From the private journal of Wendy Briese
9-5-14
You know what the toughest part about last night was?
It actually wasn’t beating Emma. That was tough, no doubt. Emma hits hard, and she bruised me, battered me, scalded me… but it’s nothing that hadn’t happened before. Nothing I couldn’t weather through.
…Okay, the coffee in the eyes thing was a bit unexpected… and oh GOD did it sting.
But the entire time, I knew that if I just kept persevering, kept myself alive, and found a way to hit the Vortexinator, I knew I’d win. Whatever problems I’ve been having getting the Vortexinator to end a match INSIDE the ring… it’s pretty much a night ender no doubt about it on a concrete floor.
I didn’t want it to go that route. I TOLD Emma to keep it in the ring. I WARNED her what could happen, and she was dumb enough to do it anyways. She never even let it get near the ring, attacking me backstage before I came out. And every turn we made took us further and further from the ring, to the point where there just wasn’t any feasible way I could get back there. So I had to end it before it got completely out of control, and I managed to find a way to do it. Not the happiest I’ve been with what I had to do in a match, but… it is what it is.
And the toughest thing about this all is trying to keep myself from gloating.
I could have slapped that smug look off Isabella’s face had I been there when she announced this match. She was so sure sticking me in a Falls Count Anywhere against Emma would teach me some sort of a lesson, and I made it blow up in her face. She’ll shut up right about this now, I’m almost certain of it. She’ll duck her head and go back to playing Devil Wears Prada with Kate. I never even was in her “business”, and she knows it, and now she’ll be more than glad to stay out of mine.
As far as Emma goes… I hope she’s okay from the Vortexinator. I wanted to end the match, not seriously hurt her, and the fact that no announcement of any major injury is a good sign. But at the same time… to hell with her. She got what everyone was assumed was a winning hand and she played it the dumbest way imaginable. Apparently she hadn’t paid attention to the four previous matches I got blindsided and still won. Apparently she just figured that as long as we were outside the ring, I was just going to curl up in a ball or try to run or something.
But talk about adding fuel to the fire! I listened to every word of that verbal diarrhea that she spewed out before the match, and the one thing I relish the most about this whole fiasco was making her lap every single word of it back up. The venom I’m okay with. But the condescension, treating me like some stupid whiny girl who didn’t understand this business? Suggesting I get out because I didn’t have the stomach for it? Idiot.
I proved yet again that I understand this business, and I understand my role in it, and that I understand both FAR better than someone like Emma MacNamara ever will. If anything, maybe she’ll come out of this a bit wiser. Not holding my breath.
God, I sound harsh. But I’m angry. I’m still angry about this setup. I’m still angry about Unstoppable. I’m angry about quite a few things, and you know what? I think I have every right to be. But I think I’m at least handling it the right way. I’m not being bitter all the time, making snide cheapshots. I’m not being an unbearable person to be around. I’m saving it all for my matches, which is a darn good vehicle to let off your aggression at. And if I have to say something… well, that’s why I have this journal, so I can get it off my chest instead of in public where it would just blow up and make everything worse.
This thing with Isabella and Emma is over. I won. And that’s why I’m holding my tongue. No sense stirring up stuff that doesn’t need to be stirred up. Now I can move on to far more important concerns. Things that actually matter, like the FFW Championship. One more chance. Do or die. Win or… I don’t know what. But this isn’t about the dream match anymore. I had that with her. It was awesome, everyone was happy, but now… there’s no sentimentality to be had. I want the FFW Championship back, and she’s in my way.
I have to take it light for two weeks after the injuries I suffered against Emma. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be preparing. Physically, I’ll be fine. Mentally… that’s where I need to be. Countless match tape hours await me. I’m going to find every single weakness I can in Val, and then I’m going to figure out how to exploit it. I’m not looking to make this match a classic. I’m looking to make it a bulldozing.
I’m on a mission now.
And woe to anyone who dares to stand in my way
-Wendy.
=================
Friday September 19, 2014
3:08 PM Eastern Daylight Time
Kentucky Motor Speedway- Lakeside RV Lot
Sparta, Kentucky
“Fireball, SIT!” Theresa Thompson commanded, pointing down at her goldendoodle puppy. Fireball didn’t respond, instead standing four feet away, staring at her, mouth open, tongue lolling out slightly in a pant. Her tail swooshed back and forth in a single wag, but otherwise, she wouldn’t move.
“Fireball, SIT!” Theresa commanded again, snapping her fingers and pointing at the puppy. This time, the dog responded, slowly lowering her rear haunches to the ground, although her mouth never closed, nor did she stop panting.
“Lay DOWN,” Theresa commanded again, lowering her palm downward. Again, Fireball obliged, sliding her front paws forward until she was fully on the ground, looking very much like a canine version of the Sphinx. Theresa wasn’t done. “UP!” she said, raising her palm, and Fireball immediately got to her feet, and sat down again as Theresa pointed her finger. Theresa smiled with satisfaction. “Shake.” Obediently, the dog raised her right paw, extending it forward, and Theresa took it in her hand. “Good girl”
“Wow,” came a voice behind her as Theresa released the paw and turned to see her mother standing there, her arms folded over her chest as she looked on in amusement. “You’ve really done a good job working with her.”
“Thanks!” Theresa said, grinning. “Dad told me to work with her every day. She’s a smart dog, too.”
Wendy nodded. “I’ve read goldendoodles are.” Although sometimes, considering the mischief Fireball was capable of getting into, she wondered if the dog was perhaps too smart for her own good.
“Wanna see her new trick?” Theresa asked excitedly.
“If it’s quick.” Wendy replied. “Your dad’s practice just ended, and we need to have dinner before qualifying starts at five. The pizzas should be here any minute.”
“Sweet!” Theresa exclaimed, although it wasn’t entirely unexpected. With how hectic race days normally were, Wendy seldom cooked. And with a Papa John’s located in the infield during the race weekend, it was fairly convenient. “Okay, watch this. Are you watching?” She double checked to make sure Wendy was paying attention. “Fireball…. THIS IS SPARTA!”
Wendy shrieked as the dog leapt forward, lunging at her daughter with both her front legs out. She slammed into Theresa with such force that the eight year old was knocked clear off her feet onto the ground. “Fireball! NO! BAD DOG! NO!”
“Mom! It’s okay, that’s the trick!” Theresa protested as she scrambled to her feet. “That’s the trick! You know, like in 300 when he kicked that guy into the pit?!”
“Oh…” Wendy said, catching on. She’d never seen the movie, but she’d heard enough references to where she at least knew the scene. “Well that makes se… wait. When did YOU ever see 300?”
Theresa’s mouth hung open as she realized that she had said too much. “Well, I… I… I’m going to go wash up for when the pizza comes.” She announced, then scurried away, Fireball quickly on her heels.
“Theresa, wai- HEY!” Wendy said, annoyed as her daughter escaped around a row of motor homes.
“Well, she’s off in a hurry.”
Wendy turned and regarded her manager as he came waddling up. She frowned. Pollaski was moving a little stiffly, and was grimacing as he walked. That was troubling… he hadn’t been injured in his match against CJ Osborne… at least as far as she knew. She decided to pursue her original train of thought. “Who let Theresa see 300?”
“Hunh?” Polllaski stopped, confused, then grimaced again as remembrance hit him. “Oh… right. Hey, I TOLD Terrence that eight’s too young to be watching a violent movie like that, but…”
“I see…” Wendy said, folding her arms over her chest in annoyance. “Well, I’m glad YOU agree with me.”
“Oh, absolutely. My parents would never have dreamed of letting me watch a rated R movie when I was eight. I was nine when they said okay… Commando. Schwarzenegger kicked this guy so hard a table leg came out of his chest. It was AWESOME.”
“...”
“And then there was this scene with a pitchfork where-“
“I get it…” Wendy said shortly, glancing over in the direction where her manager came. “Where’s Terrence?”
“Oh, he’s was talking to someone. Told me to go on ahead and said he’d be right on along.”
“Well, he better hurry. The pizza will be here soon.”
Pollaski paled somewhat. “Pizza?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I got a cheese one just for you. I know you like it simple.”
“Oh, great. Thanks,” Pollaski said flatly. Then stiffened, his face turning into one of pain.
“Are you okay?” Wendy asked, suddenly concerned. “Back spasms?”
“No… not really. Just…” Pollaski paused again, stiffening up going silent for several seconds as he bit his lip, fighting the urge to scream. Finally, he exhaled, panting, and wiping sweat off his brow. “More like… well.. um… sphincter spasms.”
“What.” Wendy blurted, immediately regretful. She was becoming more and more sure she didn’t want to know.
Pollaski was turning slightly red. “I… well… haven’t pooped in four days, and…”
Yup… this was territory she DEFINITELY wished she hadn’t entered. “Just go in the RV..”
“I can’t,” Pollaski said miserably. “At least I’m not supposed to.”
“Why?” Wendy blurted, then fought the urge to scream. She was only digging herself deeper here…
For a response, Pollaski reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small book, handing it to Wendy. She looked down at the cover. “Keep It In to Let It Out by Dr. B. Happy.”
“Now that I’m facing Phobos for the Chaos Title, I kinda figured I should be in shape… or at least better shape than I normally am. So I went to the self-help book section and found this. And well, I think it’s working.”
“By not… going to the bathroom.” Wendy closed her eyes, inwardly cursing herself for not just walking away.
“Dr. Happy says that ‘defecate’ is just an anagram for ‘ce defeat’. And only losers see defeat. By forcing yourself to not poop, you strengthen yourself by forcing your body to redigest your waste, thus giving yourself the extra energy you need to be a winner. And you teach yourself willpower and restraint as a bonus!”
“I’m… almost certain that the human body doesn’t work that way.”
“And I’m almost certain you’re not a doctor,” Pollaski retorted, suddenly defensive.
“I’m almost certain this Dr. Happy’s not a real doctor either…” Wendy muttered, thumbing through the book. “It doesn’t even list his credentials…”
“Hmph. He has a book and you don’t, so… THERE’S his credentials” Pollaski said haughtily, snatching the book out of her hands. “Now if you excuse me… but… damn. Cheese pizza… that’s going to be a challenge. Ah well… Dr. Happy says you should push yourself! Not really push though, cause that could… you know what I mean. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!”
“I’m pretty sure this WILL kill you..” Wendy muttered as Pollaski waddled away. She looked over to see Terrence arriving, and smiled. Finally! “Hey, how was practice?”
“Third fastest!” Terrence said with a grin. “And I’m qualifying third to last… which should put the track at its coolest. I think I’ll be starting pretty good tonight.”
“That’s great, Terry!” Wendy grinned, and the two put their arms around each other and began strolling back towards the RV.
“How was your afternoon?”
“Oh, fine. Theresa got the schoolwork she’s missing done, and I emailed it off to Sister Abigail. It’s so nice that she’s letting her make up work like that when we take her out of school. Oh! And my doctor texted me. My MRI came out just fine yesterday, and I’m clear for in ring activity again.”
“Well, that’s good,” Terrence grinned. “And not a moment too soon with Val coming up.”
“Yup. Just a week away. The moment we get back home tomorrow, I’m hitting the Storm Shelter, and I’m going to train harder than I’ve ever trained in my life!”
Terrence made a queer hissing noise, and Wendy looked up, puzzled. “Yeah, about that…” he began apologetically. “Uh, we’re not going home tomorrow…” he said.
“But the race is tonight!” Wendy said, looking up at the sky. “And it’s a beautiful evening, so we don’t have to worry about rain.”
Terrence nodded. “Yeah, but… after practice, I was approached by Ric Hogan of Warrior Motorsport. Billy Joe McAllister still hasn’t been cleared from his concussion after his sprint car crash at Tallahatchee last Sunday, so they need me to replace him.” He grinned. “My first Nationwide start! I do well here, I might get a call-up.”
“Oh…” Wendy said, her face falling, although she looked away to keep her husband from seeing it. “That’s great, Terry.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Terrence said, then stopped. His wife had slowed to a stop, and he turned around. “You comin’ hon?”
“Yeah…” Wendy said, then faked a pained grimace. “I just have a rock in my shoe. I hate these gravel roads. Go on back, I’ll be right there.”
“Oh, okay,” Terrence said. “Better hurry, I see the pizza cart coming!” And then he turned and hurried away.
Wendy knelt down, and made to untie her shoe, waiting until she was sure Terrence wouldn’t turn around. She stood up, with a grunt of frustration, kicked at the gravel road, sending pebbles flying in a sprayed stony hail. “Seriously… NOW?!” she fumed. She had a bleeping match to prepare for, and NOW Terrence has to take an emergency ride?”
There was no way she was going to talk him out of it, she knew, and she wasn’t even going to try. It’d just lead to an argument, one she wasn’t going to win. She had no choice but to deal with it.
“Whatever,” Wendy said, exhaling. She’d feel better after eating something, she was sure. She was hungry, and it was making her even crankier than she’d normally be. With a sigh, she began to walk back towards the RV, but only took a couple of steps before stopping, hissing in pain. She looked down.
Now she really did have a rock in her shoe.
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