Club Midnight was a very, very popular spot in Indianapolis. Boston had found the perfect intersection of “perfect location”, “perfect promotion” and “luck”. Three powerful forces, especially in the entertainment industry.
Upon the meeting of the famed duo in question with the nightclub’s ticket-takers with the Whirly Birdz, Terrence and Wendy, the two were brought through the club’s main floor, and upstairs to the manager’s office. It wasn’t the fodder of video games and films with a massive room and mirrored glass on the back. But it wasn’t a shabby, paper-pile-filled closet, either.
It was large, but full of equipment, storage closets, and had a large window on the back wall. Part of A, part of B. Two comfortable-looking chairs sat across a large oak desk from the chair with the manager ensconced inside. The manager in question was unquestionably Boston Bancroft, dressed in a black, but collared shirt, a tie loosely draped around his shoulders, left undone. Upon the entrance of the others, Boston sat up and smiled brightly to his guests.
“Ah. Decided to take me up on my free entrance to the club? Welcome,” he said, his voice somewhat... quieter than the Boston that Twister and Wendy were used to. Boston seemed... less exciteable. Less powerful. Less... attention-whore-y. Then again, he had a shirt on and wasn’t holding a World Title belt.
Terrence had actually dressed up for the occasion, foregoing the usual t-shirt and jeans, and had elected for a blue/black patterened buttoned shirt (although he left the collar and the next button down undone), and a black pair of slacks. He stared at Boston, careful to keep his expression neutral. Despite having words with him throughout most of the Summer Games buildup, this was the first time Terrence and Bancroft had ever met face to face, and he was definitely unsure of what to make of the man.
Even more unsure seemed Wendy, who tugged nervously at the straps of her dark green knee-legnth dress. Unlike Terrence, the small redhead HAD ran into Boston before, and she hadn’t exactly found the experience to enjoyable. Even so, she struggled to smile politely, although her emerald eyes clearly showed the animosity she held for Bancroft, as well as the nervousness she clearly felt for being in such a situation.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Wendy replied, unable to completely keep the stiffness from her voice.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave the first impression you two had of myself as the only one, could I?” Boston seemed... almost relaxed. In direct opposition to how Boston found himself on television, constantly “up”, constantly trying to catch the attention, the winner of Summer Games ‘09 and ‘10 looked comfortable.
“Please, sit. I was eager to meet some other wrestlers from Indianapolis. I try to make it a point to know the other people in the game in my hometown. Ever been to an IPW show?” The company was the recent “name” in Indy’s wrestling scene, doing the majority of the shows promoted in either the high school, armory or VFW halls. They plastered posters all over town, but a person so constantly on the road like the Birdz could easily miss something so small-scale.
The husband-wife tag team sat down, Wendy smoothing her dress and crossing her legs as she did. Although Wendy still seemed uncomfortably rigid, Terrence relaxed somewhat, shaking his head at the nightclub’s owner.
“No,” Terrence said, shrugging. “Wendy and I really didn’t pay much attention to the wrestling scene while we were retired, and we’ve just been too busy to really take in anything locally. I heard your kid did a number on their champion, though,” he finished, chuckling as he said so.
Boston shrugged, as he leaned back in his seat. “The promoter is a good guy. They’re a bunch of good kids over there, trying to put on an enjoyable product. Can’t fault ‘em for their heart. If DEFIANCE didn’t have so many nutjobs in it who take this stuff way, way too seriously, I’d say the same about that place.” Boston pulled open a drawer, taking out a black, leatherbound menu. He slid it across the desk, smile broadening a bit.
“Would you care for anything to eat, or drink? The wine list is in the back. It’ll be on the house, of course,” Boston finished, a jolly tone to his voice. “I hope you two understand my intentions for inviting you here. I just want you to know that what I said, what I did at Summer Games, was simply business. If you took offense to anything I said, I flat-out apologise. You do what’s necessary to get people to tune in, right?”
Terrence picked up the menu, opening it, saying nothing, but looking slightly confused. Wendy’s cheeks had flushed slightly, and a small fire had leapt into her eyes at the remarks. “It wasn’t what you said that was so offensive,” she said, quietly enough so that even Boston had to lean slightly forward to hear her. “It was what you did.”
Boston lifted an eyebrow, smile dimming just a tad. “It wasn’t you who took a slapjack to the back of the head. All I ever did to you was throw a few punches, and trade a few holds. I wasn’t DEFIANCE like Dane, and I’m not the Devil, like Victor Mandrake seems to think.” Boston’s hands came up, clasping on the desk.
“All I did was wrestle. Like I always do. Like I’m paid to do.” Boston reached over, turning a picture-frame ‘pon his desk around. His gorgeous Irish redhead of a wife, and his curly-haired little muppet of a son beamed from the frame. “To be honest, I wanted the extra, quite large payday to be able to pay for some extra dental work for Jeremy. He had a tooth coming in in a bad way, and Dane came knocking at just the right time.”
The big black man gave a shrug. “I had already told him, Cito, and nearly every other major promoter, PTC, NWA and all the rest that I was willing to do a show or three for ‘em if they helped with the mangled contracts from the disastrous move from the SSB to WWA: West. Never work with a fellow as messy as Bloodgood.” Boston shook his head, eyes rolling in remembrance of the hassle they put him through.
Terrence, noticing the tension between Bancroft and his wife had busied himself with the menu, although keeping a wary eye out in the unlikely event things suddenly got out of hand. Wendy was silent, but reached out, and picked up the picture frame.
“You have a beautiful family.” She said, then paused for just a second. “We’re sorry to hear about Justin.”
Boston sighed softly, shaking his head. “There’s a difference between an attack like what I did to Jiles and what Long did to Justin. I didn’t attack anywhere he can’t get fixed, I pulled a good half of those shots, and if he’s smart, he’ll take the lesson about not stepping on someone’s toes when they’re trying to up their stock, and he won’t butt into stuff that doesn’t concern him.”
Boston crossed his arms and gritted his teeth, fists closing and popping his knuckles. “But Long... What he did was barbaric. Poor kid is still comatose. I don’t know if he’ll ever come out of it.”
“Too many people got hurt last show,” Terrence finally said, closing his menu, and passing it to Wendy. “Hurley, Brooks, Dane. I even heard Langston had to go to the hospital.”
Boston nodded sadly, a grim look on his face. “Too many people who make this personal. At the end of the day, which of us didn’t get into the ring for a little physical competition and a paycheck? Greer and his crew just took away a man’s livelihood. And Mandrake? The man’s a damn clinical case.”
Wendy snorted at the mere thought of anyone telling her just how out of control Victor Mandrake was, considering all the man had done to her. Terrence looked over at Boston, a grim smile upon his face. “If I have my way, Greer and the Hydra won’t be a problem after the sixteenth.”
“Not all of Hydra. I still have to defend my title belt against Andrews no matter what you do. Then again, I’ve wanted to have a tussle with the man. He’s a good competitor, even if he’s haunted by his demons.” Boston waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s not talk about our matches. Just like a couple of wrestlers to meet and brag who will lose to who at what supercard, right?”
Boston spread a hand towards the two. “Anything look good on there? Our sliders have gotten rave reviews, our Jell-O shots sell like hotcakes, and the wine cellar is top-notch. Just to list a few things.” The moustachio’d man smiled.amicably. “I’m not trying to bribe you or anything. It would be nice, though, to be able to introduce Karen to someone else who understands our life.”
“You said she’s Irish,” Wendy said, smiling wryly. “That’s points in my book. And a water will do just fine, thank you.”
“I’ll have a Budweiser,” Terrence declared, drawing an astonished glare from his wife. He shot her a small grin. “Hey, when in Rome, right?”
Boston tapped a button on his intercom. “Alice? Can you bring up a carafe of ice water, two bottles of Budweiser...” Boston glanced up to the two. “You sure I can’t interest you in any wine? I was going to try some of a new vintage out of California. Very light, sweet, and fruity.”
Wendy paused, her initial instinct to repeat that water was fine, but for some reason, she felt awfully tempted by the generous offer. Finally, Terrence leaned over, and whispered in her ear, although loud enough so Boston could just barely hear the words.
“Wendy, a glass of wine is not going to turn you into your parents.”
Wendy shot her husband a dark glare, and finally sighed, nodding. “I suppose a glass wouldn’t hurt.”
Terrence nodded as well. “Cancel the Bud, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Make that the ‘01 wine we got in earlier tonight, Alice.” Boston let go of the intercom, and straightened, grinning once more. “I’m glad that you two don’t take this wrestling business as crazy seriously as folks like Drago and Box. I mean... It’s just a job, right?”
Terrence nodded, but Wendy shook her head. “I take it very seriously,” she said quietly. “If I didn’t, every single match could result in me getting seriously hurt... or worse.” She smiled slightly. “I just know when to let bygones be bygones.”
Terrence nodded, and at that moment, a young woman walked in, holding a bottle of wine in her hand, and three glasses, she set everything on Bancrofts desk, and Boston nodded, dismissing her. Pulling a corkscrew out of his desk, Boston quickly opened the bottle, and poured the liquor into the three glasses. Taking one for himself, Boston slid the other two to the edge of his desk, and both Terrence and Wendy took one.
Terrence immediately took a drink, nodding his approval at the taste, but Wendy merely stared at the glass in her hand, finally, she raised it to her lips, taking a small sip of the wine.
“Its good!” she finally said, taking another sip.
Boston smiled. “To Defiance,” he finally said, raising his glass.
“To Defiance,” Terrence said, raising his glass at Boston. Wendy remained silent, but she amiably raised her glass as well.
Boston merely smiled.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
CPW #1- Hell Freezes Over
Tuesday July 20, 2010
ARC Arena- WhirlyBirdz' Locker Room
Valparaiso, Indiana
12:31 AM Local Time
PWX Adrenaline 39 had been off the air for over an hour, and still the WhirlyBirdz remained in their locker room.
Wendy Briese-Thompson quietly folded up her ring gear, carefully laying each piece inside her duffel bag, while her husband patiently waited. Having wrestled far earlier in the evening, Terrence had already been back in his street clothes for a couple hours, but after the vicious attack Wendy had recieved from Wild at the conclusion of her match, and the subsequent checking out in the medical room, only now was she able to finally change out of her attire.
"Where's Pollaski?" Terrence Thompson asked, taking a swig from his water bottle and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his Black #17 Matt Kenseth NASCAR t-shirt. Terrence was a well built man, standing just over six feet and weighing a little over two-forty. A former auto racer and still avid fan of the sport, nearly everything Terrence wore was car related, right down to the modified racing suit he had used as his ring attire. Still, Terrence was hardly just a gimmick wrestler, as the PWX Tag Team title hanging over his shoulder could attest to.
The co-holder of those titles was the young woman zipping her duffel bag up. At five-eight and a hundred thirty pounds, Wendy was one of the smallest wrestlers on the PWX roster, although she had managed to overcome that handicap years ago. With her flaming red-hair, Wendy was attractive in a girl-next-door sort of manner, right down to her conservative dress. In the ring, however, she was as technically proficient as anyone, and her never-say die attitude and firm belief in fair play had won her over many a fan.
Right now, though, Wendy was merely shrugging at her husband's question, looking around the room.
"He had gotten busted open when Stern hit him with that chair," Wendy said. "They were going to stitch him up, but that was a while ago. He should have been back by now."
"Hope he's all right," Terrence said. "He took a nasty hit."
Wendy began to nod in agreement, but she stopped as the door to the locker room open, and in walked the topic of their conversation.
Daniel Pollaski was a big guy, obviously powerful, but also obviously obese. His dark brown hair hung lanky over his forehead, slightly covering the bandage that had been wrapped around his forehead. Pollaski stumbled into the room, and shut the door behind him.
"Seven goddamned stitches," he mumbled. "I'm going to kill Chris Stern."
Wendy smiled sympathetically. "Where were you?"
At this, Pollaski paused just a second, and both Terrence and Wendy got the sense that he was debating whether or not to tell them something. Finally, he shrugged. "I was talking to Valerie Belmont."
"Oh?" Wendy looked intrigued. Even though she had won their only encounter against each other (in a tag match), Wendy considered Valerie her most dangerous female rival in PWX. Even so, Wendy had nothing but tremendous respect for the other redhead, and wasn't afraid to let the world know that. "What about?"
"CPW," Pollaski said, hoisting his own backpack off the floor.
Wendy frowned. "You weren't signing us up, were you, because between-"
But Pollaski merely shook his head, grimacing as his vision began to swim. "Not you guys. I was signing myself up."
This was probably the most shocking thing Pollaski had ever said to either WhirlyBird, and the dumbfounded expressions on both their faces showed it. Wendy recovered first.
"As a wrestler?"
Pollaski nodded, and Terrence burst into laughter. "What did Val say? No offense dude, but even she wouldn't be that desperate enough to-"
"She said yes. I debut on August fifteenth," Pollaski snapped back, earning another stunned stare. In truth, he was kinda growing tired of those looks of disbelief.
"Wow, she IS desperate," Terrence marveled, grimacing just a bit when Wendy backhanded him in the shoulder.
"Be nice, Terry!" Wendy hissed, then turned kindly to Pollaski. "But Dan, what are you going to do? You've only been in a handful of matches."
"Well..." Pollaski paused, then shrugged. "I was kinda hoping you two would help."
Terrence and Wendy looked at each other, a mixture of intrigue and dread on their faces. Finally, Wendy shrugged, and nodded. "If you're willing to work hard..."
Pollaski smiled a crooked smile. "Thanks. And I promise I'll try not to be too difficult a student."
Terrence snorted, the only thing he really could do in the shock he had at this turn of events. "Tell you what, we'll let you get in the ring and spar with Wendy and I, and we'll show you some tricks."
Pollaski nodded. "Works for me, and thanks."
Terrence merely nodded, and then smiled. "It's really the only thing we could do. You've been such a help to us over the years, its only fitting we help you out as well."
Wendy nodded her agreement, and Pollaski smiled sheepishly, clearly taken aback by Terrence's compliment.
Luckily, Terrence was hardly one for sentimentality.
"Yeah, well, either way, we're accomplishing nothing standing here. Let's go back to the RV, and get some sleep."
Terrence, carrying his duffel, led the way out of the room, Wendy quietly following behind. Pollaski remained behind for a second, and pumped his fist in a victory celebration. Then, grinning ear to ear, he followed his wrestlers out of the locker room.
=========================================================
The following column was posted on the official website of the WhirlyBirdz
Hey kids.
So ever since I dropped the news at the end of my last Power X column, the internet has been abuzz. Is it true? Is Daniel Pollaski, the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling, really entering the ring as an honest to God competitor?
Yup, it's true. It's DAMN true.
Sorry.
Honestly, this has been something I've been considering doing for a while. I'm hardly the most in-shape guy on the planet, so maybe giving myself something to work towards would be a great way to convince me to excersize. Not to mention, I'm getting paid to hurt people.
I shoulda figured that part out years ago!
Even better, the wrestlers I manage, Terrence Thompson and Wendy Briese, have been helping me train for my big in-ring debut this Sunday. I honestly couldn't ask for better teachers to help me get prepared. After all, both Terrence and Wendy have won accolades the world over, and both have skyrocketed back to the top since coming out of retirement last March.
Oh, and don't worry, Birdz fans, I'm still managing the team in PWX and Defiance. Danny's just doing a little something for himself for a change.
Like I said, my big debut is Sunday Night, at Catholic Panda Wrestling's Zoo, based outta Los Angeles, California. This actually works out pretty well, considering that Defiance is holding a show in Hollywood that same weekend, so I'll get to have Terrence and Wendy on hand to cheer me on as I take on David Anderson.
Yeah, I know. Who?
I shouldn't be too hard on the guy. After all, while I've been running around, yelling at people in a wrestling ring, this guy's been giving up his life and safety in service to his country. You got to respect a guy like that.
Bah, screw that, this asshole made fun of me!
So let's say it, whatever noble things David Anderson did in the past, right now he's nothing more than a snivelling alcoholic who apparently can't accept he's a grown man and move on from his Daddy's death. He's also more retarded than the entire Special Olympics COMBINED.
Considering what an icon he is, I suppose I could take the Andre the Giant comparison as a compliment. Except for the fact that I'm SIXTEEN INCHES SHORTER. Oh, and I speak way better English. Oh, and unlike Andre (and David's daddy), I'm very much alive.
Let's be honest, folks. I'm not that imposing of a guy. I'm basically your average late twenty-something dude who's downed a few too many slices of pizza. I'm well aware of my stregnths and weaknesses. And the fact that I'm fat and slow falls firmly into that latter category.
But this ain't a track meet. David can run circles around me all he wants, but the fact is, if he's gonna win this match, he's gonna have to get close to me sooner or later. And when he does... SQUISH.
That brings up a nice mental image, don't it?
And David calls me a child, because I've resorted to using tear gas? Does he fucking realize that as a manager, it is my JOB to keep interference from getting in that ring and disrupting my wrestler's matches? And, in case the retardaholic hasn't been paying attention, I'm still new to the actual wrestling aspect of this business, so I had to go with other methods to be effective. Since he's new to the business as a whole, let me inform him of a couple fundamental truths.
1. Promoters really don't like it when you use an AK-47 on other wrestlers.
2. Creativity is a plus in this business, something that David seems to be lacking, judging by his interview.
If David Anderson can't figure out what the point of fighting for entertainment is, he either better grasp the concept by Sunday, or stay the fuck up in Alaska where he belongs. Because it's going to be DAMNED entertaining when I break this drunken washout's face, and splatter his blood all over the Catholic Panda ring.
With luck, I'll manage to get some to splash in a cup so I can give it to Valerie Belmont as a present.
Sorry, Val. Couldn't resist!
Anyways, I'm sure you'll hear from me again. Until next time...
POLLA OUT!
Dan Pollaski is the manager of the WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad, and a wrestler for Catholic Panda Wrestling. He also would like to ask one of the lovely ladies of CPW out on a date. How bout it?
Please?
ARC Arena- WhirlyBirdz' Locker Room
Valparaiso, Indiana
12:31 AM Local Time
PWX Adrenaline 39 had been off the air for over an hour, and still the WhirlyBirdz remained in their locker room.
Wendy Briese-Thompson quietly folded up her ring gear, carefully laying each piece inside her duffel bag, while her husband patiently waited. Having wrestled far earlier in the evening, Terrence had already been back in his street clothes for a couple hours, but after the vicious attack Wendy had recieved from Wild at the conclusion of her match, and the subsequent checking out in the medical room, only now was she able to finally change out of her attire.
"Where's Pollaski?" Terrence Thompson asked, taking a swig from his water bottle and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his Black #17 Matt Kenseth NASCAR t-shirt. Terrence was a well built man, standing just over six feet and weighing a little over two-forty. A former auto racer and still avid fan of the sport, nearly everything Terrence wore was car related, right down to the modified racing suit he had used as his ring attire. Still, Terrence was hardly just a gimmick wrestler, as the PWX Tag Team title hanging over his shoulder could attest to.
The co-holder of those titles was the young woman zipping her duffel bag up. At five-eight and a hundred thirty pounds, Wendy was one of the smallest wrestlers on the PWX roster, although she had managed to overcome that handicap years ago. With her flaming red-hair, Wendy was attractive in a girl-next-door sort of manner, right down to her conservative dress. In the ring, however, she was as technically proficient as anyone, and her never-say die attitude and firm belief in fair play had won her over many a fan.
Right now, though, Wendy was merely shrugging at her husband's question, looking around the room.
"He had gotten busted open when Stern hit him with that chair," Wendy said. "They were going to stitch him up, but that was a while ago. He should have been back by now."
"Hope he's all right," Terrence said. "He took a nasty hit."
Wendy began to nod in agreement, but she stopped as the door to the locker room open, and in walked the topic of their conversation.
Daniel Pollaski was a big guy, obviously powerful, but also obviously obese. His dark brown hair hung lanky over his forehead, slightly covering the bandage that had been wrapped around his forehead. Pollaski stumbled into the room, and shut the door behind him.
"Seven goddamned stitches," he mumbled. "I'm going to kill Chris Stern."
Wendy smiled sympathetically. "Where were you?"
At this, Pollaski paused just a second, and both Terrence and Wendy got the sense that he was debating whether or not to tell them something. Finally, he shrugged. "I was talking to Valerie Belmont."
"Oh?" Wendy looked intrigued. Even though she had won their only encounter against each other (in a tag match), Wendy considered Valerie her most dangerous female rival in PWX. Even so, Wendy had nothing but tremendous respect for the other redhead, and wasn't afraid to let the world know that. "What about?"
"CPW," Pollaski said, hoisting his own backpack off the floor.
Wendy frowned. "You weren't signing us up, were you, because between-"
But Pollaski merely shook his head, grimacing as his vision began to swim. "Not you guys. I was signing myself up."
This was probably the most shocking thing Pollaski had ever said to either WhirlyBird, and the dumbfounded expressions on both their faces showed it. Wendy recovered first.
"As a wrestler?"
Pollaski nodded, and Terrence burst into laughter. "What did Val say? No offense dude, but even she wouldn't be that desperate enough to-"
"She said yes. I debut on August fifteenth," Pollaski snapped back, earning another stunned stare. In truth, he was kinda growing tired of those looks of disbelief.
"Wow, she IS desperate," Terrence marveled, grimacing just a bit when Wendy backhanded him in the shoulder.
"Be nice, Terry!" Wendy hissed, then turned kindly to Pollaski. "But Dan, what are you going to do? You've only been in a handful of matches."
"Well..." Pollaski paused, then shrugged. "I was kinda hoping you two would help."
Terrence and Wendy looked at each other, a mixture of intrigue and dread on their faces. Finally, Wendy shrugged, and nodded. "If you're willing to work hard..."
Pollaski smiled a crooked smile. "Thanks. And I promise I'll try not to be too difficult a student."
Terrence snorted, the only thing he really could do in the shock he had at this turn of events. "Tell you what, we'll let you get in the ring and spar with Wendy and I, and we'll show you some tricks."
Pollaski nodded. "Works for me, and thanks."
Terrence merely nodded, and then smiled. "It's really the only thing we could do. You've been such a help to us over the years, its only fitting we help you out as well."
Wendy nodded her agreement, and Pollaski smiled sheepishly, clearly taken aback by Terrence's compliment.
Luckily, Terrence was hardly one for sentimentality.
"Yeah, well, either way, we're accomplishing nothing standing here. Let's go back to the RV, and get some sleep."
Terrence, carrying his duffel, led the way out of the room, Wendy quietly following behind. Pollaski remained behind for a second, and pumped his fist in a victory celebration. Then, grinning ear to ear, he followed his wrestlers out of the locker room.
=========================================================
The following column was posted on the official website of the WhirlyBirdz
Hey kids.
So ever since I dropped the news at the end of my last Power X column, the internet has been abuzz. Is it true? Is Daniel Pollaski, the greatest manager in the history of professional wrestling, really entering the ring as an honest to God competitor?
Yup, it's true. It's DAMN true.
Sorry.
Honestly, this has been something I've been considering doing for a while. I'm hardly the most in-shape guy on the planet, so maybe giving myself something to work towards would be a great way to convince me to excersize. Not to mention, I'm getting paid to hurt people.
I shoulda figured that part out years ago!
Even better, the wrestlers I manage, Terrence Thompson and Wendy Briese, have been helping me train for my big in-ring debut this Sunday. I honestly couldn't ask for better teachers to help me get prepared. After all, both Terrence and Wendy have won accolades the world over, and both have skyrocketed back to the top since coming out of retirement last March.
Oh, and don't worry, Birdz fans, I'm still managing the team in PWX and Defiance. Danny's just doing a little something for himself for a change.
Like I said, my big debut is Sunday Night, at Catholic Panda Wrestling's Zoo, based outta Los Angeles, California. This actually works out pretty well, considering that Defiance is holding a show in Hollywood that same weekend, so I'll get to have Terrence and Wendy on hand to cheer me on as I take on David Anderson.
Yeah, I know. Who?
I shouldn't be too hard on the guy. After all, while I've been running around, yelling at people in a wrestling ring, this guy's been giving up his life and safety in service to his country. You got to respect a guy like that.
Bah, screw that, this asshole made fun of me!
So let's say it, whatever noble things David Anderson did in the past, right now he's nothing more than a snivelling alcoholic who apparently can't accept he's a grown man and move on from his Daddy's death. He's also more retarded than the entire Special Olympics COMBINED.
Considering what an icon he is, I suppose I could take the Andre the Giant comparison as a compliment. Except for the fact that I'm SIXTEEN INCHES SHORTER. Oh, and I speak way better English. Oh, and unlike Andre (and David's daddy), I'm very much alive.
Let's be honest, folks. I'm not that imposing of a guy. I'm basically your average late twenty-something dude who's downed a few too many slices of pizza. I'm well aware of my stregnths and weaknesses. And the fact that I'm fat and slow falls firmly into that latter category.
But this ain't a track meet. David can run circles around me all he wants, but the fact is, if he's gonna win this match, he's gonna have to get close to me sooner or later. And when he does... SQUISH.
That brings up a nice mental image, don't it?
And David calls me a child, because I've resorted to using tear gas? Does he fucking realize that as a manager, it is my JOB to keep interference from getting in that ring and disrupting my wrestler's matches? And, in case the retardaholic hasn't been paying attention, I'm still new to the actual wrestling aspect of this business, so I had to go with other methods to be effective. Since he's new to the business as a whole, let me inform him of a couple fundamental truths.
1. Promoters really don't like it when you use an AK-47 on other wrestlers.
2. Creativity is a plus in this business, something that David seems to be lacking, judging by his interview.
If David Anderson can't figure out what the point of fighting for entertainment is, he either better grasp the concept by Sunday, or stay the fuck up in Alaska where he belongs. Because it's going to be DAMNED entertaining when I break this drunken washout's face, and splatter his blood all over the Catholic Panda ring.
With luck, I'll manage to get some to splash in a cup so I can give it to Valerie Belmont as a present.
Sorry, Val. Couldn't resist!
Anyways, I'm sure you'll hear from me again. Until next time...
POLLA OUT!
Dan Pollaski is the manager of the WhirlyBirdz Vehicular Hit Squad, and a wrestler for Catholic Panda Wrestling. He also would like to ask one of the lovely ladies of CPW out on a date. How bout it?
Please?
EPISODE 34: Twitterpated
Saturday August 7, 2010
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65- Indianapolis, Indiana
9:11 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese adjusted her seatbelt and smiled as the RV accelerated up the incline, the forty-five foot Newman King Aire smoothly gaining speed in preparation to merge onto Interstate 65.
Saturday morning had arrived at last, and the WhirlyBirdz, with daughter, manager, and babysitter in tow, had finally managed to set out when they had intended to, rolling out the driveway at nine o’ clock sharp. The trip to Louisville would only take about three hours, so the WhirlyBirdz were looking forward to spending the afternoon, camping on the banks of the Ohio River, resting up for the final push towards the Respect is Earned pay-per-view and their match against the Cartel.
Looking in the passenger side window at the receding Indianapolis skyline, Wendy waited until the buildings of downtown disappeared behind an overpass, then turned her attention to the three people riding back in the main cabin. “Everything okay back there?”
She was greeted with affirmative mumbles from Pollaski and Cassie, and a small cheer from the four-year old Theresa, who, to Wendy’s immense relief, still seemed to view every single excursion by the family to a show as a new adventure. How many nights had she lain awake, fretting over how Theresa would react to this new life? She was relieved that those worries turned out to be for naught. Now if only she and Terrence could continue to avoid serious injury.
It wouldn’t be an easy task this week.
Even though Wendy hadn’t had any fretting spells since the night of the last Adrenaline, the implications of her match continued to weigh heavily on her mind. The entire cartel was eligible to participate in the match, while only Terrence would accompany her into the ring. Of course, Pollaski would be on the outside, but Pollaski’s main objective was to prevent outside interference. When every single member of the opposing stable was allowed to participate, there technically WAS no outside interference.
But there remained a glimmer of hope- Wendy’s win over Wild the previous week. Like this weeks match, the contest had been tailor-made by the Cartel to ensure her defeat. But last week, she had won the match. And despite what anyone in the Cartel had claimed, Terrence hadn’t technically interfered in the match, only ran Pariah off after he had decided to abuse his officiating powers and become directly involved. If they could win last week, they could win this week.
She turned slightly as she heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, and smiled as Daniel Pollaski, swaying with the motion of the RV, sat down on the floor between her and Terrence, looking out the windshield at the passing scenery.
”How's she handling?" Pollaski asked, more to make conversation than anything.
"Pretty good," Terrence responded, as he switched lanes to maneuver around a slower moving semi-truck. "We'll be to Louisville in no time."
"Ah, Louisville," Pollaski said, breaking out into a smile. "Home of the Cardinals. Isn't it fitting for us to be defending our titles there?"
"Why?" Wendy asked, arching an eyebrow at her manager. "Because Cardinals are birds, and we're the WhirlyBirdz?"
"Yeah," the rotund manager said, then broke into a grin. "Almost makes as much sense as an ex-auto racing wrestler winning the Grand Prix Title at an event called Full Throttle."
"Shut. Up." Terrence growled, not amused in the least by the comment, and even Wendy winced at the barb. Pollaski snickered quietly, but merely yawned, and watched the road.
Wendy looked back over her shoulder again, smiling as Theresa was watching the Little Mermaid, while Cassie DeSlair, the Birdz travel-along nanny, had laid down for a nap. Theresa looked over at her mother, and broke into a wave, and Wendy waved back. Reaching down, she began to unbuckle her belt, to climb into the back to watch the movie with her, but...
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
Pollaski nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, and Terrence nearly ran the RV off the road at the sudden beeping coming from somewhere on Wendy's body. Both men turned towards the redhead, their mouth's open.
"What in the blue firey hell of Detroit was THAT?" the Mechanical Mayhem demanded.
"My Twitter," Wendy answered, as she rooted through her purse for the phone.
Pollaski regarded Wendy with a mixture of shock and horror, and even Terrence had once again taken his eyes off the road, albeit briefly, to regard his wife. "You're Twittering?"
"Tweeting," Wendy corrected.
Terrence rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to the road, while Pollaski shook his head in disgust, mumbling something about 'holy water to get the stupid demons out'.
"And, no, I'm not 'tweeting'," Wendy continued, ignoring her husband and manager's reaction, and taking her droid out of her purse. "But some of the wrestlers like Valerie Belmont give updates on it, so I figured it would be a good way to keep up to date with our colleagues."
"Valerie Belmont twitters?" Terrence asked, adamantly refusing to use the proper term. "What's that say? 'Just drank a pint of type O negative? Tastes like kool-aid?'"
Pollaski snorted in laughter, but Wendy rolled her eyes. "No, nothing like that. She pressed the touch screen on her phone a couple times. "This one is from John Pariah!" she exclaimed. Wendy quickly read the tweet. "Looks like he beat us to Louisville."
"Oh, well THAT'S vital info," Pollaski quipped sarcastically. "Although its nice to see that a member of the Cartel is able to beat you at SOMETHING."
Wendy smiled, and Terrence laughed, which was promptly cut short in a gnashing of teeth as Wendy's phone beeped again. Wendy quickly read the tweet.
"Stopping by the gym at OVW to do some training though. Can never be in awesome enough condition."
"Yeah, this is gripping," Terrence said. "A bunch of annoying beeping noises followed by a special message from John Pariah. I can totally see the appeal in this."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"I'm going to break your goddamn phone," Terrence promised his wife with a feral growl.
Wendy ignored him, and read the next message.
"Not like i'll need it. My opponents are shmucks."
Terrence burst into laughter so hard that he had to jerk the steering wheel to keep the RV on course. "Shmucks?"
"There's the appeal, right there," Pollaski informed the male half of the Birdz. "Now we can be insulted in one-hundred forty character bursts."
"Heh, suppose it's better than the blogs he writes," Terrence countered. "A thousand words of self-promoting bullshit."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"Wendy... I swear to God if I hear that noise one more time..."
Wendy quickly checked the tweet. "oh, and Edward says hi" she said, rolling her eyes. "I've had enough," the young woman said, as she deactivated the Twitter application, and stuffed the phone back into her purse.
For several long seconds, no one spoke, and Wendy debated with herself over telling Terrence what was on her mind. Finally, she decided that it wouldn't hurt to breach the subject.
"I've been thinking about our match," Wendy said quietly although it definitely grabbed the attention of both men.
"And?" Terrence prompted.
"You and I both know that this is a tough situation for us," Wendy began, "there's no telling how many members of the Cartel could be involved. I think even if we wrestle the best match of our lives, things might get pretty desperate in there."
Terrence nodded. "That's pretty much what I'm figuring too. But you and I do well when it's gut-check time."
"Yeah, well." Wendy paused. "You remember that idea for a move I came up with? The one where-"
"Hell no." Terrence interrupted, glancing at his wife incredulously. "I'm not doing that."
"Terrence, please" Wendy pressed, "Just consider it. If this match gets as messy as I think, it might be our best chance."
"To what, get my wife killed?" Terrence demanded, shaking his head angrily. "Wendy, you were just telling me that you were afraid of getting injured in this match-"
"You honestly think that it would hurt more than what those thugs could do to me?" Wendy countered. "I know the risks, Terry. But if we hit it at the right time, I think victory will be pretty much guaranteed. I'm not saying we do it, no matter what. I'm just asking you to keep an open mind about it."
Terrence didn't say a word, but stared straight ahead, biting his lower lip. Wendy sighed, and looked out the window. She knew her idea was a testy subject for the both of them, but she felt it needed to be brought up.
Finally, she undid her seatbelt. "I'm going to the back to watch TV with Theresa. Just promise me you'll think about it."
Terrence managed to jerk his head up and down, his jaw still clenched. Wendy leaned forward, and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, then walked back to be with her daughter. Pollaski, grateful to no longer be sitting on the floor, perched himself into the passenger seat looking out the window.
They drove in silence for a long time, both men apprehensive about Wendy's request. Terrence knew his wife was right. If connected, they would probably be able to win the match easily. But if they missed...
He didn't want to think of the consequences.
===================================================
Sunday August 7, 2010
Riverside Park RV & Camping
Prospect, Kentucky
11:31 AM Local Time
[It's been a couple years since the WhirlyBirdz last visited the lovely city of Louisville, located in northern Kentucky on the banks of the Ohio River. The last time, was just a couple years ago, when they came for the Kentucky Derby. They left with Wendy in tears, although she was hardly the only one who had been deeply affected by the death of poor Eight Belles, who broke her leg just yards after the finish line, and was put down on the spot.]
[Hopefully Wendy's one filly that can cross the finish line in one piece on Monday night. Although calling Wendy a 'filly' would likely get one slapped. Or at least a REALLY nasty glare from the woman.]
[Anyways, we're not in the RV today, but rather a lovely grass field situated on the banks of the Ohio River. Wendy sits in a lawn chair, about six feet or so from the bank, the camera mounted on its usual tripod about seven feet away. Wendy's wearing a pale yellow knee-legnth sundress, and a pair of sandals. She sits with a small glass of water in a cupholder on the chair, staring directly into the camera with those piercing emerald eyes. Wendy, as usual, sits fairly rigidly, and while there is a soft smile across her face, the intesnsity and apprehension she is feeling is clear.]
Wendy: “Respect.”
[Pause]
Wendy: “Respect is is a commodity that is universally desired. We want the respect of our superiors, our peers, and our subordinates. It makes our lives easier when we are well-regarded by other people. A boss who respects you will listen to your opinion, because he feels it matters. A subordinate who respects you will follow your instructions, because he believes following you will lead to a better end. It’s a basic fundamental of human nature to crave this.”
[Wendy is speaking with the air of a college professor beginning a lecture on ethics.]
Wendy: “I don’t believe there is any occupation in the world where the word gets misused more than in professional wrestling. On a constant basis, we hear wrestlers speak of beating respect into their opponents. This is, and always will be, a physically impossible task. Respect is not earned through repeated blows to the head. by breaking bones, or dislocating limbs. This instills fear, not respect, and while the two are so often confused, they are very different.”
[Wendy pauses, and blinks for just a second, before continuing.]
Wendy: “The difference between fear and respect is that respecting something is strictly voluntary, while fearing is strictly involuntary. When opponents respect each other in a wrestling match, we get hard fought, clean contests. Take last week, when my husband faced Dorling. Both men left everything they had out in that ring, trying to beat each other. Yet, there was no animosity. each man held the other in high regard, so they knew that achieving the victory in and of itself would mean something. ”
[Wendy sighs, and for a second, looks away into the distance, remembering the few times in her career she was in such matches. But she recomposes herself, and turns her glare back to the camera.]
Wendy: “Fear is more prevalent in this industry than anyone would ever be willing to admit. Every wrestler, from Jeremiah Belmont to Sami Jacobs, fears something. We can fear losing, or injury, or humiliation, and in extention, we fear those that we know are capable of inflicting those things upon us. It’s obviously possible to fear and respect someone at the same time, but when there is fear, but no respect...”
[Wendy swallows hard, and takes a deep breath.]
Wendy: “That’s when very bad things tend to happen.”
[Like it was said earlier, Wendy was at the last Defiance show in Spokane, Washington, where Eric Dane shattered his leg, Justin Brooks had his head rammed into a grate until he was comatose, and Evan Hurley permanently paralyzed after being powerbombed headfirst into an exposed turnbuckle. Needless to say, the effect of watching such things has had a profound effect on her, especially considering her upoming match.]
Wendy: “Between the WhirlyBirdz and the Cartel, there is much fear, but very little respect. I fear the Cartel because they are a threat to my well-being. While they haven’t shown themselves capable of defeating me, they certainly are capable of injuring me, or my husband, and I hardly desire that. On the contrast, The Cartel fears us because we are a threat to their reputation. They haven’t been able to beat us in a clean, fair competition. Heck, they haven’t even been able to beat us when the deck is stacked in their favor! Its hard to declare yourself ‘dominance defined’ when you keep losing to people.”
[Even the normally even-tempered Wendy can't help but roll her eyes at the comments various members of the cartel have made.]
Wendy: “Perhaps nobody in the world is more incapable of grasping this concept than John Pariah. John claims he and his cronies crave respect, but he goes about attaining it in the most ineffective, even counterproductive, ways imaginable. Respect is earned by facing your opponents on a level playing field, or even when you are at a disadvantage, which is something John refuses to do. What does John stand to prove with this match? That six people are better in a fight than two? That he and Edward Burden are incapable of winning anything on their own merit?”
[Wendy shrugs]
Wendy: “Respect is also earned by taking personal accountability for your shortcomings, another thing John refuses to do. John now claims that he intentionally lost at Do Or Die, because somehow me pinning Michael Norcia proves what a great wrestler he is.”
[The confused expression on Wendy’s face is almost comical. She can’t quite figure out how that works.]
Wendy: “It’s no secret that John Pariah is an arrogant man. You can tell in the way how he talks about how the Cartel has ‘forty world titles’, and how they are ‘wrestling gods’. But Pariah and the Cartel’s track record speaks for itself. Including Do Or Die, members of the Cartel have had 10 wins, 9 losses, one draw, and one no-contest over the past month. That’s hardly a win-loss record I would expect a group of ‘wrestling gods’ to carry.”
[At least its a winning record!]
Wendy: “But where Pariah falls the shortest in his quest for respect, is his own values. The one honorable thing John Pariah has done this year was at Vendetta, when he fought John Ojeda to defend his brother’s honor. And Ojeda hurt him so badly, it was thought his career would be over. John has gone from that noble act of self-sacrifice to allying himself with the very man who nearly ruined his career, and running his brother out of the company.”
[Wendy's eyes narrow in anger, at the thought of a man treating his own flesh and blood that way.]
Wendy: “Like every other cowardly bully in the world, John Pariah gravitates to stronger forces for protection and shared glory. Protection he may find, but there is no glory to be had in the Cartel. Even should the Cartel manage to swarm us and win this match, there will be none. All they will inherit are two leather straps that will lose their value the moment we are pinned.”
[Wendy pauses for just a second, then decides its time to change tack.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden is another man who has deluded himself with illusions of his own grandeur. I watched his interview this morning, and never have I heard a man say nothing in so many words. I understand he is upset with the attack my husband and Mandrake inflicted on him, but I had nothing to do with it, nor do I approve of it.”
[It’s true. You shoulda heard the lecture she gave her husband when she found out.]
Wendy: “The contradictions in Edward’s interview are astounding. I am incapable of accomplishing anything without my husband’s help, but Edward sat at ringside when I pinned Brian Hollywood. Edward claims he will destroy me without Terry there to help, but Terrence is involved in this match. He claims we have taken it easy since winning our titles, and yet I faced HIM last week! And Edward’s never made a mistake in the ring, and yet he’s already lost TWICE since his return.”
[Yes, twice. Although to be fair, its easy to not make a mistake when you have zero offense the entire match...]
Wendy: “Honestly, the amount of inaccuracies and inconsistencies in Edward’s rambling incoherent diatribe are so numerous, it would take me until bell time just to go through them all. But the gist of it- at least from what I could understand- was that Terrence and I are undeserving champions. On Monday night, the world will see just how wrong he is.”
[Once again, Wendy is refusing to refer to Wild by his ring name. It would be interesting if she ever explained why.]
Wendy: “Last week, I walked into a match with Edward, fully expecting to lose. I’m not particularily proud of how it happened, but I ended up walking out the winner. Regardless of whatever decisions were made after that match, what happened in that ring showed me one thing- whatever odds the Cartel throws at us, Terrence and I CAN overcome them.”
[Wendy shifts ever so slightly in her seat, and the intensity in her eyes increases noticably as she now directly addresses her opponents]
Wendy: “John, Edward, and whoever else decides to get involved- do whatever you think you need to do to win, because Terrence and I can handle it. We won’t need weapons, or Pollaski, or anything else. Between the three hundred and seventy-two pounds in our bodies, there is more than enough heart and skill to take on all seven, or eight, or however many there are of you!”
[As Wendy talks, the intensity of her voice rises in a kind of crescendo, so that while she's not exactly yelling at the end, its probably the most fierce we've ever seen Wendy in a promo]
Wendy: “I’ve already said that I fear the cartel, and what they can do to my husband and I. This is nothing new to me... when you’re a one hundred thirty pound girl taking on men twice your weight, fear tends to go with the territory. But I do not let that fear rule me. Instead, I take that fear, that knowledge that I could be crippled or worse at every turn, has always given me a strength of will that allows me to overcome the toughest of obstacles. And so it will be on Monday. As for the Cartel, YOUR fears, the fears that you will soon be rendered irrelevant, your reputations destroyed...”
[Wendy pauses, and breaks into a small smile. The sinister expression on her face is almost unsettling, considering her normally pleasant demeanor.]
Wendy: “Those are about to become reality.”
[Fade]
The RV- Cockpit
Interstate 65- Indianapolis, Indiana
9:11 AM Local Time
Wendy Briese adjusted her seatbelt and smiled as the RV accelerated up the incline, the forty-five foot Newman King Aire smoothly gaining speed in preparation to merge onto Interstate 65.
Saturday morning had arrived at last, and the WhirlyBirdz, with daughter, manager, and babysitter in tow, had finally managed to set out when they had intended to, rolling out the driveway at nine o’ clock sharp. The trip to Louisville would only take about three hours, so the WhirlyBirdz were looking forward to spending the afternoon, camping on the banks of the Ohio River, resting up for the final push towards the Respect is Earned pay-per-view and their match against the Cartel.
Looking in the passenger side window at the receding Indianapolis skyline, Wendy waited until the buildings of downtown disappeared behind an overpass, then turned her attention to the three people riding back in the main cabin. “Everything okay back there?”
She was greeted with affirmative mumbles from Pollaski and Cassie, and a small cheer from the four-year old Theresa, who, to Wendy’s immense relief, still seemed to view every single excursion by the family to a show as a new adventure. How many nights had she lain awake, fretting over how Theresa would react to this new life? She was relieved that those worries turned out to be for naught. Now if only she and Terrence could continue to avoid serious injury.
It wouldn’t be an easy task this week.
Even though Wendy hadn’t had any fretting spells since the night of the last Adrenaline, the implications of her match continued to weigh heavily on her mind. The entire cartel was eligible to participate in the match, while only Terrence would accompany her into the ring. Of course, Pollaski would be on the outside, but Pollaski’s main objective was to prevent outside interference. When every single member of the opposing stable was allowed to participate, there technically WAS no outside interference.
But there remained a glimmer of hope- Wendy’s win over Wild the previous week. Like this weeks match, the contest had been tailor-made by the Cartel to ensure her defeat. But last week, she had won the match. And despite what anyone in the Cartel had claimed, Terrence hadn’t technically interfered in the match, only ran Pariah off after he had decided to abuse his officiating powers and become directly involved. If they could win last week, they could win this week.
She turned slightly as she heard the heavy sound of footsteps approaching, and smiled as Daniel Pollaski, swaying with the motion of the RV, sat down on the floor between her and Terrence, looking out the windshield at the passing scenery.
”How's she handling?" Pollaski asked, more to make conversation than anything.
"Pretty good," Terrence responded, as he switched lanes to maneuver around a slower moving semi-truck. "We'll be to Louisville in no time."
"Ah, Louisville," Pollaski said, breaking out into a smile. "Home of the Cardinals. Isn't it fitting for us to be defending our titles there?"
"Why?" Wendy asked, arching an eyebrow at her manager. "Because Cardinals are birds, and we're the WhirlyBirdz?"
"Yeah," the rotund manager said, then broke into a grin. "Almost makes as much sense as an ex-auto racing wrestler winning the Grand Prix Title at an event called Full Throttle."
"Shut. Up." Terrence growled, not amused in the least by the comment, and even Wendy winced at the barb. Pollaski snickered quietly, but merely yawned, and watched the road.
Wendy looked back over her shoulder again, smiling as Theresa was watching the Little Mermaid, while Cassie DeSlair, the Birdz travel-along nanny, had laid down for a nap. Theresa looked over at her mother, and broke into a wave, and Wendy waved back. Reaching down, she began to unbuckle her belt, to climb into the back to watch the movie with her, but...
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
Pollaski nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, and Terrence nearly ran the RV off the road at the sudden beeping coming from somewhere on Wendy's body. Both men turned towards the redhead, their mouth's open.
"What in the blue firey hell of Detroit was THAT?" the Mechanical Mayhem demanded.
"My Twitter," Wendy answered, as she rooted through her purse for the phone.
Pollaski regarded Wendy with a mixture of shock and horror, and even Terrence had once again taken his eyes off the road, albeit briefly, to regard his wife. "You're Twittering?"
"Tweeting," Wendy corrected.
Terrence rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to the road, while Pollaski shook his head in disgust, mumbling something about 'holy water to get the stupid demons out'.
"And, no, I'm not 'tweeting'," Wendy continued, ignoring her husband and manager's reaction, and taking her droid out of her purse. "But some of the wrestlers like Valerie Belmont give updates on it, so I figured it would be a good way to keep up to date with our colleagues."
"Valerie Belmont twitters?" Terrence asked, adamantly refusing to use the proper term. "What's that say? 'Just drank a pint of type O negative? Tastes like kool-aid?'"
Pollaski snorted in laughter, but Wendy rolled her eyes. "No, nothing like that. She pressed the touch screen on her phone a couple times. "This one is from John Pariah!" she exclaimed. Wendy quickly read the tweet. "Looks like he beat us to Louisville."
"Oh, well THAT'S vital info," Pollaski quipped sarcastically. "Although its nice to see that a member of the Cartel is able to beat you at SOMETHING."
Wendy smiled, and Terrence laughed, which was promptly cut short in a gnashing of teeth as Wendy's phone beeped again. Wendy quickly read the tweet.
"Stopping by the gym at OVW to do some training though. Can never be in awesome enough condition."
"Yeah, this is gripping," Terrence said. "A bunch of annoying beeping noises followed by a special message from John Pariah. I can totally see the appeal in this."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"I'm going to break your goddamn phone," Terrence promised his wife with a feral growl.
Wendy ignored him, and read the next message.
"Not like i'll need it. My opponents are shmucks."
Terrence burst into laughter so hard that he had to jerk the steering wheel to keep the RV on course. "Shmucks?"
"There's the appeal, right there," Pollaski informed the male half of the Birdz. "Now we can be insulted in one-hundred forty character bursts."
"Heh, suppose it's better than the blogs he writes," Terrence countered. "A thousand words of self-promoting bullshit."
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
"Wendy... I swear to God if I hear that noise one more time..."
Wendy quickly checked the tweet. "oh, and Edward says hi" she said, rolling her eyes. "I've had enough," the young woman said, as she deactivated the Twitter application, and stuffed the phone back into her purse.
For several long seconds, no one spoke, and Wendy debated with herself over telling Terrence what was on her mind. Finally, she decided that it wouldn't hurt to breach the subject.
"I've been thinking about our match," Wendy said quietly although it definitely grabbed the attention of both men.
"And?" Terrence prompted.
"You and I both know that this is a tough situation for us," Wendy began, "there's no telling how many members of the Cartel could be involved. I think even if we wrestle the best match of our lives, things might get pretty desperate in there."
Terrence nodded. "That's pretty much what I'm figuring too. But you and I do well when it's gut-check time."
"Yeah, well." Wendy paused. "You remember that idea for a move I came up with? The one where-"
"Hell no." Terrence interrupted, glancing at his wife incredulously. "I'm not doing that."
"Terrence, please" Wendy pressed, "Just consider it. If this match gets as messy as I think, it might be our best chance."
"To what, get my wife killed?" Terrence demanded, shaking his head angrily. "Wendy, you were just telling me that you were afraid of getting injured in this match-"
"You honestly think that it would hurt more than what those thugs could do to me?" Wendy countered. "I know the risks, Terry. But if we hit it at the right time, I think victory will be pretty much guaranteed. I'm not saying we do it, no matter what. I'm just asking you to keep an open mind about it."
Terrence didn't say a word, but stared straight ahead, biting his lower lip. Wendy sighed, and looked out the window. She knew her idea was a testy subject for the both of them, but she felt it needed to be brought up.
Finally, she undid her seatbelt. "I'm going to the back to watch TV with Theresa. Just promise me you'll think about it."
Terrence managed to jerk his head up and down, his jaw still clenched. Wendy leaned forward, and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, then walked back to be with her daughter. Pollaski, grateful to no longer be sitting on the floor, perched himself into the passenger seat looking out the window.
They drove in silence for a long time, both men apprehensive about Wendy's request. Terrence knew his wife was right. If connected, they would probably be able to win the match easily. But if they missed...
He didn't want to think of the consequences.
===================================================
Sunday August 7, 2010
Riverside Park RV & Camping
Prospect, Kentucky
11:31 AM Local Time
[It's been a couple years since the WhirlyBirdz last visited the lovely city of Louisville, located in northern Kentucky on the banks of the Ohio River. The last time, was just a couple years ago, when they came for the Kentucky Derby. They left with Wendy in tears, although she was hardly the only one who had been deeply affected by the death of poor Eight Belles, who broke her leg just yards after the finish line, and was put down on the spot.]
[Hopefully Wendy's one filly that can cross the finish line in one piece on Monday night. Although calling Wendy a 'filly' would likely get one slapped. Or at least a REALLY nasty glare from the woman.]
[Anyways, we're not in the RV today, but rather a lovely grass field situated on the banks of the Ohio River. Wendy sits in a lawn chair, about six feet or so from the bank, the camera mounted on its usual tripod about seven feet away. Wendy's wearing a pale yellow knee-legnth sundress, and a pair of sandals. She sits with a small glass of water in a cupholder on the chair, staring directly into the camera with those piercing emerald eyes. Wendy, as usual, sits fairly rigidly, and while there is a soft smile across her face, the intesnsity and apprehension she is feeling is clear.]
Wendy: “Respect.”
[Pause]
Wendy: “Respect is is a commodity that is universally desired. We want the respect of our superiors, our peers, and our subordinates. It makes our lives easier when we are well-regarded by other people. A boss who respects you will listen to your opinion, because he feels it matters. A subordinate who respects you will follow your instructions, because he believes following you will lead to a better end. It’s a basic fundamental of human nature to crave this.”
[Wendy is speaking with the air of a college professor beginning a lecture on ethics.]
Wendy: “I don’t believe there is any occupation in the world where the word gets misused more than in professional wrestling. On a constant basis, we hear wrestlers speak of beating respect into their opponents. This is, and always will be, a physically impossible task. Respect is not earned through repeated blows to the head. by breaking bones, or dislocating limbs. This instills fear, not respect, and while the two are so often confused, they are very different.”
[Wendy pauses, and blinks for just a second, before continuing.]
Wendy: “The difference between fear and respect is that respecting something is strictly voluntary, while fearing is strictly involuntary. When opponents respect each other in a wrestling match, we get hard fought, clean contests. Take last week, when my husband faced Dorling. Both men left everything they had out in that ring, trying to beat each other. Yet, there was no animosity. each man held the other in high regard, so they knew that achieving the victory in and of itself would mean something. ”
[Wendy sighs, and for a second, looks away into the distance, remembering the few times in her career she was in such matches. But she recomposes herself, and turns her glare back to the camera.]
Wendy: “Fear is more prevalent in this industry than anyone would ever be willing to admit. Every wrestler, from Jeremiah Belmont to Sami Jacobs, fears something. We can fear losing, or injury, or humiliation, and in extention, we fear those that we know are capable of inflicting those things upon us. It’s obviously possible to fear and respect someone at the same time, but when there is fear, but no respect...”
[Wendy swallows hard, and takes a deep breath.]
Wendy: “That’s when very bad things tend to happen.”
[Like it was said earlier, Wendy was at the last Defiance show in Spokane, Washington, where Eric Dane shattered his leg, Justin Brooks had his head rammed into a grate until he was comatose, and Evan Hurley permanently paralyzed after being powerbombed headfirst into an exposed turnbuckle. Needless to say, the effect of watching such things has had a profound effect on her, especially considering her upoming match.]
Wendy: “Between the WhirlyBirdz and the Cartel, there is much fear, but very little respect. I fear the Cartel because they are a threat to my well-being. While they haven’t shown themselves capable of defeating me, they certainly are capable of injuring me, or my husband, and I hardly desire that. On the contrast, The Cartel fears us because we are a threat to their reputation. They haven’t been able to beat us in a clean, fair competition. Heck, they haven’t even been able to beat us when the deck is stacked in their favor! Its hard to declare yourself ‘dominance defined’ when you keep losing to people.”
[Even the normally even-tempered Wendy can't help but roll her eyes at the comments various members of the cartel have made.]
Wendy: “Perhaps nobody in the world is more incapable of grasping this concept than John Pariah. John claims he and his cronies crave respect, but he goes about attaining it in the most ineffective, even counterproductive, ways imaginable. Respect is earned by facing your opponents on a level playing field, or even when you are at a disadvantage, which is something John refuses to do. What does John stand to prove with this match? That six people are better in a fight than two? That he and Edward Burden are incapable of winning anything on their own merit?”
[Wendy shrugs]
Wendy: “Respect is also earned by taking personal accountability for your shortcomings, another thing John refuses to do. John now claims that he intentionally lost at Do Or Die, because somehow me pinning Michael Norcia proves what a great wrestler he is.”
[The confused expression on Wendy’s face is almost comical. She can’t quite figure out how that works.]
Wendy: “It’s no secret that John Pariah is an arrogant man. You can tell in the way how he talks about how the Cartel has ‘forty world titles’, and how they are ‘wrestling gods’. But Pariah and the Cartel’s track record speaks for itself. Including Do Or Die, members of the Cartel have had 10 wins, 9 losses, one draw, and one no-contest over the past month. That’s hardly a win-loss record I would expect a group of ‘wrestling gods’ to carry.”
[At least its a winning record!]
Wendy: “But where Pariah falls the shortest in his quest for respect, is his own values. The one honorable thing John Pariah has done this year was at Vendetta, when he fought John Ojeda to defend his brother’s honor. And Ojeda hurt him so badly, it was thought his career would be over. John has gone from that noble act of self-sacrifice to allying himself with the very man who nearly ruined his career, and running his brother out of the company.”
[Wendy's eyes narrow in anger, at the thought of a man treating his own flesh and blood that way.]
Wendy: “Like every other cowardly bully in the world, John Pariah gravitates to stronger forces for protection and shared glory. Protection he may find, but there is no glory to be had in the Cartel. Even should the Cartel manage to swarm us and win this match, there will be none. All they will inherit are two leather straps that will lose their value the moment we are pinned.”
[Wendy pauses for just a second, then decides its time to change tack.]
Wendy: “Edward Burden is another man who has deluded himself with illusions of his own grandeur. I watched his interview this morning, and never have I heard a man say nothing in so many words. I understand he is upset with the attack my husband and Mandrake inflicted on him, but I had nothing to do with it, nor do I approve of it.”
[It’s true. You shoulda heard the lecture she gave her husband when she found out.]
Wendy: “The contradictions in Edward’s interview are astounding. I am incapable of accomplishing anything without my husband’s help, but Edward sat at ringside when I pinned Brian Hollywood. Edward claims he will destroy me without Terry there to help, but Terrence is involved in this match. He claims we have taken it easy since winning our titles, and yet I faced HIM last week! And Edward’s never made a mistake in the ring, and yet he’s already lost TWICE since his return.”
[Yes, twice. Although to be fair, its easy to not make a mistake when you have zero offense the entire match...]
Wendy: “Honestly, the amount of inaccuracies and inconsistencies in Edward’s rambling incoherent diatribe are so numerous, it would take me until bell time just to go through them all. But the gist of it- at least from what I could understand- was that Terrence and I are undeserving champions. On Monday night, the world will see just how wrong he is.”
[Once again, Wendy is refusing to refer to Wild by his ring name. It would be interesting if she ever explained why.]
Wendy: “Last week, I walked into a match with Edward, fully expecting to lose. I’m not particularily proud of how it happened, but I ended up walking out the winner. Regardless of whatever decisions were made after that match, what happened in that ring showed me one thing- whatever odds the Cartel throws at us, Terrence and I CAN overcome them.”
[Wendy shifts ever so slightly in her seat, and the intensity in her eyes increases noticably as she now directly addresses her opponents]
Wendy: “John, Edward, and whoever else decides to get involved- do whatever you think you need to do to win, because Terrence and I can handle it. We won’t need weapons, or Pollaski, or anything else. Between the three hundred and seventy-two pounds in our bodies, there is more than enough heart and skill to take on all seven, or eight, or however many there are of you!”
[As Wendy talks, the intensity of her voice rises in a kind of crescendo, so that while she's not exactly yelling at the end, its probably the most fierce we've ever seen Wendy in a promo]
Wendy: “I’ve already said that I fear the cartel, and what they can do to my husband and I. This is nothing new to me... when you’re a one hundred thirty pound girl taking on men twice your weight, fear tends to go with the territory. But I do not let that fear rule me. Instead, I take that fear, that knowledge that I could be crippled or worse at every turn, has always given me a strength of will that allows me to overcome the toughest of obstacles. And so it will be on Monday. As for the Cartel, YOUR fears, the fears that you will soon be rendered irrelevant, your reputations destroyed...”
[Wendy pauses, and breaks into a small smile. The sinister expression on her face is almost unsettling, considering her normally pleasant demeanor.]
Wendy: “Those are about to become reality.”
[Fade]
Defiance PODCAST #3- Twister vs. Stephen Greer
July 26, 2010
The Kennel- Terrence Thompson’s Locker Room
Spokane, Washington
10:21 PM Local Time
The fifth Episode of the second season of Defiance was still underway as Terrence Thompson finished packing up his ring gear, looking around the room to make sure that there he wasn’t forgetting anything. Finding nothing, Terrence quickly zipped up the bag, cringing at the slight pain in his neck from where the Angel of Death had hit him hard with a spinning neckbreaker.
Rubbing his neck, Terrence turned towards the door as it swung open, and smiled as his wife walked in. Wendy Briese was carrying two bottles of water in her hands, one of which she tossed to her husband, who immediately opened it, and drained almost half the contents in a single gulp.
“Thanks, hon,” Terrence said, watching his wife settle into one of the several folding chairs that had been provided for his dressing room. Stretching, and trying to work out the slight crick in his neck, Terrence dropped into another chair, taking a much more reserved sip of his water.
He looked over at his wife, and smiled. “And thanks for tonight, as well.”
Wendy nodded, although she almost looked ashamed at her part in the ending of Terrence’s match. “I didn’t really want to do it... but between that and you getting your head bashed in...”
Terrence chuckled, wincing slightly as he rose from his chair, walking towards Wendy. “You did fine. It was obvious from the get go that the Angel of Death didn’t stand a chance against me, and needed that idiot Black Widow to cheat. You just kept things fair, is all.”
Wendy nodded quietly, although she didn’t look any happier.
“And besides,” Terrence said, kneeling down beside his wife, and putting his arms around her. “You looked incredibly sexy sliding out of that ring with a chair in your hand.”
Wendy looked at her husband, a bit taken aback. “You found THAT...”
But she was interrupted as Terrence quickly leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. Wendy paused in surprise for just a split second, than returned, the affection, sliding her arms around her husband as well.
Of course, the door had to burst open at that moment, nearly flying off the hinges as Daniel Pollaski barged into the room.
“KNOCK!” Both Birdz screamed as they broke apart, the moment ruined.
“Screw that!” Pollaski retorted in a tone that brokered no argument. “Turn on the goddamned television!”
Stunned at the urgency in Pollaski’s voice, Wendy leaned over and pressed the power button for the small 17 inch television that they had kept in their dressing room. Both Terrence and Wendy gaped in surprise at the scene on the television. A man was crumpled in the corner of the ring, completely still, while Bronson Box and Stephen Greer stood in the middle of the ring, looking on with perverse satisfaction. Outside the ring, security officials and EMTs were flooding the corner near the downed man, trying to find the best way to extract the broken man.”
“Oh, God,” Wendy said, turning white. “Who...”
“Hurley,” Pollaski said shortly.
“Accident?” Terrence asked, although he immediately knew the answer, just from the way Bronson Box was screaming triumphantly at the EMT’s.
“Yeah,” Pollaski snorted. “The Hydra ‘accidentally’ removed the turnbuckle padding and then Bronson ‘accidentally’ Bombasto Bombed him head-first.”
“Jesus.” Terrence hissed. “That looks bad.” He looked over at his wife, and was stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.
“We knew Evan.” Wendy whispered, unable to trust herself to talk any louder. “We faced him back in the CCW. He was odd, but a good person.”
“Yeah, well, it seemed he changed a lot in six years,” Pollaski said. “Became pretty bitter, and hooked on the booze.”
“Still, he didn’t deserve that,” Wendy said, wiping her eyes. “Nobody does.”
“Really?” Terrence growled, the squeezing quarter-full water bottle in helpless anger. “Because I can think of two people...”
“Terrence...” Wendy said warningly, looking wide-eyed over at her husband, not liking where this conversation was heading in the least.
“No,” Terrence said, brushing aside his wife’s warning. “They would have done the same goddamn thing to Dusty three weeks ago. These thugs aren’t going to stop until they kill someone... fuck, for all we know, they just DID kill someone! Who knows what shape Evan’s in?”
“But Terrence,” Wendy said quietly. “There’s five of them, and one of you...”
Terrence shrugged. “I’m probably better than the five of those hacks combined.” he said. “Or...”
Terrence paused, and looked his wife dead in the eye.
“Or you could join me in there, and help me rid Defiance of those bastards. You know what Greer and Heidi did to you. You know what they did to Dusty, and Evan, and Kazuma, and who knows how many others? Sign a contract, join me in there, and together we can do this.”
Wendy stared back at her husband for several seconds, then finally looked away. “I can’t. I will stand at ringside, and I will do whatever I can to watch your back, but as long as Eric Dane owns this company, I will not sign a contract, and I will not compete in a match.”
“Because it violates your principles?” Terrence demanded. When Wendy nodded, Terrence, suddenly finding himself slightly irritated, pointed at the television screen. “Last time I checked, THAT violated your principles as well. You might have to make a decision here, hon.”
Wendy stared back at her husband, speechless for a second, before looking away again.
“Whatever decision you make, I can live with” Terrence said, more mildly. “But I seriously wonder if you could.”
With that, Terrence slowly walked out of the locker room, tossing his water bottle in a trash can. Pollaski followed, leaving Wendy alone in the room.
Very slowly, Wendy sat down on her chair, and sighed, massaging her temples with her fingers as if she had a headache.
Her husband might actually be right on this.
====================================================================================================
August 4, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Living room. On the couch. Terrence Thompson. White wall behind.]
[Go.]
“Stephen Greer”
[Slight pause]
“It’s amazing. Every single time I think you could not become any bigger of a piece of shit, I turn around, and you’ve managed to top yourself yet again.”
[Terrence Thompson is not in a good mood right now. It’s understandable, given his opponent]
“No, I’m not going to do the expected, and reiterate every single time you’ve been a prick over the past eight years. They only give us so much time to talk, you know. So no, this isn’t about King of the Death Match, or the Faygo Shower, or the Defiance finale, or even Summer Games.”
[Terrence shakes his head, and another pause, his brown eyes never leaving the camera lens.]
“My wife already paid you back for the last two well enough. By the way, congrats on getting your voice back to normal.”
[There’s a slight smile here, but it quicky fades.]
“This is about the here and now. The Hydra. A most fitting name, because every single member of your club ranks among the slimiest, slithering lowlifes ever to walk the face of this earth. Hell, you even have your own personal snake-haired Medusa in Heidi Christenson.”
[Another half-hearted smile that lasts for less than a second.]
“It’d be one thing if your stable had the goal of bettering yourselves as wrestlers, giving you a multitude of training partners to practice, and share strategies with. Even someone to watch your back in the difficult and contentious matches. But the mere presence of Johnny Lightning on your squad is a clear indication that you care very little about winning and losing. All you care about is destruction.”
[A disgusted shake of the head]
“Sunday night, in Spokane, you helped end a man’s career. You wrecked a man’s livelihood for no other reason than your own sick, twisted entertainment. Evan Hurley was no friend of mine, but Goddammit, he does not deserve to spend the rest of his life in a fucking wheelchair! “
[For the last part of that, Terrence’s voice raises in a slight crescendo. It’s not quite yelling, but there is definitely a “forte” presence to his voice. When he speaks again, he is slightly calmer, and quieter]
“But I’m not here to swear revenge on Evan Hurley’s behalf. I’m not that presumptuous. But I know a pattern when I see one. Kazuma Fujita. Dusty Griffith. Evan Hurley. All attacks that you, and your worthless compatriots are responsible for. Who’s next on your agenda? Xavier Langston? The Foreshadowing? Me?”
[Another head shake]
“Try no one.”
[Another smile, this one lasting almost two seconds before fading. But even so, there is zero humor behind it]
“Greer, the opening bell of our match will mark the beginning of the end of Hydra’s reign of terror. The Hydra is a many headed beast, and if I have to, I will lop off each head, one by one, until the monster lies dead beneath my feet.”
[Terrence holds up his right hand, all five fingers extended]
“Box.”
[Folds in the thumb]
“Heidi.”
[Drops the pinkie]
“Andrews.”
[Down goes the ring]
“Lightning.”
[And in comes the middle, until all that’s left is Terrence’s fist, the index finger still extended.]
“Or maybe your own demise will be enough.”
[Drops the index finger, and lowers his hand]
“Because make no mistake about it, Greer. The sixteenth of August is going to go down in history as one of the worst nights of your professional career. By the time I’m done with you, it’ll feel like there were five of me in that ring, kicking your ass. But don’t worry. Unlike you, I’ll be more than enough to handle things on my own.”
[Another small smile]
“By all means though, bring out your friends to stop me. One month ago, I laid out the entire Hydra, four on one, and there isn’t anything Bronson Box brings to the table that suggests the result would be any different. Because every single one of you is weak. Every single one of you is unable to function on your own volition, your own merit.”
[Derisive snort]
“Especially you, Greer. For eleven years, you hid behind your team Danger buddies, each of you using each other for protection. You claim Team Danger is dead, and in name, you may be right. But the spirit lives on in Hydra, the spirit of thugishness.”
[Pause]
“On Monday night, I will kill that spirit. And for the first time in eleven years, pro wrestling will be cured of the disease that is Stephen Greer.”
[Fade to black]
The Kennel- Terrence Thompson’s Locker Room
Spokane, Washington
10:21 PM Local Time
The fifth Episode of the second season of Defiance was still underway as Terrence Thompson finished packing up his ring gear, looking around the room to make sure that there he wasn’t forgetting anything. Finding nothing, Terrence quickly zipped up the bag, cringing at the slight pain in his neck from where the Angel of Death had hit him hard with a spinning neckbreaker.
Rubbing his neck, Terrence turned towards the door as it swung open, and smiled as his wife walked in. Wendy Briese was carrying two bottles of water in her hands, one of which she tossed to her husband, who immediately opened it, and drained almost half the contents in a single gulp.
“Thanks, hon,” Terrence said, watching his wife settle into one of the several folding chairs that had been provided for his dressing room. Stretching, and trying to work out the slight crick in his neck, Terrence dropped into another chair, taking a much more reserved sip of his water.
He looked over at his wife, and smiled. “And thanks for tonight, as well.”
Wendy nodded, although she almost looked ashamed at her part in the ending of Terrence’s match. “I didn’t really want to do it... but between that and you getting your head bashed in...”
Terrence chuckled, wincing slightly as he rose from his chair, walking towards Wendy. “You did fine. It was obvious from the get go that the Angel of Death didn’t stand a chance against me, and needed that idiot Black Widow to cheat. You just kept things fair, is all.”
Wendy nodded quietly, although she didn’t look any happier.
“And besides,” Terrence said, kneeling down beside his wife, and putting his arms around her. “You looked incredibly sexy sliding out of that ring with a chair in your hand.”
Wendy looked at her husband, a bit taken aback. “You found THAT...”
But she was interrupted as Terrence quickly leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. Wendy paused in surprise for just a split second, than returned, the affection, sliding her arms around her husband as well.
Of course, the door had to burst open at that moment, nearly flying off the hinges as Daniel Pollaski barged into the room.
“KNOCK!” Both Birdz screamed as they broke apart, the moment ruined.
“Screw that!” Pollaski retorted in a tone that brokered no argument. “Turn on the goddamned television!”
Stunned at the urgency in Pollaski’s voice, Wendy leaned over and pressed the power button for the small 17 inch television that they had kept in their dressing room. Both Terrence and Wendy gaped in surprise at the scene on the television. A man was crumpled in the corner of the ring, completely still, while Bronson Box and Stephen Greer stood in the middle of the ring, looking on with perverse satisfaction. Outside the ring, security officials and EMTs were flooding the corner near the downed man, trying to find the best way to extract the broken man.”
“Oh, God,” Wendy said, turning white. “Who...”
“Hurley,” Pollaski said shortly.
“Accident?” Terrence asked, although he immediately knew the answer, just from the way Bronson Box was screaming triumphantly at the EMT’s.
“Yeah,” Pollaski snorted. “The Hydra ‘accidentally’ removed the turnbuckle padding and then Bronson ‘accidentally’ Bombasto Bombed him head-first.”
“Jesus.” Terrence hissed. “That looks bad.” He looked over at his wife, and was stunned to see tears running down her cheeks.
“We knew Evan.” Wendy whispered, unable to trust herself to talk any louder. “We faced him back in the CCW. He was odd, but a good person.”
“Yeah, well, it seemed he changed a lot in six years,” Pollaski said. “Became pretty bitter, and hooked on the booze.”
“Still, he didn’t deserve that,” Wendy said, wiping her eyes. “Nobody does.”
“Really?” Terrence growled, the squeezing quarter-full water bottle in helpless anger. “Because I can think of two people...”
“Terrence...” Wendy said warningly, looking wide-eyed over at her husband, not liking where this conversation was heading in the least.
“No,” Terrence said, brushing aside his wife’s warning. “They would have done the same goddamn thing to Dusty three weeks ago. These thugs aren’t going to stop until they kill someone... fuck, for all we know, they just DID kill someone! Who knows what shape Evan’s in?”
“But Terrence,” Wendy said quietly. “There’s five of them, and one of you...”
Terrence shrugged. “I’m probably better than the five of those hacks combined.” he said. “Or...”
Terrence paused, and looked his wife dead in the eye.
“Or you could join me in there, and help me rid Defiance of those bastards. You know what Greer and Heidi did to you. You know what they did to Dusty, and Evan, and Kazuma, and who knows how many others? Sign a contract, join me in there, and together we can do this.”
Wendy stared back at her husband for several seconds, then finally looked away. “I can’t. I will stand at ringside, and I will do whatever I can to watch your back, but as long as Eric Dane owns this company, I will not sign a contract, and I will not compete in a match.”
“Because it violates your principles?” Terrence demanded. When Wendy nodded, Terrence, suddenly finding himself slightly irritated, pointed at the television screen. “Last time I checked, THAT violated your principles as well. You might have to make a decision here, hon.”
Wendy stared back at her husband, speechless for a second, before looking away again.
“Whatever decision you make, I can live with” Terrence said, more mildly. “But I seriously wonder if you could.”
With that, Terrence slowly walked out of the locker room, tossing his water bottle in a trash can. Pollaski followed, leaving Wendy alone in the room.
Very slowly, Wendy sat down on her chair, and sighed, massaging her temples with her fingers as if she had a headache.
Her husband might actually be right on this.
====================================================================================================
August 4, 2010
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:10 PM Local Time
[Living room. On the couch. Terrence Thompson. White wall behind.]
[Go.]
“Stephen Greer”
[Slight pause]
“It’s amazing. Every single time I think you could not become any bigger of a piece of shit, I turn around, and you’ve managed to top yourself yet again.”
[Terrence Thompson is not in a good mood right now. It’s understandable, given his opponent]
“No, I’m not going to do the expected, and reiterate every single time you’ve been a prick over the past eight years. They only give us so much time to talk, you know. So no, this isn’t about King of the Death Match, or the Faygo Shower, or the Defiance finale, or even Summer Games.”
[Terrence shakes his head, and another pause, his brown eyes never leaving the camera lens.]
“My wife already paid you back for the last two well enough. By the way, congrats on getting your voice back to normal.”
[There’s a slight smile here, but it quicky fades.]
“This is about the here and now. The Hydra. A most fitting name, because every single member of your club ranks among the slimiest, slithering lowlifes ever to walk the face of this earth. Hell, you even have your own personal snake-haired Medusa in Heidi Christenson.”
[Another half-hearted smile that lasts for less than a second.]
“It’d be one thing if your stable had the goal of bettering yourselves as wrestlers, giving you a multitude of training partners to practice, and share strategies with. Even someone to watch your back in the difficult and contentious matches. But the mere presence of Johnny Lightning on your squad is a clear indication that you care very little about winning and losing. All you care about is destruction.”
[A disgusted shake of the head]
“Sunday night, in Spokane, you helped end a man’s career. You wrecked a man’s livelihood for no other reason than your own sick, twisted entertainment. Evan Hurley was no friend of mine, but Goddammit, he does not deserve to spend the rest of his life in a fucking wheelchair! “
[For the last part of that, Terrence’s voice raises in a slight crescendo. It’s not quite yelling, but there is definitely a “forte” presence to his voice. When he speaks again, he is slightly calmer, and quieter]
“But I’m not here to swear revenge on Evan Hurley’s behalf. I’m not that presumptuous. But I know a pattern when I see one. Kazuma Fujita. Dusty Griffith. Evan Hurley. All attacks that you, and your worthless compatriots are responsible for. Who’s next on your agenda? Xavier Langston? The Foreshadowing? Me?”
[Another head shake]
“Try no one.”
[Another smile, this one lasting almost two seconds before fading. But even so, there is zero humor behind it]
“Greer, the opening bell of our match will mark the beginning of the end of Hydra’s reign of terror. The Hydra is a many headed beast, and if I have to, I will lop off each head, one by one, until the monster lies dead beneath my feet.”
[Terrence holds up his right hand, all five fingers extended]
“Box.”
[Folds in the thumb]
“Heidi.”
[Drops the pinkie]
“Andrews.”
[Down goes the ring]
“Lightning.”
[And in comes the middle, until all that’s left is Terrence’s fist, the index finger still extended.]
“Or maybe your own demise will be enough.”
[Drops the index finger, and lowers his hand]
“Because make no mistake about it, Greer. The sixteenth of August is going to go down in history as one of the worst nights of your professional career. By the time I’m done with you, it’ll feel like there were five of me in that ring, kicking your ass. But don’t worry. Unlike you, I’ll be more than enough to handle things on my own.”
[Another small smile]
“By all means though, bring out your friends to stop me. One month ago, I laid out the entire Hydra, four on one, and there isn’t anything Bronson Box brings to the table that suggests the result would be any different. Because every single one of you is weak. Every single one of you is unable to function on your own volition, your own merit.”
[Derisive snort]
“Especially you, Greer. For eleven years, you hid behind your team Danger buddies, each of you using each other for protection. You claim Team Danger is dead, and in name, you may be right. But the spirit lives on in Hydra, the spirit of thugishness.”
[Pause]
“On Monday night, I will kill that spirit. And for the first time in eleven years, pro wrestling will be cured of the disease that is Stephen Greer.”
[Fade to black]
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