Post by Your JESUS on Apr 29, 2013 22:14:56 GMT -4
~A Time in Waiting~
Disappointment, am I disappointed with my Asylum debut? The savior of wrestling does not experience disappointment. Sure the outcome was something less then desirable, but I'm very flexible. I embrace the roller coaster of this career, like a Cadillac I smoothly coast over the speed bumps and potholes handling them with ease. In my short time I have seen it all, had my share of success and experienced my portion of failure.
It was a little more then five years ago when I started to see my dreams unfold. When I was called to the APW corporate offices, which at the time weren't as lavish as they are now; I was wet behind the ears and filled with aspirations. It didn't take long for me to get acclimated, people claimed I was a natural. No matter how much I believe that statement I had every intention of making that belief a reality, making my dreams come to life. They have sprouted wings and flown, stood up and walked, these dreams of mine have basically taken shape. Yet there are a few of my dreams left to experience the travel through the womb to eventually enter the world and take their first breath of life. Five years some men are barely scratching the surface of success, yet in that short time I have damn near overdosed on it, people awkwardly refer to me as washed up, old, and past my prime. Silly Rabbits...there is work still to be done, this high dollar Cadillac is full of gas and ready to keep flossing.
Before my dreams can be addressed it seems once again I am obligated in fulfilling the dreams of others, this time young Brazilian children. You would think some one higher up would learn their lesson having me associate with the youth of the world. I guess A.C. Smith was too busy to lend a motivating hand to these younglings, perhaps the goody two shoes Anthony Bailey is really a goody two face that hates the youth that look up to him. No fear, the savior of wrestling is here. That's right it is I, Michael Lively who will play Football with the Brazilian youngsters that follow the APW. Me, the quote unquote villain, who is willing to step up and mold the children of this some what of a third world country.
Thankfully I will teach them to take comfort in their surroundings, take pride in where they come from, and thrive despite it. If people like Bailey were to come here these kids would be forced to be ashamed of their gritty roots, he would teach them to try and paint a pretty picture over their already intriguing landscape. He doesn't understand that if you try to change something in the hopes of dressing it up in your minds mold of beauty, then all you are left with is superficial imitation. The real treat is in watching something adapt in a ruthless cut throat environment spawn into a breath taking thing of stunning beauty. It refused to be held down, it chose to rise above, and most of all is a product of something gritty, and foul. With those intentions in mind I arrive at the park where a pack of children await their celebrity coach for a day. I step out of my high class rental and pop the trunk. I sling an equipment bag over my shoulder and head towards the terrors I intend to shape up.
As my feet crunch along the somewhat dry grass the children look none too pleased with the charitable organizations choice of mentor offered up. I toss the bag at their feet and greet them like only I know how.
Lively: What's up you filthy fetuses!!!
A slew of cocked eyed smirks stare back at me as if these little street dwelling rats hadn't a clue what I just said. Thankfully one of these demon seeds steps up.
"Uh Mr. Lively, none of these boys understand English"
Puzzled yet not surprised I nod my head. This is why I do not like International tours. With a deep breath I try to continue on with my charitable commitment as if it were a court appointed community service sentence.
Lively: What's your name little man?
"Santos"
Lively: Can I trust you to be my interpreter? I'm completely serious here, if I speak a word I need it repeated in your native tongue with nothing getting lost in translation.
Santos nods as I pat him on the head. I reach down unzipping the duffle bag.
Lively: Whose ready for some Football???
Santos translates and the children go wild. I kind of smile at the excitement from these youngsters. With that I pull out a bunch of cones.
Lively: Santos tell these munchkins to set us up a field...
Santos spits some gibberish as I hand over the cones. Like minions following my orders in seconds we have what seems to be a field of play. Standing there I decide Santos is a team captain, and I pick some other snot nosed brat to oppose him. With a few directions and the help of my translator we got ourselves a couple of teams ready for some football. I reach in the bag pulling out the brown leather and laced oblong ball tossing it to the eager children who all look puzzled. These little offsprings stare at this thing as if it was a foreign object that just fell from the sky.
Suddenly they shrug their shoulders and start kicking this ball back and forth with their voices elevated screaming in some rather annoying sounding language that i naively can refer to as Brazig-lish. As this madness unfolds it soon is me who looks confused and stunned by the actions of these sperm seed sprouts. I quickly blow the whistle halting the action and run the middle of the field grabbing the ball. Instantly I look toward Santos for help tossing him a look that sends off a "what the Hell was that?" question.
Santos: Uhh we want to play Futbol and even though you have a broken ball we figured we would improvise.
Lively: Broken ball? Listen here you scrawny little twerp there is nothing wrong with the ball it's a Football, you brain dead deprived bastards are using it wrong.
I grab the ball from the turf, rear back and blast a random Brazilian child in the chest with a Peyton Manning-esque spiral.
Lively: You are supposed to catch it, geez!!
One of the kids grabs the ball and tries to throw the ball this time nailing another child in the face with a wobbly duck looking Tony Romo-esque amateur throw. I can't help but laugh in amusement, but know I must further their education. I grab the ball handing it to a kid that I separate from the pack. Then I explain to Santos that he needs to tell these kids it's time to learn tackling.
Lively: Pretty much if someone has the ball, you pricks just chase him and try to knock his fucking head off.
Santos explains yet these kids look on like Zombies hungry for brains, so I decided to demonstrate.
Lively: Tell him to run Santos!!
The kid hears the translation and does just that. I break off in a dead sprint to catch this booger, and round off coming in from a side angle and blast this kid with a full shoulder trucking. A groan from all the kids fills the air as this young man writhes in pain in the grass.
Lively: That's tackling!!! Tell em!!
The kids scream with excitement at the violence I am bestowing on them. Suddenly a young boy comes running up to us with a soccer ball, and these attention deficient little bastards quickly scurry off with this kid and start playing soccer. I sternly call for Santos to come here. He eagerly looks at me waiting to hear what I have to say.
Lively: I thought you guys wanted to play Football.
Santos: We are playing Futbol.
Lively: What? No that's Soccer!!
Just then a kid kicks the ball wildly toward my head. I catch this ball looking at Santos with an evil glare!!!
Lively: Futbol huh?!?
The kids call for the ball as Santos gives me the innocent smile of a child. I realize that here today I am making a difference. I am touching these young lives. Despite every questionable thing I have ever done in the past, right now I am partaking in a noble thing. These children have it rough, some of them have no male role model in their lives, no one to teach them important lessons in life. I have a chance to be that man for these kids. The warmth that comes over my mid section is like nothing I have experienced before. A smile forms on my face as these kids continue calling for the ball. Santos backs up calling for it himself getting my attention. With a huge heart warming grin I motion toward these guys.
Lively: Back up!!
All the boys do while calling for the ball jockeying for an opening hoping it will be them I throw it too. I think to myself this is what life is really about, teaching kids valuable lessons. So I pull out a pocket knife and stab the soccer ball deflating it along with those children's great moods. I toss the flattened ball in the grass as the smile leaves my face.
Lively: Santos, listen up. You tell these kids this is a life learning moment. First, and foremost soccer SUCKS!!! Second, you assholes aren't shit!! The people of your community don't think you are shit, your parents, your teachers, your governing bodies in the community all think you are nothing as well. Face you assholes got dealt the shit end of the stick being born here. They want you to be happy and free playing in the park, they want to trap you into being dull brain dead idiots that have no choice but to be the next generation of stale reproductions of your forefathers. I'm here to hopefully change the course of your life. Open your eyes to light a fire of anger inside your chests. Anger my little Brazilian friends is a gift. You should be angry at the guy who has more then you, angry at the guy who is better then you, that anger should inspire you to accept nothing less then the best. Don't accept these dull and miserable circumstances!!! Let them mold you, be proud yet disgusted at the grime you dwell in. Get angry at the hand you were dealt and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!! Dig deep inside and open that box society convinces you to lock up tight. In that locked place is where your dreams are kept, look at that dream, embrace it and let the fire burn violently hard to fuel the anger toward anyone trying to stifle that dream!!
I stop as Santos rattles off the rest of my words toward these kids. They look on as if my bits of inspiration might be making a difference. I just look at them, and they all just throw their arms up in the air at me. I guess they are still upset about the ball. Feeling as if my message fell upon deaf ears I shake my head and walk off. I get to my car thinking about the complete waste of my life that this was, then look back to see Santos grab the deflated soccer ball. A huge grin comes across the boys face as he throws it down and outstretches his arms emulating me in am I am JESUS pose. I sit in the drivers seat looking toward young Santos and think maybe just maybe I had done something good, maybe my words fell upon a pair of worthy ears after all.
~Sometime Later~
I walk down the hallway of the hotel leading to my suite. My mind focused on this weeks task as last weeks disappointment lingers around. An internal argument starts to brew as my ego tries to make an excuse for loss. My arrogance with it's own personality explains how much tag team matches disgust me. How the wild card factor of it all leaves too much room for error. No matter how convincing of an angle my ego presents, the logical side of my brain understands it's part of the business. Knows it was me who got caught. You do not spend as much time inside a ring as we do being professionals without tasting the putrid essence of defeat. You see the logical side of my mind accepts this loss and is trying to strategize a game plan for this week, so we can dine of the spoils of victory. With each step I replay the six man match trying to see the holes in my game, thinking of a different action that could of been taken to fill in the gaps.
I slide the key card in the slot and with a green light I enter the suite. Immediately I get punched in the face with a nose crippling smell. My throat suddenly gets a lump and I begin to gag.
Lively: What the fuck??
Jason Kash walks out from the kitchen area sipping on a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Kash: Sorry bro long story...
Lively: Truth or Dare again?
My stable mate shrugs his shoulders kind of admitting to it being the catalyst of the foul smell filling the room. I look in one of the bedrooms in the distance to see Reaver sleeping on a bed with his mask on and a clothespin pinching his nose shut. The mans mouth wide open as he howls out loud mouth gargling sounds with each breath as if he swallows his tongue with each inhale. I shake my head in laughter as I sit on the leather chair in the living area. Jason smashes the stomach soothing medicine and plops down on the couch stretching out. I lean back and ask Kash for his insight as he tosses the empty bottle over his shoulder.
Lively: Alright big time, give me the run down on Bailey? You two are very familiar with one another, what am I in store for?
Kash folds his arms behind his head as he looks up toward the ceiling before responding.
Kash: My good friend Anthony Bailey...
The sarcasm from Jason's mouth was quite intense as he mentions the leader of the Dying Breeds name. The tone speaks volumes of the content, history, and lack of love between Kash and my future opponent.
Kash: Listen honestly I know you are talented, but you can't look down on Bailey. If you think he is beneath you some how the son of bitch feeds on that. He will surprise you.
I nod my head as I listen on, my eye brows raise slightly.
Lively: Look down on him, I do that?
Kash laughs instantly.
Kash: You serious?
I kind of take a deep breath and motion for him to continue.
Kash: Bro, Bailey has the capabilities to perform at high levels. Although he has a tendency to fall short and collapse under pressure.
I nod my head as I grin at this revelation.
Kash: You need to dictate the pace of the match from the bell. You need to smother him with pressure, and never let up. Don't give him a chance to think, don't leave him an opportunity to process the situation you are putting him in...
Lively: I see attack, attack, and attack in a variety.
Kash nods as he sits up.
Kash: Mike, Bailey won't step into the realm of Foul. You need to drag him there yourself. You bring him there and that's where we have the advantage.
I stand from the chair and head toward the fridge. I open the door and again a smell blasts me in the face shocking me where I stand.
Lively: Oh Gawd!!!
Kash: Oh yeah, there's a concoction in there that I plan on paying Reaver back with.
Lively: What the hell is in it?
Kash: I went to a butcher shop when he was asleep. Lamb guts, liquified goat testicles, and rotten chicken livers!!!
Lively: I don't even want to know what you plan to do with that. I just wanted some water!!
I shut the door of the fridge almost amused by the nature of these two and their hyjenks.
Lively: I will be back.
I exit the stink shack of a suite heading toward the hotel lobby store to get a bottle of water. With advice firmly in hand now all that is left is to study Baileys body of work, and prepare to cleanse the Asylum by ridding it of it's Mr. Clean Anthony Bailey.
Disappointment, am I disappointed with my Asylum debut? The savior of wrestling does not experience disappointment. Sure the outcome was something less then desirable, but I'm very flexible. I embrace the roller coaster of this career, like a Cadillac I smoothly coast over the speed bumps and potholes handling them with ease. In my short time I have seen it all, had my share of success and experienced my portion of failure.
It was a little more then five years ago when I started to see my dreams unfold. When I was called to the APW corporate offices, which at the time weren't as lavish as they are now; I was wet behind the ears and filled with aspirations. It didn't take long for me to get acclimated, people claimed I was a natural. No matter how much I believe that statement I had every intention of making that belief a reality, making my dreams come to life. They have sprouted wings and flown, stood up and walked, these dreams of mine have basically taken shape. Yet there are a few of my dreams left to experience the travel through the womb to eventually enter the world and take their first breath of life. Five years some men are barely scratching the surface of success, yet in that short time I have damn near overdosed on it, people awkwardly refer to me as washed up, old, and past my prime. Silly Rabbits...there is work still to be done, this high dollar Cadillac is full of gas and ready to keep flossing.
Before my dreams can be addressed it seems once again I am obligated in fulfilling the dreams of others, this time young Brazilian children. You would think some one higher up would learn their lesson having me associate with the youth of the world. I guess A.C. Smith was too busy to lend a motivating hand to these younglings, perhaps the goody two shoes Anthony Bailey is really a goody two face that hates the youth that look up to him. No fear, the savior of wrestling is here. That's right it is I, Michael Lively who will play Football with the Brazilian youngsters that follow the APW. Me, the quote unquote villain, who is willing to step up and mold the children of this some what of a third world country.
Thankfully I will teach them to take comfort in their surroundings, take pride in where they come from, and thrive despite it. If people like Bailey were to come here these kids would be forced to be ashamed of their gritty roots, he would teach them to try and paint a pretty picture over their already intriguing landscape. He doesn't understand that if you try to change something in the hopes of dressing it up in your minds mold of beauty, then all you are left with is superficial imitation. The real treat is in watching something adapt in a ruthless cut throat environment spawn into a breath taking thing of stunning beauty. It refused to be held down, it chose to rise above, and most of all is a product of something gritty, and foul. With those intentions in mind I arrive at the park where a pack of children await their celebrity coach for a day. I step out of my high class rental and pop the trunk. I sling an equipment bag over my shoulder and head towards the terrors I intend to shape up.
As my feet crunch along the somewhat dry grass the children look none too pleased with the charitable organizations choice of mentor offered up. I toss the bag at their feet and greet them like only I know how.
Lively: What's up you filthy fetuses!!!
A slew of cocked eyed smirks stare back at me as if these little street dwelling rats hadn't a clue what I just said. Thankfully one of these demon seeds steps up.
"Uh Mr. Lively, none of these boys understand English"
Puzzled yet not surprised I nod my head. This is why I do not like International tours. With a deep breath I try to continue on with my charitable commitment as if it were a court appointed community service sentence.
Lively: What's your name little man?
"Santos"
Lively: Can I trust you to be my interpreter? I'm completely serious here, if I speak a word I need it repeated in your native tongue with nothing getting lost in translation.
Santos nods as I pat him on the head. I reach down unzipping the duffle bag.
Lively: Whose ready for some Football???
Santos translates and the children go wild. I kind of smile at the excitement from these youngsters. With that I pull out a bunch of cones.
Lively: Santos tell these munchkins to set us up a field...
Santos spits some gibberish as I hand over the cones. Like minions following my orders in seconds we have what seems to be a field of play. Standing there I decide Santos is a team captain, and I pick some other snot nosed brat to oppose him. With a few directions and the help of my translator we got ourselves a couple of teams ready for some football. I reach in the bag pulling out the brown leather and laced oblong ball tossing it to the eager children who all look puzzled. These little offsprings stare at this thing as if it was a foreign object that just fell from the sky.
Suddenly they shrug their shoulders and start kicking this ball back and forth with their voices elevated screaming in some rather annoying sounding language that i naively can refer to as Brazig-lish. As this madness unfolds it soon is me who looks confused and stunned by the actions of these sperm seed sprouts. I quickly blow the whistle halting the action and run the middle of the field grabbing the ball. Instantly I look toward Santos for help tossing him a look that sends off a "what the Hell was that?" question.
Santos: Uhh we want to play Futbol and even though you have a broken ball we figured we would improvise.
Lively: Broken ball? Listen here you scrawny little twerp there is nothing wrong with the ball it's a Football, you brain dead deprived bastards are using it wrong.
I grab the ball from the turf, rear back and blast a random Brazilian child in the chest with a Peyton Manning-esque spiral.
Lively: You are supposed to catch it, geez!!
One of the kids grabs the ball and tries to throw the ball this time nailing another child in the face with a wobbly duck looking Tony Romo-esque amateur throw. I can't help but laugh in amusement, but know I must further their education. I grab the ball handing it to a kid that I separate from the pack. Then I explain to Santos that he needs to tell these kids it's time to learn tackling.
Lively: Pretty much if someone has the ball, you pricks just chase him and try to knock his fucking head off.
Santos explains yet these kids look on like Zombies hungry for brains, so I decided to demonstrate.
Lively: Tell him to run Santos!!
The kid hears the translation and does just that. I break off in a dead sprint to catch this booger, and round off coming in from a side angle and blast this kid with a full shoulder trucking. A groan from all the kids fills the air as this young man writhes in pain in the grass.
Lively: That's tackling!!! Tell em!!
The kids scream with excitement at the violence I am bestowing on them. Suddenly a young boy comes running up to us with a soccer ball, and these attention deficient little bastards quickly scurry off with this kid and start playing soccer. I sternly call for Santos to come here. He eagerly looks at me waiting to hear what I have to say.
Lively: I thought you guys wanted to play Football.
Santos: We are playing Futbol.
Lively: What? No that's Soccer!!
Just then a kid kicks the ball wildly toward my head. I catch this ball looking at Santos with an evil glare!!!
Lively: Futbol huh?!?
The kids call for the ball as Santos gives me the innocent smile of a child. I realize that here today I am making a difference. I am touching these young lives. Despite every questionable thing I have ever done in the past, right now I am partaking in a noble thing. These children have it rough, some of them have no male role model in their lives, no one to teach them important lessons in life. I have a chance to be that man for these kids. The warmth that comes over my mid section is like nothing I have experienced before. A smile forms on my face as these kids continue calling for the ball. Santos backs up calling for it himself getting my attention. With a huge heart warming grin I motion toward these guys.
Lively: Back up!!
All the boys do while calling for the ball jockeying for an opening hoping it will be them I throw it too. I think to myself this is what life is really about, teaching kids valuable lessons. So I pull out a pocket knife and stab the soccer ball deflating it along with those children's great moods. I toss the flattened ball in the grass as the smile leaves my face.
Lively: Santos, listen up. You tell these kids this is a life learning moment. First, and foremost soccer SUCKS!!! Second, you assholes aren't shit!! The people of your community don't think you are shit, your parents, your teachers, your governing bodies in the community all think you are nothing as well. Face you assholes got dealt the shit end of the stick being born here. They want you to be happy and free playing in the park, they want to trap you into being dull brain dead idiots that have no choice but to be the next generation of stale reproductions of your forefathers. I'm here to hopefully change the course of your life. Open your eyes to light a fire of anger inside your chests. Anger my little Brazilian friends is a gift. You should be angry at the guy who has more then you, angry at the guy who is better then you, that anger should inspire you to accept nothing less then the best. Don't accept these dull and miserable circumstances!!! Let them mold you, be proud yet disgusted at the grime you dwell in. Get angry at the hand you were dealt and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!! Dig deep inside and open that box society convinces you to lock up tight. In that locked place is where your dreams are kept, look at that dream, embrace it and let the fire burn violently hard to fuel the anger toward anyone trying to stifle that dream!!
I stop as Santos rattles off the rest of my words toward these kids. They look on as if my bits of inspiration might be making a difference. I just look at them, and they all just throw their arms up in the air at me. I guess they are still upset about the ball. Feeling as if my message fell upon deaf ears I shake my head and walk off. I get to my car thinking about the complete waste of my life that this was, then look back to see Santos grab the deflated soccer ball. A huge grin comes across the boys face as he throws it down and outstretches his arms emulating me in am I am JESUS pose. I sit in the drivers seat looking toward young Santos and think maybe just maybe I had done something good, maybe my words fell upon a pair of worthy ears after all.
~Sometime Later~
I walk down the hallway of the hotel leading to my suite. My mind focused on this weeks task as last weeks disappointment lingers around. An internal argument starts to brew as my ego tries to make an excuse for loss. My arrogance with it's own personality explains how much tag team matches disgust me. How the wild card factor of it all leaves too much room for error. No matter how convincing of an angle my ego presents, the logical side of my brain understands it's part of the business. Knows it was me who got caught. You do not spend as much time inside a ring as we do being professionals without tasting the putrid essence of defeat. You see the logical side of my mind accepts this loss and is trying to strategize a game plan for this week, so we can dine of the spoils of victory. With each step I replay the six man match trying to see the holes in my game, thinking of a different action that could of been taken to fill in the gaps.
I slide the key card in the slot and with a green light I enter the suite. Immediately I get punched in the face with a nose crippling smell. My throat suddenly gets a lump and I begin to gag.
Lively: What the fuck??
Jason Kash walks out from the kitchen area sipping on a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Kash: Sorry bro long story...
Lively: Truth or Dare again?
My stable mate shrugs his shoulders kind of admitting to it being the catalyst of the foul smell filling the room. I look in one of the bedrooms in the distance to see Reaver sleeping on a bed with his mask on and a clothespin pinching his nose shut. The mans mouth wide open as he howls out loud mouth gargling sounds with each breath as if he swallows his tongue with each inhale. I shake my head in laughter as I sit on the leather chair in the living area. Jason smashes the stomach soothing medicine and plops down on the couch stretching out. I lean back and ask Kash for his insight as he tosses the empty bottle over his shoulder.
Lively: Alright big time, give me the run down on Bailey? You two are very familiar with one another, what am I in store for?
Kash folds his arms behind his head as he looks up toward the ceiling before responding.
Kash: My good friend Anthony Bailey...
The sarcasm from Jason's mouth was quite intense as he mentions the leader of the Dying Breeds name. The tone speaks volumes of the content, history, and lack of love between Kash and my future opponent.
Kash: Listen honestly I know you are talented, but you can't look down on Bailey. If you think he is beneath you some how the son of bitch feeds on that. He will surprise you.
I nod my head as I listen on, my eye brows raise slightly.
Lively: Look down on him, I do that?
Kash laughs instantly.
Kash: You serious?
I kind of take a deep breath and motion for him to continue.
Kash: Bro, Bailey has the capabilities to perform at high levels. Although he has a tendency to fall short and collapse under pressure.
I nod my head as I grin at this revelation.
Kash: You need to dictate the pace of the match from the bell. You need to smother him with pressure, and never let up. Don't give him a chance to think, don't leave him an opportunity to process the situation you are putting him in...
Lively: I see attack, attack, and attack in a variety.
Kash nods as he sits up.
Kash: Mike, Bailey won't step into the realm of Foul. You need to drag him there yourself. You bring him there and that's where we have the advantage.
I stand from the chair and head toward the fridge. I open the door and again a smell blasts me in the face shocking me where I stand.
Lively: Oh Gawd!!!
Kash: Oh yeah, there's a concoction in there that I plan on paying Reaver back with.
Lively: What the hell is in it?
Kash: I went to a butcher shop when he was asleep. Lamb guts, liquified goat testicles, and rotten chicken livers!!!
Lively: I don't even want to know what you plan to do with that. I just wanted some water!!
I shut the door of the fridge almost amused by the nature of these two and their hyjenks.
Lively: I will be back.
I exit the stink shack of a suite heading toward the hotel lobby store to get a bottle of water. With advice firmly in hand now all that is left is to study Baileys body of work, and prepare to cleanse the Asylum by ridding it of it's Mr. Clean Anthony Bailey.
