Post by biggs on Mar 23, 2013 16:56:34 GMT -4
Saturday, March 23
Xtreme Couture Gym in Toronto, Canada
I look across the octagon at my opponent, none other than my good friend, “Stunning” Stan Everdeen. He has an intense look on his face, determined, and focused, like he’s ready to fight. Outside of the steel octagon, “Sr. Guapo” Armando Asante stands amongst the crowd, gathered to watch our fight.
The Stud Muffins and I have spent the last two weeks training in Toronto, me for my big match against Level-One tomorrow night, and them, as Sr. Guapo put it, to look even sexier for the ladies. I already know that my wrestling ability is top notch, and that my aerial game is second to none, so I’ve been focusing on my striking game. I know that I’m giving up a lot of height and weight to Level-One, and considering the environment, Hell-in-a-Cell, my plan is to use hit and run tactics early on, wearing Level-One down before I go in to utilize my ground game. There’s no way I’m going to be able to match Level-One for power, so my hope, my goal in training these past few weeks is to work on my quickness and explosiveness. And while Stan is no Level-One, he’s of a similar size and strength, so fighting him will give me some good practice.
The instructor signals for us to begin the fight, and we meet in the center of the octagon, tapping gloves before taking a step back and circling around the structure, sizing each other up. I’ve been told all morning that they usually don’t see mismatches like this, at least in terms of size difference. Usually, everyone sticks in their own weight class, and calls it a day. However, weight classes are a luxury that professional wrestling does not afford me. I’m used to being the smaller guy in the fight, used to having to use my brains and quickness instead of brawn.
Stan tries to throw a haymaker punch my way, but I easily sidestep it and respond with a stinging calf kick, nailing him in the back of the leg! I immediately back up, keeping enough distance between him and myself to where I’m just out of range of his punches. Anytime he launches an attack at me, I sidestep it or dodge it, and respond with a counter attack of my own, making sure to not get greedy, only going for one or two shots at a time before I back out of range again. It’s not making for the most exciting fight, and I can tell that Stan is getting frustrated over the fact that he can seem to hit me at all. The first three minute round comes to an end with me firmly in control. I’ve hit a few solid shots, and I seem to be keeping Stan off of his game, but in all honesty, he doesn’t look that much worse for wear. The instructor spends some time coaching Stan, while another instructor, a muscular fella by the name of Bob, from outside the octagon tries to give me some pointers.
”You’re totally in control of this fight so far, but I don’t want you getting over confident. So far, you’re only winning on points, you’re not really doing much damage to him. I know in your sport, points don’t matter, so I’d like to see you really go for some hard hitting body shots. It’ll wear him down quicker, make it harder for him to breathe, setting up for bigger and better shots for you,” he barks at me. Even though they don’t get very many professional wrestlers here at the Xtreme Couture Gym, the staff has been very willing and helpful to modify their MMA training to suit my needs. It’s been money well spent training here.
The second round opens up with us meeting in the center of the octagon once more, and while I do stick with my dink and duck strategy, I’m focusing more on attacking Stan’s midsection with kicks and punches, getting one or two good shots in before pulling back. My instructor on the outside is barking at me to keep up the pressure, and as I go in to try and clutch him to deliver some knees to the midsection, I walk right into high kick from Stan that knocks me right in the temple! The octagon around me starts to spin, and I feel my knees go wobbly. I can barely make out Stan’s instructor yelling, ”FOLLOW UP! FOLLOW UP!”
Stan seems hesitant, though, almost like he doesn’t want to hurt me, which I use to my advantage to get right in there, and wallop him with a hard right and left to the midsection before nailing him with a stiff uppercut to the jaw! This staggers Stan, and out of instinct, I jump up and catch him with a Hurricanrana! I have Stan mounted and begin to wail on him, despite my dizziness, until the instructor in the cage pulls me off of him! As I stand up over my downed friend, it’s only then that I realize how badly I’ve beaten him down. Stan’s face is a bloody mess, an absolute bloody mess, and he’s on dream street. Armando has come rushing into the octagon, yelling something at me in Spanish that while I don’t understand the words, I can understand the sentiment that he’s not very happy with me.
I can’t help but feel intense pangs of guilt as I exit the cage and take a seat on a bench against the gray brick wall. Bob comes over to sit next to me, and tries to offer me some encouragement.
”I’ve never seen anyone, and I mean anyone, pull off that kind of Head Scissors move in the octagon before! I’m not even sure if it’s legal. But way to fight through that shot from your buddy…”
”Thanks, but I don’t want to hear it right now. I can’t believe I did that to Stan…”
Bob respectfully gives me some space as I continue to brood on the bench.
After a bit, I decide to get up, and take my frustrations out on the punching bag. I use a speed bag for about a minute or two before switching over to the Heavy Bag. Before long, Sr. Guapo and Stan come over. Stan’s forehead has been stitched up, and he seems to be in good spirits.
”Listen, man, I know you’re pissed at yourself for kicking my a** in the octagon, but I’m not mad at you at all, bro. If you brought that kind of fight against me, one of your best friends, just imagine what kind of fight you’re going to be bringing to Level-One tomorrow night! You bring that kind of fire, that kind of passion, and he won’t even know what hit him!”
I stay focused on the punching bag, striking it, punching it. Even though Stan has forgiven me, I can’t forgive myself. He’s right, of course. I know he’s right. Both about him being one of my best friends, and the fact that I went overboard against him. He didn’t say as much, but I know that I did. And that’s what bothers me.
Armando can tell that I’m not responding to them, so he interjects. ”Mi amigo, I’m sorry I said those terrible things about you right after your fight with Stan. I was muy enojado contigo, and I let my temper get the best of me.”
”There’s nothing to apologize for. For one, I didn’t understand a word you said, and secondly, I probably deserved it,” I respond coldly as I give the heavy bag a stiff kick, not even looking at the Stud Muffins.
”You’re doing that thing again, where you get hypercritical of yourself, and you beat yourself up. It’s not a big deal that you beat me up in there, heck, it’s not even a little deal! It’s no problem, man, no problem at all,” Stan says, trying to encourage me.
This gets my attention. I punch the heavy bag one more time as hard as I can before turning to my friends, looking Stan in the eyes as I speak, ”It might not be a big deal to you, Stan, but it’s a big deal to me, alright! If I’m capable of going so savage on a man I consider to be one of my closest friends, how am I any better than I used to be? How am I any better than Level-One?”
“I know that he’s not going to hold anything back once we step inside that Cell tomorrow night, and as much as I’d like to thing that I wouldn’t either, today made me realize that I might not be able to do that, okay? I used to not care what people thought about me, and to a certain extent, I still don’t. But I care about what I think about myself, and there was no excuse, no reason for me to be so gosh darn brutal on you, Stan!”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want the Cell to change who I am. I’ve been growing, I’ve been trying to change, and I don’t want this one match, this one structure to fundamentally change who I am. I don’t want to revert back to the callous, win at all costs jerk that I used to be, and I can very much see that happening tomorrow night.”
“There, you have it. That’s why it’s not alright that I went all ape crazy on you, Stan. That’s why it’s not alright that I cracked your head open and gave you stitches? Now will you guys just please leave me alone?”
Armando puts his hand on my shoulder, ”No, amigo, we can’t do that. We’re your friends, and unlike some of your friends you may have had in the past, Stan and I, we’re going to be with you through thick and thin.”
”You might not like to hear this, Biggs, but if you don’t walk into that Cell with the killer instinct that you showed today in the octagon, Level-One is going to chew you up and spit you out. Inside Hell-in-a-Cell, it’s eat or be eaten, man.”
”I just wish there was a way to where I didn’t have to stoop down to his level, you know. I know I’m going all Peeta Mellark here, but I just wish there was a way I could go into that Cell, and come out still me, you know…”
Sr. Guapo leans in towards Stan, and I pick up him whispering to him, ”Who’s Peeta Mellark?”
”He’s a character in The Hunger Games.”
”Oh, okay.”
”Listen, Biggs, nobody is saying that you have to become a different person inside that Cell. What you showed me today inside the octagon is that you already have the killer instinct inside you. It’s already a part of you. Now I’m not saying you need to walk around the streets being ready to take off anyone’s head who bugs you, but what I am saying is you need to tap into that instinct inside Hell-in-a-Cell. Just because you’re doing what you need to do to survive inside that Cell, it won’t make you a bad person. Heck, it’ll just be natural self-preservation!”
”You’re always too hard on yourself, amigo. You know as well as we do that deep down, you’re a good person, even if you aren’t convinced you are.”
”The fact that you felt guilty about what you did today shows that. Heck, you may even feel guilty after you get done with Level-One inside the Cell. So long as you hold onto that, I don’t think you have any worries about losing yourself, no matter what you do inside that Cell.”
Stan gives me a hearty pat on the back. I know that they’re being sincere, I know they’re just trying to help, but there’s still a part of me that’s worried about my match tomorrow night. Not because of the threat of physical harm. No, I’ve already made peace with the fact that I’m in for a brutal, brutal night. I’m just worried about what I might have to become in order to overcome Level-One.
”Thanks for trying to cheer me up guys,” I respond, although even I can tell the gloom is still evident in my voice.
”You know what, mi amigo, I think I know what would cheer you up? What if we called your new girlfriend, Alice?”
I slug Armando in the shoulder. ”She’s not my girlfriend! She’s just my friend who happens to be a woman!”
”So there’s no attraction there? Can I call dibs?!” Stan jokes around with me, trying to get a rise out of me.
”If he can’t have dibs, can I?!” Sr. Guapo butts in.
These guys know how to push my buttons, and I can’t help but laugh as I tell them that neither one of them can have dibs, ”Listen guys, even though there’s nothing romantic going on between me and Alice, I don’t want either one of you guys calling ‘dibs,’ alright? She’s my friend, show her some respect! Please!”
As we’re joking around, I hear the theme song of Doctor Who coming from my duffel bag against the wall.
”You hear that, Biggs? That must be her! Go on Lover Boy!”
”I’m not Lover Boy! We’re just friends!”
”Sure you are!” Armando gives me a nudge and wink as I grab my phone and answer it.
”Hi Alice, how’s it going?”
”Hey Gary. I’m just calling to make sure that we’re still on for the new episode of Doctor Who next Saturday.”
”Does the Doctor like fish fingers and custard? Of course I’m still on! I’m looking forward to it. None of my other friends like Doctor Who, so it’ll be fun to watch it with a fellow fan.”
”I know. I have the same problem. Oh, also, my brother invited me over to his place tomorrow to watch that pay-per-view thing you’re in tomorrow night…”
”RassleMania.”
”Yeah, RassleMania. Anywho, he totally flipped out when I told him I’d come because I knew you. So he’s already asking me if when you get back to Seattle if he can get your autograph and all that kind of stuff. I told him that I didn’t want to take advantage of our friendship, so I told him to come watch Doctor Who with us if he wanted to meet you. Is that alright?”
”The more the merrier!”
”Great! That’s great! He’s really excited. Well, that’s about all I had to tell you, other than good luck, of course! So yeah, good luck!”
”Thanks Alice. I hope you have a great night.”
”You too! Toodles!”
”Good bye.”
As I hang up, Stan and Armando are right there, making smoochie faces, picking on me. I slug both of them on the shoulders as we get back to working out.
Airing March 23
Depeche Mode’s “Spacewalker” plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in big, bold blue letters. The screen transitions to Biggs seated in the Rogers Centre the night before RassleMania. He’s wearing a RassleMania IX shirt, and is seated in the first row off the floor. Ring technicians are doing one last sweep of all the technical systems for the big show, from the stage lights, to the video screens, and the cables that will raise and lower the Cell for the Level-One vs. Biggs match tomorrow night. Biggs looks up at the Cell as it descends upon the ring.
”You know, it’s funny, how when you’re looking into the very near future, the past has a funny way of sneaking right back upon you. My very near future involves that lovely steel Cell lowering around the ring right now. 30 square feet contained within its walls, 20 feet high, 5 tons of steel. Tomorrow night, I’m going to be locked in that monstrosity with one of the few men in this world I actually consider an enemy, Level-One. And despite the fact that the match is less than 24 hours away, I can’t help but be preoccupied with July 29th, 2009.”
“I know you remember that date, Level-One, perhaps not as well as I do, but I know that that date means something to you. Because on Wednesday, July 29th, 2009, in Manchester, New Hampshire, you and I wrestled one another for the very first time. I remember exactly how I felt that night. I had butterflies in my stomach. Here I was, getting ready to wrestle the undisputed top guy in APW at the time. It was my chance to prove my worth, to show that I could not only hang with the big boys, but that I belonged at the top of the card.”
“Of course, you won that match, but in the process, something funny happened. I know you don’t like to admit it now, but thanks to that match, you came to respect me. Of course, going in, I had nothing but respect for you. Heck, you were Level-freakin’-One! But before that match, I wasn’t even on your radar, but afterwards, well, let’s just say I got your attention.”
“From there, we had a loose alliance, helping one another out whenever it served our needs, most notably when President Jeff was kidnapped by President Mac and his EWC lackeys, when you, Chris Cyrus and myself ran Overdrive in his absence.”
“We were an absolutely unstoppable force. We made Overdrive great week in and week out. I’ll be honest, I don’t even remember what caused our fallout at the time, knowing us, it was probably our egos. Still, I can’t deny that it was a lot of fun being on the same page with you for those few months.”
“For some reason, our paths didn’t cross again until July 3rd, 2011. Of course I know you remember this day well. It was the day I did something that only two other people in APW history can say that they’ve done, and that’s defeat you for the APW Undisputed Championship! You overlooked me going into that match, Lester, I know you did! After all, I was just the lowly Overdrive Champion in your eyes, I had no business challenging for your belt. The only reason in your mind why I got a shot was because everyone else of note was tied up in the Test for the Best tournament!”
“But the fact is, Lester, whether you felt I deserved the shot at the time or not, nobody can say I didn’t make the most of it, when I pinned your shoulders to the mat, one, two, three! And sure, I may have had my feet on the ropes when I did so, but I was in a totally different place then than I am now. I was okay with it then. In that match, I only had to be better than you for three seconds, and I was, which gave me my one and only reign as the APW Undisputed Champion.”
“Now I know that you’ve given me all sorts of hell over the fact that I did not successfully defend the championship even once during my brief run, but if I remember correctly, and believe me, I do, somebody else’s first run with the title ended during his first defense as well. Care to make any guesses who it was, Lester?”
“It was you, of course! Granted, nobody remembers it because you’ve gone on to win the belt another three times, but the fact is, Lester, after you won the belt from Michael Lively at RassleMania V, you lost it in your first defense against Pence Weatherlight, Jason Royce, and John Green at Mayhem 2009! So before you start to criticize me, be sure to take a long, hard look at yourself, and hold yourself to the same standards that you hold me!”
“Of course, you’re not able to do this, because as I’ve pointed out time and time again, not only do you lack basic respect for yourself, but you’re also kind of obsessed with me. It’s actually kind of creepy how much importance you’ve put on trying to beat me. It’s like you’re in an arrested state of development, career wise, until you’re able to get that ever elusive victory over me! Because the last time you did defeat me in a one-on-one situation was July 29, 2009. That’s just shy of four years, Level-One, and I know it’s got to be eating you up. Sometimes in this business, there just seems to be those people that no matter how much you try, you just can’t get over the hump against them. For me, that’s my buddy C.J. Gates. And yet, you don’t see me going around, trying to end C.J. Gates’ career, do you?”
“And yes, I know, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on my part. I will admit, there were several times in the past that I tried to do just that, but the fact of the matter is that I’m not letting my troubles with C.J. affect the rest of my career. I know that I will one day get another chance to face off against him, and hopefully I’ll be able to get the victory, but I’m not going to put the rest of my career on hold just because there’s one guy I haven’t been able to beat!”
“You’ve done just that, Level-One, and in doing so, you’ve given me power over you. I literally have the power to shape the direction of your career for the foreseeable future. Even when I do defeat you inside Hell-in-a-Cell tomorrow night, I know that things between me and you won’t be over! Far from it! Because knowing you the way that I do, I wouldn’t be surprised if you kept coming after me, using guerilla tactics, whining and complaining until you got another match with me. And when I beat you again, we’d go over the same thing again and again, until the fans got sick and tired of seeing us fight!”
“I don’t want that, Level-One, and I know you don’t either. Besides, after Hell-in-a-Cell, where else is there really for us to go?”
“The bottom line is this, Lester, tomorrow night, we will be bringing a portion of our respective careers to a close. This is only the third time ever we’ve fought in a one-on-one context. You’ve won one, I’ve won one. Tomorrow night, let’s find out who the better man truly is, and leave at that. No rematches. No excuses. Tomorrow night, inside Hell-in-a-Cell, it ends between you and me.”
“Now I’m not suggesting that we do something rash like put our careers on the line or anything like that. Kurt Noble and Chris Hart already have that covered in their little blood feud. There’s plenty of room for the both of us in APW, but there’s only room at the top for one of us!”
“And quite frankly, I like the view from up here far too much to give it up!”
Biggs flashes his trademark smirk, and continues to speak directly into the camera.
”Tomorrow night is the proving ground, Level-One, between you and I. Both of us will enter the Cell, only one of us can leave the victor. And even then, neither one of us may be able to leave of our own accord! What we’ve agreed to in having our match contested within the confines of Hell-in-a-Cell, is that we’ve agreed to putting our bodies on the line! We’ve agreed to shortening our respective careers! We’ve agreed to show one another no mercy, nor to expect any mercy. We’ve agreed to put it all on the line, simply for the reason that we want to prove that we are the better man.”
“Also, you have that little bounty on your head. So you felt that it would be safer for us to fight inside the Cell, because if there’s one kind of match that nobody can get into, it’s Hell-in-a-Cell. It’ll be just you, me, 5 tons of steel, and a lifetimes worth of animosity. You think it’s safer inside the Cell than it is outside. You think it’s safer for you to be locked inside a steel prison with the likes of me rather than having the whole locker room come down and try to take you out during the course of our match to try and collect on that $500,000 bounty on your head.”
“I accepted the match, because I don’t want there to be any excuses on your part after I defeat you. I know that it’s a huge risk being locked inside the Cell with an animal like you, Level-One, but did you ever stop to think how dangerous it would be for you to be locked inside the Cell with me? I don’t think you have, Lester.”
“You know how I said earlier that I was more than a little bit afraid of stepping inside the Hell-in-a-Cell tomorrow night? It’s not because I’m afraid of you, Lester. It’s not even because I’m afraid of the Cell. I know what I’m going up against in you, and I’d like to think my experience in Steel Cage matches and the Elimination Chamber have somehow prepared me for the goliath structure we’ll find ourselves locked in. No Lester, to be perfectly honest, I’m afraid of what I’m going to become inside that Cell, and you should be afraid to.”
“Just because I’ve got the fans on my side doesn’t mean I lack that dark place that I used to go to all the time. It doesn’t mean I’ve lost it. It just means I haven’t been using it. Inside that Cell, Lester, I know that I’m going to need to pull out all the stops, because you’re not going to pull any either. I know that I’ll have to go to that deep, dark place I’ve been trying to repress. And quite frankly, I’m afraid of what I may be capable of when I get there. You should be too.”
Biggs has an almost sinister look in his eyes as he glares directly into the camera.
“The fact is, Level-One, tomorrow night, we find out what kind of man you truly are. I already know who I am. I have no qualms with being myself. But you obviously do. You wouldn’t settle for being Terry Marvin’s little lap dog if you still had the confidence in yourself that you had four years ago. You wouldn’t hide behind the chest puffing and bluffing façade of your so-called Celebrity Status if you were satisfied with who you really are.”
“When I think of celebrities, Lester, one word comes to mind: Phony. And you’ve been nothing but phony ever since you took up the whole Celebrity Status angle. You’ve always been more concerned about pleasing others, worrying what they thought about you, rather than going out there, being yourself, and shining! I know for a fact Lester that you’re better than being Terry Marvin’s b****! You better than being wrapped around the little fingers of Felipe DeLoren and the LeWinter sisters! You don’t need the Sinidicate, Level-One, they need you! They need you to keep Terry Marvin at the top of the food chain. They need you to keep Terry the champ.”
“The only reason I’m bringing this up, Lester, is because I want to face you at your very best tomorrow night. I don’t want there to be any doubt whatsoever that the two of us gave each other nothing less than all we had. And I know that that’s just not possible so long as you’re clutching onto Terry’s skirt strings, asking him if you can come out to play.”
“You’re Level-freakin’-One! Start acting like it!”
“There’s no other way around it, Lester, tomorrow night, you and I are in for a big-time fight. No doubt one that will go down in history as one of the most violent, one of the most brutal Hell-in-a-Cell matches in APW history! You and I have made history before, Lester, and tomorrow night, in front of your home town crowd, we’re going to do it again! I just hope you’re emotionally and physically up to the task.”
“At RassleMania IX, Lester, between you and me, it ends. There’s no rematch, no excuses. The better man will prevail tomorrow night. There’s no other way it can go inside a structure like Hell-in-a-Cell. I just hope that as we’re both being burned by the fires of hell, that when our true characters are revealed, well, I just hope to see the Level-One of old, and not the Level-One of lately. You owe it to yourself, Lester, to at least try to be the man you once were. Because I know, deep inside my heart of hearts, once we’re locked in that steel prison, I’m going to revert to the man I once was, and unless you do the same, you won’t stand a chance.”
Biggs is totally, eerily calm as he says this next part.
”Because tomorrow night, Level-One, you’re going to find out once again, why I am quite simply out of this world…”
The show fades to black with the APW logo and copyright flashing across the screen.
Xtreme Couture Gym in Toronto, Canada
I look across the octagon at my opponent, none other than my good friend, “Stunning” Stan Everdeen. He has an intense look on his face, determined, and focused, like he’s ready to fight. Outside of the steel octagon, “Sr. Guapo” Armando Asante stands amongst the crowd, gathered to watch our fight.
The Stud Muffins and I have spent the last two weeks training in Toronto, me for my big match against Level-One tomorrow night, and them, as Sr. Guapo put it, to look even sexier for the ladies. I already know that my wrestling ability is top notch, and that my aerial game is second to none, so I’ve been focusing on my striking game. I know that I’m giving up a lot of height and weight to Level-One, and considering the environment, Hell-in-a-Cell, my plan is to use hit and run tactics early on, wearing Level-One down before I go in to utilize my ground game. There’s no way I’m going to be able to match Level-One for power, so my hope, my goal in training these past few weeks is to work on my quickness and explosiveness. And while Stan is no Level-One, he’s of a similar size and strength, so fighting him will give me some good practice.
The instructor signals for us to begin the fight, and we meet in the center of the octagon, tapping gloves before taking a step back and circling around the structure, sizing each other up. I’ve been told all morning that they usually don’t see mismatches like this, at least in terms of size difference. Usually, everyone sticks in their own weight class, and calls it a day. However, weight classes are a luxury that professional wrestling does not afford me. I’m used to being the smaller guy in the fight, used to having to use my brains and quickness instead of brawn.
Stan tries to throw a haymaker punch my way, but I easily sidestep it and respond with a stinging calf kick, nailing him in the back of the leg! I immediately back up, keeping enough distance between him and myself to where I’m just out of range of his punches. Anytime he launches an attack at me, I sidestep it or dodge it, and respond with a counter attack of my own, making sure to not get greedy, only going for one or two shots at a time before I back out of range again. It’s not making for the most exciting fight, and I can tell that Stan is getting frustrated over the fact that he can seem to hit me at all. The first three minute round comes to an end with me firmly in control. I’ve hit a few solid shots, and I seem to be keeping Stan off of his game, but in all honesty, he doesn’t look that much worse for wear. The instructor spends some time coaching Stan, while another instructor, a muscular fella by the name of Bob, from outside the octagon tries to give me some pointers.
”You’re totally in control of this fight so far, but I don’t want you getting over confident. So far, you’re only winning on points, you’re not really doing much damage to him. I know in your sport, points don’t matter, so I’d like to see you really go for some hard hitting body shots. It’ll wear him down quicker, make it harder for him to breathe, setting up for bigger and better shots for you,” he barks at me. Even though they don’t get very many professional wrestlers here at the Xtreme Couture Gym, the staff has been very willing and helpful to modify their MMA training to suit my needs. It’s been money well spent training here.
The second round opens up with us meeting in the center of the octagon once more, and while I do stick with my dink and duck strategy, I’m focusing more on attacking Stan’s midsection with kicks and punches, getting one or two good shots in before pulling back. My instructor on the outside is barking at me to keep up the pressure, and as I go in to try and clutch him to deliver some knees to the midsection, I walk right into high kick from Stan that knocks me right in the temple! The octagon around me starts to spin, and I feel my knees go wobbly. I can barely make out Stan’s instructor yelling, ”FOLLOW UP! FOLLOW UP!”
Stan seems hesitant, though, almost like he doesn’t want to hurt me, which I use to my advantage to get right in there, and wallop him with a hard right and left to the midsection before nailing him with a stiff uppercut to the jaw! This staggers Stan, and out of instinct, I jump up and catch him with a Hurricanrana! I have Stan mounted and begin to wail on him, despite my dizziness, until the instructor in the cage pulls me off of him! As I stand up over my downed friend, it’s only then that I realize how badly I’ve beaten him down. Stan’s face is a bloody mess, an absolute bloody mess, and he’s on dream street. Armando has come rushing into the octagon, yelling something at me in Spanish that while I don’t understand the words, I can understand the sentiment that he’s not very happy with me.
I can’t help but feel intense pangs of guilt as I exit the cage and take a seat on a bench against the gray brick wall. Bob comes over to sit next to me, and tries to offer me some encouragement.
”I’ve never seen anyone, and I mean anyone, pull off that kind of Head Scissors move in the octagon before! I’m not even sure if it’s legal. But way to fight through that shot from your buddy…”
”Thanks, but I don’t want to hear it right now. I can’t believe I did that to Stan…”
Bob respectfully gives me some space as I continue to brood on the bench.
After a bit, I decide to get up, and take my frustrations out on the punching bag. I use a speed bag for about a minute or two before switching over to the Heavy Bag. Before long, Sr. Guapo and Stan come over. Stan’s forehead has been stitched up, and he seems to be in good spirits.
”Listen, man, I know you’re pissed at yourself for kicking my a** in the octagon, but I’m not mad at you at all, bro. If you brought that kind of fight against me, one of your best friends, just imagine what kind of fight you’re going to be bringing to Level-One tomorrow night! You bring that kind of fire, that kind of passion, and he won’t even know what hit him!”
I stay focused on the punching bag, striking it, punching it. Even though Stan has forgiven me, I can’t forgive myself. He’s right, of course. I know he’s right. Both about him being one of my best friends, and the fact that I went overboard against him. He didn’t say as much, but I know that I did. And that’s what bothers me.
Armando can tell that I’m not responding to them, so he interjects. ”Mi amigo, I’m sorry I said those terrible things about you right after your fight with Stan. I was muy enojado contigo, and I let my temper get the best of me.”
”There’s nothing to apologize for. For one, I didn’t understand a word you said, and secondly, I probably deserved it,” I respond coldly as I give the heavy bag a stiff kick, not even looking at the Stud Muffins.
”You’re doing that thing again, where you get hypercritical of yourself, and you beat yourself up. It’s not a big deal that you beat me up in there, heck, it’s not even a little deal! It’s no problem, man, no problem at all,” Stan says, trying to encourage me.
This gets my attention. I punch the heavy bag one more time as hard as I can before turning to my friends, looking Stan in the eyes as I speak, ”It might not be a big deal to you, Stan, but it’s a big deal to me, alright! If I’m capable of going so savage on a man I consider to be one of my closest friends, how am I any better than I used to be? How am I any better than Level-One?”
“I know that he’s not going to hold anything back once we step inside that Cell tomorrow night, and as much as I’d like to thing that I wouldn’t either, today made me realize that I might not be able to do that, okay? I used to not care what people thought about me, and to a certain extent, I still don’t. But I care about what I think about myself, and there was no excuse, no reason for me to be so gosh darn brutal on you, Stan!”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want the Cell to change who I am. I’ve been growing, I’ve been trying to change, and I don’t want this one match, this one structure to fundamentally change who I am. I don’t want to revert back to the callous, win at all costs jerk that I used to be, and I can very much see that happening tomorrow night.”
“There, you have it. That’s why it’s not alright that I went all ape crazy on you, Stan. That’s why it’s not alright that I cracked your head open and gave you stitches? Now will you guys just please leave me alone?”
Armando puts his hand on my shoulder, ”No, amigo, we can’t do that. We’re your friends, and unlike some of your friends you may have had in the past, Stan and I, we’re going to be with you through thick and thin.”
”You might not like to hear this, Biggs, but if you don’t walk into that Cell with the killer instinct that you showed today in the octagon, Level-One is going to chew you up and spit you out. Inside Hell-in-a-Cell, it’s eat or be eaten, man.”
”I just wish there was a way to where I didn’t have to stoop down to his level, you know. I know I’m going all Peeta Mellark here, but I just wish there was a way I could go into that Cell, and come out still me, you know…”
Sr. Guapo leans in towards Stan, and I pick up him whispering to him, ”Who’s Peeta Mellark?”
”He’s a character in The Hunger Games.”
”Oh, okay.”
”Listen, Biggs, nobody is saying that you have to become a different person inside that Cell. What you showed me today inside the octagon is that you already have the killer instinct inside you. It’s already a part of you. Now I’m not saying you need to walk around the streets being ready to take off anyone’s head who bugs you, but what I am saying is you need to tap into that instinct inside Hell-in-a-Cell. Just because you’re doing what you need to do to survive inside that Cell, it won’t make you a bad person. Heck, it’ll just be natural self-preservation!”
”You’re always too hard on yourself, amigo. You know as well as we do that deep down, you’re a good person, even if you aren’t convinced you are.”
”The fact that you felt guilty about what you did today shows that. Heck, you may even feel guilty after you get done with Level-One inside the Cell. So long as you hold onto that, I don’t think you have any worries about losing yourself, no matter what you do inside that Cell.”
Stan gives me a hearty pat on the back. I know that they’re being sincere, I know they’re just trying to help, but there’s still a part of me that’s worried about my match tomorrow night. Not because of the threat of physical harm. No, I’ve already made peace with the fact that I’m in for a brutal, brutal night. I’m just worried about what I might have to become in order to overcome Level-One.
”Thanks for trying to cheer me up guys,” I respond, although even I can tell the gloom is still evident in my voice.
”You know what, mi amigo, I think I know what would cheer you up? What if we called your new girlfriend, Alice?”
I slug Armando in the shoulder. ”She’s not my girlfriend! She’s just my friend who happens to be a woman!”
”So there’s no attraction there? Can I call dibs?!” Stan jokes around with me, trying to get a rise out of me.
”If he can’t have dibs, can I?!” Sr. Guapo butts in.
These guys know how to push my buttons, and I can’t help but laugh as I tell them that neither one of them can have dibs, ”Listen guys, even though there’s nothing romantic going on between me and Alice, I don’t want either one of you guys calling ‘dibs,’ alright? She’s my friend, show her some respect! Please!”
As we’re joking around, I hear the theme song of Doctor Who coming from my duffel bag against the wall.
”You hear that, Biggs? That must be her! Go on Lover Boy!”
”I’m not Lover Boy! We’re just friends!”
”Sure you are!” Armando gives me a nudge and wink as I grab my phone and answer it.
”Hi Alice, how’s it going?”
”Hey Gary. I’m just calling to make sure that we’re still on for the new episode of Doctor Who next Saturday.”
”Does the Doctor like fish fingers and custard? Of course I’m still on! I’m looking forward to it. None of my other friends like Doctor Who, so it’ll be fun to watch it with a fellow fan.”
”I know. I have the same problem. Oh, also, my brother invited me over to his place tomorrow to watch that pay-per-view thing you’re in tomorrow night…”
”RassleMania.”
”Yeah, RassleMania. Anywho, he totally flipped out when I told him I’d come because I knew you. So he’s already asking me if when you get back to Seattle if he can get your autograph and all that kind of stuff. I told him that I didn’t want to take advantage of our friendship, so I told him to come watch Doctor Who with us if he wanted to meet you. Is that alright?”
”The more the merrier!”
”Great! That’s great! He’s really excited. Well, that’s about all I had to tell you, other than good luck, of course! So yeah, good luck!”
”Thanks Alice. I hope you have a great night.”
”You too! Toodles!”
”Good bye.”
As I hang up, Stan and Armando are right there, making smoochie faces, picking on me. I slug both of them on the shoulders as we get back to working out.
***
Airing March 23
Depeche Mode’s “Spacewalker” plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in big, bold blue letters. The screen transitions to Biggs seated in the Rogers Centre the night before RassleMania. He’s wearing a RassleMania IX shirt, and is seated in the first row off the floor. Ring technicians are doing one last sweep of all the technical systems for the big show, from the stage lights, to the video screens, and the cables that will raise and lower the Cell for the Level-One vs. Biggs match tomorrow night. Biggs looks up at the Cell as it descends upon the ring.
”You know, it’s funny, how when you’re looking into the very near future, the past has a funny way of sneaking right back upon you. My very near future involves that lovely steel Cell lowering around the ring right now. 30 square feet contained within its walls, 20 feet high, 5 tons of steel. Tomorrow night, I’m going to be locked in that monstrosity with one of the few men in this world I actually consider an enemy, Level-One. And despite the fact that the match is less than 24 hours away, I can’t help but be preoccupied with July 29th, 2009.”
“I know you remember that date, Level-One, perhaps not as well as I do, but I know that that date means something to you. Because on Wednesday, July 29th, 2009, in Manchester, New Hampshire, you and I wrestled one another for the very first time. I remember exactly how I felt that night. I had butterflies in my stomach. Here I was, getting ready to wrestle the undisputed top guy in APW at the time. It was my chance to prove my worth, to show that I could not only hang with the big boys, but that I belonged at the top of the card.”
“Of course, you won that match, but in the process, something funny happened. I know you don’t like to admit it now, but thanks to that match, you came to respect me. Of course, going in, I had nothing but respect for you. Heck, you were Level-freakin’-One! But before that match, I wasn’t even on your radar, but afterwards, well, let’s just say I got your attention.”
“From there, we had a loose alliance, helping one another out whenever it served our needs, most notably when President Jeff was kidnapped by President Mac and his EWC lackeys, when you, Chris Cyrus and myself ran Overdrive in his absence.”
“We were an absolutely unstoppable force. We made Overdrive great week in and week out. I’ll be honest, I don’t even remember what caused our fallout at the time, knowing us, it was probably our egos. Still, I can’t deny that it was a lot of fun being on the same page with you for those few months.”
“For some reason, our paths didn’t cross again until July 3rd, 2011. Of course I know you remember this day well. It was the day I did something that only two other people in APW history can say that they’ve done, and that’s defeat you for the APW Undisputed Championship! You overlooked me going into that match, Lester, I know you did! After all, I was just the lowly Overdrive Champion in your eyes, I had no business challenging for your belt. The only reason in your mind why I got a shot was because everyone else of note was tied up in the Test for the Best tournament!”
“But the fact is, Lester, whether you felt I deserved the shot at the time or not, nobody can say I didn’t make the most of it, when I pinned your shoulders to the mat, one, two, three! And sure, I may have had my feet on the ropes when I did so, but I was in a totally different place then than I am now. I was okay with it then. In that match, I only had to be better than you for three seconds, and I was, which gave me my one and only reign as the APW Undisputed Champion.”
“Now I know that you’ve given me all sorts of hell over the fact that I did not successfully defend the championship even once during my brief run, but if I remember correctly, and believe me, I do, somebody else’s first run with the title ended during his first defense as well. Care to make any guesses who it was, Lester?”
“It was you, of course! Granted, nobody remembers it because you’ve gone on to win the belt another three times, but the fact is, Lester, after you won the belt from Michael Lively at RassleMania V, you lost it in your first defense against Pence Weatherlight, Jason Royce, and John Green at Mayhem 2009! So before you start to criticize me, be sure to take a long, hard look at yourself, and hold yourself to the same standards that you hold me!”
“Of course, you’re not able to do this, because as I’ve pointed out time and time again, not only do you lack basic respect for yourself, but you’re also kind of obsessed with me. It’s actually kind of creepy how much importance you’ve put on trying to beat me. It’s like you’re in an arrested state of development, career wise, until you’re able to get that ever elusive victory over me! Because the last time you did defeat me in a one-on-one situation was July 29, 2009. That’s just shy of four years, Level-One, and I know it’s got to be eating you up. Sometimes in this business, there just seems to be those people that no matter how much you try, you just can’t get over the hump against them. For me, that’s my buddy C.J. Gates. And yet, you don’t see me going around, trying to end C.J. Gates’ career, do you?”
“And yes, I know, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on my part. I will admit, there were several times in the past that I tried to do just that, but the fact of the matter is that I’m not letting my troubles with C.J. affect the rest of my career. I know that I will one day get another chance to face off against him, and hopefully I’ll be able to get the victory, but I’m not going to put the rest of my career on hold just because there’s one guy I haven’t been able to beat!”
“You’ve done just that, Level-One, and in doing so, you’ve given me power over you. I literally have the power to shape the direction of your career for the foreseeable future. Even when I do defeat you inside Hell-in-a-Cell tomorrow night, I know that things between me and you won’t be over! Far from it! Because knowing you the way that I do, I wouldn’t be surprised if you kept coming after me, using guerilla tactics, whining and complaining until you got another match with me. And when I beat you again, we’d go over the same thing again and again, until the fans got sick and tired of seeing us fight!”
“I don’t want that, Level-One, and I know you don’t either. Besides, after Hell-in-a-Cell, where else is there really for us to go?”
“The bottom line is this, Lester, tomorrow night, we will be bringing a portion of our respective careers to a close. This is only the third time ever we’ve fought in a one-on-one context. You’ve won one, I’ve won one. Tomorrow night, let’s find out who the better man truly is, and leave at that. No rematches. No excuses. Tomorrow night, inside Hell-in-a-Cell, it ends between you and me.”
“Now I’m not suggesting that we do something rash like put our careers on the line or anything like that. Kurt Noble and Chris Hart already have that covered in their little blood feud. There’s plenty of room for the both of us in APW, but there’s only room at the top for one of us!”
“And quite frankly, I like the view from up here far too much to give it up!”
Biggs flashes his trademark smirk, and continues to speak directly into the camera.
”Tomorrow night is the proving ground, Level-One, between you and I. Both of us will enter the Cell, only one of us can leave the victor. And even then, neither one of us may be able to leave of our own accord! What we’ve agreed to in having our match contested within the confines of Hell-in-a-Cell, is that we’ve agreed to putting our bodies on the line! We’ve agreed to shortening our respective careers! We’ve agreed to show one another no mercy, nor to expect any mercy. We’ve agreed to put it all on the line, simply for the reason that we want to prove that we are the better man.”
“Also, you have that little bounty on your head. So you felt that it would be safer for us to fight inside the Cell, because if there’s one kind of match that nobody can get into, it’s Hell-in-a-Cell. It’ll be just you, me, 5 tons of steel, and a lifetimes worth of animosity. You think it’s safer inside the Cell than it is outside. You think it’s safer for you to be locked inside a steel prison with the likes of me rather than having the whole locker room come down and try to take you out during the course of our match to try and collect on that $500,000 bounty on your head.”
“I accepted the match, because I don’t want there to be any excuses on your part after I defeat you. I know that it’s a huge risk being locked inside the Cell with an animal like you, Level-One, but did you ever stop to think how dangerous it would be for you to be locked inside the Cell with me? I don’t think you have, Lester.”
“You know how I said earlier that I was more than a little bit afraid of stepping inside the Hell-in-a-Cell tomorrow night? It’s not because I’m afraid of you, Lester. It’s not even because I’m afraid of the Cell. I know what I’m going up against in you, and I’d like to think my experience in Steel Cage matches and the Elimination Chamber have somehow prepared me for the goliath structure we’ll find ourselves locked in. No Lester, to be perfectly honest, I’m afraid of what I’m going to become inside that Cell, and you should be afraid to.”
“Just because I’ve got the fans on my side doesn’t mean I lack that dark place that I used to go to all the time. It doesn’t mean I’ve lost it. It just means I haven’t been using it. Inside that Cell, Lester, I know that I’m going to need to pull out all the stops, because you’re not going to pull any either. I know that I’ll have to go to that deep, dark place I’ve been trying to repress. And quite frankly, I’m afraid of what I may be capable of when I get there. You should be too.”
Biggs has an almost sinister look in his eyes as he glares directly into the camera.
“The fact is, Level-One, tomorrow night, we find out what kind of man you truly are. I already know who I am. I have no qualms with being myself. But you obviously do. You wouldn’t settle for being Terry Marvin’s little lap dog if you still had the confidence in yourself that you had four years ago. You wouldn’t hide behind the chest puffing and bluffing façade of your so-called Celebrity Status if you were satisfied with who you really are.”
“When I think of celebrities, Lester, one word comes to mind: Phony. And you’ve been nothing but phony ever since you took up the whole Celebrity Status angle. You’ve always been more concerned about pleasing others, worrying what they thought about you, rather than going out there, being yourself, and shining! I know for a fact Lester that you’re better than being Terry Marvin’s b****! You better than being wrapped around the little fingers of Felipe DeLoren and the LeWinter sisters! You don’t need the Sinidicate, Level-One, they need you! They need you to keep Terry Marvin at the top of the food chain. They need you to keep Terry the champ.”
“The only reason I’m bringing this up, Lester, is because I want to face you at your very best tomorrow night. I don’t want there to be any doubt whatsoever that the two of us gave each other nothing less than all we had. And I know that that’s just not possible so long as you’re clutching onto Terry’s skirt strings, asking him if you can come out to play.”
“You’re Level-freakin’-One! Start acting like it!”
“There’s no other way around it, Lester, tomorrow night, you and I are in for a big-time fight. No doubt one that will go down in history as one of the most violent, one of the most brutal Hell-in-a-Cell matches in APW history! You and I have made history before, Lester, and tomorrow night, in front of your home town crowd, we’re going to do it again! I just hope you’re emotionally and physically up to the task.”
“At RassleMania IX, Lester, between you and me, it ends. There’s no rematch, no excuses. The better man will prevail tomorrow night. There’s no other way it can go inside a structure like Hell-in-a-Cell. I just hope that as we’re both being burned by the fires of hell, that when our true characters are revealed, well, I just hope to see the Level-One of old, and not the Level-One of lately. You owe it to yourself, Lester, to at least try to be the man you once were. Because I know, deep inside my heart of hearts, once we’re locked in that steel prison, I’m going to revert to the man I once was, and unless you do the same, you won’t stand a chance.”
Biggs is totally, eerily calm as he says this next part.
”Because tomorrow night, Level-One, you’re going to find out once again, why I am quite simply out of this world…”
The show fades to black with the APW logo and copyright flashing across the screen.
