Thursday July 28, 2011
LucasOil Speedway- Taco Bell Racing Pit
Clermont, Indiana
8:49 PM Local Time
LAP: 187
1. 7
2. 38
I glanced at the small scoring tower on the backstretch, feeling my heart pounding rapidly against the walls of my ribcage. Thirteen laps to go, my husband’s hometown, and he was running in second place, barely a second behind the leader. I had thrown my headset off earlier- I couldn’t listen to the radio chatter without hyperventilating. Heck, I didn’t even want to think about it, lest I jinx it. If it was tonight... here...
And it wasn’t just because it was LucasOil, a track my husband had raced at many, many times over the years in the local Saturday Night weeklies. The Ansell Protective Gloves 200 was one of ARCA’s marquee events this year. Not only was it televised nationally, but it was the kickoff event to the biggest weekend of the year in Indianapolis. Sure, the Indy 500 was the most prestigious event, but with every major stock car series in the country converging on the Crossroads of America, culminating in the world-renowned Brickyard 400, all eyes in American motorsports were on the city of Indianapolis this weekend.
And my husband was now 12 laps, and three-quarters of a second, away from claiming the first trophy of the weekend.
Even better, other than Chucky King, the gruff Ohioan who was currently leading the race, there was nothing that could stop Terrence from claiming his first ever career victory. Wes Hamilton, as well as several other top contenders, had been caught up in an early wreck, and had their nights cut short. Even now, I glanced over at Wes, who stood calmly in his own pit area, watching the race on a television screen, Andrea pouting beside him. As if she had sensed that I was watching her,she turned towards me, and I quickly looked away, seeking my husband’s car out amongst the remaining 20 or so drivers.
He was gaining on King- there was no doubt about that. But now there were only eleven laps left- and Terrence not only had to catch Chucky, but he had to overtake him too. A tall order, considering how little distance actually remained on the .7 mile short track.
I sneaked a glance to my left, grimacing when I saw the two people standing next to me. Cassie and Christian, standing with Christian’s arms around her. I hadn’t speaken with my nanny since I had left the hotel room, and it hadn’t exactly look like she was eager to converse with me either. In fact, Cassie soon noticed that I was looking at her, and she glared back at me, our eyes locking for just a second, before she looked away, presumably to watch the action on the track. But her face was drawn- her jaw was clenched. She was nervous, too. Christian, for his part, merely watched with keen interest. He didn’t have an emotional stake in this race, but I was surprised to see that he was far from dispassionate. Not too far away, his arms crossed, glowering at the two, stood Pollaski, although I could see the anxiousness in him as well.
“Come on, Daddy!”
I smiled as my daughter called out, her voice more pleading than rooting. Theresa was on my right, between me and Terrence’s crew chief. She had stood up on a chair to better see the action, although even then her tiny frame couldn’t see over the adults on her sides, so her view of the action was largely limited to the backstretch, and the space of the front stretch directly in front of us.
Eight laps to go now, and Terrence was slowly creeping up on King’s bumper. By the time there would be seven to go, he would have caught him. I glanced as I saw traffic just a bit ahead- a trio of cars a lap down that were dueling for 8th, 9th, and 10th. Traffic was a wildcard- they could slow Chucky down, or Terrence down, or even both down. Or they could cause a catastrophe.
It would still be a few more laps before they were caught however. Terrence now was right on King’s bumper, but making a pass like this was easier said than done. Together, they came onto the frontstretch, nose-to-tail, the crowd rising to its feet as they finished the one hundred ninety-fourth lap. Six to go.
And Terrence made his move into turn one.
Terrence dove low, tucking his nose under King, preventing him from taking the bottom line. King hugged him as tight as he could, however, as the two went through the turn. Terrence was inside, and had the shorter distance through the turn, and he steadily gained on King... and then the car wobbled.
“NO!” I screamed, my breath catching in my throat.
But Terrence, somehow managed to maintain control of the car, although he had to acquiesce the lead back to King as they roared onto the backstretch, even losing some ground as he tried to get back up to speed after making the save. King had a half-car advantage as they came back to the line. Five to go.
Halfway down the backstretch, King and Terrence caught the lapped cars. King easily over took two of them heading into the turn, but the eighth place car, a orange and black setup with the number 84 on the side, held him up, and by the time the car yielded position on the front stretch, Terrence had slipped by the other two as well, right back onto King’s bumper. The traffic was clear, no other cars loomed imminent, and there were just four laps to go.
On the backstretch, Terrence made his move again, ducking low, the exact same move he had used earlier. Together, the two went side by side through the twelve-degree banked turns. I couldn’t even dare to breathe, lest a puff of air from across the raceway force Terrence to wobble again. But this time, it was King who wobbled, and had to save himself. Terrence shot forward, onto the frontstretch, nearly a full car ahead as King was forced to fall in behind!
“YES!” I screamed, and I knew I wasn’t the only one in the pit box doing so. Three laps to go, and Terrence Thompson was in front!
But King wasn’t done, and he bore down on Terrence, hellbent on taking the lead back as the two went into the turn. But Terrence stayed low, and held his line. Theresa was practically jumping up and down from excitement, and I had to reach out and grab her, lest she fell off the chair. King was back on Terrence’s bumper, but they were back on the front stretch. Two laps left!
King tried ducking low into one, the same move Terrence twice moved on him, but Terrence had anticipated it, and he went low as well, keeping King behind him. King tried low again into three, but again, Terrence kept him at bay, and the two were nose to tail as the white flag came out. One lap to go.
King was out of time, and desperate, so he tried a risky move- passing Terrence on the outside. It wasn’t a good line, and one could easily lose time, or worse spin out from going that far up. But King managed to hold his speed, and his control, although Terrence stayed in the lead as they came down the backstretch.
Suddenly, I blanched- King wasn’t trying to pass on the outside- he simply was taking that line so he could have more speed onto the backstretch. And he did so, swinging his car under Terrence’s as they went into three. Terrence was holding him off, but King’s bumper was slowly, slowly creeping even with his, the two cars so close they were practically grinding into each other.
“GO! GO! GO! GO!” I screamed... the flagman had the checker flag out, waving it. King low, Terrence high, the two barelled towards the line.
And crossed it.
From my position, a hundred yards or so after the finish line, I couldn’t tell. By the time they had passed me, King had overtaken Terrence, but had he done it in time?
“Who won?” I desperately looked around, hoping someone there would tell me. But there was no answer. The rest of the cars were finishing now, ducking under the checkered flag, and slowing down. The thundrous roar of a score of cars slowly decrescendo-ed into a purr. Even the crowd was silent, although I could hear calls of both “seven” and “thirty-eight” coming from the stands.
Even the track announcer, who had babbled on for the last hour and a half, despite the fact there wasn’t a person in attendance who could hear him over the engines, had gone quiet. For what seemed an eternity, I waited, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds.
Finally, the announcer had something useful to say. “Okay, I’m getting word from the officials here that the winner is the number thir-”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” The rest of the announcement was drawn out from the sudden jubiliation around the pitbox. Terrence’s pit crew was jumping, laughing an hugging each other. Theresa jumped up and down, screaming in excitement. I was screaming too, as was Cassie, and we embraced, the tension between us forgotten in the moment. After I had released her, completely on emotive impulse, I threw myself at Christian as well, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.
“WE WON!” I screamed in the poor man’s face, as Christian blinked, utterly bewildered. I pulled away from him, and nearly tackled Pollaski, who wrapped me in a huge bearhug. Meanwhile, on the track, the squealing of tires was heard as Terrence did a celabratory burnout for the cheering fans.
About the only man not celebrating wildly was Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s crew chief. He was happy, but he was busy wiping the gallons of sweat from his forehead. Still, he smiled just a little when I hugged him as well. “Helluva race, missy,” he said into my ear, his voice breaking just a little.
He cleared his throat, and tossed his headset aside. “Come on, he’ll want the two of you in the winner’s circle.”
I grabbed Theresa’s hand, and the two of us climbed down from the pit’s viewing platform, the two of us giddily following Jimbo through the crowd towards victory lane.
Towards Terrence, the triumphant champion.
====================================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
29 July AD 2011
Well, that was embarasssing.
I’m not sure how many people have made a self-revelation in the middle of shooting a wrestling promo, but yesterday, I did. I was talking about Robbyn Helmsley, and the fact that she seems to carry no sense of self-identity, when I mentioned about friends and assertiveness, and it suddenly seemed to me that maybe I should be taking my own advice.
Anyways, I looked at the video this morning, and I look like a complete idiot sitting there, staring blankly into the camera. I’m sure Colleen and Robbyn are bound to have a field day with it... heck, anyone would. Even Pollaski’s gotten in on the fun, calling me ‘Wen-DERP Briese’ all morning (at least until I slugged him. Then he just started whining). Terrence said I looked cute, bless him, but I think that’s partly because he saw what I did to Pollaski.
But maybe I was being unreasonable about this whole Cassie thing. Even if I’m right about Christian (and I know I am), I think I’ve been dead wrong about the way I’ve handled it. Like I told Robbyn, a friend isn’t sycophantic, but assertive, and honest. But a friend also doesn’t fly off the handle just because a decision is made that they don’t agree with.
I’ve been a prety lousy friend to Cassie this week.
This doesn’t mean I approve of her and Christian. Far from it. Christian Kincaid almost seems like a drug to me, and the girls of ‘Club CK’ are his junkies. Every single one is addicted to the thought of him, and you see how they fight and fawn over him every single time they appear on television. Heck, Alyson Summers won the right to face ANYONE in the company, and she used it to avenge a slight against Christian- by a woman who hadn’t even appeared on television for several weeks! Just like LSD or cocaine, the lengths these women would go for just another ‘hit’ is unsettling.
The problem is, the disease that this drug treats isn’t caused by viruses, or bacteria, or chemical imbalances. It’s loneliness. I’m certain most of the girls in Club CK are there because the thought of being alone, being without a guy, terrifies them. Christian at least pays them attention, and is reasonably attractive (I can’t believe I just wrote that!), so they flock to him. And Christian takes advantage of it, and forms them like a cult around him. Or maybe he’s just trying to ward off the loneliness too?
Either way, what kind of person would ditch their friend for being lonely, and wanting to find a solution, as ill-advised thought it may be? I don’t need to be supportive of this relationship, but I do need to be supportive of her, and let her know that no matter what happens, I’m here for her. And as long as her mistakes don’t ever threaten my daughter’s safety, then so will be her job.
I wish I could just say that to her, and this chasm between us would be filled in, but unfortunately, it’s never that easy. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to Cassie yet, but even as of this morning, I’m under the impression that she has no desire to talk to me. And I need to start truly focusing on my match, and preparing for Unstoppable. But once this is over, and we have a chance to sit down, I think Cassie and I are going to have a long talk.
In the meantime, its get to Charlotte, and make my final preparations before I go out and try to win the Evolution Championship. I’m already feeling the nerves about this, and we’re still almost thirty-six hours from bell time.
It’s going to be a long weekend.
-WCBT
Saturday July 30, 2011
The RV- Main Cabin
Charlotte, North Carolina
11:31 AM Local Time
[Well, considering that the last time she was on camera, we all saw Wendy Briese staring blankly at the camera, double facepalming, and calling herself an idiot, its nice to see her smiling this morning as we fade into the main cabin of the RV. Wendy’s sitting on the couch of course, dressed in a gray Chicago Cubs t-shirt (now there’s something to get you in a winning mindset). Through her smile, however, it’s obvious that there is some definite anxiety in Wendy’s features.]
[But that’s nothing compared to what is being held on Wendy’s lap. Its’ a trophy- a *big* trophy, tall enough to rise above her head in this seated position. The trophy is three tiers- four columns rising from the base, four narrower columns rising from the first divider, and a single spire rising from the top. On the columns are the repeating words “Ansell Protective Gloves”, along with a picture of a race helmet.]
“Look! I’m a trophy wife!”
[More than likely, you just groaned or facepalmed. Wendy chuckles as if she found the joke actually funny.]
“Yes, Thursday night, Terrence finally got his first ever career victory, winning at Indinapolis’ own Lucas Oil Raceway, just down the road from where we live. I don’t think I need to say that I’m extremely proud of him. After a couple of close calls and heartbreakers, he’s finally gotten the win that was coming to him for a long time.”
[Wendy carefully leans over, setting the trophy down on the ground, just off the exterior frame of the camera shot. She then sits back up, still smiling, as she leans back slightly on the couch.]
“Of course, I’m not one to be outdone by my husband. So if Terrence has gotten himself a new piece of hardware, I better go out and get one too. After all, if this is the weekend where Terrence wins his first ARCA race, it would be awfully fitting if it was also the weekend I won my first FFW title.”
“Obviously, considering who I’m up against, accomplishing that will be easier said than done. You know, I’ve been paying attention to the goings-on around FFW, and I’ve been absolutely stunned to see all the girls in the Elimination Chamber doing everything they can to discredit Scarlett’s title reign. Is that honestly the best anyone has- that Scarlett was a lazy champion who never defended anything?”
[A small snort of derision]
“Well, I don’t feel like that’s the case there, and I sure as heck don’t feel that’s the case here. Scarlett’s proud of her 127 day title reign, and she’s got every right to be. But I don’t think it’s been mentioned yet that Colleen won the Evolution Championship the exact same night. Ever since I arrived in FFW, this belt has been hers. And Colleen’s worn it well. She’s only defended once so far, against Undine, but let’s be honest, FFW is simply not a place where titles are defended on a weekly basis. Title shots are hard earned here, and certainly valuable.”
“So yes, Colleen’s been a great champion over the past 127 days, but the only thing that means tonight is that it will be that much more of an honor to defeat her. Because as great as she’s been- I think I could do better with it. And I’m pretty sure Robbyn feels the same way too, or else she wouldn’t have waited patiently for four months for another crack at being the Evolution Champion.”
“Honestly, the history between my opponents makes me almost feel like a third wheel here. I think it’s pretty safe to say that Colleen does not carry much respect for Robbyn. And I think it’s equally safe to say that Robbyn, after coming up short twice against Colleen, wants to finally get over the hump and beat her nemesis. And I’m sure neither of them are all that happy that I was inserted into this match, instead of leaving them to fight it out alone.”
[Wendy gives a lopsided smile, and a small shrug]
“Of course, that’s not to say that neither woman has any reason to want to beat the tar out of me. Obviously, Colleen doesn’t care for my perspective, whether it’s in wrestling or life. And I’m sure that after seeing me survive the Whithering Rose and three cross armbreakers, including two at the same time, that Colleen is practically salivating on ripping my poor limbs off, and proving herself the best submissionist in the company.”
“As far as Robbyn goes, she’s... well, she hasn’t really said anything yet. But she’s generally tells me to shut up on a daily basis on Twitter, or something to similar effect. So I’m doubting she likes me too much.”
[Another small, lopsided shrug]
“As for me? Well, I just want to finish what I started at Conviction.”
“Because I don’t feel like I’ve truly won the Chase for the Crown yet. It’s like one of those game shows- I’ve gone through the competition, I outlasted all the other contestants, but all that’s done is merely gotten me to the bonus round. I still need to win here before I can take home the big prize. And like most bonus rounds... the odds are such that if I walk out of here with a prize, I’ll have earned it well.”
“But I see no reason why the person standing tall at the night can’t be me.”
[Wendy pauses, and looks down for a second. She laughs once, and shakes her head]
“I think it’s time to clear up a misconception. People seem to have gotten under the impression that just I’m some little goody-two shoes housewife from Indianapolis. That everything in my life is sunshine and daisies, and I train in some magical meadow surrounded by cheering fairies before travelling to the arena in a golden chariot pulled by unicorns upon a road made of rainbows.”
“Now, admittedly, that would be a heck of an entrance, but unfortunately, that’s hardly the case. Nor have I ever pretended it otherwise. As nice as I’m sure some people think I am, in this company, I’m a wrestler first and foremost. That means I punch and kick people. I pick human beings up, and throw them down as hard as I can. I stretch people’s limbs and joints to the point where they scream in pain, and beg me to stop. My most famous move involves me using my entire body weight to twist my opponents neck and spike them headfirst into the ground. Does that sound very nice to you?”
[Wendy snorts, and shakes her heead again, before taking a deep breath]
“I will admit to being an idealist, or, as Colleen so deftly called it, ‘delusional’. I have an idea of what professional wrestling should be like, just as I’m sure many people do. I want to see women regarded more as athletes, and less as sex symbols, something I applaud FFW for doing fairly well. I want to see a greater emphasis on athleticism and technique, and less on barbaric excessive violence. I want to see wrestlers view their opponents as admirable, respectable, quality competition, not living dolls upon which they can exercise their sadistic tendencies. Is all this really that crazy of an ideal?”
“But I’ll admit, there’s a measure of pride in there too. I don’t let my manager interfere, because I know I can win by myself. I don’t use weapons, because I know I’m good enough to win without them. I don’t cheat, because I don’t want to cheapen my victory with underhanded tactics. After all, if I truly want to be ‘the best’, then it should be because I’m actually ‘the best’, not because I resorted to petty tricks and cheapshots.”
“So no, I don’t believe that I’ll be leaving Unstoppable the Evolution Champion because I play fair, or because I’m considered ‘nice.’ I believe I’ll be leaving Unstoppable the Evolution Champion because I’m the best darn wrestler in that ring tonight.”
[Wendy grimaces, and shakes her head]
“And I’m not going to blow this, because I owe it to too many people to come through with the victory. I don’t know how many fans bought this pay-per-view primarily to watch me compete, but even if my inclusion in this match produced just one additional buy, I owe it to that person to give them everything I have to win this. I owe it to Crystal Hilton, because after that match we had at Breaking Point, when she gave me everything she had, I would only dishonor her if I didn’t give the same effort against Colleen and Robbyn.”
“I owe it to my manager, who, despite his rather off-putting methods, has pushed me in training, given me scouting reports, and helped me devise a strategy. And I owe it to my daughter and husband, who have stood beside me this entire time, and put up with my schedule, not to mention my occasional whining and complaining.”
[Wendy grins, but it quickly fades into a more thoughtful smile, followed by a deep sigh from the challenger, when she speaks, her voice is softer.]
“But most of all, I owe it to myself. Because I don’t want to go home empty-handed. I dont’ want to have come all this way to have been turned aside now. I don’t want to lose this because I need this just as much as anyone else.”
“Colleen told me, way back in her first interview, that there would be more shots and opportunities should I fail here. For once, I can’t say she’s wrong, but I can say that she sure as heck doesn’t know that for certain. It could be three months, six months, a year, or maybe even never before I’m given another chance like this. Personally, I don’t want to have to find out. If I have a fear in this world, it’s that of the unknown. I don’t like not knowing where I’m going. I don’t like not having a plan for things. A win brings me certainty- I’ll be the champion, and I’ll have to defend. A loss? Well, the exact opposite, where would I go from here should I blow it?”
“I can’t let that happen.”
[Wendy pauses, then takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with much more confidence]
“Colleen, you’ve carried that belt well for the past 127 days, but tonight, that ends. Robbyn, I know how much finally getting a victory over Colleen would mean to you, but that’s going to have to wait. Because it’s time for the Evolution division to evolve. It’s time for some new blood to rise, and be given a chance to prove what they can do.”
[Wendy leans forward, and looks directly into the camera, her emerald eyes burning with determination, but also dancing with excitement- and hope]
“It’s time for the one who’s Chasing the Crown to finally catch it.”
[Fade]
LucasOil Speedway- Taco Bell Racing Pit
Clermont, Indiana
8:49 PM Local Time
LAP: 187
1. 7
2. 38
I glanced at the small scoring tower on the backstretch, feeling my heart pounding rapidly against the walls of my ribcage. Thirteen laps to go, my husband’s hometown, and he was running in second place, barely a second behind the leader. I had thrown my headset off earlier- I couldn’t listen to the radio chatter without hyperventilating. Heck, I didn’t even want to think about it, lest I jinx it. If it was tonight... here...
And it wasn’t just because it was LucasOil, a track my husband had raced at many, many times over the years in the local Saturday Night weeklies. The Ansell Protective Gloves 200 was one of ARCA’s marquee events this year. Not only was it televised nationally, but it was the kickoff event to the biggest weekend of the year in Indianapolis. Sure, the Indy 500 was the most prestigious event, but with every major stock car series in the country converging on the Crossroads of America, culminating in the world-renowned Brickyard 400, all eyes in American motorsports were on the city of Indianapolis this weekend.
And my husband was now 12 laps, and three-quarters of a second, away from claiming the first trophy of the weekend.
Even better, other than Chucky King, the gruff Ohioan who was currently leading the race, there was nothing that could stop Terrence from claiming his first ever career victory. Wes Hamilton, as well as several other top contenders, had been caught up in an early wreck, and had their nights cut short. Even now, I glanced over at Wes, who stood calmly in his own pit area, watching the race on a television screen, Andrea pouting beside him. As if she had sensed that I was watching her,she turned towards me, and I quickly looked away, seeking my husband’s car out amongst the remaining 20 or so drivers.
He was gaining on King- there was no doubt about that. But now there were only eleven laps left- and Terrence not only had to catch Chucky, but he had to overtake him too. A tall order, considering how little distance actually remained on the .7 mile short track.
I sneaked a glance to my left, grimacing when I saw the two people standing next to me. Cassie and Christian, standing with Christian’s arms around her. I hadn’t speaken with my nanny since I had left the hotel room, and it hadn’t exactly look like she was eager to converse with me either. In fact, Cassie soon noticed that I was looking at her, and she glared back at me, our eyes locking for just a second, before she looked away, presumably to watch the action on the track. But her face was drawn- her jaw was clenched. She was nervous, too. Christian, for his part, merely watched with keen interest. He didn’t have an emotional stake in this race, but I was surprised to see that he was far from dispassionate. Not too far away, his arms crossed, glowering at the two, stood Pollaski, although I could see the anxiousness in him as well.
“Come on, Daddy!”
I smiled as my daughter called out, her voice more pleading than rooting. Theresa was on my right, between me and Terrence’s crew chief. She had stood up on a chair to better see the action, although even then her tiny frame couldn’t see over the adults on her sides, so her view of the action was largely limited to the backstretch, and the space of the front stretch directly in front of us.
Eight laps to go now, and Terrence was slowly creeping up on King’s bumper. By the time there would be seven to go, he would have caught him. I glanced as I saw traffic just a bit ahead- a trio of cars a lap down that were dueling for 8th, 9th, and 10th. Traffic was a wildcard- they could slow Chucky down, or Terrence down, or even both down. Or they could cause a catastrophe.
It would still be a few more laps before they were caught however. Terrence now was right on King’s bumper, but making a pass like this was easier said than done. Together, they came onto the frontstretch, nose-to-tail, the crowd rising to its feet as they finished the one hundred ninety-fourth lap. Six to go.
And Terrence made his move into turn one.
Terrence dove low, tucking his nose under King, preventing him from taking the bottom line. King hugged him as tight as he could, however, as the two went through the turn. Terrence was inside, and had the shorter distance through the turn, and he steadily gained on King... and then the car wobbled.
“NO!” I screamed, my breath catching in my throat.
But Terrence, somehow managed to maintain control of the car, although he had to acquiesce the lead back to King as they roared onto the backstretch, even losing some ground as he tried to get back up to speed after making the save. King had a half-car advantage as they came back to the line. Five to go.
Halfway down the backstretch, King and Terrence caught the lapped cars. King easily over took two of them heading into the turn, but the eighth place car, a orange and black setup with the number 84 on the side, held him up, and by the time the car yielded position on the front stretch, Terrence had slipped by the other two as well, right back onto King’s bumper. The traffic was clear, no other cars loomed imminent, and there were just four laps to go.
On the backstretch, Terrence made his move again, ducking low, the exact same move he had used earlier. Together, the two went side by side through the twelve-degree banked turns. I couldn’t even dare to breathe, lest a puff of air from across the raceway force Terrence to wobble again. But this time, it was King who wobbled, and had to save himself. Terrence shot forward, onto the frontstretch, nearly a full car ahead as King was forced to fall in behind!
“YES!” I screamed, and I knew I wasn’t the only one in the pit box doing so. Three laps to go, and Terrence Thompson was in front!
But King wasn’t done, and he bore down on Terrence, hellbent on taking the lead back as the two went into the turn. But Terrence stayed low, and held his line. Theresa was practically jumping up and down from excitement, and I had to reach out and grab her, lest she fell off the chair. King was back on Terrence’s bumper, but they were back on the front stretch. Two laps left!
King tried ducking low into one, the same move Terrence twice moved on him, but Terrence had anticipated it, and he went low as well, keeping King behind him. King tried low again into three, but again, Terrence kept him at bay, and the two were nose to tail as the white flag came out. One lap to go.
King was out of time, and desperate, so he tried a risky move- passing Terrence on the outside. It wasn’t a good line, and one could easily lose time, or worse spin out from going that far up. But King managed to hold his speed, and his control, although Terrence stayed in the lead as they came down the backstretch.
Suddenly, I blanched- King wasn’t trying to pass on the outside- he simply was taking that line so he could have more speed onto the backstretch. And he did so, swinging his car under Terrence’s as they went into three. Terrence was holding him off, but King’s bumper was slowly, slowly creeping even with his, the two cars so close they were practically grinding into each other.
“GO! GO! GO! GO!” I screamed... the flagman had the checker flag out, waving it. King low, Terrence high, the two barelled towards the line.
And crossed it.
From my position, a hundred yards or so after the finish line, I couldn’t tell. By the time they had passed me, King had overtaken Terrence, but had he done it in time?
“Who won?” I desperately looked around, hoping someone there would tell me. But there was no answer. The rest of the cars were finishing now, ducking under the checkered flag, and slowing down. The thundrous roar of a score of cars slowly decrescendo-ed into a purr. Even the crowd was silent, although I could hear calls of both “seven” and “thirty-eight” coming from the stands.
Even the track announcer, who had babbled on for the last hour and a half, despite the fact there wasn’t a person in attendance who could hear him over the engines, had gone quiet. For what seemed an eternity, I waited, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds.
Finally, the announcer had something useful to say. “Okay, I’m getting word from the officials here that the winner is the number thir-”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” The rest of the announcement was drawn out from the sudden jubiliation around the pitbox. Terrence’s pit crew was jumping, laughing an hugging each other. Theresa jumped up and down, screaming in excitement. I was screaming too, as was Cassie, and we embraced, the tension between us forgotten in the moment. After I had released her, completely on emotive impulse, I threw myself at Christian as well, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.
“WE WON!” I screamed in the poor man’s face, as Christian blinked, utterly bewildered. I pulled away from him, and nearly tackled Pollaski, who wrapped me in a huge bearhug. Meanwhile, on the track, the squealing of tires was heard as Terrence did a celabratory burnout for the cheering fans.
About the only man not celebrating wildly was Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s crew chief. He was happy, but he was busy wiping the gallons of sweat from his forehead. Still, he smiled just a little when I hugged him as well. “Helluva race, missy,” he said into my ear, his voice breaking just a little.
He cleared his throat, and tossed his headset aside. “Come on, he’ll want the two of you in the winner’s circle.”
I grabbed Theresa’s hand, and the two of us climbed down from the pit’s viewing platform, the two of us giddily following Jimbo through the crowd towards victory lane.
Towards Terrence, the triumphant champion.
====================================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
29 July AD 2011
Well, that was embarasssing.
I’m not sure how many people have made a self-revelation in the middle of shooting a wrestling promo, but yesterday, I did. I was talking about Robbyn Helmsley, and the fact that she seems to carry no sense of self-identity, when I mentioned about friends and assertiveness, and it suddenly seemed to me that maybe I should be taking my own advice.
Anyways, I looked at the video this morning, and I look like a complete idiot sitting there, staring blankly into the camera. I’m sure Colleen and Robbyn are bound to have a field day with it... heck, anyone would. Even Pollaski’s gotten in on the fun, calling me ‘Wen-DERP Briese’ all morning (at least until I slugged him. Then he just started whining). Terrence said I looked cute, bless him, but I think that’s partly because he saw what I did to Pollaski.
But maybe I was being unreasonable about this whole Cassie thing. Even if I’m right about Christian (and I know I am), I think I’ve been dead wrong about the way I’ve handled it. Like I told Robbyn, a friend isn’t sycophantic, but assertive, and honest. But a friend also doesn’t fly off the handle just because a decision is made that they don’t agree with.
I’ve been a prety lousy friend to Cassie this week.
This doesn’t mean I approve of her and Christian. Far from it. Christian Kincaid almost seems like a drug to me, and the girls of ‘Club CK’ are his junkies. Every single one is addicted to the thought of him, and you see how they fight and fawn over him every single time they appear on television. Heck, Alyson Summers won the right to face ANYONE in the company, and she used it to avenge a slight against Christian- by a woman who hadn’t even appeared on television for several weeks! Just like LSD or cocaine, the lengths these women would go for just another ‘hit’ is unsettling.
The problem is, the disease that this drug treats isn’t caused by viruses, or bacteria, or chemical imbalances. It’s loneliness. I’m certain most of the girls in Club CK are there because the thought of being alone, being without a guy, terrifies them. Christian at least pays them attention, and is reasonably attractive (I can’t believe I just wrote that!), so they flock to him. And Christian takes advantage of it, and forms them like a cult around him. Or maybe he’s just trying to ward off the loneliness too?
Either way, what kind of person would ditch their friend for being lonely, and wanting to find a solution, as ill-advised thought it may be? I don’t need to be supportive of this relationship, but I do need to be supportive of her, and let her know that no matter what happens, I’m here for her. And as long as her mistakes don’t ever threaten my daughter’s safety, then so will be her job.
I wish I could just say that to her, and this chasm between us would be filled in, but unfortunately, it’s never that easy. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to Cassie yet, but even as of this morning, I’m under the impression that she has no desire to talk to me. And I need to start truly focusing on my match, and preparing for Unstoppable. But once this is over, and we have a chance to sit down, I think Cassie and I are going to have a long talk.
In the meantime, its get to Charlotte, and make my final preparations before I go out and try to win the Evolution Championship. I’m already feeling the nerves about this, and we’re still almost thirty-six hours from bell time.
It’s going to be a long weekend.
-WCBT
Saturday July 30, 2011
The RV- Main Cabin
Charlotte, North Carolina
11:31 AM Local Time
[Well, considering that the last time she was on camera, we all saw Wendy Briese staring blankly at the camera, double facepalming, and calling herself an idiot, its nice to see her smiling this morning as we fade into the main cabin of the RV. Wendy’s sitting on the couch of course, dressed in a gray Chicago Cubs t-shirt (now there’s something to get you in a winning mindset). Through her smile, however, it’s obvious that there is some definite anxiety in Wendy’s features.]
[But that’s nothing compared to what is being held on Wendy’s lap. Its’ a trophy- a *big* trophy, tall enough to rise above her head in this seated position. The trophy is three tiers- four columns rising from the base, four narrower columns rising from the first divider, and a single spire rising from the top. On the columns are the repeating words “Ansell Protective Gloves”, along with a picture of a race helmet.]
“Look! I’m a trophy wife!”
[More than likely, you just groaned or facepalmed. Wendy chuckles as if she found the joke actually funny.]
“Yes, Thursday night, Terrence finally got his first ever career victory, winning at Indinapolis’ own Lucas Oil Raceway, just down the road from where we live. I don’t think I need to say that I’m extremely proud of him. After a couple of close calls and heartbreakers, he’s finally gotten the win that was coming to him for a long time.”
[Wendy carefully leans over, setting the trophy down on the ground, just off the exterior frame of the camera shot. She then sits back up, still smiling, as she leans back slightly on the couch.]
“Of course, I’m not one to be outdone by my husband. So if Terrence has gotten himself a new piece of hardware, I better go out and get one too. After all, if this is the weekend where Terrence wins his first ARCA race, it would be awfully fitting if it was also the weekend I won my first FFW title.”
“Obviously, considering who I’m up against, accomplishing that will be easier said than done. You know, I’ve been paying attention to the goings-on around FFW, and I’ve been absolutely stunned to see all the girls in the Elimination Chamber doing everything they can to discredit Scarlett’s title reign. Is that honestly the best anyone has- that Scarlett was a lazy champion who never defended anything?”
[A small snort of derision]
“Well, I don’t feel like that’s the case there, and I sure as heck don’t feel that’s the case here. Scarlett’s proud of her 127 day title reign, and she’s got every right to be. But I don’t think it’s been mentioned yet that Colleen won the Evolution Championship the exact same night. Ever since I arrived in FFW, this belt has been hers. And Colleen’s worn it well. She’s only defended once so far, against Undine, but let’s be honest, FFW is simply not a place where titles are defended on a weekly basis. Title shots are hard earned here, and certainly valuable.”
“So yes, Colleen’s been a great champion over the past 127 days, but the only thing that means tonight is that it will be that much more of an honor to defeat her. Because as great as she’s been- I think I could do better with it. And I’m pretty sure Robbyn feels the same way too, or else she wouldn’t have waited patiently for four months for another crack at being the Evolution Champion.”
“Honestly, the history between my opponents makes me almost feel like a third wheel here. I think it’s pretty safe to say that Colleen does not carry much respect for Robbyn. And I think it’s equally safe to say that Robbyn, after coming up short twice against Colleen, wants to finally get over the hump and beat her nemesis. And I’m sure neither of them are all that happy that I was inserted into this match, instead of leaving them to fight it out alone.”
[Wendy gives a lopsided smile, and a small shrug]
“Of course, that’s not to say that neither woman has any reason to want to beat the tar out of me. Obviously, Colleen doesn’t care for my perspective, whether it’s in wrestling or life. And I’m sure that after seeing me survive the Whithering Rose and three cross armbreakers, including two at the same time, that Colleen is practically salivating on ripping my poor limbs off, and proving herself the best submissionist in the company.”
“As far as Robbyn goes, she’s... well, she hasn’t really said anything yet. But she’s generally tells me to shut up on a daily basis on Twitter, or something to similar effect. So I’m doubting she likes me too much.”
[Another small, lopsided shrug]
“As for me? Well, I just want to finish what I started at Conviction.”
“Because I don’t feel like I’ve truly won the Chase for the Crown yet. It’s like one of those game shows- I’ve gone through the competition, I outlasted all the other contestants, but all that’s done is merely gotten me to the bonus round. I still need to win here before I can take home the big prize. And like most bonus rounds... the odds are such that if I walk out of here with a prize, I’ll have earned it well.”
“But I see no reason why the person standing tall at the night can’t be me.”
[Wendy pauses, and looks down for a second. She laughs once, and shakes her head]
“I think it’s time to clear up a misconception. People seem to have gotten under the impression that just I’m some little goody-two shoes housewife from Indianapolis. That everything in my life is sunshine and daisies, and I train in some magical meadow surrounded by cheering fairies before travelling to the arena in a golden chariot pulled by unicorns upon a road made of rainbows.”
“Now, admittedly, that would be a heck of an entrance, but unfortunately, that’s hardly the case. Nor have I ever pretended it otherwise. As nice as I’m sure some people think I am, in this company, I’m a wrestler first and foremost. That means I punch and kick people. I pick human beings up, and throw them down as hard as I can. I stretch people’s limbs and joints to the point where they scream in pain, and beg me to stop. My most famous move involves me using my entire body weight to twist my opponents neck and spike them headfirst into the ground. Does that sound very nice to you?”
[Wendy snorts, and shakes her heead again, before taking a deep breath]
“I will admit to being an idealist, or, as Colleen so deftly called it, ‘delusional’. I have an idea of what professional wrestling should be like, just as I’m sure many people do. I want to see women regarded more as athletes, and less as sex symbols, something I applaud FFW for doing fairly well. I want to see a greater emphasis on athleticism and technique, and less on barbaric excessive violence. I want to see wrestlers view their opponents as admirable, respectable, quality competition, not living dolls upon which they can exercise their sadistic tendencies. Is all this really that crazy of an ideal?”
“But I’ll admit, there’s a measure of pride in there too. I don’t let my manager interfere, because I know I can win by myself. I don’t use weapons, because I know I’m good enough to win without them. I don’t cheat, because I don’t want to cheapen my victory with underhanded tactics. After all, if I truly want to be ‘the best’, then it should be because I’m actually ‘the best’, not because I resorted to petty tricks and cheapshots.”
“So no, I don’t believe that I’ll be leaving Unstoppable the Evolution Champion because I play fair, or because I’m considered ‘nice.’ I believe I’ll be leaving Unstoppable the Evolution Champion because I’m the best darn wrestler in that ring tonight.”
[Wendy grimaces, and shakes her head]
“And I’m not going to blow this, because I owe it to too many people to come through with the victory. I don’t know how many fans bought this pay-per-view primarily to watch me compete, but even if my inclusion in this match produced just one additional buy, I owe it to that person to give them everything I have to win this. I owe it to Crystal Hilton, because after that match we had at Breaking Point, when she gave me everything she had, I would only dishonor her if I didn’t give the same effort against Colleen and Robbyn.”
“I owe it to my manager, who, despite his rather off-putting methods, has pushed me in training, given me scouting reports, and helped me devise a strategy. And I owe it to my daughter and husband, who have stood beside me this entire time, and put up with my schedule, not to mention my occasional whining and complaining.”
[Wendy grins, but it quickly fades into a more thoughtful smile, followed by a deep sigh from the challenger, when she speaks, her voice is softer.]
“But most of all, I owe it to myself. Because I don’t want to go home empty-handed. I dont’ want to have come all this way to have been turned aside now. I don’t want to lose this because I need this just as much as anyone else.”
“Colleen told me, way back in her first interview, that there would be more shots and opportunities should I fail here. For once, I can’t say she’s wrong, but I can say that she sure as heck doesn’t know that for certain. It could be three months, six months, a year, or maybe even never before I’m given another chance like this. Personally, I don’t want to have to find out. If I have a fear in this world, it’s that of the unknown. I don’t like not knowing where I’m going. I don’t like not having a plan for things. A win brings me certainty- I’ll be the champion, and I’ll have to defend. A loss? Well, the exact opposite, where would I go from here should I blow it?”
“I can’t let that happen.”
[Wendy pauses, then takes a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with much more confidence]
“Colleen, you’ve carried that belt well for the past 127 days, but tonight, that ends. Robbyn, I know how much finally getting a victory over Colleen would mean to you, but that’s going to have to wait. Because it’s time for the Evolution division to evolve. It’s time for some new blood to rise, and be given a chance to prove what they can do.”
[Wendy leans forward, and looks directly into the camera, her emerald eyes burning with determination, but also dancing with excitement- and hope]
“It’s time for the one who’s Chasing the Crown to finally catch it.”
[Fade]
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