Post by Kid Dynamo on Feb 7, 2012 12:34:15 GMT -4
"Just know we are a spec in time"
Open to a room, empty save for a television on a stand and a Tylenol PM bottle open and empty on the floor.
A nurse walking backwards hurriedly rolls Our Hero, lifeless and somewhat aged, in a wheelchair into the room. She turns him to face the television, presses a button on his chair that activates the tv, grabs her radio and calls in a “BLUE CODE”, gasps, then checks his pulse. She then reverses out of the room. The TV shows Jon Stewart, before panning out to a globe with the date.
"TWENTY AND THOUSAND TWO, FIFTEENTH FEBRUARY"
Our Hero opens his eyes and lifts his head up to face the television. As he watches TV, the Tylenol bottle leaps into his hand and he begins placing pills from his mouth to his hand and then to the bottle. Now full, he puts the bottle in a secret pocket.
He rolls himself backwards out of the room and down a hallway. The hallway strips away from the wood paneling of before to hospital white as Our Hero rolls himself into a doctor's office as the doc puts X-rays of his neck on the lightboard. Our Hero stops in the middle of the room, visibly angry.
".life YOUR of rest the this like live and try You .you Fuck"
"...beginning new a as this accept to learn can you hope I so ,done be can that nothing there's :is line bottom the but ,this say to sorry I’m and…”
The doctor points at a clear and large break across the pictured neck.
A different nurse comes and wheels Our Hero backwards out of the room and to a hospital bedroom, where she helps him gingerly get into the bed.
Time speeds up as we see Our Hero lying in bed, almost motionless, as people appear to run backwards up and down the hall outside his room. Time slows down as a suited man walks backwards to the doorjamb, turns around to face Our Hero, sighs, then walks up to him. Our Hero rolls his face from staring away from him out a window to facing him with a look of scorn.
".enough done You've .away go fucking just…Just ?okay this of all makes money think you makes What"
Our Hero fumes in response.
".situation this helps settlement our find you'll hope I .coming this like tragedy a seen have could one no that realize to have You"
Time speeds up as the suited man finishes talking, smiles, tries to shake Our Hero's hand, which goes unrequited. He energetically walks backwards out of the room.
Paramedics roll a stretcher with a backboard into the room, place it beside Our Hero's bed and lift him onto the backboard. Still holding the board, they then count "...AND ,2 ,1" and wheel him out of the room.
As they roll him backwards down the hall, the walls strip away and become fans, but not more than maybe 400. The hall has become a makeshift entrance ramp of a shoddy convention center. The paramedics stop in front of the wreckage of a collapsed steel cage. They lift Our Hero and the backboard off the stretcher to right beside the imploded steel. They count "...AND ,2 ,1" and then carefully slide the backboard out from under him and roll him into a fetal position.
After they leave, a ringside announcer can be heard.
"!GOD...MY...OH ?!?DEAD DYNAMO IS ?!?DEAD HE IS !GOD MY OH !GOD MY OH"
The steel cage begins to return to form from wreckage to cube as Our Hero lifts his lower body up to where the laminate gym floor only touches his head and upper shoulder, then launches himself into the air. He meets the cage as it completes its resurrection, placing himself on the edge of the roof. There's an overturned ladder beside him and another wrestler standing in the center of the roof.
Immediately after perching himself on the edge, he launches himself airborne again as the ladder tilts back upward. The two bodies unite with Our Hero on top, the other wrestler using two hands to help it steady in vertical position.
Our Hero reaches up to try and grab a shoddily modified replica of the APW World Heavyweight Championship, but before he can reach it, he starts to climb down the ladder while looking up as the other wrestler backtracks away from the ladder then gets down on the ground and lays there.
As Our Hero reaches the bottom, the view zooms rapidly until it's only his eyes. His voice can be heard.
"I just feel like I'm not able to climb the ladder here."
The view zooms out...
...to Our Hero sitting in the office of APW's Executive VP of Talent Relations.
"Are you sure you aren't being a little rash? I mean I've spoken to Mr. (Jeff's last name) and Sally, Level One, Noble all have said you have a bright future here. You just gotta settle in, that’s all."
"Don't patronize me. Thirty-somethings don't 'just need to settle in'. People with over a decade of experience don't need to overcome the rookie wall. It just is what it is. I thought I'd be able to hack it in the big leagues, but I guess not."
Before the executive can rebut, Our Hero cuts him off.
"Look. Bottom Line: I put some feelers out there. No Midcard Wrestling offered me a good push to start out because they knew an APW washout was still better than anyone on their roster. I'm taking the gig."
The executive shakes his head in disappointed defeat.
"Mr. Christopher...I just...you know, I think you are making a mistake, but, if you're willing to buy out your contract and everything, then I guess there's nothing to do but wish you all the best in your future endeavors."
Time switches back into reverse and, after the two repeat their conversation backwards, Our Hero retreats out of the room and into a hallway reminiscent of a typical arena backstage area. The hallway doesn't change, but time lapses as people fly by Our Hero who walks backwards into a locker room, then backs into a bench, and slumps down in a dejected pose.
Another wrestler walks in backwards, shaking his head in disbelief.
He sits down by Our Hero and talks with excessive gesticulation while Our Hero responds with no movement at all.
".guess I ,do gotta you what Do !man Hey"
".over It's .me Trust"
"?about talking you are What"
".APW leaving I'm .done I'm"
"?What"
".done I'm .here it hack can't I"
"?right ,losers 84 of one being in shame no ,well Oh ?huh ,something was That !man ,shit LY HO-"
Time freezes. A voiceover is heard. It is Our Hero, but there's a difference, an aura not unlike surround sound. It's like he's in YOUR head.
[glow=brown,2,300]This is the moment. Survive and Conquer has just passed as my latest disappointment when the "end 0f the w0rld" ended in 16th place out of 26 remaining participants. I'm 1-3, I watched a wrestler when the Suicidal Title in his debut, and my protégé tag team just got kicked down to developmental after getting sandblasted by the Martyrs of Madness.
I had no hope. Sure, there were people that wanted to tell me I was doing alright and this was just the beginning, and reminding me that most people don't start out calling out Level One and expecting to actually win the most quantitative single match in pro wrestling history.
But that didn't mean I wanted to listen. I was washed up. I was a has-been. I was done. And nobody was going to tell me different.
Well, I guess you can call this a miracle. You saw what happens next. I quit APW. Then, I go fight for the completely meaningless NMW title only to have my neck broken by a poorly-constructed steel cage. And, about 8 years from now, after spending the last fifth of my life in a wheelchair, I fight a wrestling match with sleeping pills and submit to an eternal Go To Sleep.
But, yet...that doesn't have to be my fate. That doesn't have to be my choice. Sure, I'm down, but I'm only out in my mind.
What if there's a different route than quitting?
What if there IS hope for a soon-to-be 33-year-old "kid"?
I mean, after all, at the time, I still knew I was in the Tapout Challenge. Sure I was 0-1, but even an 0-5 performance guaranteed me a match at Rasslemania. How many can say that? All those people that were better than me in my previous promotions, where are they now? Nowhere, sitting on their asses watching me on APW and probably clamoring about how shitty I was.
Sure, I’ll probably lose. Look at the competition. Anyone higher on the food chain than Zachary Rodell and I’m the underdog, and that’s 3 out of 5 of my opponents. Bailey, Quinn, Dillinger, one of these three is the next Tapout champion, one will be the guy he beats to get there, and the third will challenge for the title at Mayhem.
But I’ll’ve been there. I won’t be at some Podunk gymnasium just because I have to be better than everyone else. Hell, when have I EVER been better than everyone else? I’ve spent a total of four days in thirteen years as a World Champion. I still got inducted to the Hall of Fame. I still earned enough respect to be a top 5 wrestler in 2001.
Wait, let’s go back. “I still earned enough respect”. I gotta let that resonate. I need to hear it just as much as you.
“I still earned enough respect”. When I was 1-0, I was treated like garbage because I was a pompous ass. Now, at 1-3, I am respected by many. I have tweets from Kurt Noble and Anthony Bailey among others to prove it. Maybe after going 1-4, Chaz will come back there when nobody’s looking and say “Good match, out there. When I win the title at Rasslemania, I hope you win the Gauntlet match”. [/glow]
The focus shifts back to the frozen scene for a moment as a reminder.
[glow=brown,2,300]Just like this guy. You can’t tell who it is because it’s irrelevant. But he’s one of 82 people who got thrown over the top rope at Survive and Conquer, and he wanted me to know that, despite losing, I had his respect. Maybe he’s CJ Gates, APW Undisputed Champion. Maybe he’s Seth Black, Phoenix Wrestling champion. Maybe he’s from GIW, or a free agent. I earned enough respect from him that he felt the need to come talk to me about the Hell we just put ourselves through.
So, you know what? Maybe there is something about losing that’s better than winning, if the circumstances are right.
Thus, I ask again:
What if there's a different route?[/glow]
The focus returns to the scene and you no longer feel like Our Hero is in your head.
“HO-LY shit, man! That was something, huh? Oh well, no shame in being one of 84 losers, right?”
Our Hero looks up, and you can visibly see the dejection vanish from his face, replaced with a smile.
“Are you kidding? I should have TOTALLY won that match!”
“Yeah, well, that’s the breaks, huh? If Rebel doesn’t catch you, maybe you win the whole thing.”
“True. Definitely true.”
“Well, I’m gonna go hit the ice bath. See you around. And, hey! Maybe we’ll be the final two next year.”
Our Hero’s grin enlarges.
“Are you kidding? You won’t make it to the Final Four!”
The jovial tone is overt and both men laugh as the other walks off. Our Hero shakes his head, then gets up, muttering to himself.
“Well, I guess it’s time to go win the Tapout Title”.
- Senses Fail, The Irony of Dying on Your Birthday
Open to a room, empty save for a television on a stand and a Tylenol PM bottle open and empty on the floor.
A nurse walking backwards hurriedly rolls Our Hero, lifeless and somewhat aged, in a wheelchair into the room. She turns him to face the television, presses a button on his chair that activates the tv, grabs her radio and calls in a “BLUE CODE”, gasps, then checks his pulse. She then reverses out of the room. The TV shows Jon Stewart, before panning out to a globe with the date.
"TWENTY AND THOUSAND TWO, FIFTEENTH FEBRUARY"
Our Hero opens his eyes and lifts his head up to face the television. As he watches TV, the Tylenol bottle leaps into his hand and he begins placing pills from his mouth to his hand and then to the bottle. Now full, he puts the bottle in a secret pocket.
He rolls himself backwards out of the room and down a hallway. The hallway strips away from the wood paneling of before to hospital white as Our Hero rolls himself into a doctor's office as the doc puts X-rays of his neck on the lightboard. Our Hero stops in the middle of the room, visibly angry.
".life YOUR of rest the this like live and try You .you Fuck"
"...beginning new a as this accept to learn can you hope I so ,done be can that nothing there's :is line bottom the but ,this say to sorry I’m and…”
The doctor points at a clear and large break across the pictured neck.
A different nurse comes and wheels Our Hero backwards out of the room and to a hospital bedroom, where she helps him gingerly get into the bed.
Time speeds up as we see Our Hero lying in bed, almost motionless, as people appear to run backwards up and down the hall outside his room. Time slows down as a suited man walks backwards to the doorjamb, turns around to face Our Hero, sighs, then walks up to him. Our Hero rolls his face from staring away from him out a window to facing him with a look of scorn.
".enough done You've .away go fucking just…Just ?okay this of all makes money think you makes What"
Our Hero fumes in response.
".situation this helps settlement our find you'll hope I .coming this like tragedy a seen have could one no that realize to have You"
Time speeds up as the suited man finishes talking, smiles, tries to shake Our Hero's hand, which goes unrequited. He energetically walks backwards out of the room.
Paramedics roll a stretcher with a backboard into the room, place it beside Our Hero's bed and lift him onto the backboard. Still holding the board, they then count "...AND ,2 ,1" and wheel him out of the room.
As they roll him backwards down the hall, the walls strip away and become fans, but not more than maybe 400. The hall has become a makeshift entrance ramp of a shoddy convention center. The paramedics stop in front of the wreckage of a collapsed steel cage. They lift Our Hero and the backboard off the stretcher to right beside the imploded steel. They count "...AND ,2 ,1" and then carefully slide the backboard out from under him and roll him into a fetal position.
After they leave, a ringside announcer can be heard.
"!GOD...MY...OH ?!?DEAD DYNAMO IS ?!?DEAD HE IS !GOD MY OH !GOD MY OH"
The steel cage begins to return to form from wreckage to cube as Our Hero lifts his lower body up to where the laminate gym floor only touches his head and upper shoulder, then launches himself into the air. He meets the cage as it completes its resurrection, placing himself on the edge of the roof. There's an overturned ladder beside him and another wrestler standing in the center of the roof.
Immediately after perching himself on the edge, he launches himself airborne again as the ladder tilts back upward. The two bodies unite with Our Hero on top, the other wrestler using two hands to help it steady in vertical position.
Our Hero reaches up to try and grab a shoddily modified replica of the APW World Heavyweight Championship, but before he can reach it, he starts to climb down the ladder while looking up as the other wrestler backtracks away from the ladder then gets down on the ground and lays there.
As Our Hero reaches the bottom, the view zooms rapidly until it's only his eyes. His voice can be heard.
"I just feel like I'm not able to climb the ladder here."
The view zooms out...
...to Our Hero sitting in the office of APW's Executive VP of Talent Relations.
"Are you sure you aren't being a little rash? I mean I've spoken to Mr. (Jeff's last name) and Sally, Level One, Noble all have said you have a bright future here. You just gotta settle in, that’s all."
"Don't patronize me. Thirty-somethings don't 'just need to settle in'. People with over a decade of experience don't need to overcome the rookie wall. It just is what it is. I thought I'd be able to hack it in the big leagues, but I guess not."
Before the executive can rebut, Our Hero cuts him off.
"Look. Bottom Line: I put some feelers out there. No Midcard Wrestling offered me a good push to start out because they knew an APW washout was still better than anyone on their roster. I'm taking the gig."
The executive shakes his head in disappointed defeat.
"Mr. Christopher...I just...you know, I think you are making a mistake, but, if you're willing to buy out your contract and everything, then I guess there's nothing to do but wish you all the best in your future endeavors."
Time switches back into reverse and, after the two repeat their conversation backwards, Our Hero retreats out of the room and into a hallway reminiscent of a typical arena backstage area. The hallway doesn't change, but time lapses as people fly by Our Hero who walks backwards into a locker room, then backs into a bench, and slumps down in a dejected pose.
Another wrestler walks in backwards, shaking his head in disbelief.
He sits down by Our Hero and talks with excessive gesticulation while Our Hero responds with no movement at all.
".guess I ,do gotta you what Do !man Hey"
".over It's .me Trust"
"?about talking you are What"
".APW leaving I'm .done I'm"
"?What"
".done I'm .here it hack can't I"
"?right ,losers 84 of one being in shame no ,well Oh ?huh ,something was That !man ,shit LY HO-"
Time freezes. A voiceover is heard. It is Our Hero, but there's a difference, an aura not unlike surround sound. It's like he's in YOUR head.
[glow=brown,2,300]This is the moment. Survive and Conquer has just passed as my latest disappointment when the "end 0f the w0rld" ended in 16th place out of 26 remaining participants. I'm 1-3, I watched a wrestler when the Suicidal Title in his debut, and my protégé tag team just got kicked down to developmental after getting sandblasted by the Martyrs of Madness.
I had no hope. Sure, there were people that wanted to tell me I was doing alright and this was just the beginning, and reminding me that most people don't start out calling out Level One and expecting to actually win the most quantitative single match in pro wrestling history.
But that didn't mean I wanted to listen. I was washed up. I was a has-been. I was done. And nobody was going to tell me different.
Well, I guess you can call this a miracle. You saw what happens next. I quit APW. Then, I go fight for the completely meaningless NMW title only to have my neck broken by a poorly-constructed steel cage. And, about 8 years from now, after spending the last fifth of my life in a wheelchair, I fight a wrestling match with sleeping pills and submit to an eternal Go To Sleep.
But, yet...that doesn't have to be my fate. That doesn't have to be my choice. Sure, I'm down, but I'm only out in my mind.
What if there's a different route than quitting?
What if there IS hope for a soon-to-be 33-year-old "kid"?
I mean, after all, at the time, I still knew I was in the Tapout Challenge. Sure I was 0-1, but even an 0-5 performance guaranteed me a match at Rasslemania. How many can say that? All those people that were better than me in my previous promotions, where are they now? Nowhere, sitting on their asses watching me on APW and probably clamoring about how shitty I was.
Sure, I’ll probably lose. Look at the competition. Anyone higher on the food chain than Zachary Rodell and I’m the underdog, and that’s 3 out of 5 of my opponents. Bailey, Quinn, Dillinger, one of these three is the next Tapout champion, one will be the guy he beats to get there, and the third will challenge for the title at Mayhem.
But I’ll’ve been there. I won’t be at some Podunk gymnasium just because I have to be better than everyone else. Hell, when have I EVER been better than everyone else? I’ve spent a total of four days in thirteen years as a World Champion. I still got inducted to the Hall of Fame. I still earned enough respect to be a top 5 wrestler in 2001.
Wait, let’s go back. “I still earned enough respect”. I gotta let that resonate. I need to hear it just as much as you.
“I still earned enough respect”. When I was 1-0, I was treated like garbage because I was a pompous ass. Now, at 1-3, I am respected by many. I have tweets from Kurt Noble and Anthony Bailey among others to prove it. Maybe after going 1-4, Chaz will come back there when nobody’s looking and say “Good match, out there. When I win the title at Rasslemania, I hope you win the Gauntlet match”. [/glow]
The focus shifts back to the frozen scene for a moment as a reminder.
[glow=brown,2,300]Just like this guy. You can’t tell who it is because it’s irrelevant. But he’s one of 82 people who got thrown over the top rope at Survive and Conquer, and he wanted me to know that, despite losing, I had his respect. Maybe he’s CJ Gates, APW Undisputed Champion. Maybe he’s Seth Black, Phoenix Wrestling champion. Maybe he’s from GIW, or a free agent. I earned enough respect from him that he felt the need to come talk to me about the Hell we just put ourselves through.
So, you know what? Maybe there is something about losing that’s better than winning, if the circumstances are right.
Thus, I ask again:
What if there's a different route?[/glow]
The focus returns to the scene and you no longer feel like Our Hero is in your head.
“HO-LY shit, man! That was something, huh? Oh well, no shame in being one of 84 losers, right?”
Our Hero looks up, and you can visibly see the dejection vanish from his face, replaced with a smile.
“Are you kidding? I should have TOTALLY won that match!”
“Yeah, well, that’s the breaks, huh? If Rebel doesn’t catch you, maybe you win the whole thing.”
“True. Definitely true.”
“Well, I’m gonna go hit the ice bath. See you around. And, hey! Maybe we’ll be the final two next year.”
Our Hero’s grin enlarges.
“Are you kidding? You won’t make it to the Final Four!”
The jovial tone is overt and both men laugh as the other walks off. Our Hero shakes his head, then gets up, muttering to himself.
“Well, I guess it’s time to go win the Tapout Title”.
