The following is from the private journal of Wendy Briese
Sunday 16 October AD 2011
As I write this, I’m sitting on a Chicago bound CRJ, sandwiched in between my sleeping daughter and husband. It’s been a long, but very enjoyable night. I probably set an FFW record in terms of fast-matches tonight in Toronto- Charity Deas predictably offered minimal resistance. After that, it was a quick flight to New York, for Cara and Anders pre-Ground Zero bowling party. That was enjoyable, although I’m grateful that we got a more... quiet lane than some of the other wrestlers had- the scuffle between Undine and Isabella was better viewed from a distance. We left Pollaski behind after the festivities began to break up, and once we land in Chicago, it’s only a short layover before we board our flight to Toledo, and Terrence’s final race of the season.
Considering he’s the one driving tomorrow, I’m glad Terrence is getting some shuteye. Qualifying starts at 12:00, just a few hours after we land, and I know he’s going to want to be well-rested for the race. Theresa’s been an absolute doll throughout our trip. I’m so proud of her how well she has managed to handle our occasionally frantic schedule. As for me, I know I’m going to regret pulling these long hours at some point tomorrow afternoon, but I think it really meant a lot to Cara and Anders that we showed up to support them.
Part of me is worried about tomorrow, of course. I always get nervous when Terrence races, and the fact that it’s going to be the last race of the season, with him trying to hang on to his ninth place standing (and his lead in the rookie of the year race!), isn’t exactly settling the butterflies.
But it goes beyond tomorrow as well. This side of Breaking Point, the upcoming Velocity show seems a heck of a lot closer. On one hand, it’s something to look forward too- a return to my hometown, which was so awesome for both me and the rest of the FFW roster when we visited back in June. But at the same time, I know what I’m up against, and I know the implications behind this match.
The last time the FFW was in Indianapolis was a bittersweet memory for me. The response had been tremendous, and I had felt the adrenaline every step of the way as I came out for that match. And I accomplished what I had set out to do- I advanced to the finals of the Chase for the Crown. But there was no denying that I left the Fieldhouse with egg on my face that evening. Crystal had embarassed me, just when I had thought I was at my high point, and she left my lying on the canvas while she pinned Kassandra. I still consider the match a victory for me, but at the same time, it was certainly a sinking feeling.
Obviously that moment was an insipiration for Ms. Star. She praised Crystal in the aftermath in my own manager’s column. And now, four months later, she’s out for a repeat performance. Rose Jenkins, her own personal attack dog, comes to Indy to face me. Outside the ring as lumberjacks, the rest of the A-List, and that includes Colleen, who has taken unabashed delight in mocking me at every single opportunity, from her attack at Unstoppable, to her antics in our ladder match, to the blatant disrespect she showed me at Byte This. That I won in San Francisco can’t possibly sit well with her, and I’m sure she’ll love every opportunity she can to get her hands on me should I leave the ring.
But not as much as Jo McFarlane. It’s tough to believe that once it seemed that mutual respect existed between us. How quickly that’s soured! And for what, because I didn’t think it was wise for her to go out and party so hard that she can’t remember anything by the next morning? I don’t even know. But the one time Jo and I were in that ring together was just a little under two weeks ago, and I doubt she could possibly ever drink so much she’ll forget the spinebuster I gave her.
Add in Alyssa Foxworth, Starla McCloud, Arabella de Rossi, and the prognosis gets even uglier. Five women, every single one of them loyal to my opponent, prowling outside the ring like rabid hyenas, looking to bite me in my ankles any chance they get. I almost see what Isabella was talking about back in Little Rock. How could I possibly come away from this with a win by fighting fair? Forget winning, try surviving. Samantha didn’t book a match here- she booked a hit, to be carried out in front of my neighbors. My former students at the MCCT. My daughters teachers and classmates. The people I stand in line with at the supermarket. The mechanics at Terrence’s garage. Samantha wants to embarrass me to the point where I can’t even show my face outside my house, much less in FFW ever again.
Well, to hell with Samantha, to hell with her goons, and to hell with the odds! It’s been said that the best way to measure the character of a person is when they at their most desperate, and I think its time some members of FFW’s roster learn just what exactly I’m made of! I’ve been in unenviable situations before, and I’ve fought my way out, and who the heck is going to say I can’t do it this time?
No, I’ve said it before. If there’s a will, there’s a way, and I’m going to find it. I did in the Finals of the Chase. I did on top of that ladder with Tara Thunder. And I did a week ago in Golden Gate Park. And I’ll find it in Indianapolis, too. I’m walking out of Indianapolis with my head held high, and Rose is going to be limping out after taking the first fall of her FFW career. And the rest of her A-List buddies will be limping up that ramp right after her- that is if they haven’t turned tail and run already.
Darn it! I’m getting psyched up thinking about it already, and I’m stuck in this little airplane seat. I need to calm down- I’ll need all the energy I can get to get me through today, much less the next week. I’ve resolved to focus on the here and now, and be prepared for what’s ahead of me. That worked at Byte This, and it will work here. Rose will come. The A-List will, too, an invading force with all their fanfare and pomp.
And I, the lone defender of the Circle City, will be waiting for them.
-WCBT
=========================
Sunday October 16, 2011
Toledo Speedway- Diamond Motorsports Pit
Toledo, Ohio
9:14 AM Local Time
“I thought racing was a SUMMER sport,” I muttered, my clouded breath hanging in the air in front of me, as I shivered. I hadn’t thought to bring a coat with me on this trip- something that I was infinitely regretting this clear, crisp morning.
Still, there was a massive aura of excitement in the air. The chilly weather hadn’t deterred a good thousand fans, who currently sat shivering in the grandstands waiting for the morning practice session to start. Throughout the morning, more would be joining them, with the expected capacity crowd of over 15,000 having fully arrived by the 3:00 start time. Considering that ARCA raced on such high-profile tracks such as Daytona, Talladega, and Michigan, Toledo seemed like an odd place to hold the final chapter of the championship. But the series had concluded here for years, including a memorable finale five years ago, which saw two of the series then-top drivers brawling on the backstretch during a red flag.
The facility was actually two tracks. The race would be held on the longer, still only a half-mile in legnth, although well-banked which lead to faster cars, more passing, and, hopefully, more excitement for the fans. The smaller-inner quarter mile track served as a pit row, where cars would travel up and around the inside loop, actually exiting pit road behind the spot they entered it. With thirty-six cars entered, meaning thirty-six pit stalls, it was a tight fit, even with the stalls lining both sides of the track, and once race-time came around, only the most essential personnel would be allowed. I’d be watching this one from the stands.
I jumped as the roar of another engine came to life nearby, and turned to watch as my husband’s car, the purple and white Taco Bell paint job glistening in the morning light, pull away from his pit box, slowly working his way around the inner loop, then speeding up as he roared down the front straightaway into the first turn. A small pack of three cars already at full speed swung high to go around him, easily overtaking him as he accelerated onto the backstretch.
Shivering again, I turned away, walking slowly to the refreshments table that had been set up between Terrence’s and Wesley’s pit boxes. I grimaced as I saw another woman standing at the table, pouring herself a cup of coffee. I stood silently to the side as she stirred in half-a-dozen creamers and almost as many packs of sugar, then pick up her cup and walk away, leaving her garbage on the table, even though a small wastebucket wasn’t two feet away. Rolling my eyes, I swept the trash into the bin, and grabbed a styrofoam cup of my own.
The coffee pot was completely empty.
“Really?” I demanded, intentionally making my voice loud enough so that the retreating woman would hear me. Even if there hadn’t been a sign requesting that whoever empties the pot makes a new one, common courtesy simply required it.
Of course, after six months of dealing with her, I should have figured out by now that common courtesy wasn’t exactly one of Andrea’s strong points. I quickly rummaged through a small box next to the coffee machine, pulling out a new packet of Folgers and a filter. I tossed the old grounds in the bin, emptied the packet, and started the brew, helping myself to a glazed doughnut as the machine began to hiss.
I looked up just in time to see Andrea dumping the entire contents of her cup on the ground, then toss her cup into the grass. Seething, I quickly bit into the doughnut- so fast I nearly accidentally chomped on my own thumb, as Andrea looked over at Wesley’s crew-chief. “Lester!” she barked, “Who the fuck buys this shitty excuse for coffee?”
I had enough. “Hey!” I protested, walking away from the table towards her. I slowed as I realized that nearly every mechanic between the two garages had stopped what they were doing, and were looking at us, half expectantly, half nervously. Evidently they’d been waiting for this confrontation for the better part of a month and a half.
I was hoping to disappoint them. Dropping my volume, I tried to keep my tone civil. “Could you PLEASE watch the language?” I asked, swiftly gesturing to side of Terrence’s pit stall, where Theresa sat on a small stool, playing with an activity book.
“It’s a free country. Leave her at home if you’re worried about it.” Andrea snapped in reply.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous notion. “Right. Just put out a couple of loaves of bread and some peanut butter and jelly, right? She’ll be aces.” God forbid this woman ever reproduces!
Andrea merely shrugged. “Then stay home, as well. Trust me, I think there are many of us who’d prefer it that way.”
It was another laughable notion- I had a lot more cordial interactions with most of the pit crew members- even those on Hamilton’s team, mainly because I didn’t try to act like a princess around them. Still, I merely shrugged back, glancing over at the rest of the mechanics. Since our volume was down, and a catfight hadn’t broken out, most of them had turned away, back to whatever tasks they had been doing. . “That’s your opinion. I’m here to support my husband, just as you are to support yours. Trust me, I’d much rather enjoy it if you were still banned.”
I couldn’t have resisted tossing that barb out, and fought hard to keep a smile off my face as Andrea bristled. I could see her clench her fist at her side, and almost hoped she’d take another swing at me. To give her an opportunity, I turned my attention back to the doughnut in my hand, taking a bite.
Andrea composed herself, however, and pulled out her most superior looking grin. “I heard otherwise... it’s a good thing you got that belt fixed up before you lost it. I’m sure the new champion would have been very upset to win a damaged belt.”
I stood rigid- Terrence, Pollaski and I had been extra careful about keeping what had happened to the Evolution Championship under wraps, so Andrea’s remark was as good as a confession. I forced myself to remain calm, and folded my arms over my chest. Still, my voice was icier than the morning air when I said “Is there something you’re trying to tell me, Andrea?”
That smirk widened, to almost infuriating levels. “And what would you do if there was?” she taunted. “Throw me into another mud puddle?”
“No,” I responded, then quickly moved foward, putting my arm around her shoulders, and pulling her towards me. She tried to break away, but my grip was too tight. I leaned foward, and whispered into her ear. “Defacing a wrestlers title is, in no unclear terms, a challenge to a match, and I would accept that challenge right here. I would put you in the Banshee- that’s my favorite submission hold. You know why it’s called that? Because when I put it on my opponent, they scream and wail just like the banshee’s of old Irish legend. And I wouldn’t let go until I heard enough joints pop and muscles tear to ensure you knew just who you were messing with.”
It was more or less a bluff- I didn’t like hurting people, even someone like Andrea. I noticed that the mechanics were looking at us again, and I quickly released her, taking a step back. “Now,” I continued, my voice filled with false-sweetness, “you were going to say something?”
Andrea had gone white, and she stammered, “I thought you couldn’t...”
“Oh, no. I CAN. Every good wrestler knows several ways to cripple someone, and I’m a submissionist, so I know more than most. I just don’t see the point of wrecking another woman’s career. But you’re a fashion designer...I’m pretty sure you can still do that with a shattered ankle.”
Andrea’s lower lip was quivering, and she was slowly backing away. She looked as if she wanted to run, but was afraid turning her back on me would invite pursuit. Tears were glistening in her eyes. For a second, I felt a pang of guilt at my threat- a small one, but nevertheless one. I looked over at the paddocks, and sighed.
“Look, Andrea. I know we don’t like each other, but let’s not wreck today. My husband’s on the verge of winning Rookie of the Year, and all Wesley needs to do is finish ahead of Matthew Bronson, and he’s the series champion. We can both leave Toledo happy, and then you and Wesley can go to Nationwide, and we won’t ever see each other again. So, let’s just get through this without biting each other’s heads off, okay?”
“THAT.” boomed a voice behind me, so loud I jumped, “would be an EXCELLENT idea.”
I turned around and saw Kevin Anderson, the owner of Diamond Motorsports, standing just a couple feet away, and immediately blushed crimson. “Mr. Anderson...” I stammered.
“Morning, Andrea,” Kevin said amicably, “Wendy, I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”
I nodded, glancing at Andrea, who was suddenly smirking. I knew immediately that Kevin had seen everything that had happened, and I fully expected to be kicked out of the pits. Chagrined, I turned away to walk with Kevin, as we walked away from the blonde haired wretch. “Mr. Anderson, I...”
“Figured something was going on between you two,” Kevin interrupted with a chuckle. “Didn’t think you two were on hugging terms,”
“Oh, we’re not,” I said quickly. “I was just... demonstrating the proper arm placement for a Russian Leg Sweep.” It was a lie... had I tried a Russian Legsweep from that position against a trained wrestler, I’d had been tossed halfway to Akron. Still, it was worth a shot.
Kevin didn’t seem to care about the bluff one way or another. “I wasn’t here about that anyways. I wanted to talk to you about Terrence. He’s been... distant with me the past few weeks. Even a bit cold. Something wrong?”
I started to lie again, but I had a feeling that Kevin would be able to detect this one. I grimaced. “Well, honestly, sir. He’s been wondering why you haven’t offered him an extention yet.”
It almost seemed like this was the answer Kevin was expecting, but it didn’t make him any more comfortable. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, I might not be able to. Taco Bell’s already withdrawing for next year, and Deere might too. I don’t think I can get two new sponsors, and I’m going to have to drop a team.”
I didn’t understand. “But.. Wesley’s moving to Nationwide. Terrence will be your only driver, so what’s the-”
“Ducharme” Kevin replied, beckoning to Wesley’s pit box, where Hamilton’s crew chief stood, talking to his driver on the radio. “Lester’s made it very clear that he will not work with Terrence. I doubt Terrence wants to work with him either.”
I still didn’t see the problem. “So cut Les, and keep Jimbo,” I replied, referring to Terrence’s crew chief.
“Can’t,” Kevin said, looking slightly guilty. “McNulty’s an easier buy-out on the contract. Besides, Jim’s gettin’ old. Lester’s one of the best crew chiefs in ARCA. Wesley wanted to take him with him, but his new team said no.”
It was the ugly head of politics, rearing its head again. I sighed, and looked out at the racetrack, where Terrence was still running, being the one passing other cars now that he was at full speed. “This is his dream, Kevin. He gave up our tag team, his future in wrestling for this. It can’t collapse now, not after a year.”
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “Look, your husband’s gonna win Rookie of the Year today, it’s practically a given. Even if we drop him, some other team will pick him up.”
“A team as good as this?” I asked, my voice quavering. “Diamond’s one of the few teams capable of winning races, let alone the championship. It’ll kill Terrence if he has to start running for some lower-budget team, where he’s lucky if he stays on the lead lap. He only took this job because it’s a big shot.”
“And he knew it was temporary when he did,” Kevin replied. “Look, Terrence has done well, he’s done everything he’s been asked, and then some. But budget is budget, Wendy. You know that. Without a sponsor, I can’t afford a team. And without a team, I don’t need a driver.”
I tried to put on a brave smile. “Well, maybe something will come up.”
“Maybe,” Kevin replied, although he sounded less than convinced. “But it better be soon- I gotta figure everything out by the end of the year. Just do me a favor, Wendy. Don’t mention this until after the race. Terrence needs to focus on his race, not this bullshit.”
“Yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly, as Terrence slowed down on the front stretch, breaking heavily onto pit lane. “Not today.”
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