
Always the charmer. Angel! Come here, I want to show you my old locker. That is if this old pederast didn't sell it for a subscription to Boy's Fancy. You would not BELIEVE how many bottles of Percocets you could store in that bad boy.
Angel scurries across the gym and locks arms with her man, looking like she's trying not to touch anything. The two of them disappear into the locker room as Mike dejectedly walks over to the busted-down ring and climbs inside it, giving Johan a genuine hug.
I'm so sorry, I tried to call you before we left the hotel.
It’s okay Mikey. It’s okay.
Johan smiles and playfully pats Mike across his cheek.
How have you been? How’s the family?
As good as can be expected I suppose. How's your daughter?
She's doing well. Wants me to move to Tampa to be with her, you know how it is.
I hope she's kidding. Gleason's without Johan Metzger is like a day without sunshine.
Ah, they'd forget about me in a second.
I really am sorry about this.
Mikey. Please. It’s okay, if you couldn't stop him from coming here nobody could. Who is this horrible woman with him by the way?
Oh God. That’s Angel. A stripper he "rescued" from a dive club a few weeks back. She's a fucking nightmare, Johan.
That voice of hers...
I know. It's like the Bostonian equivalent of Fran Drescher. Just horrible.
Where is Evelyn?
They divorced.
What?!
Yeah. About two years back. Took their kid. Took the company. Took half of his money. Went home to Germany.
...Christ. She was the only thing keeping him from completely losing it.
It’s gotten a lot worse since then, as you can imagine.
I know, I've seen him on the television. I can't help feel...responsible. The things that he says and does...
...are not your fault. You just trained him. You didn't create him. If that makes any sense.
JOHAN!
Storming out of the locker room is an irate Azrael Goeren, gesturing wildly behind him as Angel trots out in tow.
How dare you sir! How dare you clean up the blood from my match against Kurt Korbin! I wanted that dark brown stain preserved for posterity's sake! I was going to cut up the tile and have it sent to the official Azrael Goeren Commemorative Museum back home in Eberswalde! You sir have just raped history!
Wait a second...how in the hell can you remember something like that? That was ten years ago!
I remember all of my matches.
That's...that's just amazing. You can't even remember my name half the time. You called me Antonio for a solid week once.
Duh. He only remembers things worth rememberin'.
Mike shakes his head despondently as Azrael crawls back into the ring, staring into Johan's tired face. Azrael breaks into another smile and runs the ropes quickly, glancing down and taking notice of the students who are standing around the ring in stunned silence.
Oh dear, it looks like your students can't stop staring at me. How many times have you name-dropped me in your lessons? At least a dozen times per session, eh? You always were a bit of a glory hog!
They have no idea that you were a student of mine.
That's just bad business! Imagine the type of talent you would get if you promoted yourself as the man who trained the great Azrael Goeren. Former CWC World Heavyweight Champion and Future APW Overdrive Champion.
I apparently taught you no humility.
Humility has no business in professional wrestling. It’s bad for promotion.
You would know, I suppose. I've seen your advertisements all over the city.
Ach, yes! You've seen the flyers? The billboards? The ad-space I took out on the bus line? How about the homeless people I paid to wear the sandwich boards?
How about how you got yourself kicked out of Rock of Ages after you went on-stage and talked about your match against Mania during a live performance?
I SANG about my match against Mania. SANG. It totally fit the venue.
How about how you got forcibly removed from FAO Schwarz by tearing down the APW section and replacing all of the action figures with just Azrael Goeren ones.
I also removed any DVDs featuring Mark Mania and inserted my "APW: Best of Azrael Goeren" DVD in its place. It’s a nine-disc set with over twenty hours of action!
You've only wrestled in four matches!
Admittedly, most of it is just me doing nude calisthenics and smoking opium. Still worth the $99.95 price tag though if you ask me.
Well if you ask me, you've been nothing but a giant asshole since you came back to this city.
Oh shit. It’s on now.
Michael...if you think all I've done is be disruptive in public, you've obviously missed the point of the last two weeks. This is viral marketing, this is a new form of art and advertising blended together into one beautiful smoothie. People are talking about Goeren vs Mania at Christmas Chaos more than any other match on the card. Everyone wants to see this damn thing. That's a job well done. That's how you make sure the world takes notice and would never dream of looking away.
There's an old saying that when you want to kill a king, you don't kill him in private...you kill him so the whole court can watch you do it.
That's what this is about. That's what the world will be talking about on December 24th. Not the World Heavyweight Title Match. Not the Undisputed Title Match. They'll all be talking about every horrific little moment of torture that I drag our false champion through. Break his spirit, then break the man. Wouldn't you agree, Johan? Isn't that what you taught me all of those years ago?
I taught you nothing of the sort.
Come now, don't be modest.
It's not modesty Henrik...or Azrael or whatever in God's name you call yourself these days. The things that you do are...
Johan pauses abruptly.
Please. Don't hold back. Let's hear the truth.
Johan glances down at his students who are watching him wide-eyed. With no amount of fear or trepidation, he looks into Azrael's eyes and tees off.
The reason I don't advertise that I trained you is simply because I am ashamed to have had anything to do with your career. You have a sickness of the soul, Henrik...I should have seen that then as clearly as I see it now. You were the worst mistake of my career. Instead of making this sport of ours greater with all of your athletic talent, you've perverted it beyond recognition. The fact that I gave you the tools to do what you do makes me sick to my stomach. The best thing you can do for the sport of wrestling and for all of its fans is to retire and die.
Otherwise, I fear for the future of APW.
Silence.
Baby, break his stupid neck. Don't let him talk to you like...
Azrael holds up his hand to silence his valet. He takes a step towards his old trainer, not saying a word...before he slowly embraces him. He leans close to Johan's ear before quietly whispering to him in a contorted and apathetic voice.
You always understood me, old friend. Thank you for everything...I want you to know none of it would have been possible without you.
With that, he pulls back and glances over towards Michael.
Michael...fetch the camera. Johan suddenly put me in a talkative mood.
***************************************
We slowly fade in on the back alley behind Gleason's gym, the dark night barely illuminated by a row of fluttering street lights that stand watch over the now vacant parking lot. Azrael Goeren emerges from the far end of the lot, running his fingers across the faded bricks of Gleason's with a smile on his face.
It all started here for me, over a decade ago.
I trained in squalor from a man who had talent but possessed a horribly archaic and old-fashioned view of the wrestling world.
Like you, Herr Mania.
Unlike you though, Johan Metzger knew when to get out of the way and leave the future of professional wrestling in my hands.
My dirty, dirty hands.
I can't say I'm overly surprised with how you view me going into this match. It was to be expected really, men who know that the proverbial clock is ticking on their own careers tend to be quick to cast judgment on those looking to hasten it. The good news for you is that a majority of what you've said about me is 100% correct.
I have yet to earn my way here in APW. I was actively recruited by a management staff based on past accomplishments that have no bearing on my current standing. I'm shady, deviant and wicked. I have no respect for those who have come before me and the sacrifices that were made by them to make sure that APW is the juggernaut it is today.
All true statements.
The bad news for you is I'm already fully aware of the man who stares back at me in the mirror every morning.
I know exactly who I am so nothing you've told me so far is anything that will shock me into submission or have me calling for the smelling salts to clear up a bad case of the vapors. These are facts that anyone that has followed my career so far in APW can see very clearly.
Based on what you've said about me publically however, you clearly have no idea who I am.
I am a man who is not ashamed of who he is or what he's done, no matter how hard you or Johan or the public wags their finger disapprovingly at me. I know what's best for APW and I will do everything in my power to make sure that this company reaches new heights of popularity and international recognition with me as its figurehead.
APW is my home just as much as it’s yours, Herr Mania. To try and claim squatter's rights in it like you are doing just comes off as the acts of a desperate man who has buried his head in the sand and is out of touch with his own reality.
You see Herr Mania, I am no longer an outsider here in APW. I'm not going away any time soon. I've got big plans for this promotion and all of them begin with me taking the Overdrive Title at Christmas Chaos. Not for any personal glory of to move any merchandise, no nothing like that. I'm looking to start a fire that will burn away the dead branches here and make room for true growth.
I prove my commitment to this dream each and every week when I go out to that ring and dismantle former champions like Chris Hart and Delikado, men who you insinuate aren't even in my league. I don't play mind games with my opponents, never had time for that garbage. Instead, all I do is bring them into my ring and methodically take them apart. No remorse or pity, just action. That's how APW should be.
Your arrogance and the title across your shoulder blind you from these facts.
You mistake my vices for weakness when they are anything but. I do the things I do in my personal life...the boozing...the women...the pills...because that's what brings me pleasure. Some find it in training. Some find it in business. I find it in hedonism. I don't think twice about what the media would think about my lifestyle choices or what will happen if my shareholders find out...I just act. Its rather refreshing and far superior to the scheming that you do, mein freund. How long do your daily affirmations take every day? Do you have to routinely convince yourself that you're the good guy? That you deserve the fan's adulation? These...things...that attend our APW shows are barely human, you know. They're bloodthirsty parasites that symbiotically attach themselves to Mega Star after Mega Star until they've sucked the last bit of blood from their carcass and move on to the next flavor of the month. As an outside observer, I would say these fans have just about sucked you bone dry, haven't they?
You work so hard to be loved by them but we both know all they really want is to see you bleed and go down swinging.
How does that make you feel? To know that they've already lost faith in your ability to beat me at Christmas Chaos? We all hear what the fans say and you know as well as I do they are terrified on your behalf. Sure you put on a strong face for them and keep that prosthetic Mark Mania bluster intact when you're in public, but when you're demoralized to the point where you have the audacity to question why I'm even allowed in APW? Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. That reeks of despair and both you and they know it.
You pretend that "new" is bad and my "confidence" is overrated, but you are merely afraid of the change I bring with me. I know you'd like to keep things the way they've always been but I swear to you, Herr Mania...I will drag you into the future a crippled mess of a human being and force you to see the beauty in the APW I am looking to create.
An APW that is synonymous with Azrael Goeren.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I do not lie. I don't hide who I am as you do. I embrace it. Every flaw, every perversion...I take them all in and learn from every mistake I've made in my life. Every match I've ever been in and every war I've ever fought has been leading up to the moment when you and I step into the ring against each other at Madison Square Garden. The time I spent in this building behind me, the time I spent as CWC World Heavyweight Champion and everything in-between has given me the strength to stand against you Mania and declare that I am ready for the best that my APW has to offer.
While it’s true that my time here has been limited, you will be hard-pressed to find a man who has been through as much as I have within this promotion in such a short amount of time. Your arrogance about my time in APW is nothing truly short of astounding. You harp about my inexperience in APW but perhaps you simply choose to ignore the fact that I fought through over 84 men and women at Survive and Conquer last year? A match in which I eliminated world champions and pinned Kurt Noble cleanly in my march to the finale. Funny. I didn't see you there. Too busy relaxing in retirement, hmm?
I proved that I belonged in APW that night and despite what you believe, I earned the respect of every man and woman who dared to stand against me. I couldn't care less what the locker room thinks of me as a person. When I have that Overdrive Title across my shoulder, I guarantee they'll loathe me even more. That's not the point. The point is they can hate me as a man but respect the talent. They do. You don't. Not yet anyways.
I go into this match knowing exactly what awaits me. I've seen your hardcore matches here in APW, I know you are prepared for the match itself. You deserve all the credit in the world for standing up to some of the craziest animals that APW has to offer, but I ask you...what are you willing to do to stop me?
You talk on and on about how high of a standard you hold yourself up to, about how much the respect of your peers and the fans mean to you...are you willing to sacrifice all of that "respect" in order to stop me? Because you surely will have to. You'll have to dig down to your core, that ugly twisted center all of us have and then dig even deeper than that to slow me down. You've been through hell here in APW before, that I do not deny, but there is a huge difference between violence and depravity. Those lines between business and pleasure...between work and home...those limitations are non-existent to me.
I know you, Herr Mania and I know you are unwilling to sacrifice everything you've built here in APW to stop me.
You'll put up a great fight, I know you will...I believe in you, Herr Mania. When push comes to shove though and you're staring back at me with blood caked in your eyes and a barely functioning lower torso...you'll realize you drastically underestimated what levels I will go to in order to usher in Azrael Goeren's APW at your expense. You fancy yourself the conscience of this company but you should know by now that the only thing a conscience gets you in this business is a handshake and a kick out the door. When they induct you into the Hall of Fame years from now, be happy that you'll have kept your conscience clean at the expense of your Overdrive Title. Perhaps that will soften the blow.
It truly amazes me that you still cannot comprehend what I'm all about. After everything we've been through in the last few weeks, you still think I'm driven solely by personal glory and a sense of entitlement. Nothing can be further from the truth.
If all I was concerned about was winning that title from you don't you think I would have stacked the odds in my favor by now? You know my history and are well aware of the things that I am capable of doing. Hell, I once kneecapped a referee in the parking lot because he was wearing white shoes after Labor Day...and yet I've remained strangely calm with you throughout this entire ordeal.
Why?
Because this isn't just about us tearing at each other like beasts, this is about bringing new beginnings for all of us.
You are not just a man to me, Mark Mania...you are a reflection of everything that APW and Overdrive used to stand for before I arrived on the scene. The bravado, the arrogance, the blindness...all relics from an age that is soon to be eclipsed by something far greater. I've got the chessboard exactly as I want it. I've forced you into a match you did not want and forced you to put up a title up for grabs that you never wanted to defend. I've gotten your contempt and arrogance in response, as if I should be the one who is embarrassed to have even inserted myself into the Overdrive Title conversation against the mighty Mania. It’s honestly kind of cute. The Overdrive Title needs to be around the waist of an individual who personifies everything that Overdrive stands for.
Look around you, Herr Mania and tell me that APW hasn't already started to devolve since I arrived. The Overdrive Title needs to be taken to the places you are unwilling to go to. It needs to stay ahead of the curve. I don't expect this match to be easy and I definitely do not expect it to be pretty. The only thing I expect is for us to go to war and have my dream reign supreme at night's end. You say I don't deserve what I've been given? I say Overdrive doesn't deserve a coward as a champion who hides from his responsibilities. I saw the fear in your eyes that night when I challenged you and I've seen it every time since.
You belittle my accomplishments and call me unworthy like some spoiled sovereign who sits on his throne and judges Overdrive like a tyrant. You do these things because, just like every royal since Tiberius, you know when your time is coming to an end.
Throughout my efforts over the last two weeks here in New York City, I've brought millions of eyes to our match.
Millions of eyes to watch the emperor of the old regime fall at my hands.
The king is dead, Herr Mania.
Long live the King.
***************************************
