Post by Johnny Rebel on May 1, 2013 22:28:09 GMT -4
Rebel Rousing #12: "Down by the River"
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"It's not so bad," Johnny Rebel said, leading Michael Andrews down a steep hill, towards the river. "You get used to the smell."
It wasn't a secret that Rebel had fallen on hard times and money was tight. Truthfully, he'd become undependable and that was the part that scared Michael Andrews, his lone remaining ally, the most. Rebel rarely phoned in a match but it seemed that he'd given up.
"Are we getting close?" Andrews asked, desperately trying to fight the urge to plug his nose, with the stench of urine floating through the air.
"Almost there," Rebel said.
What causes someone who has everything to resort to such a lifestyle? In the past year, Rebel's gone from multiple championships in various promotions to charity case, spending his nights living under an old bridge. Andrews couldn't help but to stare at the back of Rebel's head where his scraggly hair obviously hadn't been washed in days. Apparently, shampoo was a luxury that wasn't in the budget.
"Welcome home!" Rebel shouted with pride. "It isn't much - but hey, it's home!"
It was a good thing Andrews had earned the nickname "The Chameleon" early in his wrestling days and he had the ability to hide the emotions from his face. Rebel was right about one thing - there wasn't much there and it nearly broke Andrews' heart to see anyone, let alone an old friend, living in these conditions.
"It's..." He stuttered. "It looks cozy..."
"Are you asking or telling?" Rebel asked. Johnny wasn't a fool - he spent years traveling with Andrews, he could tell when something wasn't wrong, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize this place was a dump. "I started doing a few odd jobs here and there. Terry Marvin loaned me a little seed money to get started for doing a number on C.J. Gates last week. I've got a little stored up somewhere around here. I can't remember which rock I buried it under... but don't worry, I'll find it!"
“You did what?” Andrews questioned Rebel. “You took money from Terry Marvin? You can’t be serious! The same Terry Marvin that wouldn’t piss on you if you were engulfed in flames? The same APW Undisputed Champ that hightailed it for Asylum the moment things started to get a little hairy on Overdrive? You can’t be naïve enough to believe he’s simply offering handouts for fulfilled bounties. He’s going to come back for his money at some point!”
“Let him come back,” Rebel remarks. “I’ll glad take that championship from him in exchange for a few bucks…”
The twinkle in Rebel’s eyes only seem to return when talking about championships – an accolade that Rebel knew all-too-well in the APW. He had managed his way to a couple of title matches but couldn’t seal the deal. It was the last thing he had left to accomplish in the wrestling business. It was the top-prize in all of this great sport, and albeit Marvin was in the midst of possibly the greatest run ever seen, Rebel had promised a run at the belt sometime before he hung up his boots. Unfortunately, he’d probably have to hit rock bottom before making his way back up to the top.
"You can't live like this," Andrews responded. "It's not fathomably to think you spend the night in this shanty-town and then go and compete at the highest level in the APW..."
"When you're down and out, you do what you have to do to survive," Rebel responded. "Suddenly, it's not about competing at any level... putting one foot in front of the other becomes the ultimate goal. You know better than anyone that I wasn't ever interested in putting on five-star classics in the ring. It's always been about business and doing what was best for me when the lights kicked on. It's still about taking care of Johnny Rebel but the business side has changed a little. Instead of celebrating victory in style, I'm putting away what little that they pay me to get me through the next day."
"Don't you get lonely out here?" Andrews asked.
It seemed like a silly question for someone who would proudly describe themselves as a lone wolf. Rebel had sullied nearly every partnership that had formed during his time in the APW. He turned his back on Blade weeks before RassleMania, and probably cost him the APW Undisputed Championship. He couldn't get along with the Sindicate and Level-One and he could only watch as Kurt Noble and Chris Hart were stealing the APW Tag-Team Championships. Lonely wasn't a word in Rebel's vocabulary - and if he was, he'd rather be caught dead than admit it.
"Oh, I'm doing alright," Rebel nervously kicked around. "Besides - I've got a few friends that I'd like to introduce you to!"
Andrews looked around, returning Rebel's nervousness, as the announcement suddenly heightened his senses. At first glance, it didn't look like anyone else was around, and even if there was, they were homeless, and there wasn't any telling what kind of stunt they'd pull.
"Kinkelfritz!" Rebel shouted. "Come on out! I've got someone here that I'd like you to meet… you don’t have to be afraid. He’s an old friend.”
Andrew kept his head swiveling from side-to-side, awaiting the arrival of Rebel’s aforementioned friend. Rebel extended his closed first, prompting for a fist bump, but nobody is within an arm’s reach.
“This isn’t funny, Johnny,” Andrews chirped. “I don’t have time for your games.”
“What isn’t funny? And what games?” Rebel bit back. “Don’t you see him? He’s right there! I don’t see how you could miss a 6-foot-8 black man standing inches from you. In fact, I’d probably take a couple steps back. He doesn’t like people infringing on his personal space. He’s a little bit of a quack like that.”
Andrews continued to turn his head, trying to make sense of what Rebel was saying, but there wasn’t anybody nearby, and wasn’t any signs of life within miles of where the two were standing. Andrews decided that it was probably for the best if he’d play along with Rebel’s meandering. It was probably something like sleepwalking – you don’t wake them in the act… in the same way, you don’t burst the bubble of a man conjuring up the reality of a large black man.
“Hi,” Andrews said delicately, only trying to appease Rebel. “Kinkelfritz, eh? I don’t believe I’ve heard of that name before.”
“It’s German!” Rebel blurted out.
“Come on, Johnny, seriously?” Andrews was trying to hold-on but he couldn’t abstain from the ridiculous. “A large black-man, who happens to be from Germany, living under the bridge next to you? You couldn’t dream up something a little more… realistic?”
“I’m not dreaming anything, Andrews,” Rebel quickly snapped back. “You’re treading on some seriously thin ice at-the-moment. The last guy that tried to deny Kinkelfritz’s existence ended up swimming with the fishes. He’s been holding out his hand for the past five minutes waiting a handshake from you. I’d shake the man’s hand before he dumps you on your head! I can only protect you from so much, you know?”
Andrews rolls his eyes at Rebel’s hallucinations. What kind of drugs had Rebel stumbled upon now? Who knows what kind of cocktail he could have mixed together with Terry Marvin’s money – the man had deep pockets and his hatred for Gates ran deep.
“Enough games,” Michael told Rebel. “You’re going insane. We’ve got to get you to doctor…you have a match in twenty-four hours for crying out loud!”
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“I’m sorry – but I don’t think I can clear you to compete, Mr. Rebel,” a doctor mumbled spinning around in his stool, and dumping his latex gloves in the trashcan. “We’ll get you a script and you go and get some rest. What kind of insurance do you have?”
“Do you have any samples?” Johnny answered back doesn’t look up from the ground. “I’m sort of in-between jobs at the moment and Obamacare hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“It’s called the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. Let’s leave President Obama out of this. And no, we don’t give out free samples,” the doctor answered back with a snarky tone irking an already out-of-his-mind Johnny Rebel. “Looks like you’re going to have to scrounge up a few bucks.”
“Pft!” Rebel huffed back. “Get me the heck out of here!”
“Rebel,” Andrews put his arm on the suddenly upright Rebel. “First of all – sit back down…those gowns don’t cover nearly enough! Secondly, you’ve got to get better. The only thing you have left is your health, and if you lose that, you’re going to really be in a bind!”
“How much lower can I go at this point, Andrews?” Rebel pouted. “Some hack is trying to force feed me some little yellow pill down my throat! Get real…I’m going to be in that ring Thursday evening and Buckson Gooch is going to get the beating of his lifetime!”
“You’re up against A.C. Smith, Johnny,” Andrews mumbled with his forehead buried in the palm of his hands. “Doc, are you sure we can’t just knock him out and commit him somewhere?”
“Look,” the doctor responded, dropping his glasses over the brim of his nose, “You aren’t fit to do anything, let alone step in the ring. You’ve lost about half of your bodyweight over the past two months, you’re pulling clumps of hair off your head by the handfuls, and I’m not sure you even knew your own name when you started filling out these intake forms. You are severely hydrated, malnourished, and I haven’t seen sores like those on your back in ages. I’d lose my practice if I cleared you!”
“We don’t even have to mention that we stopped in today,” Rebel stood up again, this time having no regard for anyone in the room, the gown flying wide open. “Just tell me where I can find my pants and I’ll be on my merry way.”
“Sit down, Rebel!” Andrews shoved Johnny back towards the table. “If you show me your berries one more time, I’m going to shove them up your rear!”
The clanging around the room had drawn several nurses to the doorframe to check on the commotion
“I haven’t even started on your psychological state,” the doctor wasn’t quite sure how to handle Johnny Rebel. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, it looks like you haven’t slept in ages, and quite frankly, I’m afraid you might be a threat to yourself or others. I could lose my license if I cleared to compete any time soon.”
“You wait until I get Kinkelfritz in here!” Rebel shouted back. “He’ll show you!”
“Don’t ask,” Andrews nodded, shaking his head in disbelief. “There isn’t enough time in the world.”
“It’s worse than I thought,” the doctor responded. “You’re going to need re-do these forms, ‘Donkey Fart’ isn’t your name. Do you have a next of kin that we can notify in case of an emergency?”
“Kinkelfritz,” Rebel shouted.
“We’re doomed,” Andrews hung his head. “I guess I’ll get on the phone with President Jeff and let him know you aren’t going to make it this week.”
“You pick up that phone and Kinkelfritz will break your face,” Rebel said confidently.
There wasn’t anything that would stop Rebel from hitting that ring. The reality was Rebel needed the money…and some quack doctor wasn’t going to be the one to put an end to that.
“A.C. Smith is dangerous,” Andrews tried talking some sense in to Rebel. “He’s carried that Xtreme Championship for about as long as anybody else in the APW. He isn’t some pushover that’s going to let you of without a beating. You can’t risk it.”
“There isn’t a weapon that he could crack over my head that would make me any loopier,” Rebel said, which was surprising, because it was the only coherent thing he’d said all evening long.
“You could be a few well placed shots to the head from serious damage,” the doctor chided Rebel. “You’re in no shape to step in the ring. It would be an absolute assault at this point…and the APW can’t allow you to compete in this condition. The amount of litigation that would come if you were seriously injured would be enough to put them belly-up.”
“Litigation?” Rebel paused. “You have my attention…so, you’re saying, all I have to do is get hurt and I’ve got a potential lawsuit on my hand?”
The dollar signs have replaced what was left in Rebel’s eyes.
“This could work to my advantage…” Johnny whispered to himself, with Andrews and the doctor rendered speechless at Rebel’s plans. “Oh yes, this could work out *really* well…”
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“A.C. Smith? The APW has seriously scraped the bottom of the barrel.”
“There used to be some serious talent that filled the ranks of this place. It seemed on any given night that there’d be someone there that would actually push you to the brink. Now? We’re lucky if there are enough towels in the back to mop up whatever grease-hog they put in front of me. Honestly, I’d be ecstatic of A.C. Smith doesn’t blow his wad before the bell even rings.”
“It’s an absolute privilege to step in to the ring with me. You’re swimming in uncharted territories, Smith. Let me warn you that stepping through the curtains in to the major leagues. I’m sure that you have all kinds of war stories about the curtain jerking each and every night but that isn’t going to cut it here. When you step in the ring with Johnny Rebel, you realize that you’re now in the major leagues and suddenly everything is moving at a little different pace. Each fastball is a little faster, safeties closer in a little sooner and the defensive line is just a little bigger.”
“When are you going to realize that you simply aren’t prepared for the challenge? How long does it take before the manager starts to realize that you don’t have the bat speed to catch up with my fastball? At what point does the head ball-coach realize that you’ve suddenly grown alligator arms because I’m bearing down on you? When are they going to realize that you can’t hack it at my level? If I’m a professional…you’re nothing more than a pimply-faced amateur, pissing his pants at the thought of going in to the game. You’re sitting at the end of the bench, praying to whatever god you don’t even believe in, that he doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and lead you to the slaughter!”
“It’s almost like you’re a dead ringer for the career of Tim Tebow. You somehow stumbled into a little bit of success – and it went straight to your head. Tebow carried a second-rate franchise in to the limelight and had a little bit of success in the postseason. You’re carrying around a second-rate championship, that no self-respecting megastar would be proud of being associated with, and have had a little recognition with the division. It’s easy when the stiffest competition you’ve faced is a redneck that spends the majority of his time with his pig stout buried in a slop bucket. Meanwhile, I’ve carried this place on my shoulders. You name it – I’ve defeated them. Kurt Noble, C.J. Gates, Biggs, Terry Marvin. The list goes on forever. My success isn’t like a blind squirrel finding a nut.”
“And like Tebow, your own pride is going to be the reason for your downfall. Tebow would get a crack at the big leagues again if he’d be willing to acknowledge that he’s currently doing isn’t quite working. If you’d just realize that you aren’t cut out for the bright lights and the big stage…we’d all be better off! I wouldn’t have to spend my time watching you embarrass yourself through a co-main event.”
“And yes – anything with Johnny Rebel constitutes a co-main event!”
“Let’s be honest, there isn’t much for the APW faithful to get excited about for this show. They have been begging, pleading, and gnashing their teeth for Johnny Rebel to return to the ring…and you happen to be the sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter for President Jeff’s offering to appease the wrestling gods! I’ve been filling stadiums since you were rolling around in diapers.”
“When people mention APW, the first question that comes to mind revolves around me! Isn’t that where Johnny Rebel wrestles? Wasn’t he the general manager that pushed the APW to the brink? You ask about A.C. Smith and the best reaction you could hope to get is someone running around grabbing their underarms and making fart noises.”
“You’re simply an unknown at this point. I’ve got a resume as long as the Roman scroll that listed Jesus’ accusations before hanging on the cross! You get by with what you have because you bend over just far enough for President Jeff to get his jollies. That won’t be enough to save you when the bell rings and the only person you have to watch your back is your own. You’ll be shaking worse than a scared dog backed in to a corner, complete with the piss running down your own league. It’s at the point, I’m sure you’ll finally realize that I’m on another level.”
#SIMPLY
#F’N
#PUT?
“I’m the best in the game…and you’re about to get an up-close lesson on what it means to be a true champion!”
“Oh, and P.S, New York sucks.”
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