The following was posted at whirlybirdz.com
So here I am in the ATL, waiting for my match tonight against CCM and his wife Arianna. And everyone’s all psyched, because this apparent rivalry between both myself and Millar, and Arianna and Nikkii, come to a head.
Yeah, except, there is no rivalry. Tonight isn’t going to be anything more than another Michael Vick incident- yours truly putting a bad dog, and his worthless bitch, into the Chattacoochie river and holding it under until the bubbles stop. Because that’s all Millar is, a worthless, do nothing mouthpiece who hasn’t truly given a shit in ages.
Mark Horton gets racketeered for telling the truth about Gambini. Millar just sits there.
Lucas Peek slams a chair through Lilah Carter’s skull, Millar just sits there.
Mr. Showtime gets kicked out of SVW because he had a misunderstanding with Strike. Millar just sits there.
Arianna Millar doesn’t watch where she’s fucking going, and jumps on my foot, injuring me, and CCM blows a gasket, and beats the living hell out of me, when I was at my weakest moment.
And let’s be honest, that’s the only reason Millar got his fat ass out of the chair. Because he thought I was weak. Because he thought that there would be no comeuppance. Because it was easier than incurring the wrath of Anthony Gambini, or even Lucas Peek.
Or so he thought.
You see, I was just out to tweak a couple noses, step on a few toes and have a little fun at Climax. And you know what? I did, no matter how cold it turns out arena’s are when your clothing is minimal. But Arianna pulls a hissy-fit because Nikkii Spainhower is better than her, and I actually have the gall to call her on it, and suddenly CCM is all over the place, raging about what a cunt I am.
Let’s face it, kids. The only reason CCM is involved is because he knows that Arianna’s never shown a shred of reasonable talent whatsoever. Now, don’t get my wrong, Nikkii ain’t exactly Robbyn Helmsley herself, but if you can get her to focus, and maybe be a bit less gullible, and you have a fully competent wrestler in that ring.
Not so with Arianna. Let’s face it, we all know that the girl likes pink because the concept of ‘lavender’ or ‘yellow’ are too big of words for her. And while I’ll admit the girl’s probably a helluva fuck, there’s only so much vacant doe-eyed staring a guy can take before he finds the face extremely punchable.
Millar, you want a war? You got one. I just hope you’re prepared when the bodycount comes in,and you realize that you and your brainless wife were the primary casualties. Because you didn’t win when you Pearl Harbored me. You only awoke the sleeping giant. And now shit’s in the air, headed for your coastline. Millar, you can be Hiroshima, and your wife can play Nagasaki. Fat Man and Little Girl are coming.
Boom.
Polla. Out.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
EPISODE 131: Damage Done
Saturday September 17, 2011
Salem Speedway- Pit Area Entrance
Salem, Indiana
10:31 PM Local Time
I smiled wistfully as I looked up into the black southern Indiana night sky. Even though the only clouds were the one’s coming from the breaths of the racegoers on this chilly night, only the waning quarter moon could be seen through the bright lights of the speedway. Still, it was a beautiful evening, an end to what had been almost a perfect day.
The fates couldn’t have picked a better weekend or location for tonight’s race. Salem was only a couple hours drive south of Indianapolis. It had been the latest in a series of events, both with ARCA and FFW, that had taken place remarkably close to home. Even more wonderful, Salem was located in the rolling southern Indiana hills, a heavily forested region that in autumn took on a dazzling array of colors as the leaves began to turn. And while the arboral fireworks wouldn’t be in full-swing until mid-October, there were enough early changers to still make Salem and it’s surrounding environs a perfect place for an autumn stock car race.
Unfortunately, my skygazing prevented me from seeing the rock in the middle of the path, and the moment I stepped down on it, I lost my balance. I began to fall foward, listing slightly to my right, my arms instinctively bracing for impact. Luckily, my husband had been paying more attention than I had been, and he was quick to grab me, and keep me from falling fully to the ground.
“Easy!” The voice of my husband rang in my ears, and he slowly released me once my equilibrium had been restored. “You alright there, hon?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Terry,” I muttered. I could feel myself slightly blushing with embarrassment over making such a silly error. I quickly smoothed out my clothes, and my dignity, and we resumed our walk towards the exit of the pit area, Terrence silently slipping his hand into mine.
“Have a good night folks!” Despite the late hour, the security guard stationed at the gate was as jovial as he had been when we arrived this afternoon, albeit a bit more tired. Terrence and I both returned the farewell, giving a wave to the man as we passed through the gate and out into the parking lot.
“You were great out there,” I said as we strolled through the lot at a leisurely pace. Salem was one of four tracks on the ARCA schedule that Terrence had raced on prior to joining the circuit, and four months ago he had used that experience to his advantage and a third place finish. This time, he had finished fourth, but overall, the energy coming from this race as opposed to the May run was so much greater. Terrence now sat ninth in the standings, a hundred points ahead of his closest rival for Rookie of the Year honors. This wasn’t a lone bright spot in an otherwise shaky opening sequence- this was a true driver coming around to his potential.
Terrence knew it, too, and the smirk he now had on his face made no effort to hide it. He held a much more commanding presence now, both in the pits and on the track. He was no longer an unknown, his style and tendencies familiar to the other drivers, who were more comfortable racing in a pack with him. And they had grown to respect him as he slowly worked his way up the standings.
Well, at least MOST of them respected him, I thought darkly as the image of Terrence’s ‘teammate’ popped into my head.
Still, I really only had to deal with one half of the Hamiltons this weekend. Banned from the pit area for both this week, and the race at Kansas for picking a fight with me on Labor Day, Andrea had been forced to purchase her own ticket, and sit in the grandstands. And while Wesley had finished third, Matthew Bronson had won, closing Wes’ lead in the points to just a small handful. I couldn’t help but feel some level of vindictive pleasure as I imagined Andrea sitting in the bleachers watching her husband’s hold on the championship weaken ever so slightly.
It wasn’t a very long walk to the RV, and soon, we were climbing up the steps and flipping on the light. “Hello?” I called out, looking around. No one answered.
“The kids must not be back yet,” Terrence muttered, jokingly referring to not just Theresa, but Pollaski and Cassandra as well. “Fine by me... I need to get out of this fuckin’ racesuit.” He turned and arched his eyebrows, giving me a look that left doubt what he had in mind. “If we’re lucky, maybe it’ll be a while before I have to put on some other clothes...”
I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. “Terrence Thompson, what makes you think that I would ever go for a line as cheesy as that?”
Terrence grinned, and hooked his arm around my waist, pulling me in. “Because as cheesy as I am, you’re even cheesier. I guess we’re just a cheesy little couple.”
I smiled back, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Well, it’s a shame we had to go with ‘the WhirlyBirdz’ for a team name then. Imagine how much better it would have been if we had gone by ‘Team Velveeta.”
Terrence chuckled, leaned forward and kissed me, then stepped back, striking a positively cheesy pose while leaning against the RV’s table. “Sorry, but as hot as you are, I don’t think you can burn through this firesuit. I think we’ll have to- AH! SHIT!” Terrence withdrew his hand from the table with a yelp, followed by a hiss. He stared down at his hand, annoyed as blood slowly began welling up in a cut on his palm.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, rushing forward towards my husband. “Are you okay?”
Terrence nodded, looking more irritated than hurt. “I’m fine. Something was on the table, and it cut me.”
Terrence moved to grab some paper towels, while I inspected the table. Sure enough, there were several metalic shards on the table, all of them very sharp edged. Confused, I gingerly turned one of the shards over in my hand. It was gold, with etchings on it. In fact, the design seemed familiar...
I picked up another piece, and another, the metaphorical pieces coming together in the puzzle inside my head. These etchings belonged to... one of the sideplates on my Evolution title?
Slowly, my gaze shifted from the shards to the title belt itself, sitting on the table as well. The pieces were coming together too fast for me to truly comprehend what was happening, but already a feeling of absolute dread was welling up inside me.
I turned the belt over, unfolding it, feeling my blood freeze in my veins. Someone had taken a hammer to it. One of the sideplates had been shattered, the pieces forming the debris on the table, while two more of the plates had been cracked. The main face plate had fared better, but several dings had been made in the plating. To top it all off, the word “BITCH” had been scratched into the leather strap.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding in my ears. This had to have been what having a heart attack feels like. Maybe I was having one. Maybe I was dying. Maybe I was...
“Wendy, I asked if everything is...” Terrence came up by my side and paused as he saw the belt in my hands. “Oh Jesus...” he muttered.
I didn’t respond. I was shaking, laboring to breathe, my heart still pounding, my knees feeling like they could give way. Who could have done this? Breaking into our RV was disconcerting enough, but who could hate me so much that they would do... this?
One name, one sneering, blonde haired head popped out at me. A woman who had an intense dislike of me. A woman who would carry no appreciation for this belt and what it meant to not just the holder, but those who had held it, and those who were seeking it. A woman who I knew for a fact was here, in Salem, at the speedway.
“She’s dead,” I whispered. “She’s fucking dead.”
“Hunh? Whoah... hang on!” Before Terrence could even comprehend, I was marching towards the exit, my fists clenched into balls at my side. Terrence raced after me, grabbing me by my shoulder, spinning around. “Wendy, wait! You don’t know-”
“Who else could have done it, Terrence?” I snapped back, trying unsuccessfully to keep tears from leaking from my eyes. “She’s here at the track! And she wasn’t in the pits, so she could have been free to roam around the entire parking lot while the race went on! If it wasn’t her, who was it?”
Terrence thought for a second, then shrugged. “Okay, it was probably her. But still, you can’t just...”
“The hell I can’t!” I was on the verge of hysterics now, but I didn’t care. I merely wiped the moisture from my eyes and continued to snarl at my husband. “I knew I should have taught that bitch a lesson at DuQuoin! I should have broken her arm in half instead of just tossing her into a mud puddle! Hell, I should have put her head through the sidewalk when she threatened you at the hospital in Grand Rapids! Well, I’ve had it with her!”
“Wendy, please...”
“Let go of me, Terrence!” I snarled trying to tug myself free of his grasp. But his grip was to tight.
“But you don’t even know where she is! You can’t just go running around the parking lot in the dark! Hell, she could be halfway to Louisville by now!”
“I don’t care! I’ll find her! And when I do...” My voice gave out, and I choked back a sob. Helplessly, I glanced over at the table, where my shattered belt sat.
“I wanted that belt for months, Terry. And I didn’t even get it for a week before-” My knees gave out finally, and I fell forward, right into Terrence’s arms. At the same time, any semblance of control I had left vanished, and the leak around my eyes turned into a floodgate. Terrence gently put his arms around me, gently stroking my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.
=========================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
18 September 2011
I don’t recall ever feeling so numb.
I suppose it’s probably a better feeling than the one I had last night, when I had a complete mental breakdown upon seeing my Evolution Championship damaged the way it was. Never, in the six years I’ve been in this business, have I had to deal with something like this. The fact is, even if there are those in this business who don’t personally like me- a title belt, especially one as prestigious as the Evolution Championship, tends to be respected. After all, most people hope to hold that title belt around their waist as well, so destroying said item is generally counterproductive. That and, it’s never a good idea to go around destroying the property of the company you work for.
And that’s what has me so worried this morning. While I may claim the Evolution Championship as my own, and wear it, the fact remains that it is not my property but FFW’s. And considering the condition the belt is currently in, and the fact that I’ve been charged with keeping it as long as I’m the champion, that puts me in a delicate situation. My fault or not, it’s not going to be pretty telling Samantha Star that such a piece of valuable company property is damaged.
Pollaski looked the belt over last night, and told me this morning that while there’s no doubt damage to the title, it might not be as severe as it first looked. He’s overnighted the belt back to its original manufacturer, with hopes that it can be repaired in time for the PPV. It sounds like a tall order to me, but Pollaski’s fairly certain that if we spend enough cash, that belt will be back in my hands by bell time, completely repaired. He’s advised me to not tell anyone about this, unless it becomes apparent I won’t have the title back in time. That sits uneasy with me... it seems at least SOMEONE should know what’s going on, like Mr. Kincaid, who’d probably be much more understanding about the situation. But, and I hope to God I don’t end up regretting it, I’m going to take my managers advice.
The only thing left to do, then, is to get myself focused on Crystal Hilton, so that I’m ready to face her when Sin & Sacrifice begins. I’ve had no problems overcoming distractions before, whether they were injuries, problems with my father, Terrence being in the hospital, or the occasional being kidnapped. If anything, it’ll be nice once I finally get into that ring. Inside that ring, everything is much more simple. Just get the job done, and get the win, don’t worry about anything else. That won’t change Saturday, whether or not I’m walking down to that ring with a newly restored title belt, or walking down to that ring with nothing but the realization that I’m in deep trouble with management. Just get the job done.
Besides, if the belt doesn’t make it back on time, but I win anways, that at least saves me the trouble of having to explain to Crystal why she can’t have the title she just beat me for. I know the belt is by and large symbolic, and it’s truly the recognition of being the champion that we all actually desire (see Atherton, Casey, why no one takes her seriously), but that won’t be a pretty sight. Chalk that up to incentive right there.
Either way, it’s going to be a long week. But I’ve gotten out of tougher jams than this before. I can do it again.
After all, where would I be without hope and faith in myself?
-WCBT
Saturday September 24, 2011
The Palace- Briese Locker Room
Auburn Hills, Michigan
4:31 PM Local Time
[So, we’re still a bit of a ways from bell time here at Sin & Sacrifice, but the WhirlyBirdz have already arrived, and taken up roost in Wendy’s locker room. It’s been a long wait for this evening, and the nerves are finally starting to set in on Wendy.]
[Those nerves are especially doubled up now, as Wendy paces back and forth across her locker room floor, her phone in her hand, the redhead Evolution Champion staring at it intensely. Finally, she looks over at her manager, desperation in her eyes]
Wendy: “It’s not changing.”
[Pollaski’s noticed that the camera is on, and darts a sidelong, annoyed glance at Wendy’s husband Terrence, who’s leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. Finally, with an eyeroll, Pollaski turns back to his client.]
Pollaski: “Okay, hang on. What does it say again?”
[Wendy glances at her phone]
Wendy: “Out for delivery in Auburn Hills at 3:30. That’s it.”
Pollaski: “Okay, so the truck is somewhere in Auburn Hills. And if I had to guess, it’s delivering things. People here know you’re expecting a package, and they’ll let you know when it gets here, so calm...”
[Ever notice it’s never a good idea to tell a hysterical person to calm down?]
Wendy: “Don’t tell me to calm down! What if the truck gets a flat tire! Or it crashes? Or the driver has a heart attack? Or-”
Pollaski: “Or what if the driver goes so fast, he opens up a temporal wormhole and gets sucked into an alternate dimension, one where Charity Deas is the FFW Champion?”
[Wendy pauses in her pacing, and looks directly at Dan]
Wendy: “Are you making fun of me?”
Pollaski: “Oh no. I would never dream of doing that.”
[It’s said flatly, with absolutely no trace of sarcasm. Because Pollaski is that awesome]
Wendy: “It has to be here. It’s GOT to be here. I need it to be here. I can’t go out there without-”
[Wendy is cut off as Pollaski clears his throat, a reminder that she best not mention what she’s waiting for. Wendy instead begins pacing back and forth, muttering “It’s got to be here” to herself in a mantra. Terrence is looking concerned at Pollaski.]
Terrence: “Dude, it’s not good when she’s like this. Especially before a match. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Pollaski: “Well... there’s one thing. But you won’t like it.”
Terrence: “I don’t care. Just do it. She’s got to get over this...”
[Pollaski pauses, and shrugs, nodding to himself. He then quickly walks across the room, and grabs Wendy by the shoulders, shaking her violently like a rag-doll, and screaming]
Pollaski: “IT’S-OUT-FOR-FUCKING-DELIVERY-WOMAN! SO-GET-A-HOLD-OF-YOURSELF-BEFORE-YOU- SCREW-UP-THE-BIGGEST-MATCH-OF-YOUR-FUCKING-CAREER!
*SMACK!*
[Pollaski finshes the pep-talk by driving an open palm into Wendy’s cheek. Wendy turns her head back to Pollaski, blinking, her mouth open in shock, her hand to where her manager had just smacked her. Pollaski dusts off his hands, as if his job was done.]
Pollaski: “Well, that was actually kinda fun...”
Terrence: “DUDE!”
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “OW!”
Terrence: “Don’t hit my fucking wife!”
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “You told me I could!”
*SMACK*
Terrence: “I didn’t know you were going to do that!”
*SMACK!*
Pollaski: “I told you you weren’t going to like it!”
[Pollaski and Terrence begin wrestling around, still trying to slap each other. Eventually, both men lose their balance and fall to the ground, grunting, the occasional smack being heard. Wendy, still in shock over being slapped herself, looks down at her husband, a former World Champion, and her manager, an up and coming SVW star, having a slapfight in her locker room]
Wendy: “Uh... guys?”
[Down on the ground- off camera]
Terrence: “Say uncle! SAY UNCLE!”
Pollaski: “That’s not even a submission hold, dumbass!”
[Wendy rolls her eyes, deciding it’s best not to get in the middle- although it’s a positve that she’s not running around freaking out now. Instead, something on the telvision in the locker room catches her eye, and she turns to regard it. It’s a preview show running for Sin & Sacrifice, currently hyping up the Chase for the Crown match. Wendy smiles wistfully at that.]
Wendy: “Hard to believe that four months ago, that was Crystal and I, isn’t it?”
[Hearing Wendy talking, and not in an insane fashion, breaks the fight up, and both men climb to their feet, looking disheveled. Wendy, not noticing her peacmaking miracle, continues]
Wendy: “And here we are now... facing each other in one of the biggest matches on the show... a true match of the year candidate. I hope the girls in this edition take notice. That tournament can help you get on the map here in FFW so quickly.”
[Pollaski snickers]
Pollaski: “Heh. What can CROWN do for you?”
[The pun goes over like a fart in church, doubly so because Wendy’s currently freaking out about the location of the UPS guy. Terrence feels obligated...]
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “OW! STOP THAT!”
[Wendy ignores that]
Wendy: “It’s amazing what one tournament- three simple matches did for my career in FFW. And honestly, it’s amazing what it did for Crystal’s career. Through the preliminaries, and our confronation in the finals, we proved that we could hang with pretty much anyone in the FFW locker room. And the opportunities we were given reflected that.”
[Small sigh]
Wendy: “Two weeks ago, I climbed a ladder, and I grabbed a title. And believe me, the view from the top of that ladder was tremendous. But you know what I saw, that stood out the most? I saw another ladder- one that led higher up, to the heavens. I want to climb that one, and see what’s at the top. I want to see what I can do in the Femme For All. I want to see how far I can go with the Evolution Title. I want to see if I can become the first person to win the FFW Championship while holding the Evolution Championship. At Sin & Sacrifice, I can either begin finding the answers to those questions, or I can let them slip away. And the same goes for Crystal.”
[Pollaski nods, as Terrence goes back to leaning against the wall]
Pollaski: “Actually, Crystal seems to be more focused on just wanting to beat you, rather than what it could bring.”
[Wendy nods]
Wendy: “And I think that’s the biggest difference between us. To me, this match isn’t about any personal grudge. It’s a great rivalry, to be sure, but this isn’t for the sake of tossing Crystal down. This is simply the next step I need to take on my road, regardless of opponent. Maybe it’s because I already hold a victory over Crystal. I know I can pin her- she doesn’t enter this match with the same assurance. She’s got to prove that she can beat me, and get that monkey off her back, before she can do anything else.”
[Wendy shakes her head]
Wendy: “But don’t think for a second that I have any less to prove. I might not be fighting just for the right to say I’m better than Crystal, but I’m fighting for a heck of a lot. A loss here, and that all goes away. Everything I’ve dreamed of, everything I worked for. The only thing I’ll have in store for me is an upcoming visit from Rose Jenkins. And with all due respect to Rose, I’d like a lot more to look forward to than a ruthless behemoth trying to punch my face in.”
[A small flicker of a smile, as if Wendy had just attempted humor]
Wendy: “But I’ve known all along that this is going to be a personal match for Crystal. If you watch her promos, the fact of the matter is that Crystal’s been acting like she’s been facing me for her last three matches. Perhaps that’s why she lost two of them- after all, it’s never good when you’re focused on the wrong opponent. Because while she’s been in the ring with someone else, you knew it was me she was envisioning. Heck, she even said that when she was attacking Belladonna, she would be envisioning a certain other redhead than the one she was against.”
Wendy: “And while it may have cost her against the likes of Tara and Kitty, that’s definitely a disconcerting though on my end. This is a woman who’s spent the last two months thinking constantly about getting back in that ring with me. And while she’s been foaming at the mouth, I’ve had my attention divided, mainly in capturing the Evolution Championship. But for the last two weeks, my attention has been on Crystal. I’ve been studying our first match, seeing what I did wrong, and thinking of ways I could have done better. I’ve been seeing what I did right, as well as what Tara and Kaitlynn did right, to bring her down. My focus is on Hilton, you can rest assured that I’ll be ready for her tonight.”
[Title or no title!]
Pollaski: “It’s good that you recognize that Crystal is going to be taking this match personally. She’s done some pretty... bizarre shit over the past couple months.”
[Wendy smiles slightly]
Wendy: “She has, really. She’s taken some verbal shots, such as how I’m not worth two cents for a pay-per-view, or how I’m inferior. She’s even called my sense of fair play into question, by pulling that stupid trick with the couch when we were on Adonis Says. She’s shrieked in mindless rage and willed me to die in a fire. She liked to talk a lot of smack about me, especially when she was supposed to be focusing on other opponents.”
Wendy: “And yet, she then turns around and acts like she wants to be my friend. She’s asked me over Twitter if we could take our daughters out shopping together. She’s mentioned several times how much she respects me, and thinks I’m one of the top wrestlers in the company. It’s so inconsistent, I don’t get it. One day Wendy Briese is a manipulative little you-know-what, the next I’m the greatest person in the world.”
[Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and shrugs.]
Wendy: “I’m not even sure what to make of it. Is this some kind of mind game? Is this how she gets under my skin. Because if she really is trying to make a friend out of me, she’s really going about an awful way of accomplishing it.”
[Snort]
Wendy: “It’s the same deal I had with Robbyn Helmsley the other day. You cannot stand there, scream profanities, insult me, and degrade my accomplishments one moment, then compliment me the next. That’s not respect. That’s insincerity. If you truly have respect for someone, you’ll show that respect regardless of who they can or can’t beat, or what title’s they have, or whether they open the show or close it. You don’t get to pick and choose.”
[Wendy looks at Pollaski, and shrugs]
Wendy “And maybe I’m being harsh here. But the last person to go on some psychotic rant about me, then turn around and pretended to respect me ended up trying to drive a microphone into my skull. So pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical here, but contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not going to have my intelligence insulted. How I view wrestling does not make me weak. It does not make me gullible, or an easy target or a pushover, and I will NOT be taken as such.”
[Wendy looks stern, and defiant, although-]
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
[Wendy jumps slightly at the rapping on the door, while Terrence and Pollaski exchange glances. Being the nearest, Wendy walks to the door, creaking it open. She looks out.]
Wendy: “Hello?”
Male Voice: “Hi. Um... I have a delivery at the loading dock for Thompson?”
[Wendy wheels around, excitement on her face.]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Terrence: “I’ll go get it.”
[Terrence pushes himself away from the wall...]
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “GOD DAMN IT!”
[And walks, grinning ear to ear, out of the room. Wendy shuts the door, and turns back to her manager. Excitement in her eyes]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Pollaski: “And we knew it would be. Now calm down, champ. You still got a match to prepare for. Like Crystal Hilton and her contradictions.”
[Wendy nods taking a deep breath.]
Wendy: “For her to be so contradictory, she’s either a chameleon, out to do whatever makes her look the best in any given circumstance, or she’s just mentally unbalanced. Considering her Byte this promo had her screaming about me and throwing glasses against the wall... and she just said that she keeps envisioning my face showing up and taunting her...
[Pollaski starts whistling the “Twilight Zone” theme. Wendy glares at him, and he eventually peters off, although grinning]
Pollaski: “Well, to be fair, I’ve been feeling the stresses of this match too. Crystal’s face keeps showing up in my dreams, too.”
[Wendy looks surprised by this]
Wendy: “Oh? Is she taunting you?”
[Pollaski shrugs]
Pollaski: “I don’t know. Does ‘Oh God, Pollaski, Don’t stop. Harder! Harder!’ count as a taunt?”
[Stunned silence, although Wendy seriously looks like she’s about to throw a right hook at her grinning manager. Pollaski realizes he may have just found the line, and immediately gets things back on track.]
Pollaski: “Of course, she COULD be a chameleon, as you claim. After all, she seemed pretty damn quick to change her hometown to Detroit,the moment she found out where Sin & Sacrifice was. I mean, at Byte This, you didn’t claim to be from New York, despite being born there.”
[Wendy nods and shrugs]
Wendy: “Well, they say that home is where the heart is, and trust me, it’s true. The fact is, I never considered New York my home, even if I did live there for fourteen years. I just didn’t like the politics, the social circles, the feeling that it was all pointless. Indianapolis is where I graduated high school, where I met my husband, where I gave birth to my daughter. Just like the song says, ‘How I long for my Indiana home.’”
Wendy: “And maybe Crystal’s taken an interest in the city of her birth again, and the timing here is coincidental. But she better be careful in that regard. Because while fans do like hometown heroes... they sure as heck do not like having their intelligence insulted. And FFW fans aren’t stupid- they know when the wool’s being pulled over their eyes. And if Crystal screams Detroit Rock City one week, then turns around and plays at Malibu Barbie the next, it will be known.”
[Pollaski looks stunned that Wendy’s actually heard of the song Detroit Rock City]
Wendy: “And to that same effect, I dont’ expect to be booed like Crystal assumes. You see, she can pretend to hate Indy, but us and Detroit go hand in hand. After all, we drive on our race tracks what Detroit makes in their factories. And I might support them, but I’m not the Fighting Irish. I’m not the Colts, or the Pacers, and I’m not coming to the Palace to beat Detroit. I’m here to beat Crystal Hilton, and Crystal Hilton alone. I’m sure not even Crystal’s arrogant enough to assume they’re one and the same.”
Wendy: “Because as much as Crystal might want to pretend, the hopes and dreams of the Motor City do not rest on her shoulders. America’s had some hard times, and Detroit’s been one of the worst hit. What was once the hottest industrial city in America is shriveling up bit by bit, and no one seems to know how to stop it. It’s tragic, because, like I said, this is a city that is the capital of one of America’s greatest loves- cars. And yet, does anyone really think that a Crystal victory will suddenly turn the fate of Motown around? Or, conversely, that a loss will accelerate the downturn?
[Wendy shakes her head]
Wendy: “See, if there’s one thing Crystal’s always failed at, it’s keeping things in perspective. She likes to make up grandoise ideas about who she is, and what she stands for. But that’s all it is- hyperbole.”
[Wendy glances nervously at the door, pausing for a second, as if she thinks it’s about to open. When it doesn’t she sighs, and continues.]
Wendy: “Crystal asked me what it is I wrestle for, and I think that’s an honest question that deserves a response, even if I’ve already given the answer before. It’s not for the fans, Crystal. I’m not doing this for the cheering throngs of people, as much as I do appreciate their support. Its not for them that I walk down that ramp. Nor is it for my daughter, or my husband, at least now that he’s retired. I’m not doing this to keep my family fed, or to keep us together. In fact, you can bet that sometimes I wonder if it would be better for her if I DIDN’T do it... considering the risks involved. And you can rest assured that I don’t do this for Pollaski.”
[Wendy finishes by laughing, Pollaski frowns and looks down]
Pollaski: “Ouch...”
[Wendy grins]
Wendy: “I appreciate all the support I’ve been given. Any fan who’s ever bought a ticket to see me, or my merchandise, or who’s ever just sat on a couch and screamed ‘Go Wendy’ at the television, you have my heartfelt thanks. And to my daughter and husband, who put up with my difficult travel and training schedules, and my fretting, and who are always here in this room after a match, win or lose, you also have my thanks. And I owe everyone who’s supported me my grattitude, and my maximum effort.
[A small smile]
Wendy: “But ultimately, I’m wrestling simply because I love it. This is the one thing I do best in my life, and I’m grateful every day that I get to do it. I love the thrill of the competitions, and the intensity of the challenges. That’s what I wrestle for- myself, and the chance to prove myself.”
[Shrug]
Wendy: “Some might say it’s a selfish perspective. I say the exact opposite. Because without me, or any of us, there still is wrestling. But without wrestling, there is no me- at least I wouldn’t be who I am today. It’s been a dangerous, and difficult road, and it will continue to be so. And if I didn’t enjoy the travels, I wouldn’t be on it.”
Wendy: “And I will enjoy tonight very, very much. Because this is what wrestling is all about. Two great competitors, who have been tied together since their debuts. Two out of three falls. The stakes will be high, and the quality of the action even higher. And it won’t matter who’s from where, or how we got here, all that matters is who will walk out of this one the victor, the Evolution Champion, and ready to try their hand in the Femme For All.”
[A slight smile]
Wendy: “I likened this match to walking across a narrow ledge a few days ago. And Crystal, the most dangerous thing you can possibly lack when walking across a dangerous precipice is perception. After all, you need to truly be able to see where you are, where you’ve been, and where you going. One false vision can lead to a mistep, and one mistep can lead to disaster.”
[Slight pause]
Wendy: “It’s a long way down.”
[The door suddenly swings open, and Terrence walks in, holding a box. Before Wendy can react, he tosses it to her, and she breaks into a grin]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Pollaski: “As we knew it would be... just open the damn thing.”
[Wendy, her back to the camera kneels down, and rips open the box, looking inside. She reaches in, and touches the contents, looking them over. She breathes a huge sigh of relief]
Wendy: “They did it. It’s perfect.”
[Terrence squeezes his wife’s shoulder reassuringly, and the scene fades to black, with one final line of audio]
Pollaski: Great! Now you just gotta keep the fuckin' thing.
Salem Speedway- Pit Area Entrance
Salem, Indiana
10:31 PM Local Time
I smiled wistfully as I looked up into the black southern Indiana night sky. Even though the only clouds were the one’s coming from the breaths of the racegoers on this chilly night, only the waning quarter moon could be seen through the bright lights of the speedway. Still, it was a beautiful evening, an end to what had been almost a perfect day.
The fates couldn’t have picked a better weekend or location for tonight’s race. Salem was only a couple hours drive south of Indianapolis. It had been the latest in a series of events, both with ARCA and FFW, that had taken place remarkably close to home. Even more wonderful, Salem was located in the rolling southern Indiana hills, a heavily forested region that in autumn took on a dazzling array of colors as the leaves began to turn. And while the arboral fireworks wouldn’t be in full-swing until mid-October, there were enough early changers to still make Salem and it’s surrounding environs a perfect place for an autumn stock car race.
Unfortunately, my skygazing prevented me from seeing the rock in the middle of the path, and the moment I stepped down on it, I lost my balance. I began to fall foward, listing slightly to my right, my arms instinctively bracing for impact. Luckily, my husband had been paying more attention than I had been, and he was quick to grab me, and keep me from falling fully to the ground.
“Easy!” The voice of my husband rang in my ears, and he slowly released me once my equilibrium had been restored. “You alright there, hon?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Terry,” I muttered. I could feel myself slightly blushing with embarrassment over making such a silly error. I quickly smoothed out my clothes, and my dignity, and we resumed our walk towards the exit of the pit area, Terrence silently slipping his hand into mine.
“Have a good night folks!” Despite the late hour, the security guard stationed at the gate was as jovial as he had been when we arrived this afternoon, albeit a bit more tired. Terrence and I both returned the farewell, giving a wave to the man as we passed through the gate and out into the parking lot.
“You were great out there,” I said as we strolled through the lot at a leisurely pace. Salem was one of four tracks on the ARCA schedule that Terrence had raced on prior to joining the circuit, and four months ago he had used that experience to his advantage and a third place finish. This time, he had finished fourth, but overall, the energy coming from this race as opposed to the May run was so much greater. Terrence now sat ninth in the standings, a hundred points ahead of his closest rival for Rookie of the Year honors. This wasn’t a lone bright spot in an otherwise shaky opening sequence- this was a true driver coming around to his potential.
Terrence knew it, too, and the smirk he now had on his face made no effort to hide it. He held a much more commanding presence now, both in the pits and on the track. He was no longer an unknown, his style and tendencies familiar to the other drivers, who were more comfortable racing in a pack with him. And they had grown to respect him as he slowly worked his way up the standings.
Well, at least MOST of them respected him, I thought darkly as the image of Terrence’s ‘teammate’ popped into my head.
Still, I really only had to deal with one half of the Hamiltons this weekend. Banned from the pit area for both this week, and the race at Kansas for picking a fight with me on Labor Day, Andrea had been forced to purchase her own ticket, and sit in the grandstands. And while Wesley had finished third, Matthew Bronson had won, closing Wes’ lead in the points to just a small handful. I couldn’t help but feel some level of vindictive pleasure as I imagined Andrea sitting in the bleachers watching her husband’s hold on the championship weaken ever so slightly.
It wasn’t a very long walk to the RV, and soon, we were climbing up the steps and flipping on the light. “Hello?” I called out, looking around. No one answered.
“The kids must not be back yet,” Terrence muttered, jokingly referring to not just Theresa, but Pollaski and Cassandra as well. “Fine by me... I need to get out of this fuckin’ racesuit.” He turned and arched his eyebrows, giving me a look that left doubt what he had in mind. “If we’re lucky, maybe it’ll be a while before I have to put on some other clothes...”
I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. “Terrence Thompson, what makes you think that I would ever go for a line as cheesy as that?”
Terrence grinned, and hooked his arm around my waist, pulling me in. “Because as cheesy as I am, you’re even cheesier. I guess we’re just a cheesy little couple.”
I smiled back, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Well, it’s a shame we had to go with ‘the WhirlyBirdz’ for a team name then. Imagine how much better it would have been if we had gone by ‘Team Velveeta.”
Terrence chuckled, leaned forward and kissed me, then stepped back, striking a positively cheesy pose while leaning against the RV’s table. “Sorry, but as hot as you are, I don’t think you can burn through this firesuit. I think we’ll have to- AH! SHIT!” Terrence withdrew his hand from the table with a yelp, followed by a hiss. He stared down at his hand, annoyed as blood slowly began welling up in a cut on his palm.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, rushing forward towards my husband. “Are you okay?”
Terrence nodded, looking more irritated than hurt. “I’m fine. Something was on the table, and it cut me.”
Terrence moved to grab some paper towels, while I inspected the table. Sure enough, there were several metalic shards on the table, all of them very sharp edged. Confused, I gingerly turned one of the shards over in my hand. It was gold, with etchings on it. In fact, the design seemed familiar...
I picked up another piece, and another, the metaphorical pieces coming together in the puzzle inside my head. These etchings belonged to... one of the sideplates on my Evolution title?
Slowly, my gaze shifted from the shards to the title belt itself, sitting on the table as well. The pieces were coming together too fast for me to truly comprehend what was happening, but already a feeling of absolute dread was welling up inside me.
I turned the belt over, unfolding it, feeling my blood freeze in my veins. Someone had taken a hammer to it. One of the sideplates had been shattered, the pieces forming the debris on the table, while two more of the plates had been cracked. The main face plate had fared better, but several dings had been made in the plating. To top it all off, the word “BITCH” had been scratched into the leather strap.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding in my ears. This had to have been what having a heart attack feels like. Maybe I was having one. Maybe I was dying. Maybe I was...
“Wendy, I asked if everything is...” Terrence came up by my side and paused as he saw the belt in my hands. “Oh Jesus...” he muttered.
I didn’t respond. I was shaking, laboring to breathe, my heart still pounding, my knees feeling like they could give way. Who could have done this? Breaking into our RV was disconcerting enough, but who could hate me so much that they would do... this?
One name, one sneering, blonde haired head popped out at me. A woman who had an intense dislike of me. A woman who would carry no appreciation for this belt and what it meant to not just the holder, but those who had held it, and those who were seeking it. A woman who I knew for a fact was here, in Salem, at the speedway.
“She’s dead,” I whispered. “She’s fucking dead.”
“Hunh? Whoah... hang on!” Before Terrence could even comprehend, I was marching towards the exit, my fists clenched into balls at my side. Terrence raced after me, grabbing me by my shoulder, spinning around. “Wendy, wait! You don’t know-”
“Who else could have done it, Terrence?” I snapped back, trying unsuccessfully to keep tears from leaking from my eyes. “She’s here at the track! And she wasn’t in the pits, so she could have been free to roam around the entire parking lot while the race went on! If it wasn’t her, who was it?”
Terrence thought for a second, then shrugged. “Okay, it was probably her. But still, you can’t just...”
“The hell I can’t!” I was on the verge of hysterics now, but I didn’t care. I merely wiped the moisture from my eyes and continued to snarl at my husband. “I knew I should have taught that bitch a lesson at DuQuoin! I should have broken her arm in half instead of just tossing her into a mud puddle! Hell, I should have put her head through the sidewalk when she threatened you at the hospital in Grand Rapids! Well, I’ve had it with her!”
“Wendy, please...”
“Let go of me, Terrence!” I snarled trying to tug myself free of his grasp. But his grip was to tight.
“But you don’t even know where she is! You can’t just go running around the parking lot in the dark! Hell, she could be halfway to Louisville by now!”
“I don’t care! I’ll find her! And when I do...” My voice gave out, and I choked back a sob. Helplessly, I glanced over at the table, where my shattered belt sat.
“I wanted that belt for months, Terry. And I didn’t even get it for a week before-” My knees gave out finally, and I fell forward, right into Terrence’s arms. At the same time, any semblance of control I had left vanished, and the leak around my eyes turned into a floodgate. Terrence gently put his arms around me, gently stroking my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.
=========================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
18 September 2011
I don’t recall ever feeling so numb.
I suppose it’s probably a better feeling than the one I had last night, when I had a complete mental breakdown upon seeing my Evolution Championship damaged the way it was. Never, in the six years I’ve been in this business, have I had to deal with something like this. The fact is, even if there are those in this business who don’t personally like me- a title belt, especially one as prestigious as the Evolution Championship, tends to be respected. After all, most people hope to hold that title belt around their waist as well, so destroying said item is generally counterproductive. That and, it’s never a good idea to go around destroying the property of the company you work for.
And that’s what has me so worried this morning. While I may claim the Evolution Championship as my own, and wear it, the fact remains that it is not my property but FFW’s. And considering the condition the belt is currently in, and the fact that I’ve been charged with keeping it as long as I’m the champion, that puts me in a delicate situation. My fault or not, it’s not going to be pretty telling Samantha Star that such a piece of valuable company property is damaged.
Pollaski looked the belt over last night, and told me this morning that while there’s no doubt damage to the title, it might not be as severe as it first looked. He’s overnighted the belt back to its original manufacturer, with hopes that it can be repaired in time for the PPV. It sounds like a tall order to me, but Pollaski’s fairly certain that if we spend enough cash, that belt will be back in my hands by bell time, completely repaired. He’s advised me to not tell anyone about this, unless it becomes apparent I won’t have the title back in time. That sits uneasy with me... it seems at least SOMEONE should know what’s going on, like Mr. Kincaid, who’d probably be much more understanding about the situation. But, and I hope to God I don’t end up regretting it, I’m going to take my managers advice.
The only thing left to do, then, is to get myself focused on Crystal Hilton, so that I’m ready to face her when Sin & Sacrifice begins. I’ve had no problems overcoming distractions before, whether they were injuries, problems with my father, Terrence being in the hospital, or the occasional being kidnapped. If anything, it’ll be nice once I finally get into that ring. Inside that ring, everything is much more simple. Just get the job done, and get the win, don’t worry about anything else. That won’t change Saturday, whether or not I’m walking down to that ring with a newly restored title belt, or walking down to that ring with nothing but the realization that I’m in deep trouble with management. Just get the job done.
Besides, if the belt doesn’t make it back on time, but I win anways, that at least saves me the trouble of having to explain to Crystal why she can’t have the title she just beat me for. I know the belt is by and large symbolic, and it’s truly the recognition of being the champion that we all actually desire (see Atherton, Casey, why no one takes her seriously), but that won’t be a pretty sight. Chalk that up to incentive right there.
Either way, it’s going to be a long week. But I’ve gotten out of tougher jams than this before. I can do it again.
After all, where would I be without hope and faith in myself?
-WCBT
Saturday September 24, 2011
The Palace- Briese Locker Room
Auburn Hills, Michigan
4:31 PM Local Time
[So, we’re still a bit of a ways from bell time here at Sin & Sacrifice, but the WhirlyBirdz have already arrived, and taken up roost in Wendy’s locker room. It’s been a long wait for this evening, and the nerves are finally starting to set in on Wendy.]
[Those nerves are especially doubled up now, as Wendy paces back and forth across her locker room floor, her phone in her hand, the redhead Evolution Champion staring at it intensely. Finally, she looks over at her manager, desperation in her eyes]
Wendy: “It’s not changing.”
[Pollaski’s noticed that the camera is on, and darts a sidelong, annoyed glance at Wendy’s husband Terrence, who’s leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. Finally, with an eyeroll, Pollaski turns back to his client.]
Pollaski: “Okay, hang on. What does it say again?”
[Wendy glances at her phone]
Wendy: “Out for delivery in Auburn Hills at 3:30. That’s it.”
Pollaski: “Okay, so the truck is somewhere in Auburn Hills. And if I had to guess, it’s delivering things. People here know you’re expecting a package, and they’ll let you know when it gets here, so calm...”
[Ever notice it’s never a good idea to tell a hysterical person to calm down?]
Wendy: “Don’t tell me to calm down! What if the truck gets a flat tire! Or it crashes? Or the driver has a heart attack? Or-”
Pollaski: “Or what if the driver goes so fast, he opens up a temporal wormhole and gets sucked into an alternate dimension, one where Charity Deas is the FFW Champion?”
[Wendy pauses in her pacing, and looks directly at Dan]
Wendy: “Are you making fun of me?”
Pollaski: “Oh no. I would never dream of doing that.”
[It’s said flatly, with absolutely no trace of sarcasm. Because Pollaski is that awesome]
Wendy: “It has to be here. It’s GOT to be here. I need it to be here. I can’t go out there without-”
[Wendy is cut off as Pollaski clears his throat, a reminder that she best not mention what she’s waiting for. Wendy instead begins pacing back and forth, muttering “It’s got to be here” to herself in a mantra. Terrence is looking concerned at Pollaski.]
Terrence: “Dude, it’s not good when she’s like this. Especially before a match. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Pollaski: “Well... there’s one thing. But you won’t like it.”
Terrence: “I don’t care. Just do it. She’s got to get over this...”
[Pollaski pauses, and shrugs, nodding to himself. He then quickly walks across the room, and grabs Wendy by the shoulders, shaking her violently like a rag-doll, and screaming]
Pollaski: “IT’S-OUT-FOR-FUCKING-DELIVERY-WOMAN! SO-GET-A-HOLD-OF-YOURSELF-BEFORE-YOU- SCREW-UP-THE-BIGGEST-MATCH-OF-YOUR-FUCKING-CAREER!
*SMACK!*
[Pollaski finshes the pep-talk by driving an open palm into Wendy’s cheek. Wendy turns her head back to Pollaski, blinking, her mouth open in shock, her hand to where her manager had just smacked her. Pollaski dusts off his hands, as if his job was done.]
Pollaski: “Well, that was actually kinda fun...”
Terrence: “DUDE!”
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “OW!”
Terrence: “Don’t hit my fucking wife!”
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “You told me I could!”
*SMACK*
Terrence: “I didn’t know you were going to do that!”
*SMACK!*
Pollaski: “I told you you weren’t going to like it!”
[Pollaski and Terrence begin wrestling around, still trying to slap each other. Eventually, both men lose their balance and fall to the ground, grunting, the occasional smack being heard. Wendy, still in shock over being slapped herself, looks down at her husband, a former World Champion, and her manager, an up and coming SVW star, having a slapfight in her locker room]
Wendy: “Uh... guys?”
[Down on the ground- off camera]
Terrence: “Say uncle! SAY UNCLE!”
Pollaski: “That’s not even a submission hold, dumbass!”
[Wendy rolls her eyes, deciding it’s best not to get in the middle- although it’s a positve that she’s not running around freaking out now. Instead, something on the telvision in the locker room catches her eye, and she turns to regard it. It’s a preview show running for Sin & Sacrifice, currently hyping up the Chase for the Crown match. Wendy smiles wistfully at that.]
Wendy: “Hard to believe that four months ago, that was Crystal and I, isn’t it?”
[Hearing Wendy talking, and not in an insane fashion, breaks the fight up, and both men climb to their feet, looking disheveled. Wendy, not noticing her peacmaking miracle, continues]
Wendy: “And here we are now... facing each other in one of the biggest matches on the show... a true match of the year candidate. I hope the girls in this edition take notice. That tournament can help you get on the map here in FFW so quickly.”
[Pollaski snickers]
Pollaski: “Heh. What can CROWN do for you?”
[The pun goes over like a fart in church, doubly so because Wendy’s currently freaking out about the location of the UPS guy. Terrence feels obligated...]
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “OW! STOP THAT!”
[Wendy ignores that]
Wendy: “It’s amazing what one tournament- three simple matches did for my career in FFW. And honestly, it’s amazing what it did for Crystal’s career. Through the preliminaries, and our confronation in the finals, we proved that we could hang with pretty much anyone in the FFW locker room. And the opportunities we were given reflected that.”
[Small sigh]
Wendy: “Two weeks ago, I climbed a ladder, and I grabbed a title. And believe me, the view from the top of that ladder was tremendous. But you know what I saw, that stood out the most? I saw another ladder- one that led higher up, to the heavens. I want to climb that one, and see what’s at the top. I want to see what I can do in the Femme For All. I want to see how far I can go with the Evolution Title. I want to see if I can become the first person to win the FFW Championship while holding the Evolution Championship. At Sin & Sacrifice, I can either begin finding the answers to those questions, or I can let them slip away. And the same goes for Crystal.”
[Pollaski nods, as Terrence goes back to leaning against the wall]
Pollaski: “Actually, Crystal seems to be more focused on just wanting to beat you, rather than what it could bring.”
[Wendy nods]
Wendy: “And I think that’s the biggest difference between us. To me, this match isn’t about any personal grudge. It’s a great rivalry, to be sure, but this isn’t for the sake of tossing Crystal down. This is simply the next step I need to take on my road, regardless of opponent. Maybe it’s because I already hold a victory over Crystal. I know I can pin her- she doesn’t enter this match with the same assurance. She’s got to prove that she can beat me, and get that monkey off her back, before she can do anything else.”
[Wendy shakes her head]
Wendy: “But don’t think for a second that I have any less to prove. I might not be fighting just for the right to say I’m better than Crystal, but I’m fighting for a heck of a lot. A loss here, and that all goes away. Everything I’ve dreamed of, everything I worked for. The only thing I’ll have in store for me is an upcoming visit from Rose Jenkins. And with all due respect to Rose, I’d like a lot more to look forward to than a ruthless behemoth trying to punch my face in.”
[A small flicker of a smile, as if Wendy had just attempted humor]
Wendy: “But I’ve known all along that this is going to be a personal match for Crystal. If you watch her promos, the fact of the matter is that Crystal’s been acting like she’s been facing me for her last three matches. Perhaps that’s why she lost two of them- after all, it’s never good when you’re focused on the wrong opponent. Because while she’s been in the ring with someone else, you knew it was me she was envisioning. Heck, she even said that when she was attacking Belladonna, she would be envisioning a certain other redhead than the one she was against.”
Wendy: “And while it may have cost her against the likes of Tara and Kitty, that’s definitely a disconcerting though on my end. This is a woman who’s spent the last two months thinking constantly about getting back in that ring with me. And while she’s been foaming at the mouth, I’ve had my attention divided, mainly in capturing the Evolution Championship. But for the last two weeks, my attention has been on Crystal. I’ve been studying our first match, seeing what I did wrong, and thinking of ways I could have done better. I’ve been seeing what I did right, as well as what Tara and Kaitlynn did right, to bring her down. My focus is on Hilton, you can rest assured that I’ll be ready for her tonight.”
[Title or no title!]
Pollaski: “It’s good that you recognize that Crystal is going to be taking this match personally. She’s done some pretty... bizarre shit over the past couple months.”
[Wendy smiles slightly]
Wendy: “She has, really. She’s taken some verbal shots, such as how I’m not worth two cents for a pay-per-view, or how I’m inferior. She’s even called my sense of fair play into question, by pulling that stupid trick with the couch when we were on Adonis Says. She’s shrieked in mindless rage and willed me to die in a fire. She liked to talk a lot of smack about me, especially when she was supposed to be focusing on other opponents.”
Wendy: “And yet, she then turns around and acts like she wants to be my friend. She’s asked me over Twitter if we could take our daughters out shopping together. She’s mentioned several times how much she respects me, and thinks I’m one of the top wrestlers in the company. It’s so inconsistent, I don’t get it. One day Wendy Briese is a manipulative little you-know-what, the next I’m the greatest person in the world.”
[Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and shrugs.]
Wendy: “I’m not even sure what to make of it. Is this some kind of mind game? Is this how she gets under my skin. Because if she really is trying to make a friend out of me, she’s really going about an awful way of accomplishing it.”
[Snort]
Wendy: “It’s the same deal I had with Robbyn Helmsley the other day. You cannot stand there, scream profanities, insult me, and degrade my accomplishments one moment, then compliment me the next. That’s not respect. That’s insincerity. If you truly have respect for someone, you’ll show that respect regardless of who they can or can’t beat, or what title’s they have, or whether they open the show or close it. You don’t get to pick and choose.”
[Wendy looks at Pollaski, and shrugs]
Wendy “And maybe I’m being harsh here. But the last person to go on some psychotic rant about me, then turn around and pretended to respect me ended up trying to drive a microphone into my skull. So pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical here, but contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not going to have my intelligence insulted. How I view wrestling does not make me weak. It does not make me gullible, or an easy target or a pushover, and I will NOT be taken as such.”
[Wendy looks stern, and defiant, although-]
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
[Wendy jumps slightly at the rapping on the door, while Terrence and Pollaski exchange glances. Being the nearest, Wendy walks to the door, creaking it open. She looks out.]
Wendy: “Hello?”
Male Voice: “Hi. Um... I have a delivery at the loading dock for Thompson?”
[Wendy wheels around, excitement on her face.]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Terrence: “I’ll go get it.”
[Terrence pushes himself away from the wall...]
*SMACK*
Pollaski: “GOD DAMN IT!”
[And walks, grinning ear to ear, out of the room. Wendy shuts the door, and turns back to her manager. Excitement in her eyes]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Pollaski: “And we knew it would be. Now calm down, champ. You still got a match to prepare for. Like Crystal Hilton and her contradictions.”
[Wendy nods taking a deep breath.]
Wendy: “For her to be so contradictory, she’s either a chameleon, out to do whatever makes her look the best in any given circumstance, or she’s just mentally unbalanced. Considering her Byte this promo had her screaming about me and throwing glasses against the wall... and she just said that she keeps envisioning my face showing up and taunting her...
[Pollaski starts whistling the “Twilight Zone” theme. Wendy glares at him, and he eventually peters off, although grinning]
Pollaski: “Well, to be fair, I’ve been feeling the stresses of this match too. Crystal’s face keeps showing up in my dreams, too.”
[Wendy looks surprised by this]
Wendy: “Oh? Is she taunting you?”
[Pollaski shrugs]
Pollaski: “I don’t know. Does ‘Oh God, Pollaski, Don’t stop. Harder! Harder!’ count as a taunt?”
[Stunned silence, although Wendy seriously looks like she’s about to throw a right hook at her grinning manager. Pollaski realizes he may have just found the line, and immediately gets things back on track.]
Pollaski: “Of course, she COULD be a chameleon, as you claim. After all, she seemed pretty damn quick to change her hometown to Detroit,the moment she found out where Sin & Sacrifice was. I mean, at Byte This, you didn’t claim to be from New York, despite being born there.”
[Wendy nods and shrugs]
Wendy: “Well, they say that home is where the heart is, and trust me, it’s true. The fact is, I never considered New York my home, even if I did live there for fourteen years. I just didn’t like the politics, the social circles, the feeling that it was all pointless. Indianapolis is where I graduated high school, where I met my husband, where I gave birth to my daughter. Just like the song says, ‘How I long for my Indiana home.’”
Wendy: “And maybe Crystal’s taken an interest in the city of her birth again, and the timing here is coincidental. But she better be careful in that regard. Because while fans do like hometown heroes... they sure as heck do not like having their intelligence insulted. And FFW fans aren’t stupid- they know when the wool’s being pulled over their eyes. And if Crystal screams Detroit Rock City one week, then turns around and plays at Malibu Barbie the next, it will be known.”
[Pollaski looks stunned that Wendy’s actually heard of the song Detroit Rock City]
Wendy: “And to that same effect, I dont’ expect to be booed like Crystal assumes. You see, she can pretend to hate Indy, but us and Detroit go hand in hand. After all, we drive on our race tracks what Detroit makes in their factories. And I might support them, but I’m not the Fighting Irish. I’m not the Colts, or the Pacers, and I’m not coming to the Palace to beat Detroit. I’m here to beat Crystal Hilton, and Crystal Hilton alone. I’m sure not even Crystal’s arrogant enough to assume they’re one and the same.”
Wendy: “Because as much as Crystal might want to pretend, the hopes and dreams of the Motor City do not rest on her shoulders. America’s had some hard times, and Detroit’s been one of the worst hit. What was once the hottest industrial city in America is shriveling up bit by bit, and no one seems to know how to stop it. It’s tragic, because, like I said, this is a city that is the capital of one of America’s greatest loves- cars. And yet, does anyone really think that a Crystal victory will suddenly turn the fate of Motown around? Or, conversely, that a loss will accelerate the downturn?
[Wendy shakes her head]
Wendy: “See, if there’s one thing Crystal’s always failed at, it’s keeping things in perspective. She likes to make up grandoise ideas about who she is, and what she stands for. But that’s all it is- hyperbole.”
[Wendy glances nervously at the door, pausing for a second, as if she thinks it’s about to open. When it doesn’t she sighs, and continues.]
Wendy: “Crystal asked me what it is I wrestle for, and I think that’s an honest question that deserves a response, even if I’ve already given the answer before. It’s not for the fans, Crystal. I’m not doing this for the cheering throngs of people, as much as I do appreciate their support. Its not for them that I walk down that ramp. Nor is it for my daughter, or my husband, at least now that he’s retired. I’m not doing this to keep my family fed, or to keep us together. In fact, you can bet that sometimes I wonder if it would be better for her if I DIDN’T do it... considering the risks involved. And you can rest assured that I don’t do this for Pollaski.”
[Wendy finishes by laughing, Pollaski frowns and looks down]
Pollaski: “Ouch...”
[Wendy grins]
Wendy: “I appreciate all the support I’ve been given. Any fan who’s ever bought a ticket to see me, or my merchandise, or who’s ever just sat on a couch and screamed ‘Go Wendy’ at the television, you have my heartfelt thanks. And to my daughter and husband, who put up with my difficult travel and training schedules, and my fretting, and who are always here in this room after a match, win or lose, you also have my thanks. And I owe everyone who’s supported me my grattitude, and my maximum effort.
[A small smile]
Wendy: “But ultimately, I’m wrestling simply because I love it. This is the one thing I do best in my life, and I’m grateful every day that I get to do it. I love the thrill of the competitions, and the intensity of the challenges. That’s what I wrestle for- myself, and the chance to prove myself.”
[Shrug]
Wendy: “Some might say it’s a selfish perspective. I say the exact opposite. Because without me, or any of us, there still is wrestling. But without wrestling, there is no me- at least I wouldn’t be who I am today. It’s been a dangerous, and difficult road, and it will continue to be so. And if I didn’t enjoy the travels, I wouldn’t be on it.”
Wendy: “And I will enjoy tonight very, very much. Because this is what wrestling is all about. Two great competitors, who have been tied together since their debuts. Two out of three falls. The stakes will be high, and the quality of the action even higher. And it won’t matter who’s from where, or how we got here, all that matters is who will walk out of this one the victor, the Evolution Champion, and ready to try their hand in the Femme For All.”
[A slight smile]
Wendy: “I likened this match to walking across a narrow ledge a few days ago. And Crystal, the most dangerous thing you can possibly lack when walking across a dangerous precipice is perception. After all, you need to truly be able to see where you are, where you’ve been, and where you going. One false vision can lead to a mistep, and one mistep can lead to disaster.”
[Slight pause]
Wendy: “It’s a long way down.”
[The door suddenly swings open, and Terrence walks in, holding a box. Before Wendy can react, he tosses it to her, and she breaks into a grin]
Wendy: “It’s here!”
Pollaski: “As we knew it would be... just open the damn thing.”
[Wendy, her back to the camera kneels down, and rips open the box, looking inside. She reaches in, and touches the contents, looking them over. She breathes a huge sigh of relief]
Wendy: “They did it. It’s perfect.”
[Terrence squeezes his wife’s shoulder reassuringly, and the scene fades to black, with one final line of audio]
Pollaski: Great! Now you just gotta keep the fuckin' thing.
EPISODE 130: High Stakes
The following is from the private Jourrnal of Wendy Briese
12 September, AD 2011
I did it!
The Evolution Championship is mine, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. It wasn’t the best, most complete match I ever wrestled, but I hung in there, and in the end, I was able to hold out, withstand an onslaught by Tara Thunder, and obtain the belt for myself.
Part of me is overjoyed, and relieved. I had a goal, and while I failed at it the first time, I managed to keep at it, and I finally succeeded. It’s like they say- preserverence pays off in the end. Saturday Night, it certainly did.
But there is the annoying controversy surrounding the match as well- Colleens abrupt departure and de facto abdication of the title. I’ve heard so many theories on what happened, it’s maddening. Tara apparently thinks the two of us were in league together, a laughable notion if I ever heard one. Some thought it was an attempt to slight her former manager, an effort to tell Wolf that she wasn’t going to play his game. Others thought that it was her bold statement that she was ready to move on, and try for the top belt. And still others think that it was done because Colleen simply thought it would server her interests better if she stepped aside, but left her opponent with the hollow victory.
I don’t know what the motives were, but at the end of the day, I’m the one with the belt, and the controversy. It’s disheartening, to some extent. Obviously, when you accomplish something, you certainly don’t want to have it diminished by anything- especially circumstances beyond your control.
But I keep thinking back to the controversy surrounding Scarlett’s win over Isabella Pazzini at Full Frontal- just before I joined FFW myself. No matter how hard she tried, Scarlett could never live the controversy of that match down, especially when the rematch ended in even stronger controversy. It haunted her for her entire reign, to the point where when she was subjected to the Elimination Chamber, she went out of her way to make retaining the belt in that match as difficult as possible. And she tried winning with the mother of all exclamation points. It backfired horrendously.
I’m sitting in a similar position- a champion holding a belt that many people don’t believe I deserve. And, while I’m not staring down five opponents, I am staring down one- in an all-or-nothing two out of three falls match with Crystal Hilton.
Like Scarlett in that Chamber, a win here equals what every controversial champion in wrestling craves- validation. The assurance that not only do you deserve to continue on as champion, but that you deserved to be the champion in the first place. An chance to put it all behind you, and focus on moving forwards.
And like Scarlett in the Chamber a loss equals just that- a crash and burn.
Pollaski was right- the amount on the line here is baffling, and somewhat crippling. Stepping into that ring puts everything I’ve done in FFW thus far at risk. But what choice do I have? I can’t run. I certainly can’t hide. I have to do what any living creature who’s been backed into a corner has to do- bare the fangs, sharpen the claws, and fight your way out.
Whatever happens, at the end of Sin & Sacrifice, my standing in FFW is going to have changed dramatically, for better or for worse. The thought of that is both exhilarating and terrifying.
So why am I more terrified than exhilarated?
-WCBT
Thursday September 15, 2011
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
7:10 PM Local Time
[Scene opens in what should be a very familiar location to us by now- the living room of the nest. Now normally, you would expect to see Wendy Briese sitting on the couch, considering that this is her promo, after all. But she’s not there. Wendy’s manager, the encouraging and incorrigable Daniel Pollaski, is, however. He’s managed to get his hands on the Evolution Championship, and he’s dangling it over the front of the couch, where a rather fat orange tabby cat sits, gazing at the strap hanging just a few inches above its head.]
[Ladies and gentlemen, Chanticleer, the Thompson family cat!]
[Chant watches the belt gently swaying back and forth, before finally lunging at it, batting it with his paw, causing the belt to sway back and forth even more. He then leaps up pawing at the title again, but Pollaski deftly lifts it out of reach, then lowers it back to its original, tantalizing position]
Wendy: “I spent four months trying to get that, and you turn it into a cat toy before the week is out.”
[Pollaski looks up, grinning as a half-amused Wendy walks into the scene, wearing a pair of jeans and a sky-blue embrodered sweater. Chant uses Pollaski’s distraction as an advantage, and manages to bat the belt a few more times, before Pollaski finally remembers him and again jerks the trophy out of reach.]
Pollaski: “Yeah, well, you can say its allegorical, about how you came so close once, just for it to be jerked out of your grasp, only for you to come back and grab it again. Also, it’d be freaking awesome if they did this in ladder matches.”
[Wendy sits down on the couch, but stares blankly at Pollaski]
Wendy: “You think ladder matches should add an element where just as a competitor is reaching for the belt, the wire jerks up, and the belt flies out of their reach.”
[Pollaski nods grinning. The expression on Wendy’s face indicates that might just be the dumbest idea she’s ever heard in her life.]
Wendy: “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard in my life. You’d never be able to finish the match. It’s hard enough getting up there and grabbing the title as it is.”
Pollaski: “Ah, but you were able to do it, weren’t you, champ!”
[Wendy grins, blushing slightly]
Wendy: “I did, and thank you. I almost couldn’t believe it when I pulled this belt off the wire. After the disappointments, and the misunderstandings, and two tough matches, I’m just happy I was able to bring it home.”
Pollaski: “I don’t think there was any doubt, really. Especially after Co-”
[Wendy quickly interrupts him, clearly unwilling to take the discussion down that road.]
Wendy: “Well, you certainly had more faith in the outcome than I did, that’s for sure. To be honest, I was holding on for dear life at the end there. I honestly don’t know how I did it, or how I managed to shake off Tara so that she lost her balance, but I’ve heard somepeople liken my grip to that of a limpet. And while I certainly appreciate being compared to shellfish, I think it goes to show that if you never give up, and hang on, even though things might be rough, those who can perservere will triumph in... the...”
[Wendy trails off from her After School Special Rant as Pollaski suddenly swings the belt at her, lobbing it into the air. Seemingly completely on reflexes, she reaches out, grabbing the belt from the air, although she rocks forward slightly from the weight and inertia of the flying trophy. Still she manages to hang on, and neatly folds the belt up, placing it on her lap, with the faceplate facing towards the camera. Pollaski, for his part, grins.]
Pollaski: “It’s true then. You really are good at catching that thing when someone else decides to toss it aside.”
[Wendy turns beet red in about a second, obviously less than pleased with Pollaski’s offhand remark. Pollaski shrugs, a slight smirk on his face.]
Pollaski: “Well, at least that’s what some of your critics are saying.”
[Wendy pauses slightly , then holds the belt back out to Pollaski. Pollaski looks puzzled.]
Wendy: “Look at it, Dan. Look at it good, because your client just spent four months of her career trying to obtain this. What do you think? Did I put out all that effort for a lump of fool’s gold? A piece of scrap metal? A tin can tied onto a leather string? Is that what I’ve won? Refuse?”
[Pollaski’s a bit shaken by the quiet menace in Wendy’s voice as she glares at him. Her normally pale face is slightly flushed, and her jaw is set- a clear indication that she’s furious.]
Pollaski: “N-no. Of course not. But, considering the way you won it, when Colleen tossed the belt-”
[Pollaski stops as Wendy interrupts, her voice calm, although there is a definite tremor in it.]
Wendy: “To hell with Colleen. I don’t care what her motives were, or what people make of her actions. How I won that title was exactly how I was supposed to, I outlasted my opponents, I climbed that ladder, I grabbed the belt, and I became the sixth Evolution Champion in FFW history, and there isn’t ANYTHING that’s going to take that away from me.”
[Wendy juts out her chin defiantly, as if daring Pollaski to defy her. Pollaski doesn’t exactly, but he still can’t help playing Devil’s Advocate]
Pollaski: “Of course not. But there’s still that stigma of a champion who didn’t properly dethrone her predecessor. That’s never an easy position to be in.”
[A small smile from Wendy.]
Wendy: “Maybe you’re right. But there isn’t really anything I can do about that. I can’t control Colleen’s actions. Apparently only a ten-digit bank account balance is capable of doing that. If Colleen doesn’t want the Evolution Championship anymore, that’s her choice. She can forever be known as the woman who fled from her challenges, and I’ll be known as the woman who took her challenges head on. Because it doesn’t matter if I grabbed it from a golden pedestal, or picked it out of the mud, it’s my ball, and I plan on running with it.”
[Pollaski remains silent, so Wendy continues]
Wendy: “People make a big deal about winning titles, and rightfully so. To manage to beat a champion, to earn your place in the record books, is an accomplishment. But unlike the movies, when the story ends the moment that shiny gold trinket is snapped around the hero’s waist, that’s when the real work begins. Because keeping a championship, protecting your reign from every challenger who seeks to dethrone you, is even more challenging than obtaining the belt in the first place.”
[Wendy grins, looking excited]
Wendy: “And it’s a challenge I eagerly accept. I’ve said it before- I’m not just happy being the Evolution Champion. I want to be the best champion this belt has ever been wrapped around. I want to be the longest reigning, have the most defenses. Be the gold standard, so to speak. And I know I have a long way to go there. It’s been a series of amazing women who have come before me- Undine, Robbyn, Scarlett, and, yes, even Colleen. And maybe it’s vain that I could even hope to surpass all of them. But, I’m certainly going to try.”
Pollaski: “Well, before you can get that far, you kind of have to avoid becoming the SHORTEST reigning Evolution Champion in history. Hell, you lose at Sin & Sacrifice, and you tie Michelle Taylor and Sophia Black for the shortest reigning champion at any level in FFW history. Some good company right there.
[Wendy grimaces, but then shrugs]
Wendy: “If you want to look at it that way, you can. But every single champion at Sin & Sacrifice is defending her belt for the first time. I think we’re all in the same boat here, whether we’ve had the title for two weeks or two months. Don’t get me wrong, I know the stakes at Sin & Sacrifice. Two out of three falls, and the winner not only is the Evolution Champion, they advance into the second round of the Femme For All. There’s no consolation for the loser. There’s no second chance at the tournament. Heck, there might not even be a second chance at this title. Trust me, I know what’s riding on this.”
[Wendy takes a deep breath, and tries to force another smile, although its clear some element of nerves are showing]
Wendy: “But I didn’t come to FFW to play it safe. I came here to face the best, and challenge myself. And I’m not going to shy away, no matter who’s across the ring from me, or what the stakes are. And if the path to the top requires me to walk across a narrow ledge, where the slightest slip means a plummet to disaster, then I will step out, balance myself, and keep walking until I get to that other side.”
Pollaski: “Well, it can’t be any easier, knowing the woman standing across from you is who some consider your biggest rival.”
[Wendy nods]
Wendy: “Everyone knows that Crystal Hilton’s been waiting for the day whens she gets back into the ring with me. She wants redemption. But funny enough, so do I. You watch that match, and things were not going well for me towards the end. I barely managed to survive two submission attempts, and I had taken the mother of all missile dropkicks. I don’t even know how I managed to pull off that powerbomb, and get the win.
[Pollaski looks stunned]
Pollaski: “Wait... so you’re saying you got lucky the first time?”
[Wendy pauses, then shakes her head]
Wendy: “Not lucky, no. But I could have done better. I should have done better. And this time, I’m going to do better. It might take me two falls, it might even take me three, but in the end, when all is said and done and that final bell rings, I want there to be left no doubt that I beat Crystal, and that I’m the rightful Evolution Champion.”
[Another deep breath]
Wendy: “But no matter what, I’m going to keep fighting, until I can’t go on anymore. Because I’m happy with what I’ve done. You could even say I’m proud. But I’m not satisfied. Nor will I ever be. Not when there’s so much more for me to do.”
Pollaski: “Never satisfied, eh? I’m sure Terrence LOVES hearing that.”
Wendy: “Yeah, well, I...”
[Wendy trails off as the realization of what her manager just said hits her. She wheels at him, completely beet red in the face]
Wendy: “Th...that is not what I meant...”
Pollaski: “Although it explains a lot!”
[Another pause, as Pollaski has that Cheshire Cat grin on his face. Wendy, if possible, seems to be turning even redder]
Pollaski: “Want me to leave?”
[Slight nod]
Pollaski: “Alright, I’m going.”
[Pollaski stands up...]
*MEROWWWWWWWWWWR! HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*
[...although he doesn’t quite watch where he’s going]
*SCRATCH*
Pollaski: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
[Pollaski shrieks in agony, and stumbles towards the camera, knocking it over. Darkness hits, but the audio stays for just one more second]
Wendy: “That’s a good kitty.”
[Cut]
12 September, AD 2011
I did it!
The Evolution Championship is mine, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. It wasn’t the best, most complete match I ever wrestled, but I hung in there, and in the end, I was able to hold out, withstand an onslaught by Tara Thunder, and obtain the belt for myself.
Part of me is overjoyed, and relieved. I had a goal, and while I failed at it the first time, I managed to keep at it, and I finally succeeded. It’s like they say- preserverence pays off in the end. Saturday Night, it certainly did.
But there is the annoying controversy surrounding the match as well- Colleens abrupt departure and de facto abdication of the title. I’ve heard so many theories on what happened, it’s maddening. Tara apparently thinks the two of us were in league together, a laughable notion if I ever heard one. Some thought it was an attempt to slight her former manager, an effort to tell Wolf that she wasn’t going to play his game. Others thought that it was her bold statement that she was ready to move on, and try for the top belt. And still others think that it was done because Colleen simply thought it would server her interests better if she stepped aside, but left her opponent with the hollow victory.
I don’t know what the motives were, but at the end of the day, I’m the one with the belt, and the controversy. It’s disheartening, to some extent. Obviously, when you accomplish something, you certainly don’t want to have it diminished by anything- especially circumstances beyond your control.
But I keep thinking back to the controversy surrounding Scarlett’s win over Isabella Pazzini at Full Frontal- just before I joined FFW myself. No matter how hard she tried, Scarlett could never live the controversy of that match down, especially when the rematch ended in even stronger controversy. It haunted her for her entire reign, to the point where when she was subjected to the Elimination Chamber, she went out of her way to make retaining the belt in that match as difficult as possible. And she tried winning with the mother of all exclamation points. It backfired horrendously.
I’m sitting in a similar position- a champion holding a belt that many people don’t believe I deserve. And, while I’m not staring down five opponents, I am staring down one- in an all-or-nothing two out of three falls match with Crystal Hilton.
Like Scarlett in that Chamber, a win here equals what every controversial champion in wrestling craves- validation. The assurance that not only do you deserve to continue on as champion, but that you deserved to be the champion in the first place. An chance to put it all behind you, and focus on moving forwards.
And like Scarlett in the Chamber a loss equals just that- a crash and burn.
Pollaski was right- the amount on the line here is baffling, and somewhat crippling. Stepping into that ring puts everything I’ve done in FFW thus far at risk. But what choice do I have? I can’t run. I certainly can’t hide. I have to do what any living creature who’s been backed into a corner has to do- bare the fangs, sharpen the claws, and fight your way out.
Whatever happens, at the end of Sin & Sacrifice, my standing in FFW is going to have changed dramatically, for better or for worse. The thought of that is both exhilarating and terrifying.
So why am I more terrified than exhilarated?
-WCBT
Thursday September 15, 2011
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
7:10 PM Local Time
[Scene opens in what should be a very familiar location to us by now- the living room of the nest. Now normally, you would expect to see Wendy Briese sitting on the couch, considering that this is her promo, after all. But she’s not there. Wendy’s manager, the encouraging and incorrigable Daniel Pollaski, is, however. He’s managed to get his hands on the Evolution Championship, and he’s dangling it over the front of the couch, where a rather fat orange tabby cat sits, gazing at the strap hanging just a few inches above its head.]
[Ladies and gentlemen, Chanticleer, the Thompson family cat!]
[Chant watches the belt gently swaying back and forth, before finally lunging at it, batting it with his paw, causing the belt to sway back and forth even more. He then leaps up pawing at the title again, but Pollaski deftly lifts it out of reach, then lowers it back to its original, tantalizing position]
Wendy: “I spent four months trying to get that, and you turn it into a cat toy before the week is out.”
[Pollaski looks up, grinning as a half-amused Wendy walks into the scene, wearing a pair of jeans and a sky-blue embrodered sweater. Chant uses Pollaski’s distraction as an advantage, and manages to bat the belt a few more times, before Pollaski finally remembers him and again jerks the trophy out of reach.]
Pollaski: “Yeah, well, you can say its allegorical, about how you came so close once, just for it to be jerked out of your grasp, only for you to come back and grab it again. Also, it’d be freaking awesome if they did this in ladder matches.”
[Wendy sits down on the couch, but stares blankly at Pollaski]
Wendy: “You think ladder matches should add an element where just as a competitor is reaching for the belt, the wire jerks up, and the belt flies out of their reach.”
[Pollaski nods grinning. The expression on Wendy’s face indicates that might just be the dumbest idea she’s ever heard in her life.]
Wendy: “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard in my life. You’d never be able to finish the match. It’s hard enough getting up there and grabbing the title as it is.”
Pollaski: “Ah, but you were able to do it, weren’t you, champ!”
[Wendy grins, blushing slightly]
Wendy: “I did, and thank you. I almost couldn’t believe it when I pulled this belt off the wire. After the disappointments, and the misunderstandings, and two tough matches, I’m just happy I was able to bring it home.”
Pollaski: “I don’t think there was any doubt, really. Especially after Co-”
[Wendy quickly interrupts him, clearly unwilling to take the discussion down that road.]
Wendy: “Well, you certainly had more faith in the outcome than I did, that’s for sure. To be honest, I was holding on for dear life at the end there. I honestly don’t know how I did it, or how I managed to shake off Tara so that she lost her balance, but I’ve heard somepeople liken my grip to that of a limpet. And while I certainly appreciate being compared to shellfish, I think it goes to show that if you never give up, and hang on, even though things might be rough, those who can perservere will triumph in... the...”
[Wendy trails off from her After School Special Rant as Pollaski suddenly swings the belt at her, lobbing it into the air. Seemingly completely on reflexes, she reaches out, grabbing the belt from the air, although she rocks forward slightly from the weight and inertia of the flying trophy. Still she manages to hang on, and neatly folds the belt up, placing it on her lap, with the faceplate facing towards the camera. Pollaski, for his part, grins.]
Pollaski: “It’s true then. You really are good at catching that thing when someone else decides to toss it aside.”
[Wendy turns beet red in about a second, obviously less than pleased with Pollaski’s offhand remark. Pollaski shrugs, a slight smirk on his face.]
Pollaski: “Well, at least that’s what some of your critics are saying.”
[Wendy pauses slightly , then holds the belt back out to Pollaski. Pollaski looks puzzled.]
Wendy: “Look at it, Dan. Look at it good, because your client just spent four months of her career trying to obtain this. What do you think? Did I put out all that effort for a lump of fool’s gold? A piece of scrap metal? A tin can tied onto a leather string? Is that what I’ve won? Refuse?”
[Pollaski’s a bit shaken by the quiet menace in Wendy’s voice as she glares at him. Her normally pale face is slightly flushed, and her jaw is set- a clear indication that she’s furious.]
Pollaski: “N-no. Of course not. But, considering the way you won it, when Colleen tossed the belt-”
[Pollaski stops as Wendy interrupts, her voice calm, although there is a definite tremor in it.]
Wendy: “To hell with Colleen. I don’t care what her motives were, or what people make of her actions. How I won that title was exactly how I was supposed to, I outlasted my opponents, I climbed that ladder, I grabbed the belt, and I became the sixth Evolution Champion in FFW history, and there isn’t ANYTHING that’s going to take that away from me.”
[Wendy juts out her chin defiantly, as if daring Pollaski to defy her. Pollaski doesn’t exactly, but he still can’t help playing Devil’s Advocate]
Pollaski: “Of course not. But there’s still that stigma of a champion who didn’t properly dethrone her predecessor. That’s never an easy position to be in.”
[A small smile from Wendy.]
Wendy: “Maybe you’re right. But there isn’t really anything I can do about that. I can’t control Colleen’s actions. Apparently only a ten-digit bank account balance is capable of doing that. If Colleen doesn’t want the Evolution Championship anymore, that’s her choice. She can forever be known as the woman who fled from her challenges, and I’ll be known as the woman who took her challenges head on. Because it doesn’t matter if I grabbed it from a golden pedestal, or picked it out of the mud, it’s my ball, and I plan on running with it.”
[Pollaski remains silent, so Wendy continues]
Wendy: “People make a big deal about winning titles, and rightfully so. To manage to beat a champion, to earn your place in the record books, is an accomplishment. But unlike the movies, when the story ends the moment that shiny gold trinket is snapped around the hero’s waist, that’s when the real work begins. Because keeping a championship, protecting your reign from every challenger who seeks to dethrone you, is even more challenging than obtaining the belt in the first place.”
[Wendy grins, looking excited]
Wendy: “And it’s a challenge I eagerly accept. I’ve said it before- I’m not just happy being the Evolution Champion. I want to be the best champion this belt has ever been wrapped around. I want to be the longest reigning, have the most defenses. Be the gold standard, so to speak. And I know I have a long way to go there. It’s been a series of amazing women who have come before me- Undine, Robbyn, Scarlett, and, yes, even Colleen. And maybe it’s vain that I could even hope to surpass all of them. But, I’m certainly going to try.”
Pollaski: “Well, before you can get that far, you kind of have to avoid becoming the SHORTEST reigning Evolution Champion in history. Hell, you lose at Sin & Sacrifice, and you tie Michelle Taylor and Sophia Black for the shortest reigning champion at any level in FFW history. Some good company right there.
[Wendy grimaces, but then shrugs]
Wendy: “If you want to look at it that way, you can. But every single champion at Sin & Sacrifice is defending her belt for the first time. I think we’re all in the same boat here, whether we’ve had the title for two weeks or two months. Don’t get me wrong, I know the stakes at Sin & Sacrifice. Two out of three falls, and the winner not only is the Evolution Champion, they advance into the second round of the Femme For All. There’s no consolation for the loser. There’s no second chance at the tournament. Heck, there might not even be a second chance at this title. Trust me, I know what’s riding on this.”
[Wendy takes a deep breath, and tries to force another smile, although its clear some element of nerves are showing]
Wendy: “But I didn’t come to FFW to play it safe. I came here to face the best, and challenge myself. And I’m not going to shy away, no matter who’s across the ring from me, or what the stakes are. And if the path to the top requires me to walk across a narrow ledge, where the slightest slip means a plummet to disaster, then I will step out, balance myself, and keep walking until I get to that other side.”
Pollaski: “Well, it can’t be any easier, knowing the woman standing across from you is who some consider your biggest rival.”
[Wendy nods]
Wendy: “Everyone knows that Crystal Hilton’s been waiting for the day whens she gets back into the ring with me. She wants redemption. But funny enough, so do I. You watch that match, and things were not going well for me towards the end. I barely managed to survive two submission attempts, and I had taken the mother of all missile dropkicks. I don’t even know how I managed to pull off that powerbomb, and get the win.
[Pollaski looks stunned]
Pollaski: “Wait... so you’re saying you got lucky the first time?”
[Wendy pauses, then shakes her head]
Wendy: “Not lucky, no. But I could have done better. I should have done better. And this time, I’m going to do better. It might take me two falls, it might even take me three, but in the end, when all is said and done and that final bell rings, I want there to be left no doubt that I beat Crystal, and that I’m the rightful Evolution Champion.”
[Another deep breath]
Wendy: “But no matter what, I’m going to keep fighting, until I can’t go on anymore. Because I’m happy with what I’ve done. You could even say I’m proud. But I’m not satisfied. Nor will I ever be. Not when there’s so much more for me to do.”
Pollaski: “Never satisfied, eh? I’m sure Terrence LOVES hearing that.”
Wendy: “Yeah, well, I...”
[Wendy trails off as the realization of what her manager just said hits her. She wheels at him, completely beet red in the face]
Wendy: “Th...that is not what I meant...”
Pollaski: “Although it explains a lot!”
[Another pause, as Pollaski has that Cheshire Cat grin on his face. Wendy, if possible, seems to be turning even redder]
Pollaski: “Want me to leave?”
[Slight nod]
Pollaski: “Alright, I’m going.”
[Pollaski stands up...]
*MEROWWWWWWWWWWR! HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*
[...although he doesn’t quite watch where he’s going]
*SCRATCH*
Pollaski: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
[Pollaski shrieks in agony, and stumbles towards the camera, knocking it over. Darkness hits, but the audio stays for just one more second]
Wendy: “That’s a good kitty.”
[Cut]
EPISODE 129: Off the Hook
Thursday September 8, 2011
Diamond Motorsports Headquarters- Meeting Room
Nashville, Tennessee
2:03 PM Local Time
SOUTHERN ILLINOIS SMACKDOWN[/b]
I winced inwardly as the latest issue of Short Track Weekly was slammed onto the conference table in front of me. On it, behind the blaring gold capitalized large-font letters, splayed a photo of me and Andrea. It wasn’t the most attractive shot at me, that’s for sure. My face was grim, my eyes closed at the moment of capture. Still, I looked a heck of a lot better than Andrea did- upisde down, blonde hair flying wildly. Another two tenths of a second, and the photographer would have caught her splash-landing into the mud puddle.
Needless to say, my ‘fight’ with Andrea was turning into quite the story in both the auto-racing and professional wrestling worlds.
“Sixty years,” boomed a deep voice, and I looked up at the speaker. Kevin Anderson was the type of man who’s bodyframe belied his voice. Thin and reedy, with a pair of wireframe glasses, Kevin looked like the type of person who still got bullied for his lunch money, even now into his forties. But he had one of the most naturally projective voices I had ever heard in anyone- save for perhaps my manager.
He was also the owner of Terrence’s team, and was none to happy as he glared at his audience. “Sixty years Diamond Motorsports has been around. My grandfather, “Diamond” Douglas Anderson, started this team on a $5000 bank loan. We’ve ran in ARCA every season since its inception. We’ve won six championships, finished second fourteen times, and have nearly two hundred victories claimed over the years, including six this year.”
There was a brief pause. “But NEVER have we been so embarrassed as we were two days ago. My two drivers, the faces of this organization, decided to have a shouting match in the midddle of victory lane! And then, their teams, and their WIVES, turn it into a massive mud battle royal, in front of half of ARCA!”
I opened my mouth to correct him- as the fight had hardly been every person for themselves, ‘battle-royal’ wasn’t the most appropriate term. But some sixth sense alerted Terrence to my intent, and I winced as his shoe drove into my shin, under the table. I darted a sullen glare at Terrence, but shut my mouth.
Kevin didn’t seem to have noticed. He put his hands on the table, and looked at each other occupant in the room. There were six of us- Terrence and I on one side of the room, while Wesley and his wife Andrea- her neck in a brace- sat at the other end. In between us, sat Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s pot-bellied, full bearded crew chief, and Lester Ducharme, who held the exact same position on Wes’ team. Jimbo and Lester both sat motionless, stone faced, as Kevin looked the room over. Wesley, for his part, actually had the decency to look somewhat acquiescent in the face of his boss, but Andrea was sneering openly in defiance.
“This shit has been going on for half the season,” Kevin finally growled. “I don’t care what started all this, I don’t care who did what to who... but this stops now. I’m not going to let MY racing team be turned into a damned soap opera because my driver’s can’t play nice with each other!”
Kevin pulled his own chair out, and sat down in it, sighing as he did. “I watched the tape of the incident several times, from several different angles. The good folks of the ARCA fan-base apparently had their camera phones and YouTube accounts at the ready, so there was no shortage of good views. So here’s what we’re going to do... Jimbo, Lester... inform your pit crews that each of them will be fined two hundred dollars, which will be withheld from their next paycheck. And for losing control of your men, you both will receive a one thousand dollar fine as well.”
Both men remained stone-faced, glaring at Kevin, obviously unhappy with the decision. But neither spoke to object.
Kevin wasn’t done, and he looked from Terrence, to Wesley, then to me. “For interfereing in Wesley’s pit-road celebration, Terrence, I’m fining you five thousand dollars. You should have kept it behind closed doors.”
Terrence nodded curtly, and I bowed my head, sighing. It was more or less what I had expected, but I wasn’t happy about it. Kevin looked to the other end of the table. “Wes, you personally didn’t do anything wrong. But you’re responsible for the conduct any guest of yours with access passes, and that includes your wife. Therefore, I’m assessing a five hundred dollar fine... and Andrea will be banned from the pit area for the next two races.
Andrea puffed up like a fish, indignant at the punishment, and Wes opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped as Lester put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. Wes closed his mouth, but both Hamiltons continued to look mutinous.
“Now, gentlemen, there’s three races left in the season, and we have a chance at Wesley winning the championship, and Terrence finishing in the top ten, and winning rookie of the year. I, for one, would VERY much like to see that happen. But it’s not going to happen if we keep in-fighting like this. So play nice, for one more damned month, and let’s bring this baby home. Then Wes, you can go play in Nationwide, while the rest of us figure out where to go from here. Okay?”
Kevin rose to stand, but was stopped by a howl of outrage. Andrea had gotten to her feet, her posture and demeanor indicating that her apparent neck injury had miraculously healed. “What about HER?” she demanded, pointing a finger at me.
“Oh yes, Wendy,” Kevin looked directly at me, and smiled for the first time all meeting. “Ms. Briese, do tell your boss that he can expect another ten thousand dollar contribution to the Komen Foundation. I plan to donate the money gained from the fines I just assessed to that noble cause. Oh, and... good luck Saturday.”
My jaw dropped in astonishment, and next to me, I could hear Terrence choking on his own surprise. But my eardrums then shattered as an unearthly shriek filled the room.
“WHAT?!”
Even Wesley was outraged. “That woman assaulted my wife, Anderson. I should file charges after the damages...”
“I saw the tape from every angle, Wesley,” Kevin said shortly. “All I saw Ms. Briese do was try and calm her husband down, and then defend herself when Andrea attacked her. I don’t see any reason to punish that. As for elbowing Andrea, I think anyone can see that was a complete accident. And what were you doing behind her anyways, Ms. Hamilton? You were on the other side of the winner’s circle when the ceremony was interrupted.. what inspired you to come up behind her like that?”
Andrea’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. Either she had been struck speechless, or her voice had hit a tone that was was more suitable for canine ears. Wes, however, found his voice, and it sounded surly. “That’s bullshit, Anderson. She threw my wife into a mud puddle!”
“And your wife was dumb enough to attack her. Considering her occupation, you’d think that’d be considered inadvisable.”
“FUCK. THAT.” Wesley roared, standing up. “I’m never driving for you again, you son of a bitch.”
“After this season? Be my guest... or non-guest, considering the threat” Kevin said mildly. “But until then, you’re under contract to me, and I’d strongly advice you to fulfill it. Otherwise, you’ll be so damn deep in legal battles the boys over at Tri-Star won’t even bother grabbing the shovel to dig you out. It’d be such a shame to lose your Nationwide ride next year because your team isn’t willing to deal with the red tape, wouldn’t it?”
Some part of me thought that was a bluff, but if it was, Wesley didn’t call him on it. Instead, he grabbed Andrea’s hand, and the two wordlessly stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind them. Kevin looked nonplussed for a moment, then rose to his feet, shrugging with nonchalance.
“Jimbo, Lester, I want it to be known that if there’s any more incidents between anybody on your teams, anyone involved will be looking for another job before they can blink. Now, I’ll see you guys in Salem. Good luck.
Kevin stood up, and gave me one final smile, before leaving the room. Lester and Jimbo got up, silently leaving as well, shutting the door behind them. Leaving Terrence and I alone in the room. Slowly, we turned to look at each other.
“What just happened?” I asked.
Terrence shrugged, obviously as stunned as I was. “I think Kevin Anderson likes you. I thought you were going to be thrown under the bus there.”
I nodded. “I half expected you to be the one who pushed me,”
Terrence scoffed, although he was visibly wounded. “Why? Because I wasn’t happy with you for getting involved in all this? Listen, Wendy... this whole ‘your world, my world’ thing? Fuck it. Because you care every bit as much about me auto racing as I do about you wrestling. We’re in two damned difficult lines of work, and the only one’s we can really rely on for support is each other. So...”
Terrence scoffed, and shook his head. “I should have realized you weren’t in victory lane the other night for a fight, you were there to keep me out of trouble. And Andrea, well, the dumb bitch got what she had coming. I’m sorry if I doubted you.”
I smiled. “And I’m sorry for doubting you, too. You’re a stubborn man, Terrence Thompson, but a good one. You don’t do anything half-hearted... that’s what I like about you.”
Terrence got to his feet, and pulled me up. “And I like how you won’t waiver in the face of anyone, no matter what the odds, or consequences are. You might be a little to obsessed with the notion of fair-play. But you know what? Someone around here has to be. To keep the rebels like me in check.”
“You,” I scoffed, “A rebel?”
Terrence grinned, and pulled me in tighter. “Damn right, always out to break the rules. And do you know, what would be completely rebellious right now?” He grinned, and leaned forward, whispering in my ear.
I gaped at him in astonishment. “Absolutely not! Here?! What if someone were to walk in? I’d hate to even THINK about the fine that would bring?
Terrence shrugged. “We have the money.”
I paused for just a second, biting my lower lip. Then I reached up, and wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck. “Well, I guess the Komen foundation could always use another donation,” I whispered, before kissing him on the lips.
It was the best five-thousand dollar fine either of us had ever incurred.
==========================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
10 September, 2011
It’s nice to know that sometimes, things do end up working out in the end.
When I walked into that winners circle, I had no intention of doing anything, except trying to calm my husband down. Things had gotten out of control from there, and while I can’t agree with Mr. Anderson’s assessment that I’m blameless in the matter, it does feel good when someone actually realizes your intentions.
Maybe I expect too much of myself. Maybe I’m too unwilling to let my hair down, and just enjoy the moment. I’m always constantly analyzing, and second-guessing everything I do. Even in a victory, I’m watching the tape, trying to see what I could have done better. And maybe Terry’s right... maybe I’m so obsesssed with the idea of fair play, I don’t actually give myself a chance to step back and appreciate the full aspect of the wonderful sport I’m in.
But it’s who I am, and its probably who I’ll always be. I’ve been like that since I was a child... one of the few aspects of my father that’s carrried on to the next generation. It’s the ultimate conundrum... what’s the point of trying to be a perfectionist, when you’re going to fail every time?
And yet, seeing where I stand now, as opposed to where Andrea stands, I’m reaffirmed in my belief that sometimes, despite everything, those who value fair play and honor do come through in the end. Maybe not as much as I’d like, and maybe the road is more difficult than it should be, but there is a destination to be had there. And its obtainable.
So as I sit here in the locker room, preparing for what will undoubtedly be the most important match of my FFW career, I can’t help but wonder if maybe the pendulum is going to swing the other way. Because there was no doubt that Unstoppable was a victory for the unscrupulous. Byte This wasn’t much better on that front, considering the actions of Isabella, Kitty, and Rori.
Maybe Sin & Sacrifice will see the momentum reverse.
Maybe it will start tonight, at Breaking Point.
Maybe I’ll be the one who finally pushes things in that direction.
It’s a vain assessment, that’s for sure. But why not me?
Someone has to do it
-WCBT
Diamond Motorsports Headquarters- Meeting Room
Nashville, Tennessee
2:03 PM Local Time
SOUTHERN ILLINOIS SMACKDOWN[/b]
I winced inwardly as the latest issue of Short Track Weekly was slammed onto the conference table in front of me. On it, behind the blaring gold capitalized large-font letters, splayed a photo of me and Andrea. It wasn’t the most attractive shot at me, that’s for sure. My face was grim, my eyes closed at the moment of capture. Still, I looked a heck of a lot better than Andrea did- upisde down, blonde hair flying wildly. Another two tenths of a second, and the photographer would have caught her splash-landing into the mud puddle.
Needless to say, my ‘fight’ with Andrea was turning into quite the story in both the auto-racing and professional wrestling worlds.
“Sixty years,” boomed a deep voice, and I looked up at the speaker. Kevin Anderson was the type of man who’s bodyframe belied his voice. Thin and reedy, with a pair of wireframe glasses, Kevin looked like the type of person who still got bullied for his lunch money, even now into his forties. But he had one of the most naturally projective voices I had ever heard in anyone- save for perhaps my manager.
He was also the owner of Terrence’s team, and was none to happy as he glared at his audience. “Sixty years Diamond Motorsports has been around. My grandfather, “Diamond” Douglas Anderson, started this team on a $5000 bank loan. We’ve ran in ARCA every season since its inception. We’ve won six championships, finished second fourteen times, and have nearly two hundred victories claimed over the years, including six this year.”
There was a brief pause. “But NEVER have we been so embarrassed as we were two days ago. My two drivers, the faces of this organization, decided to have a shouting match in the midddle of victory lane! And then, their teams, and their WIVES, turn it into a massive mud battle royal, in front of half of ARCA!”
I opened my mouth to correct him- as the fight had hardly been every person for themselves, ‘battle-royal’ wasn’t the most appropriate term. But some sixth sense alerted Terrence to my intent, and I winced as his shoe drove into my shin, under the table. I darted a sullen glare at Terrence, but shut my mouth.
Kevin didn’t seem to have noticed. He put his hands on the table, and looked at each other occupant in the room. There were six of us- Terrence and I on one side of the room, while Wesley and his wife Andrea- her neck in a brace- sat at the other end. In between us, sat Jimbo McNulty, Terrence’s pot-bellied, full bearded crew chief, and Lester Ducharme, who held the exact same position on Wes’ team. Jimbo and Lester both sat motionless, stone faced, as Kevin looked the room over. Wesley, for his part, actually had the decency to look somewhat acquiescent in the face of his boss, but Andrea was sneering openly in defiance.
“This shit has been going on for half the season,” Kevin finally growled. “I don’t care what started all this, I don’t care who did what to who... but this stops now. I’m not going to let MY racing team be turned into a damned soap opera because my driver’s can’t play nice with each other!”
Kevin pulled his own chair out, and sat down in it, sighing as he did. “I watched the tape of the incident several times, from several different angles. The good folks of the ARCA fan-base apparently had their camera phones and YouTube accounts at the ready, so there was no shortage of good views. So here’s what we’re going to do... Jimbo, Lester... inform your pit crews that each of them will be fined two hundred dollars, which will be withheld from their next paycheck. And for losing control of your men, you both will receive a one thousand dollar fine as well.”
Both men remained stone-faced, glaring at Kevin, obviously unhappy with the decision. But neither spoke to object.
Kevin wasn’t done, and he looked from Terrence, to Wesley, then to me. “For interfereing in Wesley’s pit-road celebration, Terrence, I’m fining you five thousand dollars. You should have kept it behind closed doors.”
Terrence nodded curtly, and I bowed my head, sighing. It was more or less what I had expected, but I wasn’t happy about it. Kevin looked to the other end of the table. “Wes, you personally didn’t do anything wrong. But you’re responsible for the conduct any guest of yours with access passes, and that includes your wife. Therefore, I’m assessing a five hundred dollar fine... and Andrea will be banned from the pit area for the next two races.
Andrea puffed up like a fish, indignant at the punishment, and Wes opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped as Lester put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. Wes closed his mouth, but both Hamiltons continued to look mutinous.
“Now, gentlemen, there’s three races left in the season, and we have a chance at Wesley winning the championship, and Terrence finishing in the top ten, and winning rookie of the year. I, for one, would VERY much like to see that happen. But it’s not going to happen if we keep in-fighting like this. So play nice, for one more damned month, and let’s bring this baby home. Then Wes, you can go play in Nationwide, while the rest of us figure out where to go from here. Okay?”
Kevin rose to stand, but was stopped by a howl of outrage. Andrea had gotten to her feet, her posture and demeanor indicating that her apparent neck injury had miraculously healed. “What about HER?” she demanded, pointing a finger at me.
“Oh yes, Wendy,” Kevin looked directly at me, and smiled for the first time all meeting. “Ms. Briese, do tell your boss that he can expect another ten thousand dollar contribution to the Komen Foundation. I plan to donate the money gained from the fines I just assessed to that noble cause. Oh, and... good luck Saturday.”
My jaw dropped in astonishment, and next to me, I could hear Terrence choking on his own surprise. But my eardrums then shattered as an unearthly shriek filled the room.
“WHAT?!”
Even Wesley was outraged. “That woman assaulted my wife, Anderson. I should file charges after the damages...”
“I saw the tape from every angle, Wesley,” Kevin said shortly. “All I saw Ms. Briese do was try and calm her husband down, and then defend herself when Andrea attacked her. I don’t see any reason to punish that. As for elbowing Andrea, I think anyone can see that was a complete accident. And what were you doing behind her anyways, Ms. Hamilton? You were on the other side of the winner’s circle when the ceremony was interrupted.. what inspired you to come up behind her like that?”
Andrea’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. Either she had been struck speechless, or her voice had hit a tone that was was more suitable for canine ears. Wes, however, found his voice, and it sounded surly. “That’s bullshit, Anderson. She threw my wife into a mud puddle!”
“And your wife was dumb enough to attack her. Considering her occupation, you’d think that’d be considered inadvisable.”
“FUCK. THAT.” Wesley roared, standing up. “I’m never driving for you again, you son of a bitch.”
“After this season? Be my guest... or non-guest, considering the threat” Kevin said mildly. “But until then, you’re under contract to me, and I’d strongly advice you to fulfill it. Otherwise, you’ll be so damn deep in legal battles the boys over at Tri-Star won’t even bother grabbing the shovel to dig you out. It’d be such a shame to lose your Nationwide ride next year because your team isn’t willing to deal with the red tape, wouldn’t it?”
Some part of me thought that was a bluff, but if it was, Wesley didn’t call him on it. Instead, he grabbed Andrea’s hand, and the two wordlessly stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind them. Kevin looked nonplussed for a moment, then rose to his feet, shrugging with nonchalance.
“Jimbo, Lester, I want it to be known that if there’s any more incidents between anybody on your teams, anyone involved will be looking for another job before they can blink. Now, I’ll see you guys in Salem. Good luck.
Kevin stood up, and gave me one final smile, before leaving the room. Lester and Jimbo got up, silently leaving as well, shutting the door behind them. Leaving Terrence and I alone in the room. Slowly, we turned to look at each other.
“What just happened?” I asked.
Terrence shrugged, obviously as stunned as I was. “I think Kevin Anderson likes you. I thought you were going to be thrown under the bus there.”
I nodded. “I half expected you to be the one who pushed me,”
Terrence scoffed, although he was visibly wounded. “Why? Because I wasn’t happy with you for getting involved in all this? Listen, Wendy... this whole ‘your world, my world’ thing? Fuck it. Because you care every bit as much about me auto racing as I do about you wrestling. We’re in two damned difficult lines of work, and the only one’s we can really rely on for support is each other. So...”
Terrence scoffed, and shook his head. “I should have realized you weren’t in victory lane the other night for a fight, you were there to keep me out of trouble. And Andrea, well, the dumb bitch got what she had coming. I’m sorry if I doubted you.”
I smiled. “And I’m sorry for doubting you, too. You’re a stubborn man, Terrence Thompson, but a good one. You don’t do anything half-hearted... that’s what I like about you.”
Terrence got to his feet, and pulled me up. “And I like how you won’t waiver in the face of anyone, no matter what the odds, or consequences are. You might be a little to obsessed with the notion of fair-play. But you know what? Someone around here has to be. To keep the rebels like me in check.”
“You,” I scoffed, “A rebel?”
Terrence grinned, and pulled me in tighter. “Damn right, always out to break the rules. And do you know, what would be completely rebellious right now?” He grinned, and leaned forward, whispering in my ear.
I gaped at him in astonishment. “Absolutely not! Here?! What if someone were to walk in? I’d hate to even THINK about the fine that would bring?
Terrence shrugged. “We have the money.”
I paused for just a second, biting my lower lip. Then I reached up, and wrapped my arms around my husband’s neck. “Well, I guess the Komen foundation could always use another donation,” I whispered, before kissing him on the lips.
It was the best five-thousand dollar fine either of us had ever incurred.
==========================
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
10 September, 2011
It’s nice to know that sometimes, things do end up working out in the end.
When I walked into that winners circle, I had no intention of doing anything, except trying to calm my husband down. Things had gotten out of control from there, and while I can’t agree with Mr. Anderson’s assessment that I’m blameless in the matter, it does feel good when someone actually realizes your intentions.
Maybe I expect too much of myself. Maybe I’m too unwilling to let my hair down, and just enjoy the moment. I’m always constantly analyzing, and second-guessing everything I do. Even in a victory, I’m watching the tape, trying to see what I could have done better. And maybe Terry’s right... maybe I’m so obsesssed with the idea of fair play, I don’t actually give myself a chance to step back and appreciate the full aspect of the wonderful sport I’m in.
But it’s who I am, and its probably who I’ll always be. I’ve been like that since I was a child... one of the few aspects of my father that’s carrried on to the next generation. It’s the ultimate conundrum... what’s the point of trying to be a perfectionist, when you’re going to fail every time?
And yet, seeing where I stand now, as opposed to where Andrea stands, I’m reaffirmed in my belief that sometimes, despite everything, those who value fair play and honor do come through in the end. Maybe not as much as I’d like, and maybe the road is more difficult than it should be, but there is a destination to be had there. And its obtainable.
So as I sit here in the locker room, preparing for what will undoubtedly be the most important match of my FFW career, I can’t help but wonder if maybe the pendulum is going to swing the other way. Because there was no doubt that Unstoppable was a victory for the unscrupulous. Byte This wasn’t much better on that front, considering the actions of Isabella, Kitty, and Rori.
Maybe Sin & Sacrifice will see the momentum reverse.
Maybe it will start tonight, at Breaking Point.
Maybe I’ll be the one who finally pushes things in that direction.
It’s a vain assessment, that’s for sure. But why not me?
Someone has to do it
-WCBT
EPISODE 128: Showdown
From the private journal of Wendy Briese
Monday 5 September 2011
It appears that I’ve overestimated the scope of the change of heart my partner has had.
I thought that I was joining a completely reformed Isabella, one who had turned over a new page, and had a new outlook on life. And while it’s true that Isabella seems to have taken a more positive mindset, she obviously isn’t as concerned about mending her bridges as I had originally thought.
I thought Isabella wanted to beat Scarlett in a wrestling match- not completely take her head off with a steel chair. It was absolutely disgusting the way she levelled Scarlett like that. Scar didn’t deserve that in the least, and the fact that it was a teammate of mine who hit her with a chair makes me sick to my stomach. It’s equally sick that Robbyn levelled Isabella after grabbing the chair from her, instead of simply throwing it out of the ring, but I suppose at that point things had pretty much deteriorated beyond the point of control.
Obviously, considering the differences we have in our approaches to this sport, this is a team that simply is not going to work out. I’m sure Isabella thinks me a wet-blanket and a worrywort for caring about something so trivial as rules, and I’d simply rather not tie myself to a compulsive cheater.
Besides, it just felt too awkward tagging with someone other than Terrence. When you have as amazing chemistry as he and I did, teaming with someone else just feels so awkward.
Still, my mind can’t help but keep going back to last Tuesday, where I stood with Isabella on the Baltimore waterfront. She had seemed so genuine then, and, despite the disaster of tonight, I do think she is sincere about wanting to atone for her most egregious offenses, and about stopping Samantha’s latest attempt at domination. And I gave my word to her. That’s not something I do lightly.
So even if Great Expectations was just a one-time deal, Isabella still has me if she needs me. The more and more I think about it, the more and more I realize just how necessary it is that the A-List doesn’t hurt anymore people. I don’t need to be completely in agreement philosophically with someone to recognize a threat to both of us.
To all of us.
At least outside of my disappointment in my partner, I had a great time out here in New York. The autograph session was a blast- so many eager fans! And knowing that we raised so much money for Komen... that makes it even better. And from what I heard, my speech on the necessity for early detection and treatment was very well received. I’m glad that I was able to do my part.
Even better, Terrence’s race was rained out at DuQuoin today, which means that they’ll have to run it tomorrow. That means I’ll be able to attend- I’ve already got my early morning flight to St. Louis booked. There’s only four races left in the season, and Terrence is trying to break into the top ten in points. Terry seems to figure that top ten finish will give him a significantly better chance of securing a competitive ride next year.
I just better bring some old jeans. DuQuoin is a dirt track, and if it’s been raining all weekend... ICK!
-WCBT
=============================
Tuesday September 6, 2011
DuQuoin State Fairgrounds Racetrack- Pit Area
DuQuoin, Illinois
4:13 PM Local Time
“Terry!”
Even before the engine had shut off, I was running towards the car, trying my hardest not to slip and fall in the seemingly millions of mud patches that littered the area. Speaking of mud- Terrence’s car was covered in it. And, from the looks of things- fairly heavily damaged as well. Nearly every section of the car was crumpled in some way, but the most damage sat on the right hand side, where the fiber glass had peeled away after Terrence had slammed into the wall on the last lap.
Even with the safety net up in the car, a fairly decent amount of mud had splatterred in through the window onto Terrence’s racesuit. Still, I was just happy to see he was okay after that hit with the wall, and I dove at him and embraced him. There weren’t many dirt tracks on the ARCA circuit, and after watching the mess of a race that had just finished, I was certainly grateful for that fact.
Terrence was more concerned about removing his helmet and gloves than he was about hugging me back, and as he tossed them in through the car’s window onto the seat, I could tell that he was in a bad mood. He gave me a perfunctory hug back, but was looking around in the meantime.
“Where’s Hamilton?” He asked, his voice low.
I blinked. “The winner’s circle, I’d bet. He won after...”
“Right,” Terrence replied, cutting me off. He shoved by me, purposely walking towards the exit to the pit area. “Stay here, Wendy” he called back over his shoulder.
“Terry! Wait!” I called after him, a sudden feeling of dread rising in my chest. I didn’t like Wesley Hamilton any better than Terrence did, but the two had spent the last seven laps of the Southern Illinois 100 banging into each other, until Terrence had eventually been plowed into the backstretch wall, into an eleventh place finish. Wes, naturally, had gone on to win. Considering all that, I had a feeling that if Terrence so much as saw Wesley Hamilton, all hell was going to break loose.
“Terry! Stop!” I called again, trying to run after him. At least Theresa wouldn’t be around to see this, I realized with a sigh of relief. Even though the race had been postponed, classes at College Park Elementary hadn’t, and Cassie had taken Terrence’s Charger and driven Theresa back home to Indianapolis. It was only a four hour drive- we’d be home ourselves later this evening.
Provided my husband didn’t end up in jail for assault.
The crowd was simply too thick for me to catch up. Terrence was still a pretty big guy- standing over six feet, and still about two-thirty, even though his wrestling days were over. He was a natural crowd clearer, second only to Pollaski. Pro-wrestler might I be, I was still merely a hundred thirty pounds, and five-eight. Against the onrushing tide of people, it was all I could do to not actually be pushed backwards.
Still, I managed to work my way through the enveloping ensemble towards the Winner’s Circle. Wes’ car was every bit as muddy as Terrence’s was, and only slightly less banged up. But Hamilton was grinning, holding the trophy- his fifth of the season aloft. Even more annoying, the win had given Wes the points lead... made all the more frustrating by my husband actually falling back into twelfth in the standings.
“Oh, god, no.” I groaned. Terrence was pushing his way through the throng of onlookers, heading dead on at Wes. I gritted my teeth, and tried shoving my way through the crowd as well. “Excuse me! Pardon me! I’m sorry!”
The responses I mostly got were words I’d never ever want my daughter repeating, but still, I continued to push through the crowd. Maybe I could still...
“WHAT THE FUCK, THOMPSON?!”
Nope...
A massive explosion of noise from a couple hundred throats told me that the confrontation had begun, the fans hooting and hollering, hoping to see a brawl to cap off what had been a wild race to begin with. With the crowd becoming so rowdy and volitaile, I had to pick my way through even more carefully, but I finally made it to the front, sighing in dismay at what I saw.
Terrence and Wes weren’t exchanging punches, but both men had the front’ of each other’s race suit in the other’s fist, and both men were letting the other know exactly what they thought of each other. Around me, I saw other’s now pushing through the crowd as well- members of both driver’s pit crews, and several security guards. I could even see Terrence’s crew chief, Jimbo McNulty, shoving his way towards his driver.
“Terry, please,” I said, coming forwards, and grabbing his free hand. “Come on..”
“Not now, dammit!” Terrence snarled, jerking his hand away.
“Yeah, better run away, Thompson,” Wes snarled. “Gonna let you old lady fight your battles for you?”
“Fuck you, Wes! And fuck your driving! You know you’re dirty! Everyone knows you drive dirty!”
“Of course I drove dirty! The track was a fucking mud pit, you idiot!” Wes retorted, a sneer on his face.
“Terry! Please! You’re making a scene!” I tried pleading again, looking around. Both pit crews were emerging from the crowd now too, and some had taken to yelling each other as well. Emotions were high, too high.
“I SAID BACK OFF!” Terrence roared, jerking his hand away, and sweeping his hand out to push me behind him. “Stay out of this, Wendy!”
Frustrated, I took a step back. To heck with it... if these boys wanted to act like children, let them. Get it out of their system. Whatever, I had no desire to get involved. I took another step back, throwing my hands up in exasperation, and beginning to turn around.
I stopped as my elbow hit something hard, and heard a squeal of pain, followed by the gasp of the crowd. Massaging the point of my elbow where I had connected, I turned around... and felt my jaw drop.
Andrea Hamilton was three feet away, clutching her face in her hands, mewling in agony. As I watched in horror, a small stream of blood dripped through her fingers, running down her hand, then her arm.
“Oh God...”
Andrea slowly pried her hands from her face... blood was liberally dripping from her nose, and was covering her face, her hands, the dress she was wearing. I swallowed hard.
“Andrea.. I’m so... sorr..” I was stammering.
Andrea looked at the blood, and then at me, and her face contorted into one of a raging demon, her fingers curling into claws. The scream that came out of her was enough to curdle my blood.
“You.... BITCH!”
Then she was charging, headlong at me, her hands out as if she intended to tackle me and strangle me. With so little time to react, instinct took over. I sidestepped slightly, turning my hip into her. As she moved into me, I caught her arm, and pivoted with my body, taking her off her feet. She flipped completely over, before landing hard on her back in a puddle of leftover rainwater from the previous day.
I was stunned. I had hit thousands of armdrag hiptosses before, both in training and competiton. Never before had I won a fight with it.
But as Andrea began thrashing in pain in the puddle, clutching her back and screaming as if the Inquisition itself had arrived to torture her, I knew that the fight was over.
At least between me and her...
The crowd had been stunned into silence when Andrea went flying, but now had found its collective voice, and was roaring its approval, some even going so far as to chant ‘catfight!’. Flashbulbs were going off from several dozen cameraphones. The cacophony redoubled as the two crews had collided with each other, pushing and shoving. Apparently Hamilton’s team had taken the hiptoss as a declaration of war- something my husband’s team was more than happy to answer.
For their part, both Terrence and Wes had gone still. Terrence was staring open mouthed at me in shock, while Wes was staring at his screaming and convulsing wife. For a second, I thought that maybe this would maybe jar some sense into them, and realize that this was just stupid.
Then Terrence’s rear tire changer, a lanky Kentuckian by the name of Deuce, drove his fist into Wesley’s jackman’s face. And with that, the riot was on. Both teams were suddenly rolling around in the mud, swinging at each other with abandon, while the three or four security guards tried in vain to break it up. Wes looked as if he was going to swing at Terrence as well, but then thought better of it, and turned, running to attend to his wife, who was still dramatically screaming as if she was dying.
Terrence looked over at me, a note of accusation in his glare, and I could only shrug back, too stunned to do anything else. Then one of Hamilton’s boys charged at Terrence. Terrence barely moved, just grabbed the guy, and chucked him into Wes’ car, the young man rolling off the hood, and falling to the other side.
Terrence then looked at the brawling pit crews, shook his head in disgust, and walked towards me. Grabbing me by the upper arm, he forcibly- not violently, but not giving me much room to resist- led me away from the melee.
“And that,” Terrence sighed, “Is why I told you to stay back by the car.”
I risked one final glance back at the chaos. The pitcrews were still fighting, with the crowd around them hooting and cheering them on. Wes was helping a sobbing Andrea to her feet, while more security guards joined the fray.
I looked up at my husband. “We’re in big trouble... aren’t we?”
The look on Terrence’s face was grim.
“Yup.”
Tuesday September 6, 2011
The RV- Main Cabin
DuQuoin, Illinois
5:45 PM Local Time
We cut in just as the cameraman is entering the RV, climbing up the steps, past the driver’s seat into the main cabin, with its television, pull-out sofa, and table on one side, and smaller couch, kitchenette, and storage on the other. A small, lithe, redheaded figure is leaned over the sink, in mud splattered clothing, dipping her hands in the water, and cupping them over her face. Wendy Briese, of course.
It should be noted that since the fight happened in front of like three hundred people, several of which were auto racing journalists, the preceding scene is very, very usable.
Pollaski: “Ah, there she is! The NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW ARCA WOMEN’S CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD!”
Pollaski’s voice comes from behind the camera, giving a strong indication that he’s holding it. Wendy glances at her manager, her face sour. She turns back to the sink, shutting off the water, and drying her face.
Wendy: “Shut up, Dan.”
Pollaski doesn’t shut up. Instead, he laughs. Much to Wendy’s irritation.
Pollaski: “Oh, don’t tell me you’re upset about this.”
Wendy looks over at her manager, and yes, she definitely looks upset. She swallows hard, and looks away.
Wendy: “Get that camera out of here. I don’t want to...”
Pollaski: “What? You don’t want to commemorate the best goddamn thing you’ve ever done?! I mean, you just put a shrill, annoying little bitch in the hospital! That has to count for something.”
Wendy’s practically trembling, as she continues to have her back to the camera.
Wendy: “She had no professional training. No experience whatsoever. I shouldn’t have...”
Pollaski: “Hang on... she came at YOU, remember?”
Wendy shakes her head, her head still down in shame.
Wendy: “I’m the professional here. There was no justification for what I did. I’m not proud of it.”
Pollaski: “Would it help if I told you someone uploaded a video of it to YouTube? And eight hundred forty seven people already ‘like this’?
The glare Wendy’s shooting Pollaski would suggest ‘no’.
Wendy: “The only thing I have to say is that I truly regret my actions, and whatever consequences arise from this, either with ARCA, or FFW, I’m fully willing to accept them.”
Pause.
Pollaski: “Well, that’s kinda lame.”
Wendy: “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Throwing a defenseless woman into a mud puddle is not my idea of how to solve my problems. It’s not who I am, and it’s not what I’m about. I don’t advocate street fighting. I don’t advocate...”
Pollaski cuts Wendy off with a laugh.
Pollaski: “Wait a second... I’ve seen you do this before. This whole overblown ‘I’m sorry I’m a horrible person’ thing.”
Pause.
Pollaski: “You’re not feeling guilty because you slammed Andrea Hamilton into a mud puddle. You’re feeling guilty because you ENJOYED doing it!
Wendy: “NO!”
The look on Wendy’s face could only be described as scandalized. Oh, and about as dishonest as we’ve ever seen her.
Pollaski: “LIARFACE! FACE OF A LIAR!”
Wendy takes a deep breath, her teeth clenched.
Wendy: “Okay... I’ll admit that, there might have been... some part of me... that felt... a really.. tiny bit of... satisfaction.”
Pollaski: “HAH! I KNEW IT! There was this little flicker of a smile on your face after you chucked her, before you went all like ‘Oh shit! I’m not supposed to do this!’
Wendy’s starting to turn red. Fairly impressive, given her normally pale complexion.
Pollaski: “Oh, Wendy. What is everyone going to think when they find out that you love to pick fights with defenseless women, and drop them into mud puddles? I mean, Colleen would have a field day with...”
It’s like you can hear Wendy’s patience audibly snap.
Wendy: “Oh, shut up, Pollaski! And to hell with Colleen! Like her opinion actually matters!”:
The outburst seems to have startled even her, and for a moment, she looks at the camera, stunned. Finally, she shrugs, as if an “oh well, I said it.” aura.
Wendy: “Any credibility that Colleen actually had died two weeks ago, when she decided to turn herself into one of Samantha Star’s little dogs. Considering all that boloney she spewed in the weeks after Unstoppable... I’d had thought she’d at least have had better standards than that.”
Clearly agitated, Wendy begins to pace.
Wendy: “Do you even remember why Colleen supposedly decked Robbyn and I at Unstoppable, then spent ten excruciating minutes insulting the fans about it a couple weeks later? It’s because the fans had the audacity to cheer for all three of us, despite the fact that the three of us all had differing philosophies. Apparently that signifies that the FFW faithful are weak minded, unable to think for themselves, and willing to cheer for whoever they’re told to.”
A snort, and an eyeroll from the scarlet haired woman.
Wendy: “Well, maybe if Colleen actually used her BRAIN, she’d come to the conclusion that our philosophies didn’t mean ANYTHING at that moment. The fans had just seen a great match, against three great wrestlers who had given everything they had for it. Of course they’re going to cheer, and show appreciation. The effort Robbyn and I gave deserved at least that much, even if Colleen didn’t think so.”
Wendy shakes her head.
Wendy: “But that’s all beside the point. Colleen apparently criticizes the lack of independent thought in the people that buy tickets to watch her compete, and then she goes and signs with Samantha Star? How the heck is that independent thinking?”
Both Wendy and Pollaski chuckle, but while Pollaski actually sounds amused, Wendy’s is more sarcastic.
Wendy: “Seriously, look at the A-List. Rose Jenkins is little more than a lackey, a hired muscle to make Samantha’s irritations go away. Payton’s a sycophant, always drooling over her boss. Starla’s a vulture, who seems to enjoy feeding on whatever scrap Samantha throws at her, and Jo, well, we all saw how easily she was bought over the course of a couple weeks on Twitter.”
Probably if she wasn’t already so wound up, she would be choosing her words carefully, especially where her boss is concerned.. But between the fight and Pollaski’s button pushing, Wendy’s a bit more open about her feelings than usual.
Wendy: “And I don’t think that we can forget about the LAST person who actually tried to think differently than Samantha. She got her bloody skull nearly caved in in the middle of the Elimination Chamber. So you tell me where thinking for oneself comes into this?”
Wendy pauses, as if she expects Pollaski to answer. When he doesn’t, she shrugs, and turns away, pacing again.
Wendy: “It doesn’t. Colleen doesn’t give a lick about people thinking for themselves, any more than she actually cared about respect, like she so long claimed to. Respect is a two way street- you have to GIVE some to receive some, something Miss Harmon never quite was able to figure out. But she wasn’t about that anyways. All Colleen cared about was validation. People telling her that so long as she got in the ring and made another girl tap out in pain every other week, it didn’t matter how crappy her attitude she had.
Another snort, and a shake of her head.
Wendy: “Well she never got it. The locker room got sick of her well before I had arrived, so she tossed them aside. The fans never really gave it to her her either. Sure, they respected her technical ability, like they do all talented wrestlers, but there’s only so much you can do before you start alienating your own supporters. Colleen didn’t like that, so she turned away from them. And Wolf wouldn’t just stand by and let her throw away the last vestiges of respect she had, so she tossed him aside too.”
Wendy stops pacing, and looks over at the camera.
Wendy: “Well, now she’s got it. Samantha’s put out her hands, Colleen saw what she wanted, and started lapping it up like Kibbles and Bits. I don’t know what drew those two together, and I don’t really care. But I’m sure Colleen’s happy that now that she’s in league with our owner, it doesn’t matter how awful her attitude is, so long as she comes when Samantha calls her.
More pacing.
Wendy: “Except every action has a consequence, and I think it’s time that Colleen received hers. Wolf Ramsey set it up nicely. Colleen fired him, so he used the last vestige of power to set this match up, and stick me in there. Me, the very first person who’s head Colleen saw fit to ram her microphone into. Well, I’ve sat patiently for nearly two months since that day, waiting for my chance for payback. And I’m going to get it, and hurt Colleen where it’s going to sting the most. I’m going to take her Evolution title away. And you know what that will be?”
Small pause, and Wendy breaks into a slightly vindictive smile.
Wendy: “Poetic justice.”
Pollaski: “Well, you better be careful. Tara might think this ‘poetic justice’ is just another conspiracy theory.”
Wendy actually bursts out laughing at that.
Wendy: “It’s funny... it really is. You’d actually think that someone who’s so dependent on coming up with paranoid conspiracy theories might actually pay a bit more attention.”
A small smile, then Wendy shakes her head, puffing a loose strand of red hair away.
Wendy: “Tara apparently thinks that the Byte This assignments were handed out in some secret meeting of the Illuminati, where we had to swear fealty to some new world order to get on the show. Reality is, the show was announced on Twitter several weeks before, with open sign-ups being conducted over the same media. There was absolutely no secret nature about it. All you needed was a computer, and a Twitter account, and you could have been on.”
Although to be fair, Twitter could possibly be a conspiracy in and of itself...
Wendy: “As far as my speech... I wasn’t out to make the fans LIKE me with that. I was doing my JOB. I am, after all, FFW’s ambasssador to the Susan Komen foundation. I’ve been asked to shoot several PSA’s concerning the necessity of screening and detection in breast cancer treatment, and it seemed fitting that at such a momentous event, I come out and give a little talk about it. If you’re going to count conspiracy theories, you might as well at least do enough research by watching the SHOWS. My PSA spots are ran during the commercials all the time!”
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and sighs, obviously still wound up.
Pollaski: “Well, from the sound of things, Tara’s hell-bent on becoming the new Colleen... someone who bitches no matter what kind of opportunity she’s been given.”
Wendy nods, rolling her eyes again.
Wendy: “Well, you have to feel for her. It can’t be easy going through life that paranoid. But who cares if it’s two or three people you’re facing? Anyone in this match has a fair shot of walking out of this match the Evolution Champion. All we have to do is climb that ladder, and grab the title. Tara has two arms, and two legs, and seemingly some sense of balance. The only thing that will be stopping her from getting up there are Colleen and myself.”
Small shrug
Wendy: “If you want to be a true champion, you have to be ready and willing to try and win, or defend, the title in any kind of match, even if it’s not to your advantage. I’ve been in some that have favored me, and I’ve been in some that haven’t. It doesn’t matter. You go out there and you do whatever you can to win, and bring that belt home.”
Wendy scoffs, and stops pacing again, looking back at the camera.
Wendy: “And the match is on Breaking Point? WHO CARES?! It’s a title shot, for crying out loud! They don’t come around that often, so really, honestly, does it matter what the set looks like, or which channel we’re on? We win here, it still counts as much as it does a pay-per-view. And heck, free television has more viewers than pay-per-view. Which means whoever wins the title is going to be doing so in front of a much larger audience than we would at Sin & Sacrifice. And think about it, like me and Crystal two months ago, this is the LAST match before the pay-per-view. The last chance to convince fans to buy the show before the final buildup. And it’s going to be the three of us out there doing it. That’s a showing of as much faith as anything.”
Another shake of the head in disbelief.
Wendy: “And I do understand Tara’s frustration that she hasn’t been put in a match at Sin & Sacrifice yet. But there’s still one more show to go, and that card’s not final yet. She still can get on, and considering how talented she really is in that ring, I’d be shocked if she doesn’t. But she’s not doing herself any favors by ranting and raving like a psychotic madwoman on the camera.”
Wendy pauses, biting her lip.
Wendy: “Nor is she with her idiotic offhand comments about a certain anniversary we’re commemorating this weekend.”
Pollaski groans in disgust.
Pollaski: “Dear God, this is the second year in a row when some idiot’s used that in a promo against you on this week.”
Wendy looks at Pollaski, and shakes her head in sadness and disgust.
Wendy: “I was born in New York City. Colleen’s from Washington. If Tara wanted to get under our skins with the comments, she succeeded, at least where I’m concerned. But there’s a line you just don’t cross, for God’s sakes. I’d hope even the likes of Tara Thunder would show a little more class than that.”
Another disgusted shake of the head.
Wendy: “But then again, looking at Tara, holding a sense of perspective doesn’t exactly seem to be her strong point. From her delusions of paranoia, to her incendiary comments, to her apparent sense of entitlement, Tara is someone who is in need of a very stiff reality check.”
A small shrug.
Wendy: “She’s got a title shot. That’s a chance, but it’s by no means a sure thing. Tara seems to think that she’s coming for a coronation, and I’m going to be there to wreck it. Hardly. She’s coming for a triple-threat ladder match, and I”m going to be one of her opponents. There’s a huge difference there.”
A small smile.
Wendy: “And I might have moral quandaries about a lot of things, but beating Tara and Colleen fair and square on Saturday night isn’t going to be one of them. Because you know what? I have dreams to.”
The smile widens.
Wendy: “And at Breaking Point, I’m going to achieve one of them.”
Wendy suddenly starts as the door to the RV opens, and the camera turns, showing Terrence, looking fairly tired. He looks from Wendy (a small hint of irritation on his face), then back to Pollaski.
Terrence: “We’re leaving. Now.”
Wendy looks slightly apprehensive.
Wendy: “What’s going on, Terry? What did ARCA and Diamond say about the-”
Terrence: “Team meeting. Next Thursday. We’ll all find out our sanctions then. But before that, you and I are going to have a nice little talk.”
A small pause.
Terrence: “WITHOUT that thing on.”
He’s obviously talking about the camera. Pollaski takes the hint, and the last thing we see as we fade out is Wendy, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
Black.
Monday 5 September 2011
It appears that I’ve overestimated the scope of the change of heart my partner has had.
I thought that I was joining a completely reformed Isabella, one who had turned over a new page, and had a new outlook on life. And while it’s true that Isabella seems to have taken a more positive mindset, she obviously isn’t as concerned about mending her bridges as I had originally thought.
I thought Isabella wanted to beat Scarlett in a wrestling match- not completely take her head off with a steel chair. It was absolutely disgusting the way she levelled Scarlett like that. Scar didn’t deserve that in the least, and the fact that it was a teammate of mine who hit her with a chair makes me sick to my stomach. It’s equally sick that Robbyn levelled Isabella after grabbing the chair from her, instead of simply throwing it out of the ring, but I suppose at that point things had pretty much deteriorated beyond the point of control.
Obviously, considering the differences we have in our approaches to this sport, this is a team that simply is not going to work out. I’m sure Isabella thinks me a wet-blanket and a worrywort for caring about something so trivial as rules, and I’d simply rather not tie myself to a compulsive cheater.
Besides, it just felt too awkward tagging with someone other than Terrence. When you have as amazing chemistry as he and I did, teaming with someone else just feels so awkward.
Still, my mind can’t help but keep going back to last Tuesday, where I stood with Isabella on the Baltimore waterfront. She had seemed so genuine then, and, despite the disaster of tonight, I do think she is sincere about wanting to atone for her most egregious offenses, and about stopping Samantha’s latest attempt at domination. And I gave my word to her. That’s not something I do lightly.
So even if Great Expectations was just a one-time deal, Isabella still has me if she needs me. The more and more I think about it, the more and more I realize just how necessary it is that the A-List doesn’t hurt anymore people. I don’t need to be completely in agreement philosophically with someone to recognize a threat to both of us.
To all of us.
At least outside of my disappointment in my partner, I had a great time out here in New York. The autograph session was a blast- so many eager fans! And knowing that we raised so much money for Komen... that makes it even better. And from what I heard, my speech on the necessity for early detection and treatment was very well received. I’m glad that I was able to do my part.
Even better, Terrence’s race was rained out at DuQuoin today, which means that they’ll have to run it tomorrow. That means I’ll be able to attend- I’ve already got my early morning flight to St. Louis booked. There’s only four races left in the season, and Terrence is trying to break into the top ten in points. Terry seems to figure that top ten finish will give him a significantly better chance of securing a competitive ride next year.
I just better bring some old jeans. DuQuoin is a dirt track, and if it’s been raining all weekend... ICK!
-WCBT
=============================
Tuesday September 6, 2011
DuQuoin State Fairgrounds Racetrack- Pit Area
DuQuoin, Illinois
4:13 PM Local Time
“Terry!”
Even before the engine had shut off, I was running towards the car, trying my hardest not to slip and fall in the seemingly millions of mud patches that littered the area. Speaking of mud- Terrence’s car was covered in it. And, from the looks of things- fairly heavily damaged as well. Nearly every section of the car was crumpled in some way, but the most damage sat on the right hand side, where the fiber glass had peeled away after Terrence had slammed into the wall on the last lap.
Even with the safety net up in the car, a fairly decent amount of mud had splatterred in through the window onto Terrence’s racesuit. Still, I was just happy to see he was okay after that hit with the wall, and I dove at him and embraced him. There weren’t many dirt tracks on the ARCA circuit, and after watching the mess of a race that had just finished, I was certainly grateful for that fact.
Terrence was more concerned about removing his helmet and gloves than he was about hugging me back, and as he tossed them in through the car’s window onto the seat, I could tell that he was in a bad mood. He gave me a perfunctory hug back, but was looking around in the meantime.
“Where’s Hamilton?” He asked, his voice low.
I blinked. “The winner’s circle, I’d bet. He won after...”
“Right,” Terrence replied, cutting me off. He shoved by me, purposely walking towards the exit to the pit area. “Stay here, Wendy” he called back over his shoulder.
“Terry! Wait!” I called after him, a sudden feeling of dread rising in my chest. I didn’t like Wesley Hamilton any better than Terrence did, but the two had spent the last seven laps of the Southern Illinois 100 banging into each other, until Terrence had eventually been plowed into the backstretch wall, into an eleventh place finish. Wes, naturally, had gone on to win. Considering all that, I had a feeling that if Terrence so much as saw Wesley Hamilton, all hell was going to break loose.
“Terry! Stop!” I called again, trying to run after him. At least Theresa wouldn’t be around to see this, I realized with a sigh of relief. Even though the race had been postponed, classes at College Park Elementary hadn’t, and Cassie had taken Terrence’s Charger and driven Theresa back home to Indianapolis. It was only a four hour drive- we’d be home ourselves later this evening.
Provided my husband didn’t end up in jail for assault.
The crowd was simply too thick for me to catch up. Terrence was still a pretty big guy- standing over six feet, and still about two-thirty, even though his wrestling days were over. He was a natural crowd clearer, second only to Pollaski. Pro-wrestler might I be, I was still merely a hundred thirty pounds, and five-eight. Against the onrushing tide of people, it was all I could do to not actually be pushed backwards.
Still, I managed to work my way through the enveloping ensemble towards the Winner’s Circle. Wes’ car was every bit as muddy as Terrence’s was, and only slightly less banged up. But Hamilton was grinning, holding the trophy- his fifth of the season aloft. Even more annoying, the win had given Wes the points lead... made all the more frustrating by my husband actually falling back into twelfth in the standings.
“Oh, god, no.” I groaned. Terrence was pushing his way through the throng of onlookers, heading dead on at Wes. I gritted my teeth, and tried shoving my way through the crowd as well. “Excuse me! Pardon me! I’m sorry!”
The responses I mostly got were words I’d never ever want my daughter repeating, but still, I continued to push through the crowd. Maybe I could still...
“WHAT THE FUCK, THOMPSON?!”
Nope...
A massive explosion of noise from a couple hundred throats told me that the confrontation had begun, the fans hooting and hollering, hoping to see a brawl to cap off what had been a wild race to begin with. With the crowd becoming so rowdy and volitaile, I had to pick my way through even more carefully, but I finally made it to the front, sighing in dismay at what I saw.
Terrence and Wes weren’t exchanging punches, but both men had the front’ of each other’s race suit in the other’s fist, and both men were letting the other know exactly what they thought of each other. Around me, I saw other’s now pushing through the crowd as well- members of both driver’s pit crews, and several security guards. I could even see Terrence’s crew chief, Jimbo McNulty, shoving his way towards his driver.
“Terry, please,” I said, coming forwards, and grabbing his free hand. “Come on..”
“Not now, dammit!” Terrence snarled, jerking his hand away.
“Yeah, better run away, Thompson,” Wes snarled. “Gonna let you old lady fight your battles for you?”
“Fuck you, Wes! And fuck your driving! You know you’re dirty! Everyone knows you drive dirty!”
“Of course I drove dirty! The track was a fucking mud pit, you idiot!” Wes retorted, a sneer on his face.
“Terry! Please! You’re making a scene!” I tried pleading again, looking around. Both pit crews were emerging from the crowd now too, and some had taken to yelling each other as well. Emotions were high, too high.
“I SAID BACK OFF!” Terrence roared, jerking his hand away, and sweeping his hand out to push me behind him. “Stay out of this, Wendy!”
Frustrated, I took a step back. To heck with it... if these boys wanted to act like children, let them. Get it out of their system. Whatever, I had no desire to get involved. I took another step back, throwing my hands up in exasperation, and beginning to turn around.
I stopped as my elbow hit something hard, and heard a squeal of pain, followed by the gasp of the crowd. Massaging the point of my elbow where I had connected, I turned around... and felt my jaw drop.
Andrea Hamilton was three feet away, clutching her face in her hands, mewling in agony. As I watched in horror, a small stream of blood dripped through her fingers, running down her hand, then her arm.
“Oh God...”
Andrea slowly pried her hands from her face... blood was liberally dripping from her nose, and was covering her face, her hands, the dress she was wearing. I swallowed hard.
“Andrea.. I’m so... sorr..” I was stammering.
Andrea looked at the blood, and then at me, and her face contorted into one of a raging demon, her fingers curling into claws. The scream that came out of her was enough to curdle my blood.
“You.... BITCH!”
Then she was charging, headlong at me, her hands out as if she intended to tackle me and strangle me. With so little time to react, instinct took over. I sidestepped slightly, turning my hip into her. As she moved into me, I caught her arm, and pivoted with my body, taking her off her feet. She flipped completely over, before landing hard on her back in a puddle of leftover rainwater from the previous day.
I was stunned. I had hit thousands of armdrag hiptosses before, both in training and competiton. Never before had I won a fight with it.
But as Andrea began thrashing in pain in the puddle, clutching her back and screaming as if the Inquisition itself had arrived to torture her, I knew that the fight was over.
At least between me and her...
The crowd had been stunned into silence when Andrea went flying, but now had found its collective voice, and was roaring its approval, some even going so far as to chant ‘catfight!’. Flashbulbs were going off from several dozen cameraphones. The cacophony redoubled as the two crews had collided with each other, pushing and shoving. Apparently Hamilton’s team had taken the hiptoss as a declaration of war- something my husband’s team was more than happy to answer.
For their part, both Terrence and Wes had gone still. Terrence was staring open mouthed at me in shock, while Wes was staring at his screaming and convulsing wife. For a second, I thought that maybe this would maybe jar some sense into them, and realize that this was just stupid.
Then Terrence’s rear tire changer, a lanky Kentuckian by the name of Deuce, drove his fist into Wesley’s jackman’s face. And with that, the riot was on. Both teams were suddenly rolling around in the mud, swinging at each other with abandon, while the three or four security guards tried in vain to break it up. Wes looked as if he was going to swing at Terrence as well, but then thought better of it, and turned, running to attend to his wife, who was still dramatically screaming as if she was dying.
Terrence looked over at me, a note of accusation in his glare, and I could only shrug back, too stunned to do anything else. Then one of Hamilton’s boys charged at Terrence. Terrence barely moved, just grabbed the guy, and chucked him into Wes’ car, the young man rolling off the hood, and falling to the other side.
Terrence then looked at the brawling pit crews, shook his head in disgust, and walked towards me. Grabbing me by the upper arm, he forcibly- not violently, but not giving me much room to resist- led me away from the melee.
“And that,” Terrence sighed, “Is why I told you to stay back by the car.”
I risked one final glance back at the chaos. The pitcrews were still fighting, with the crowd around them hooting and cheering them on. Wes was helping a sobbing Andrea to her feet, while more security guards joined the fray.
I looked up at my husband. “We’re in big trouble... aren’t we?”
The look on Terrence’s face was grim.
“Yup.”
Tuesday September 6, 2011
The RV- Main Cabin
DuQuoin, Illinois
5:45 PM Local Time
We cut in just as the cameraman is entering the RV, climbing up the steps, past the driver’s seat into the main cabin, with its television, pull-out sofa, and table on one side, and smaller couch, kitchenette, and storage on the other. A small, lithe, redheaded figure is leaned over the sink, in mud splattered clothing, dipping her hands in the water, and cupping them over her face. Wendy Briese, of course.
It should be noted that since the fight happened in front of like three hundred people, several of which were auto racing journalists, the preceding scene is very, very usable.
Pollaski: “Ah, there she is! The NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW ARCA WOMEN’S CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD!”
Pollaski’s voice comes from behind the camera, giving a strong indication that he’s holding it. Wendy glances at her manager, her face sour. She turns back to the sink, shutting off the water, and drying her face.
Wendy: “Shut up, Dan.”
Pollaski doesn’t shut up. Instead, he laughs. Much to Wendy’s irritation.
Pollaski: “Oh, don’t tell me you’re upset about this.”
Wendy looks over at her manager, and yes, she definitely looks upset. She swallows hard, and looks away.
Wendy: “Get that camera out of here. I don’t want to...”
Pollaski: “What? You don’t want to commemorate the best goddamn thing you’ve ever done?! I mean, you just put a shrill, annoying little bitch in the hospital! That has to count for something.”
Wendy’s practically trembling, as she continues to have her back to the camera.
Wendy: “She had no professional training. No experience whatsoever. I shouldn’t have...”
Pollaski: “Hang on... she came at YOU, remember?”
Wendy shakes her head, her head still down in shame.
Wendy: “I’m the professional here. There was no justification for what I did. I’m not proud of it.”
Pollaski: “Would it help if I told you someone uploaded a video of it to YouTube? And eight hundred forty seven people already ‘like this’?
The glare Wendy’s shooting Pollaski would suggest ‘no’.
Wendy: “The only thing I have to say is that I truly regret my actions, and whatever consequences arise from this, either with ARCA, or FFW, I’m fully willing to accept them.”
Pause.
Pollaski: “Well, that’s kinda lame.”
Wendy: “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Throwing a defenseless woman into a mud puddle is not my idea of how to solve my problems. It’s not who I am, and it’s not what I’m about. I don’t advocate street fighting. I don’t advocate...”
Pollaski cuts Wendy off with a laugh.
Pollaski: “Wait a second... I’ve seen you do this before. This whole overblown ‘I’m sorry I’m a horrible person’ thing.”
Pause.
Pollaski: “You’re not feeling guilty because you slammed Andrea Hamilton into a mud puddle. You’re feeling guilty because you ENJOYED doing it!
Wendy: “NO!”
The look on Wendy’s face could only be described as scandalized. Oh, and about as dishonest as we’ve ever seen her.
Pollaski: “LIARFACE! FACE OF A LIAR!”
Wendy takes a deep breath, her teeth clenched.
Wendy: “Okay... I’ll admit that, there might have been... some part of me... that felt... a really.. tiny bit of... satisfaction.”
Pollaski: “HAH! I KNEW IT! There was this little flicker of a smile on your face after you chucked her, before you went all like ‘Oh shit! I’m not supposed to do this!’
Wendy’s starting to turn red. Fairly impressive, given her normally pale complexion.
Pollaski: “Oh, Wendy. What is everyone going to think when they find out that you love to pick fights with defenseless women, and drop them into mud puddles? I mean, Colleen would have a field day with...”
It’s like you can hear Wendy’s patience audibly snap.
Wendy: “Oh, shut up, Pollaski! And to hell with Colleen! Like her opinion actually matters!”:
The outburst seems to have startled even her, and for a moment, she looks at the camera, stunned. Finally, she shrugs, as if an “oh well, I said it.” aura.
Wendy: “Any credibility that Colleen actually had died two weeks ago, when she decided to turn herself into one of Samantha Star’s little dogs. Considering all that boloney she spewed in the weeks after Unstoppable... I’d had thought she’d at least have had better standards than that.”
Clearly agitated, Wendy begins to pace.
Wendy: “Do you even remember why Colleen supposedly decked Robbyn and I at Unstoppable, then spent ten excruciating minutes insulting the fans about it a couple weeks later? It’s because the fans had the audacity to cheer for all three of us, despite the fact that the three of us all had differing philosophies. Apparently that signifies that the FFW faithful are weak minded, unable to think for themselves, and willing to cheer for whoever they’re told to.”
A snort, and an eyeroll from the scarlet haired woman.
Wendy: “Well, maybe if Colleen actually used her BRAIN, she’d come to the conclusion that our philosophies didn’t mean ANYTHING at that moment. The fans had just seen a great match, against three great wrestlers who had given everything they had for it. Of course they’re going to cheer, and show appreciation. The effort Robbyn and I gave deserved at least that much, even if Colleen didn’t think so.”
Wendy shakes her head.
Wendy: “But that’s all beside the point. Colleen apparently criticizes the lack of independent thought in the people that buy tickets to watch her compete, and then she goes and signs with Samantha Star? How the heck is that independent thinking?”
Both Wendy and Pollaski chuckle, but while Pollaski actually sounds amused, Wendy’s is more sarcastic.
Wendy: “Seriously, look at the A-List. Rose Jenkins is little more than a lackey, a hired muscle to make Samantha’s irritations go away. Payton’s a sycophant, always drooling over her boss. Starla’s a vulture, who seems to enjoy feeding on whatever scrap Samantha throws at her, and Jo, well, we all saw how easily she was bought over the course of a couple weeks on Twitter.”
Probably if she wasn’t already so wound up, she would be choosing her words carefully, especially where her boss is concerned.. But between the fight and Pollaski’s button pushing, Wendy’s a bit more open about her feelings than usual.
Wendy: “And I don’t think that we can forget about the LAST person who actually tried to think differently than Samantha. She got her bloody skull nearly caved in in the middle of the Elimination Chamber. So you tell me where thinking for oneself comes into this?”
Wendy pauses, as if she expects Pollaski to answer. When he doesn’t, she shrugs, and turns away, pacing again.
Wendy: “It doesn’t. Colleen doesn’t give a lick about people thinking for themselves, any more than she actually cared about respect, like she so long claimed to. Respect is a two way street- you have to GIVE some to receive some, something Miss Harmon never quite was able to figure out. But she wasn’t about that anyways. All Colleen cared about was validation. People telling her that so long as she got in the ring and made another girl tap out in pain every other week, it didn’t matter how crappy her attitude she had.
Another snort, and a shake of her head.
Wendy: “Well she never got it. The locker room got sick of her well before I had arrived, so she tossed them aside. The fans never really gave it to her her either. Sure, they respected her technical ability, like they do all talented wrestlers, but there’s only so much you can do before you start alienating your own supporters. Colleen didn’t like that, so she turned away from them. And Wolf wouldn’t just stand by and let her throw away the last vestiges of respect she had, so she tossed him aside too.”
Wendy stops pacing, and looks over at the camera.
Wendy: “Well, now she’s got it. Samantha’s put out her hands, Colleen saw what she wanted, and started lapping it up like Kibbles and Bits. I don’t know what drew those two together, and I don’t really care. But I’m sure Colleen’s happy that now that she’s in league with our owner, it doesn’t matter how awful her attitude is, so long as she comes when Samantha calls her.
More pacing.
Wendy: “Except every action has a consequence, and I think it’s time that Colleen received hers. Wolf Ramsey set it up nicely. Colleen fired him, so he used the last vestige of power to set this match up, and stick me in there. Me, the very first person who’s head Colleen saw fit to ram her microphone into. Well, I’ve sat patiently for nearly two months since that day, waiting for my chance for payback. And I’m going to get it, and hurt Colleen where it’s going to sting the most. I’m going to take her Evolution title away. And you know what that will be?”
Small pause, and Wendy breaks into a slightly vindictive smile.
Wendy: “Poetic justice.”
Pollaski: “Well, you better be careful. Tara might think this ‘poetic justice’ is just another conspiracy theory.”
Wendy actually bursts out laughing at that.
Wendy: “It’s funny... it really is. You’d actually think that someone who’s so dependent on coming up with paranoid conspiracy theories might actually pay a bit more attention.”
A small smile, then Wendy shakes her head, puffing a loose strand of red hair away.
Wendy: “Tara apparently thinks that the Byte This assignments were handed out in some secret meeting of the Illuminati, where we had to swear fealty to some new world order to get on the show. Reality is, the show was announced on Twitter several weeks before, with open sign-ups being conducted over the same media. There was absolutely no secret nature about it. All you needed was a computer, and a Twitter account, and you could have been on.”
Although to be fair, Twitter could possibly be a conspiracy in and of itself...
Wendy: “As far as my speech... I wasn’t out to make the fans LIKE me with that. I was doing my JOB. I am, after all, FFW’s ambasssador to the Susan Komen foundation. I’ve been asked to shoot several PSA’s concerning the necessity of screening and detection in breast cancer treatment, and it seemed fitting that at such a momentous event, I come out and give a little talk about it. If you’re going to count conspiracy theories, you might as well at least do enough research by watching the SHOWS. My PSA spots are ran during the commercials all the time!”
Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, and sighs, obviously still wound up.
Pollaski: “Well, from the sound of things, Tara’s hell-bent on becoming the new Colleen... someone who bitches no matter what kind of opportunity she’s been given.”
Wendy nods, rolling her eyes again.
Wendy: “Well, you have to feel for her. It can’t be easy going through life that paranoid. But who cares if it’s two or three people you’re facing? Anyone in this match has a fair shot of walking out of this match the Evolution Champion. All we have to do is climb that ladder, and grab the title. Tara has two arms, and two legs, and seemingly some sense of balance. The only thing that will be stopping her from getting up there are Colleen and myself.”
Small shrug
Wendy: “If you want to be a true champion, you have to be ready and willing to try and win, or defend, the title in any kind of match, even if it’s not to your advantage. I’ve been in some that have favored me, and I’ve been in some that haven’t. It doesn’t matter. You go out there and you do whatever you can to win, and bring that belt home.”
Wendy scoffs, and stops pacing again, looking back at the camera.
Wendy: “And the match is on Breaking Point? WHO CARES?! It’s a title shot, for crying out loud! They don’t come around that often, so really, honestly, does it matter what the set looks like, or which channel we’re on? We win here, it still counts as much as it does a pay-per-view. And heck, free television has more viewers than pay-per-view. Which means whoever wins the title is going to be doing so in front of a much larger audience than we would at Sin & Sacrifice. And think about it, like me and Crystal two months ago, this is the LAST match before the pay-per-view. The last chance to convince fans to buy the show before the final buildup. And it’s going to be the three of us out there doing it. That’s a showing of as much faith as anything.”
Another shake of the head in disbelief.
Wendy: “And I do understand Tara’s frustration that she hasn’t been put in a match at Sin & Sacrifice yet. But there’s still one more show to go, and that card’s not final yet. She still can get on, and considering how talented she really is in that ring, I’d be shocked if she doesn’t. But she’s not doing herself any favors by ranting and raving like a psychotic madwoman on the camera.”
Wendy pauses, biting her lip.
Wendy: “Nor is she with her idiotic offhand comments about a certain anniversary we’re commemorating this weekend.”
Pollaski groans in disgust.
Pollaski: “Dear God, this is the second year in a row when some idiot’s used that in a promo against you on this week.”
Wendy looks at Pollaski, and shakes her head in sadness and disgust.
Wendy: “I was born in New York City. Colleen’s from Washington. If Tara wanted to get under our skins with the comments, she succeeded, at least where I’m concerned. But there’s a line you just don’t cross, for God’s sakes. I’d hope even the likes of Tara Thunder would show a little more class than that.”
Another disgusted shake of the head.
Wendy: “But then again, looking at Tara, holding a sense of perspective doesn’t exactly seem to be her strong point. From her delusions of paranoia, to her incendiary comments, to her apparent sense of entitlement, Tara is someone who is in need of a very stiff reality check.”
A small shrug.
Wendy: “She’s got a title shot. That’s a chance, but it’s by no means a sure thing. Tara seems to think that she’s coming for a coronation, and I’m going to be there to wreck it. Hardly. She’s coming for a triple-threat ladder match, and I”m going to be one of her opponents. There’s a huge difference there.”
A small smile.
Wendy: “And I might have moral quandaries about a lot of things, but beating Tara and Colleen fair and square on Saturday night isn’t going to be one of them. Because you know what? I have dreams to.”
The smile widens.
Wendy: “And at Breaking Point, I’m going to achieve one of them.”
Wendy suddenly starts as the door to the RV opens, and the camera turns, showing Terrence, looking fairly tired. He looks from Wendy (a small hint of irritation on his face), then back to Pollaski.
Terrence: “We’re leaving. Now.”
Wendy looks slightly apprehensive.
Wendy: “What’s going on, Terry? What did ARCA and Diamond say about the-”
Terrence: “Team meeting. Next Thursday. We’ll all find out our sanctions then. But before that, you and I are going to have a nice little talk.”
A small pause.
Terrence: “WITHOUT that thing on.”
He’s obviously talking about the camera. Pollaski takes the hint, and the last thing we see as we fade out is Wendy, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
Black.
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