Post by biggs on Aug 24, 2013 13:52:31 GMT -4
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
Where am I? Who are these people huddled over me?
What is that infernal buzzing noise?
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Okay, my vision is starting to get a bit less blurry. They appear to be doctors, or rather, EMTs. There is a sensation of movement, and I can start to make sirens out over the buzzing. I must be in an ambulance. Nuts! Not again!
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
One of them seems to be asking me a question, but I can't make it out. All I hear is the siren and the buzzing. He's looking me right in the eyes, I'd better answer.
I don't even know what I said, but it wasn't a good answer. He looks even more concerned before. I can feel myself fading out, my eyes closing once more...
***
As I wake up, I find myself in the all too familiar place of being in a hospital bed. The Stud Muffins are there, as is my good friend C.J. Gates. I can already tell by the looks on their faces that I'm in a bad spot.
”What happened that put me here?” I ask, having no recollection of the past few hours, or perhaps days, I don't know how long I was out.
”Who do you think?” “Sr. Guapo” answers, in a perturbed tone.
Stan interjects, ”It was Michael Jennings. He laid the beat down on you with a steel chair before and after your match last night.”
”Last night? How long was I out for!? What time is it now? Has anyone called Alice to let her know?”
”We called Alice first thing. And to answer your first question, it's 9 o'clock in the morning. You've been out for the better part of 12 hours. The doctors say that you're lucky you didn't get another concussion, but you did lose quite a bit of blood,” C.J. Tells me, shooting it straight like he always does.
”Good! That means I can still fight Michael Jennings at Shockwave! That punk is going to get what's coming to him!” I sit up a bit, and am getting excited about the prospect of getting to beat Michael Jennings up.
All three of my friends have somber looks on their faces, and look to each other as to see if somebody else will be the one to break some bad news. Finally, C.J. speaks up. ”Listen, Biggs, even though you escaped getting another concussion, the doctors don't feel that it's really smart for you to go ahead with your match against Michael Jennings, especially considering that it's a Chairs Match. And believe me, I'm not doubting your toughness or your ability, but as your friend, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you should consider listening to them.”
I chuckle at the notion of skipping my upcoming match, and I know that C.J. knows me well enough to know that that's not really an option for me. ”Listen, man, I appreciate your concern, I know that your heart is in the right place, but I've got over two weeks to heal. I'll be fine come Shockwave!”
”But that's the thing, Biggs, you can't be sure that you'll be fine! I mean you've already suffered three concussions in the last two-and-a-half years, and the more you head out to the ring, the more likely you are to receive another one! We're really concerned for you, that's all...” I can see the worry on Stan's face. But considering that I didn't give up wrestling for my ex-wife, I don't know how these guys can think that they'll be able to talk me out of competing at Shockwave.
”Once more, I appreciate your concern, but I'm going to be just fine! Let's face it, if you couldn't take me out C.J., albeit on accident, and if Level-One couldn't end my career inside Hell-in-a-Cell, then I have nothing to worry about with Michael Jennings! Let's face it, he's not Level-One, and he's no you, Ceej!”
I draw a smirk out of C.J. with this comment. I know that him being worried over my well being won't do him any favors as he heads into his big match-up with Level-One for the APW World Heavyweight Championship, so I'm trying everything I can to convince him that I'll be alright.
”In fact, I feel just fine and dandy! Why the heck am I even still in this hospital bed?! I'm going to get up and go get some food!”
Armando and Stan rush to my bed to try and hold me down, lightly pressing on my shoulders to put me back into a seated position as I try to get up. ”NO! You need to rest, mi amigo! I'll get you some food! What do you want?”
I'm starting to get irritated, and push myself back up, scooting towards the edge of the bet. ”Listen, I'm fine! I can do it myself!” I insist, pushing my friends back. As I put both feet on the floor and stand up from the bed, I immediately regret the decision, as I lose my balance and collapse to the floor.
I'm so dizzy right now, it feels almost like I'm falling up, left is right, up is down, dogs and cats are living together.
My friends help me up, and tuck me back in. ”You stay put, amigo. I'll get you some eggs and bacon,” Sr. Guapo says as he heads out of the room towards the cafeteria.
”I don't know what happened there. I was just fine, but as soon as I stood up, everything went to heck in a hand-basket.”
”You just need to get some rest. We're going to talk later about whether you should go on with the match against Jennings, and for the record, I don't think that you should,” C.J. tells me, with Stan nodding in agreement. ”It's not that I don't think that you're tough enough, it's not that I think you should be afraid of Jennings. It's just that I'm worried, knowing you and your ego, that you're going to go ahead and overdo it in the Chairs Match. We're all really concerned about you. Maybe it's time that you showed some of the same concern for yourself.”
At this point, C.J. makes his way out of the room, leaving just me and Stan. C.J.'s words really hit me. As I sit there, allowing the words to sink in, I can't help but think about all of the ridiculous matches I've taken on in my career, just to show that I could. Rage in a Cage against The Beast, numerous Ladder Matches, my specialty, the Steel Cage Match, Hell-in-a-Cell against Level-One, and now, a Chairs Match with Michael Jennings. I know that I don't have a death wish of any sort, but now that I think about it, I do have a rather sizable chip on my shoulder, like I have to keep proving myself over and over again. Still, if Ellie couldn't get me to back down, I don't know how these guys think they'll be able to talk me out of a match...
***
Depeche Mode's “Spacewalker” plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in big, bold blue letters. The video transitions to Biggs, seated on a steel folding chair in a darkened room. The only light source is an old fashioned oil lantern, giving the whole production an eerie, backwoods vibe. In the dim light, it's easy to see the large bandage still on the forehead of Biggs covering the wound from Michael Jennings' assault on Overdrive a few weeks back. Biggs speaks in a slow, somber tone, looking directly into the camera.
”Michael Jennings, in just a little over 24 hours, you and I shall face off in the ring in a match that promises to be brutal, that promises to be savage, that promises to be bloody. You and I shall be facing off in a Steel Chairs Match...”
Suddenly, Biggs drops the somber tone, and yells to somebody off camera.
”Hey guys, can we get a light on in here? I'll be honest, this whole creepy, cult-leader thingy isn't really working for me!”
The lights turn on, and reveal Biggs to be sitting in an old fashioned living room, one that is almost Mr. Rogers Neighborhood-like in it's simplicity. Biggs is even wearing a zip up green cardigan sweater. As he begins to speak again, he talks in a warm, gentle tone.
”You're going to hit me with the chair, I'm going to hit you with the chair, and we're going to rough each other up. As much as I wish it didn't have to come to this, I think we both know that it is far too late to even consider being neighbors...”
Again, Biggs stops right in his tracks, breaking character, talking to somebody off camera.
”This isn't working either! Let's try something else!”
Biggs unzips the sweater to reveal a tie-dye T-shirt, and pulls a tie-dye bandana out of his pocket, placing it on his head as a disco ball drops from the ceiling. The main lights cut out, and all sorts of colored spotlights begin to flash, reflecting off the disco ball. Funky music begins to play as Biggs starts to speak again.
”OWWWWW! Daddio, this Sunday, it's my duty to kick your booty, if you know what I mean, cat! Have mercy!”
Biggs just shakes his head, and motions for the lights and music to be killed. As the main lights come back on, Biggs removes the bandana and T-Shirt, revealing an APW T-Shirt underneath.
”I'll be honest, none of that was working for me one bit, so I'm just going to do what Michael Jennings should have done a long time ago, and I'm just going to be myself! Sure, I may have been getting my butt beat like clockwork over the last month, sure, I may have already suffered three concussions, and yeah, I haven't won a pay-per-view match in over a year-and-a-half, but gosh darn it, I'm not going to pretend to be somebody that I'm not in the vain attempt of standing out!”
“And that's exactly what you've been doing, Michael Jennings. You've jumped from alliance to alliance, persona to persona, with such rapidness and quickness that nobody buys the transformation. I mean, how do you go from millionaire-playboy anti-hero to grunged-out freak as quickly as you did? You re-invent yourself more often than Madonna!”
“Yes, I realize that reference will be lost on some of the younger viewers, and I know that I dated myself horribly with it, but by golly, Jennings, it's true! We might have to call you the ADHD Megastar, because as soon as we get used to you being one thing, you become another.”
“And knowing you, you're just going to say that you're a chameleon, that maybe you're making some commentary about the disposable nature of personalities in our post-modern world, about how we're so connected online that we really can pick and choose how we present ourselves to our fellow man. It's just too bad that I don't think you're actually smart enough to make that kind of a point. But guess what, me being the nice guy that I am, you can feel more than free to steal that explanation for future use. You're welcome!”
“The thing is, Michael Jennings, you always try to paint yourself in the best light. It's just too bad that all you have are purple water colors, brown house paint, and brush that's down to three bristles. But my goodness, Jennings, no matter how ugly the final product is, nobody can accuse you of being uncreative.”
“They can, however, accuse you of being unfocused, and that's really what the biggest shame of them all is. Because despite all the crap I give you about not knowing yourself, about how you change personas more than some people change their underpants, underneath all the flash, underneath all the bullcrap, there's actually a pretty decent wrestler under there.”
“Note that I said decent, and not great.”
“But still, Jennings, the fact of the matter is that as begrudgingly as I have to admit this, you are very capable in the ring. Certainly more capable than you think you are, as your desperate attempts to stand out would imply.”
“In fact, I think that if you let your work in the ring do the talking, instead of your constant flip-flopping, here today, gone tomorrow gimmicks, well, then maybe, just maybe, you'd be getting some of the accolades you think that you deserve. I've watched your matches, Jennings. I've seen how you focus on a body part, keep on picking it apart throughout the match, and then go in for the kill. You don't just slap on a submission move and hope the guy taps out. You work the body part over. You don't just nail Empire Falls, SharkNado, or Sonic Screwdriver, and hope it's enough to put your opponent away, you build up to them.”
“And just as a quick aside, I cannot tell you how much it pains me that you named one of your finishers after The Doctor's second most useful tool, with the Tardis being the obvious number one. While it does show the only semblance of good taste on your part, it saddens me nonetheless. Still, this is neither here nor there. I just know that my girlfriend told me I should kick your butt for calling your Spinning Tiger Driver the Sonic Screwdriver. And who am I to argue with her?”
A sly grin comes across Biggs' face.
”But back to business. Jennings, you have all the tools to succeed in this business. You don't need the gimmicks, you don't need the Black Hand, and you don't need a Steel Chair to win matches.”
“And yet, we find ourselves on the eve of partaking in a Steel Chair Match, just because you have decided to rely on the chair this past month. The only thing I normally use a chair for is to support my weight when I sit down. You, well, you use it beat people up, use it as a crutch, in my case, you used it as a neck brace. Heck, if I didn't know any better, I would guess that you have some sort of deviant chair fetish, one that is only understood in a very small, very disturbing corner of the internet!”
“I mean over these last few weeks, everyone and their mother has been asking me why the heck would I agree to a Steel Chair Match with you. Why would I give you the very weapon that you have utilized so effectively against me this past month and a half? As I've already established, it's not because I think you need it to beat me. Had this been just a straight one-on-one wrestling match, I think that we could have had a very competitive bout. And it's also not just to appease you, to give you what you want so you would just shut up. And it's most certainly not because I have some sort of career death wish, as some of my good friends have been telling me these past couple of weeks!”
“No, the reason I agreed to a Steel Chair Match with you at Shockwave, Michael Jennings, is very simple. By agreeing to a Steel Chair Match, Michael Jennings, I am telling you straight up that I am not afraid of you! I am not worried about what kind of damage you can do to me with the chair, I'm not worried that you might end my career, as you've claimed that you want to do.”
“Listen, pal, I've been wrestling for over 10 years now. I've been in just about every crazy type of match you can imagine! And while I've had my fair share of injuries, while I've been sidelined with concussions, the bottom line is that I am still here today, an active competitor, willing to put my body on the line night in and night out to prove that I am one of the all time greats in this industry!”
“I have faced men bigger than you, more sadistic than you, more hardcore than you, and guess what, I'm still standing here!”
“If Level-freakin'-One couldn't force me to retire following our Hell-in-a-Cell match at RassleMania, what makes you think you can accomplish what he couldn't with just a Steel Chair? What makes you think that you can somehow beat me down enough to where afterward I'd tell myself that as much as I love wrestling, I don't want to take that kind of a beating again, that it's not worth it to keep on wrestling after that?”
“You simply are not capable of it Michael Jennings. And that's not a slight against you, because quite frankly, I'm convinced that I'm going to be doing this one way or another until the day that I die! Because Michael Jennings, wrestling isn't just a job to me. It isn't just about making money, it's not just about becoming famous! Yes, I've made quite a lot of money over my career, and amongst wrestling fans, I'm something of a household name, but that's not why I compete. I lace up my boots, night in and night out, head down to that ring, and fight simply because it is what I love to do most in this world!”
“I am a wrestler, first and foremost! I love wrestling!”
“Even if I didn't make all the money, even if I lived in relative obscurity, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I would still be a professional wrestler! Even if all I got paid in was pork and beans, you can bet your last dollar that I would still be a professional wrestler!”
“When I look at you Jennings, I don't get that same impression. You're here in APW to try and become famous. You want to be a star. You want to be the center of attention. But try as you might, you just don't know how to do it. Like I said before, you jump from persona to persona, character to character, that before we even have a chance to know who Michael Jennings is, you go up and change again.”
“That hasn't been working for you, so you figured you'd do the only other thing you knew how to get attention, and that was to attack one of the established guys, one of the APW institutions. And let's face it, I am kind of an institution here in APW. Not to brag or anything...”
“But back to my point, Jennings. The fact is, you are so desperate, so hungry to become famous as easily and quickly as possible that you picked a fight with me for no other reason than you could! All that talk on your part about how I ran my mouth about you before first match, I'll be honest, I don't even remember what your talking about. Maybe it's all the Steel Chair Shots to the head over the last month and a half, but prior to your attack on me, I cannot remember one time out in front of an audience or in the backstage interview area where I said anything disparaging about you prior to you attacking me from behind with that Steel Chair for no reason!”
“You just needed some sort of justification for your actions, so you made it up, just like you've made up everything else about yourself since coming to APW.”
“So since you have so much trouble discerning fantasy from reality, allow me to spell out a few realities about our match tomorrow night at Shockwave.”
“Reality #1: I'm not going to just roll over for you. I know that you think due to my history of concussions, I'll be easy pickings in this match. I know that your game plan consists of a lot of strikes and holds that target my head. If I was fighting myself, I'd do the same thing. But as you saw in my match with Level-One at RassleMania, he had a similar strategy, and we wrestled for over half-an-hour. Even if you are somehow able to beat me this Sunday, I certainly won't make it easy for you.”
“Reality #2: The Steel Chair stipulation will hurt you just as much as it will help you. Listen, I'm not going to sugar coat what has transpired this past month, you have gotten the better of me with the aid of the chair more often than I would care to admit. But just as you are adept at swinging that Steel Chair, well, I've been concocting some ideas of what I can do with the Steel Chair as well, and believe me, some of them are pretty nasty. The fact is, I've always prided myself on being a thinking man's wrestler, and by making the Steel Chair legal, it just gives me another tool at my disposal. For you, the Chair is a crutch, for me, it's a gosh darn weapon!”
“Reality #3: We're both going to get hurt in this match. There's no doubt about it. We are both going to leave our blood, sweat, and tears in that ring, and there's no guarantee that either one of us will be able to leave the ring under our own power following the match. Which leads me to the last reality.”
“Reality #4: Only one of us can win the match, and I'll tell you what, I don't need a Tardis to go forward in time to be able to tell you that it's going to be me!”
“Despite the fact that you've had my number more often than not as of late, despite the fact that you're going into this match will all the confidence in the world, despite the fact that I'm going into this match hurt thanks to you, I have one thing that you don't Michael Jennings, and that is conviction. I know who I am, and I'm not afraid to be me! If it's lost me a match here or there, than so be it, because whether I win or lose, I can take pride in the fact that it was me who won or lost the match. Not some character I created, not some alter-ego. Me.”
“Because even if you do manage to pin my shoulders to the mat, 1, 2, 3 tomorrow night, there would still be the question of was it really Michael Jennings who pinned Biggs, or was it somebody else? Do we even know who the real Michael Jennings is?”
“I certainly know who the real Biggs is. Quite simply, the real Biggs is OUT OF THIS WORLD!”
First Contact comes to a close with the screen fading to black and “Spacewalker” playing once more. The APW logo and copyright flash across the bottom of the screen.
Where am I? Who are these people huddled over me?
What is that infernal buzzing noise?
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Okay, my vision is starting to get a bit less blurry. They appear to be doctors, or rather, EMTs. There is a sensation of movement, and I can start to make sirens out over the buzzing. I must be in an ambulance. Nuts! Not again!
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
One of them seems to be asking me a question, but I can't make it out. All I hear is the siren and the buzzing. He's looking me right in the eyes, I'd better answer.
I don't even know what I said, but it wasn't a good answer. He looks even more concerned before. I can feel myself fading out, my eyes closing once more...
***
As I wake up, I find myself in the all too familiar place of being in a hospital bed. The Stud Muffins are there, as is my good friend C.J. Gates. I can already tell by the looks on their faces that I'm in a bad spot.
”What happened that put me here?” I ask, having no recollection of the past few hours, or perhaps days, I don't know how long I was out.
”Who do you think?” “Sr. Guapo” answers, in a perturbed tone.
Stan interjects, ”It was Michael Jennings. He laid the beat down on you with a steel chair before and after your match last night.”
”Last night? How long was I out for!? What time is it now? Has anyone called Alice to let her know?”
”We called Alice first thing. And to answer your first question, it's 9 o'clock in the morning. You've been out for the better part of 12 hours. The doctors say that you're lucky you didn't get another concussion, but you did lose quite a bit of blood,” C.J. Tells me, shooting it straight like he always does.
”Good! That means I can still fight Michael Jennings at Shockwave! That punk is going to get what's coming to him!” I sit up a bit, and am getting excited about the prospect of getting to beat Michael Jennings up.
All three of my friends have somber looks on their faces, and look to each other as to see if somebody else will be the one to break some bad news. Finally, C.J. speaks up. ”Listen, Biggs, even though you escaped getting another concussion, the doctors don't feel that it's really smart for you to go ahead with your match against Michael Jennings, especially considering that it's a Chairs Match. And believe me, I'm not doubting your toughness or your ability, but as your friend, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you should consider listening to them.”
I chuckle at the notion of skipping my upcoming match, and I know that C.J. knows me well enough to know that that's not really an option for me. ”Listen, man, I appreciate your concern, I know that your heart is in the right place, but I've got over two weeks to heal. I'll be fine come Shockwave!”
”But that's the thing, Biggs, you can't be sure that you'll be fine! I mean you've already suffered three concussions in the last two-and-a-half years, and the more you head out to the ring, the more likely you are to receive another one! We're really concerned for you, that's all...” I can see the worry on Stan's face. But considering that I didn't give up wrestling for my ex-wife, I don't know how these guys can think that they'll be able to talk me out of competing at Shockwave.
”Once more, I appreciate your concern, but I'm going to be just fine! Let's face it, if you couldn't take me out C.J., albeit on accident, and if Level-One couldn't end my career inside Hell-in-a-Cell, then I have nothing to worry about with Michael Jennings! Let's face it, he's not Level-One, and he's no you, Ceej!”
I draw a smirk out of C.J. with this comment. I know that him being worried over my well being won't do him any favors as he heads into his big match-up with Level-One for the APW World Heavyweight Championship, so I'm trying everything I can to convince him that I'll be alright.
”In fact, I feel just fine and dandy! Why the heck am I even still in this hospital bed?! I'm going to get up and go get some food!”
Armando and Stan rush to my bed to try and hold me down, lightly pressing on my shoulders to put me back into a seated position as I try to get up. ”NO! You need to rest, mi amigo! I'll get you some food! What do you want?”
I'm starting to get irritated, and push myself back up, scooting towards the edge of the bet. ”Listen, I'm fine! I can do it myself!” I insist, pushing my friends back. As I put both feet on the floor and stand up from the bed, I immediately regret the decision, as I lose my balance and collapse to the floor.
I'm so dizzy right now, it feels almost like I'm falling up, left is right, up is down, dogs and cats are living together.
My friends help me up, and tuck me back in. ”You stay put, amigo. I'll get you some eggs and bacon,” Sr. Guapo says as he heads out of the room towards the cafeteria.
”I don't know what happened there. I was just fine, but as soon as I stood up, everything went to heck in a hand-basket.”
”You just need to get some rest. We're going to talk later about whether you should go on with the match against Jennings, and for the record, I don't think that you should,” C.J. tells me, with Stan nodding in agreement. ”It's not that I don't think that you're tough enough, it's not that I think you should be afraid of Jennings. It's just that I'm worried, knowing you and your ego, that you're going to go ahead and overdo it in the Chairs Match. We're all really concerned about you. Maybe it's time that you showed some of the same concern for yourself.”
At this point, C.J. makes his way out of the room, leaving just me and Stan. C.J.'s words really hit me. As I sit there, allowing the words to sink in, I can't help but think about all of the ridiculous matches I've taken on in my career, just to show that I could. Rage in a Cage against The Beast, numerous Ladder Matches, my specialty, the Steel Cage Match, Hell-in-a-Cell against Level-One, and now, a Chairs Match with Michael Jennings. I know that I don't have a death wish of any sort, but now that I think about it, I do have a rather sizable chip on my shoulder, like I have to keep proving myself over and over again. Still, if Ellie couldn't get me to back down, I don't know how these guys think they'll be able to talk me out of a match...
***
Depeche Mode's “Spacewalker” plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in big, bold blue letters. The video transitions to Biggs, seated on a steel folding chair in a darkened room. The only light source is an old fashioned oil lantern, giving the whole production an eerie, backwoods vibe. In the dim light, it's easy to see the large bandage still on the forehead of Biggs covering the wound from Michael Jennings' assault on Overdrive a few weeks back. Biggs speaks in a slow, somber tone, looking directly into the camera.
”Michael Jennings, in just a little over 24 hours, you and I shall face off in the ring in a match that promises to be brutal, that promises to be savage, that promises to be bloody. You and I shall be facing off in a Steel Chairs Match...”
Suddenly, Biggs drops the somber tone, and yells to somebody off camera.
”Hey guys, can we get a light on in here? I'll be honest, this whole creepy, cult-leader thingy isn't really working for me!”
The lights turn on, and reveal Biggs to be sitting in an old fashioned living room, one that is almost Mr. Rogers Neighborhood-like in it's simplicity. Biggs is even wearing a zip up green cardigan sweater. As he begins to speak again, he talks in a warm, gentle tone.
”You're going to hit me with the chair, I'm going to hit you with the chair, and we're going to rough each other up. As much as I wish it didn't have to come to this, I think we both know that it is far too late to even consider being neighbors...”
Again, Biggs stops right in his tracks, breaking character, talking to somebody off camera.
”This isn't working either! Let's try something else!”
Biggs unzips the sweater to reveal a tie-dye T-shirt, and pulls a tie-dye bandana out of his pocket, placing it on his head as a disco ball drops from the ceiling. The main lights cut out, and all sorts of colored spotlights begin to flash, reflecting off the disco ball. Funky music begins to play as Biggs starts to speak again.
”OWWWWW! Daddio, this Sunday, it's my duty to kick your booty, if you know what I mean, cat! Have mercy!”
Biggs just shakes his head, and motions for the lights and music to be killed. As the main lights come back on, Biggs removes the bandana and T-Shirt, revealing an APW T-Shirt underneath.
”I'll be honest, none of that was working for me one bit, so I'm just going to do what Michael Jennings should have done a long time ago, and I'm just going to be myself! Sure, I may have been getting my butt beat like clockwork over the last month, sure, I may have already suffered three concussions, and yeah, I haven't won a pay-per-view match in over a year-and-a-half, but gosh darn it, I'm not going to pretend to be somebody that I'm not in the vain attempt of standing out!”
“And that's exactly what you've been doing, Michael Jennings. You've jumped from alliance to alliance, persona to persona, with such rapidness and quickness that nobody buys the transformation. I mean, how do you go from millionaire-playboy anti-hero to grunged-out freak as quickly as you did? You re-invent yourself more often than Madonna!”
“Yes, I realize that reference will be lost on some of the younger viewers, and I know that I dated myself horribly with it, but by golly, Jennings, it's true! We might have to call you the ADHD Megastar, because as soon as we get used to you being one thing, you become another.”
“And knowing you, you're just going to say that you're a chameleon, that maybe you're making some commentary about the disposable nature of personalities in our post-modern world, about how we're so connected online that we really can pick and choose how we present ourselves to our fellow man. It's just too bad that I don't think you're actually smart enough to make that kind of a point. But guess what, me being the nice guy that I am, you can feel more than free to steal that explanation for future use. You're welcome!”
“The thing is, Michael Jennings, you always try to paint yourself in the best light. It's just too bad that all you have are purple water colors, brown house paint, and brush that's down to three bristles. But my goodness, Jennings, no matter how ugly the final product is, nobody can accuse you of being uncreative.”
“They can, however, accuse you of being unfocused, and that's really what the biggest shame of them all is. Because despite all the crap I give you about not knowing yourself, about how you change personas more than some people change their underpants, underneath all the flash, underneath all the bullcrap, there's actually a pretty decent wrestler under there.”
“Note that I said decent, and not great.”
“But still, Jennings, the fact of the matter is that as begrudgingly as I have to admit this, you are very capable in the ring. Certainly more capable than you think you are, as your desperate attempts to stand out would imply.”
“In fact, I think that if you let your work in the ring do the talking, instead of your constant flip-flopping, here today, gone tomorrow gimmicks, well, then maybe, just maybe, you'd be getting some of the accolades you think that you deserve. I've watched your matches, Jennings. I've seen how you focus on a body part, keep on picking it apart throughout the match, and then go in for the kill. You don't just slap on a submission move and hope the guy taps out. You work the body part over. You don't just nail Empire Falls, SharkNado, or Sonic Screwdriver, and hope it's enough to put your opponent away, you build up to them.”
“And just as a quick aside, I cannot tell you how much it pains me that you named one of your finishers after The Doctor's second most useful tool, with the Tardis being the obvious number one. While it does show the only semblance of good taste on your part, it saddens me nonetheless. Still, this is neither here nor there. I just know that my girlfriend told me I should kick your butt for calling your Spinning Tiger Driver the Sonic Screwdriver. And who am I to argue with her?”
A sly grin comes across Biggs' face.
”But back to business. Jennings, you have all the tools to succeed in this business. You don't need the gimmicks, you don't need the Black Hand, and you don't need a Steel Chair to win matches.”
“And yet, we find ourselves on the eve of partaking in a Steel Chair Match, just because you have decided to rely on the chair this past month. The only thing I normally use a chair for is to support my weight when I sit down. You, well, you use it beat people up, use it as a crutch, in my case, you used it as a neck brace. Heck, if I didn't know any better, I would guess that you have some sort of deviant chair fetish, one that is only understood in a very small, very disturbing corner of the internet!”
“I mean over these last few weeks, everyone and their mother has been asking me why the heck would I agree to a Steel Chair Match with you. Why would I give you the very weapon that you have utilized so effectively against me this past month and a half? As I've already established, it's not because I think you need it to beat me. Had this been just a straight one-on-one wrestling match, I think that we could have had a very competitive bout. And it's also not just to appease you, to give you what you want so you would just shut up. And it's most certainly not because I have some sort of career death wish, as some of my good friends have been telling me these past couple of weeks!”
“No, the reason I agreed to a Steel Chair Match with you at Shockwave, Michael Jennings, is very simple. By agreeing to a Steel Chair Match, Michael Jennings, I am telling you straight up that I am not afraid of you! I am not worried about what kind of damage you can do to me with the chair, I'm not worried that you might end my career, as you've claimed that you want to do.”
“Listen, pal, I've been wrestling for over 10 years now. I've been in just about every crazy type of match you can imagine! And while I've had my fair share of injuries, while I've been sidelined with concussions, the bottom line is that I am still here today, an active competitor, willing to put my body on the line night in and night out to prove that I am one of the all time greats in this industry!”
“I have faced men bigger than you, more sadistic than you, more hardcore than you, and guess what, I'm still standing here!”
“If Level-freakin'-One couldn't force me to retire following our Hell-in-a-Cell match at RassleMania, what makes you think you can accomplish what he couldn't with just a Steel Chair? What makes you think that you can somehow beat me down enough to where afterward I'd tell myself that as much as I love wrestling, I don't want to take that kind of a beating again, that it's not worth it to keep on wrestling after that?”
“You simply are not capable of it Michael Jennings. And that's not a slight against you, because quite frankly, I'm convinced that I'm going to be doing this one way or another until the day that I die! Because Michael Jennings, wrestling isn't just a job to me. It isn't just about making money, it's not just about becoming famous! Yes, I've made quite a lot of money over my career, and amongst wrestling fans, I'm something of a household name, but that's not why I compete. I lace up my boots, night in and night out, head down to that ring, and fight simply because it is what I love to do most in this world!”
“I am a wrestler, first and foremost! I love wrestling!”
“Even if I didn't make all the money, even if I lived in relative obscurity, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I would still be a professional wrestler! Even if all I got paid in was pork and beans, you can bet your last dollar that I would still be a professional wrestler!”
“When I look at you Jennings, I don't get that same impression. You're here in APW to try and become famous. You want to be a star. You want to be the center of attention. But try as you might, you just don't know how to do it. Like I said before, you jump from persona to persona, character to character, that before we even have a chance to know who Michael Jennings is, you go up and change again.”
“That hasn't been working for you, so you figured you'd do the only other thing you knew how to get attention, and that was to attack one of the established guys, one of the APW institutions. And let's face it, I am kind of an institution here in APW. Not to brag or anything...”
“But back to my point, Jennings. The fact is, you are so desperate, so hungry to become famous as easily and quickly as possible that you picked a fight with me for no other reason than you could! All that talk on your part about how I ran my mouth about you before first match, I'll be honest, I don't even remember what your talking about. Maybe it's all the Steel Chair Shots to the head over the last month and a half, but prior to your attack on me, I cannot remember one time out in front of an audience or in the backstage interview area where I said anything disparaging about you prior to you attacking me from behind with that Steel Chair for no reason!”
“You just needed some sort of justification for your actions, so you made it up, just like you've made up everything else about yourself since coming to APW.”
“So since you have so much trouble discerning fantasy from reality, allow me to spell out a few realities about our match tomorrow night at Shockwave.”
“Reality #1: I'm not going to just roll over for you. I know that you think due to my history of concussions, I'll be easy pickings in this match. I know that your game plan consists of a lot of strikes and holds that target my head. If I was fighting myself, I'd do the same thing. But as you saw in my match with Level-One at RassleMania, he had a similar strategy, and we wrestled for over half-an-hour. Even if you are somehow able to beat me this Sunday, I certainly won't make it easy for you.”
“Reality #2: The Steel Chair stipulation will hurt you just as much as it will help you. Listen, I'm not going to sugar coat what has transpired this past month, you have gotten the better of me with the aid of the chair more often than I would care to admit. But just as you are adept at swinging that Steel Chair, well, I've been concocting some ideas of what I can do with the Steel Chair as well, and believe me, some of them are pretty nasty. The fact is, I've always prided myself on being a thinking man's wrestler, and by making the Steel Chair legal, it just gives me another tool at my disposal. For you, the Chair is a crutch, for me, it's a gosh darn weapon!”
“Reality #3: We're both going to get hurt in this match. There's no doubt about it. We are both going to leave our blood, sweat, and tears in that ring, and there's no guarantee that either one of us will be able to leave the ring under our own power following the match. Which leads me to the last reality.”
“Reality #4: Only one of us can win the match, and I'll tell you what, I don't need a Tardis to go forward in time to be able to tell you that it's going to be me!”
“Despite the fact that you've had my number more often than not as of late, despite the fact that you're going into this match will all the confidence in the world, despite the fact that I'm going into this match hurt thanks to you, I have one thing that you don't Michael Jennings, and that is conviction. I know who I am, and I'm not afraid to be me! If it's lost me a match here or there, than so be it, because whether I win or lose, I can take pride in the fact that it was me who won or lost the match. Not some character I created, not some alter-ego. Me.”
“Because even if you do manage to pin my shoulders to the mat, 1, 2, 3 tomorrow night, there would still be the question of was it really Michael Jennings who pinned Biggs, or was it somebody else? Do we even know who the real Michael Jennings is?”
“I certainly know who the real Biggs is. Quite simply, the real Biggs is OUT OF THIS WORLD!”
First Contact comes to a close with the screen fading to black and “Spacewalker” playing once more. The APW logo and copyright flash across the bottom of the screen.
