Post by Lisa Frankenstein on Dec 24, 2018 22:43:05 GMT -5
This job takes you in cycles. Everyday you wake up in a different city, chasing back your latest win or loss. You don’t get to indulge in them. You can’t wallow in your losses anymore than you can indulge in your triumphs, because that’ll consume you.
So you get up, you go for your run, fall into your routine, remind yourself that every new night is going to be different. Win or lose, there’s a tomorrow, and tomorrow doesn’t give a fuck about yesterday. It’s always coming around.
You get up, you run, everyday. It’s never normal, but you find a way to get used to it.
“If you want to know why this tournament is so special, you don’t need to look at the wrestler’s competing for it or the lineage of the belt you’re fighting to get a shot at - probably better you don’t when you look at some of the duds on there. No if you want to know why this tournament matters, you just need to look at the last winner.”
It’s Christmas eve and the first time in years she was not at home. She’d gotten used to that. Hadn’t exactly enjoyed it. Stability was stagnation. It destroyed her. She was better here, sitting in the beanbag chair in an AirBnB, surrounded by a camera crew who would rather be anywhere than here.
“I didn’t know Emery Layton. Not personally. She was a friend of a friend, running in largely different circles. She was a name certainly, just not one I knew much of anything about. My first real exposure to Emery, was a shot of her rampaging triumphantly around a ring, the Crown of the King Cobra title lofted above her head.”
“She was applauded for her efforts and rightfully so. It was a big deal. I spent the year travelling all around the world winning titles and making little memories for myself. I did maybe one or two things this whole year that came close and she did it all on her own. I was invested. Hooked. There was a whole new name in the rolodex and I had to learn more.”
Lisa attempted to quietly adjust her seating position on the beanbag chair and failed spectacularly. Someone on the team had said it would make her look fun and charming. She was already dressed like a sad teenager; an angry looking t-shirt, black patterned leggings with skulls on them (because she likes to represent) and black and white chequed Vans. The cards were already on the table. Why not go all in.
“Now, obviously I came late to the party. She had a wide and varied career outside of my narrow spectrum. Ask her what the highlight of her career is and there’s probably a million other things, all personal to her, that come first.”
“For me though, that’s always where I’ll see her. Crown of the King Cobra proudly displayed in her hands, forever crystallised in my head. It was everything I wanted, every stupid thought that pushes me beyond the pale. When I sign up for these wild and increasingly ridiculous endeavours, that is the singular, specific, overpowering image I have seared into my mind.”
She chapped on the side of her head.
“Whatever happens now, for the rest of her life, Emery Layton gets to be the first. This tournament will continue to grow, it’s already doing it this year. It will get bigger and heavier with talent. You’ll see names flood in from every corner of the wrestling world, chasing that same moment of magic she got before all of us.”
“She’ll always have that. She’ll always be a name that everyone else is chasing. I want that too.”
She clicked her tongue at us.
“Of course, to get there I have to get through James Edwards first. That’s no mean feat.”
She put her head on one side and hung it with a smile. The rest of her sank back on her elbows, which in turn sank with her until she was practically reclining.
“My opponent for this first round is hardy little scrapper who I’ve been fortunate enough to share a couple cards with in Japan. Through that I’ve learned a fair bit about him. I know he’s game, violent, efficient. He's a handful for anyone unlucky enough to get placed across from him. He’s also quite up himself but I can’t really go off on him for that one. I mean look who’s talking.”
A little shrug escaped her.
“He’s a perfect blue chip little prospect with all the tools in the box he needs to be up there with the best of him. And he’s going to ball all that up, step to me with the best will in the world, then wake up 10 to 15 minutes later realising he never had a chance.”
Lisa paused for a second and sat sucking on air, like she’d just dropped quite the clanger.
“See, I said I’d been watching the man. For the last few months I’ve seen him embroiled in a blood feud with Joe Stanton that just finally boiled over. Right until the end Edwards was insistent, adamant. Joe was calling down the thunder and Edwards there was going to deliver it with a vengeance.”
“He was going to shut him up he said. Leave him in a heap he promised. Joe didn’t have a chance in hell against him. Edwards promised a reckoning; then the bell rang, he blew it after the first, lost two straight and crowned his nemesis the king of their little domain.”
“Edwards was fighting for his pride. Joe made him swallow it. Now he’s days out from the first round of a tournament he described as some welcome respite, like it’s a fucking weekend in Vermont. And now I'm left to wonder, if he can't back it up when it counts - when it truly matters to him - what can we actually expect out of him here on his day off?”
She threw up her arms and huffed dramatically before flopping back into her chair.
“Now, Edwards has the luxury of looking at this like it's a day out. He takes a loss here and he gets to slope off and turn this into something that never really mattered in the first place. I don't.”
“This isn't another one of my ridiculous flights of fancy. I didn't just sign up for a tournament, I signed up for the whole tour. I'm in it for the long haul and I have no intention of wandering into 2019 trying to pick out the positives in a first round defeat to some fucking guy who saw his spot in one of the fastest growing and genuinely most prestigious tournaments in our sport as a chance to get away from it all.”
Mock indignation spilled out of every word. As if she gave a shit. As if she cared or actually had any right to be mad at someone for not treat a tournament with the respect it deserves, considering she continues to call it the Crown of the Cobra Commander.
“Edwards is a proud 3 time world champion with a chip on his shoulder while I'm out here actively chasing number 8. I have been and gone and done and had an entire career before he even got his start in the business. With not a single thing left to prove I have clawed my way back from the brink of nowhere and taken nothing but what I deserved.”
“That is what this means to me. It is vindication. Absolution for a career I almost gave up on. After a year of fighting my way back, risking my arm in any company that would have me, building my name, biding my time, this is the chance to put my hands back on the wheel of my career. That is everything to me. Absolutely everything.”
“I have earned my place amongst the giants. I have taken from the best. And James Edwards, who couldn’t step to me on the very best day of his life, doesn’t stand a fucking chance.”
She casually cycled her feet back and forth at the camera.
“The Union Battleground will be the making of me in this coming year. This is where it starts. So good luck to you out there, James. Enjoy the holiday. Hope it was everything you needed and sorry it had to get cut so short, but I back my convictions. This is one of them.”
At that she dropped a wink, leaned into her smile and waited for the camera shot to drop away before she rolled, tumbled and spilled out of the chair with the same dignity as anyone in her spot. Nobody watching had to see that. Really kills the vibe.
Post by jamesedwards on Dec 25, 2018 23:59:07 GMT -5
Christmas in England would be a dream for most people. The most magical day of the year in the land where the pen of Charles Dickens birthed its legend.
James admits to himself that there is a certain charm to it; a welcome break from the commercial madness of Yuletide back home in the States and the fervent clanging about the “War on Christmas” his relatives in Kentucky work themselves up into a lather over every December.
His experience with an “A Christmas Carol” was limited to the Muppet version as a kid. Still, he remembers loving the simplicity of the message: family, good cheer and not being a miserable fuck are what the holiday is all about.
He is thankful for the small slice of it the hotel that Union Battleground put him up in provided: a small tree with twinkling lights and a handful of decorative gift boxes nestled beneath.
After taking a quick look at the tree, he turns and faces the camera crew sent to get his thoughts on his first-round matchup with Lisa Seldon.
“I’ve always been a traditionalist at heart, whether it comes to Christmas or fightin’. I like to keep things simple. For the holidays all I want is a tree, a thoughtful gift or two, and some good people to spend the day with. When it comes to fightin', I like to compete for the fun of it. I love the thrill of being pushed to the edge of my abilities and finding another level I never knew I had. You only get those when it is a do or die situation, though, and those are rare in week-to-week promotions. Tournaments are the only place where do or die happens. That's why I'm after the Crown of the King Cobra."
He turns slightly and sneaks another peek at the tree. He wonders if the gift boxes are empty or not. They probably don't have anything in them, but he wishes they did. It'd be nice to have something to unwrap.
"I feel like I owe to myself to go after it. I've spent a lot of 2018 chasin' after grudges. I don't know how much time I've wasted trying to bring down Bobby Barabbas in Underground or finishing blood feuds in FGA. It's exhausting hating people . There isn't any satisfaction in vengeance. Pursuing all that shit makes me feel empty inside. It sucks the joy out of competing, but I'm not the only one in the fight game like that. Look at any promotion today, and you'll find a roster of burned wrestlers lookin' for the wrong thing. I sure as hell know Lisa Seldon is."
He's seen the video. He knows she is trying to manufacture contempt for him. He feels sorry for her and wonders if she has even taken the time to marvel at the mirth of a London Christmas.
"Why do you really need to win his thing, Lisa? You can say your here for glory all you want, but I'm not buyin' it. It is a stock answer that we've all used a thousand times when the red light turns on, and the cameras start rolling. It's the same way I don't this superiority complex you have when it comes to me. Again, it ain't original. You know how evenly matched we are in the striking game. You know we both are capable of winning the big fight, look at all the titles we've captured between us. I wanna know the real answers to my questions, but you ain't gonna give em' to me. Which is a damn shame, because if can't give an honest answer than you can't fight an honest match."
"People who don't know their real reason for fightin' are scared. They aren't sure of themselves. They are more willing to abandon what got them so far, and then they take the easy way out by cheatin or some such shit like that. You can tell me I have no clue what I'm talkin' about all you want, but I've lived that garbage for the last year."
He isn't proud of his actions in 2018, but hiding from the truth produces a greater internal weight than shame.
"I entered the Young Guns Cup in January to shut a lot of people up. I lost in the second round. I'm in the Cult Classic in Underground because I have to be. I've spent the majority of the thing trying to bring about regime change instead of winning fights. I didn't fight like myself in either of em'. I took stupid risks without thinkin', and they backfired on me, they always do. Like I said, I'm not proud of that shit, and that's why I'm here."
"I need a respite from the bullshit. I want to compete in this tournament for the sake of competition. I want people who are going to offer me a challenge and push me to get better in every round. I want to come out of this thing better than when I came in. Let's be honest, Lisa, I'm not gonna get that from you."
"You sound like me from earlier in the year, spoutin' crap that nobody buys, knowing that you're just here, a shell with no real purpose. You are gonna try to push me. You'll give me your best or what you think is your best, but you'll panic when you don't put me away as quickly as you think you will. You won't have that extra gear that I will because I'm here for a reason and if you can't find a valid one for going after the Crown, then I'll put you to sleep and hopefully will get to fight someone who does and will give me the fight I want and deserve."
The words sound harsh as they escape his lips, but he hopes they are a gift to his opponent — something that will wake her up and want to reciprocate his kind gesture; one that will inspire her to give him the best fight of her life, and in turn keep the magic of Christmas alive.
Last Edit: Dec 26, 2018 0:01:23 GMT -5 by jamesedwards
