Post by Seth Iser on Aug 17, 2019 4:17:56 GMT -6
The mind of human beings is such a fickle thing.
You can show me how something can be motivated by a genuine desire to do something better but a version of mission creep can corrupt the best of them, tainting their overall impact and creating many lasting consequences. Hell, even some bad actions could have a couple of good consequences. But it goes beyond decisions even, it could be things that we claim we want and then suddenly...we reject those things. Human beings are built by contradictions at the core. It’s part of what makes us all have this wide, varied color palate rather than the black and white pages everyone seems to believe in.
The black and white morality and belief that someone is the good guy no matter what and somebody else is the bad guy and that’s that also falls in line with this never ending paradox that we’re nothing but a line of contradictions. We want to accept that certain people in our lives have this color palette but when we buy the ticket and become a fan for a sporting event or a wrestling event...this line of thinking goes away and we get lost in the moment. We just want to believe deep down in the propaganda someone tells us about how there’s certain glory, prestige, and how certain people are just honorable beings while doing their best to sweep aside every little flaw they have.
Even my opponent has had his own experience at this being one point a servant of ‘God’ yet partaking in a homosexual pornographic career. The latter is far more tolerable than the former for the record, but he’s not immune to this. If anything, he’s an important case study as to why this is the case and based on the reception of how the fans reacted to his ‘retirement’ which I’m not even sure he truly wanted deep down. He hesitated slightly when he got drunk off that feeling. Mission creep stepped in. And being a human being filled with contradictions...I stepped in and whether he knew it or not, I probably did him a favor even if it cost him some precious feeling in that left arm of his.
And the damned fans that cheered him absolved him of all his sins...as if they didn’t even exist, further perpetuating this problem we all have as humans.
I’m sure when he wanted to open PWE, he wanted to do right for some fans and whatever investors he had as well. Being older brings that perspective along, but as with most human beings, mission creep came in and it became a bit of an attempt to take down companies like NEW. Don’t think I don’t remember that, I was signed to a specific contract that was meant to pay me a certain amount. And the heart of the biggest grievance that might seem petty on the surface but...it’s far from that. And before I go into bigger detail later about my own grievance, let’s just say a lot of people are owed a lot of money that they haven’t seen and won’t ever see because he let mission creep get the best of him.
You fast forward a little while later and you end up seeing this man walk into the company, not by choice mind you, but because an arbitrary court system decided to make him work for the company to pay off his debt to society because instead of blaming the logical person in the room for his failure of PWE and pointing the thumb to himself...he pointed the finger at everyone including the rules and laws of our society. He then proceeded not only to assault various stars with his Phoenix faction that he started to put together but performed various acts in an attempt to get the company thrown off of television because he’s too selfish to see the bigger picture for EVERYONE else. Once again, he’s at least trying to take money off the table for everybody else and screwing with their families in a dangerous game.
But all of this is forgiven in the fickle minds of the people because he did some entertaining things with Ricky Bobby once upon a time. All because people merely want to live in that memory...ignore the truth and yet hold other people to an impossible standard in our industry. They remember his triumphs too, the NEW World Title, the successful tag team action, even the Youngblood title reign where he went through the wringer and back in his peak. But alas part of that hypocrisy again is looking through everything through those rosy goggles yet again.
When this man doesn’t deserve a joyful retirement.
Before I’m derided yet again for being grouchy and bitter, again you have to take into consideration how much of a selfish streak he truly has. It’s such a strong selfish streak that he often has to pollute others into helping him do his dirty work time and time again. He seldom acts on his own because...if you have the kind of sway he often found himself, it’s the path of least resistance. That, too, is human nature in a nutshell. But a man who doesn’t go out there at the end of the biggest show of the year to ruin a man’s triumph, a man who I hate with every fiber of my being in Matt Slater might I add, but he went out there and ruined it for him, the deluded fans that believed in the Silver Knight, and just gave a middle finger to everyone that night.
No respect for traditions that night as if those attempts to try to get everyone kicked out and ruin their financial situations wasn’t bad enough.
But do I have an ax to grind? Of course I do. I’m not absolving myself from my own faults. I know what they are. I’ve long had a bad habit of holding grudges for years...that human habit. Whether it’s someone who had more than I did, or someone who was in the way of what I wanted, I did what I needed to and I’ve carved my own path. But Bobby committed the ultimate sin to me years ago.
He broke his promise.
In the wrestling world, all you need is a handshake. That’s all I have for this match anyhow, the handshake to wrestle and be paid handsomely for my services. But because of the unsavory characters that have mixed their own greed with spending arbitrarily on other ends, the duality and contradictions of human nature, that’s why we pushed for guaranteed contracts. And Bobby should’ve guaranteed his end of the deal when he signed me years ago. Especially in a time frame when money wasn’t near as easy to come by for me…
Bobby Backdoor cheated me out of six figures of money in a time where I was still in the process of fighting some of my own demons and figuring out the facts of humanity.
Just before PWE closed and the checks started bouncing...I felt that anxiety grip my chest. No, not anxiety...a fear. Something I seldom have ever felt in my life. Not because I feared anybody in the ring...I’ve stepped in the ring with Hazard and never blinked an eye knowing what that son of a bitch was capable of. But I felt a fear of wondering how to provide for my young daughter at the time. It was one thing if it was just me...living out on my own. Sure that would be enough of a justification of a grudge in my mind…
But when my daughter asked why I couldn’t afford to send her on a school trip that she was looking forward to...that broke my heart.
When my daughter wondered if we would live in a better situation than being crammed up in that little sweatbox apartment in god damned Canada that my mentor helped me locate...that wounded me further. Because I couldn’t guarantee anything at the time because one man’s selfishness to destroy something, alter the lives of many of us, and even end a couple of careers had poisoned me far worse than any drug had. And I had finally been clean at that point.
So to say I was offended when they wanted to send Bobby Backdoor off in a positive life with a one day contract to ‘honor’ him despite how much time he’s devoted to try to destroy everyone who was ever involved in the company is an understatement! I wish I could say I’d stop at giving him a six figure beating but...no, the wound goes far deeper.
...I’ll always been haunted by Allison asking me those questions…
And Bobby Backdoor...I promise you’ll be haunted by Seth Iser when everything is said and done.
The heart of Green Bay, Wisconsin has a little more of a small town feel to it rather than anything that would resemble a place that holds one of the more historic NFL franchises. The breeze from the lake helps to cool down the heat ever so slightly from the hottest summer ever recorded for the umpteenth year in a row. And when you’re at the foot of one of the most well known lakes of the United States, why WOULDN’T you take out a boat and fish a little bit?
“Your West Virginia is showing…” Vincent teases as I place the bait on the hook.
I ignore the verbal reply and just glance on the boat that oversees our border from the states to Canada and just scowl in that general direction and end up tossing the rod into the water and just let my thoughts empty slightly. The breeze coming from the north beats down over my black t-shirt, jeans, and sways my messy hair and beard in every direction. Vincent takes a seat on the driver’s side with a pouting face as he straightens his tie.
“You’re no fun right now…” Vincent scowls before his black eyes light up like a cats, “But I think if you get any more West Virginian you’d start hunting bears with a musket in the mountains and then start hating Bobby Backdoor for his sexuality like most of the people in your state.”
“I don’t need an arbitrary reason to hate that man…” I feel my face contorting into a scowl, completely annoyed, “It’s 2019, there are many more concrete reasons to hate a human being and I have over a hundred thousand reasons to roast him over an open flame…”
A pause as I think on something else in the household.
“Besides...if I were, I wouldn’t be fit to be Allison’s parent and my girlfriend would kill me.” I offer with a shrug.
“Oh so she’d kill you huh…” Vincent offers with a smirk.
“She’d kill you too and give you an unmarked grave…you know this already.” I answer deadpan.
Vincent recluses back slightly thinking about how true that statement is. Before he can properly retort, both of our attention is pulled to the pull on the fishing rod and I feel it in my hands. It’s a struggle...and I hide the faintest of smiles knowing it didn’t take long. In anticipation I give the fishing rod a mighty pull and start to reel it in and I can feel the little jitters you’d get trying to conquer wildlife coming in. Even Vincent peers over in my direction interested and I feel his curious stare. Another huge tug when I feel reeling it in isn’t doing much before reeling it further and then pulling up onto the little white rental boat is far from what I expect.
“What the hell!?” I growl.
I can hear Vincent bust out into laughter as apparently a fish had managed to do something unthinkable, put my hook into a damned bottle and instead of hooking a fish, I hook someone’s thoughtless waste. As much as I want to let out a profane yell the only thing I can manage is a shake of the head in utter disappointment and a tilt of the jaw just wondering how long that adventure was for that particular bottle.
“Maybe they wanted to send a love letter to somebody in Canada and it got lost,” Vincent howls out while slapping his knee, clearly amused.
“You’re making it awfully tempting for me to break this bottle over your damned head…” I make eye contact to try to dissuade him.
“Oh help! Please help! Maybe you can give me health insurance!” Vincent continues his brand of a joke to which I just roll my eyes.
“You’re an idiot…” I grumble before letting out a sigh, “Though I think the damned bottle was probably a sign to not fish today.”
“No shit!” Vincent squeaks, his voice getting a little higher in tone, “I don’t know how anybody does it.”
“You can’t imagine sitting still unless it’s in front of a poker table with cards and a glass of jack…” I roll my eyes before gesturing him to go to the land, “Back to Green Bay.”
The trip back toward the boat house where we rented this felt the usual turbulence you find when you’re on a boat bumping over the water. The usual instability that comes with that and how shaky everything does feel. It could partially be that Vincent Moretti is a horrendous driver but in it’s own way as I just sit on the passenger seat twirling the bottle I fished up in my hand, I can’t help but wonder if there was some sort of symbolism there, especially with a different co owner, a different kind of conniving plot to try to maximize their own power, a different kind of personal feud...and no television...yet. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The more people think they are benefiting themselves and then perhaps don’t even want the full responsibility of it all in the end. The contradictions of human minds...everywhere.
And I wonder if the former head of the Mafia has a plan or not. Even if he was hospitalized the way he was the show I came through the ring, I know him too damned well at this point. He’s probably calculated something else everyone else hasn’t seen yet and is just waiting to play that trump card. He’s been devious enough like that in the past.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all…” I mutter to myself.
“Hm?” Vincent peers toward me.
“It’s...nothing.” I lie through my teeth.
“It’s never nothing…” Vincent muses half teasing, but having the full read on me.
“Fine.” I dismissively answer, “It’s unimportant...for now. There are other worries for us.”
“If you say so…” he then replies with a frown as we are near our land.
Last several seconds going through the lake end in silence as I continue to go through my thoughts and the turbulence throughout, a constant in NEW history and wrestling history as a whole quite frankly. The two of us end up landing as we should as I start to walk absentmindedly through the checkout to let Moretti handle that portion. It might be paranoia coming in the more I think on that but something else worse could be coming and I might have to think about where to stake my flag and when.
On autopilot thinking of those thoughts stepping on Bay Beach as the sun is beating down on various goers looking for their elusive tan. A couple of families are enjoying the day splashing in the water on the other side of the beach. With my arms crossed, the bottle underneath my arm, I just observe some of the moments of tranquility despite not being dressed to fit in with most of the beach crowd.
“Hey.” Vincent’s voice calls back out snapping me back out of it, “You forgot the fishing pole.”
“Oh…” I blink before tilting my head to the side in agitation for letting my thoughts get the best of me, “Well shit.”
Vincent thankfully hasn’t forgotten the fishing pole though he does look fairly ridiculous carrying it in one hand and using a cane on the other to support his weight dealing with the fact that he has a bad wheel. An incident with him as manager as an aftermath in one of my matches put him in that spot and well...the person who crossed the line was dealt with in the worst way even if that scar hasn’t exactly healed for him yet. Vincent then scowls across at a pair who have unflattering looking physiques to be going shirtless. Every time that pair takes a step their entire body seemingly jiggles. To the sights I’ve seen it doesn’t register but to Moretti? He’s repulsed and sees this as a grotesque sight.
“Shouldn’t they also be arrested like Bobby Backdoor was for indecent exposure?” Vincent quips.
“...Fuck you California.” I instinctively reply, remembering that airing on television. I’ll forget things in the market and that’ll frustrate my girlfriend but that moment? It’s burned in my memory.
Not to mention on that same show a specific demon and her associate blurts out my birth name before we have a fight in Japan...so not my favorite show I’ve ever been a part of for NEW.
“Oh yeah...it was California who did it…” Vincent blinks, “This is why I’m a Vegas native. Those damn hippies can’t make weird rulings like that anyway.”
“...I don’t even want to think about his mental fight club or the admission of that he was on PCP…” I mutter in disgust before I just shutter in place, "Our legal system is fucked..."
“PCP?” we both hear a third voice pipe up.
“Shit…” I mutter not wanting the attention.
The two of us turn around to the source of that voice and it isn’t either of the obese men that were following but rather a different man, very unkempt. The beard is a shaggy mess with some sand chunks stuck in there mixing with his black and grey. His hair is best described as looking like a stereotypical hobo as he peers at us with those glazed blue eyes and the way he’s staggering around and how thin he does appear...he doesn’t appear to have all of his mental capabilities on my estimation. As much as that could’ve been Bobby under the influence running a mental club...it’s also a good representation of who I was when I was knee deep in my drugs and alcohol problem when all I wanted was to get high.
...The damned contradictions of the human mind. Even I’m not immune to that…
“Did I just hear some’n bout PCP?” the drugged up man slurs.
“You know it’s not nice to eavesdrop on private conversations you’re not involved in right?” Vincent chastises the man before escalating, “Why would you even ASK that question to begin with?”
“Well I wasn’t gonna ask for PCP…” the man specifically denies.
“Sure you weren’t…” I reply dryly with a roll of the eyes, “Next you’re going to tell me you’re sober.”
This warrants an actual chuckle from the man but it isn’t from a pure perspective at all. It’s kind of malevolent in nature and I just palm the bottle a little tighter.
“But you two with the beard an’ the tattoos look like you know how to make some really good meth...and that’s the good shit…” he bluntly states, “So gimme some.”
“Heh.“ Vincent chuckles, “You’re insane!”
The malevolent read turns out to be correct as he suddenly turns hostile, almost as if there’s a strong desire to really get that drug in his system again. Vincent’s coy smirk doesn’t vanish but I feel my own heartbeat pulse in my ears. I’ve seen where this is going far too many times in my life.
“I know ya got that good shit...and if you don’t, I’ll force it out of you…” the man then turns
Vincent starts laughing at the ridiculous direction of this irrational conversation from this irrational man but my eye twitches at that. I’ve been pulled over enough times by the police when traveling just based on the beard and long hair because they have a certain stigma of what a ‘meth dealer’ could look like. Yet alone my own past with drugs...but rather than just beat this man to a pulp on the spot, I don’t want to end up in a court system so close to an important fight, another idea comes through. An intimidation tactic mixed with some time spent being a bouncer when I was younger. I end up swinging the bottle as hard as I can over the hard surface of my shoe and despite wincing and some of the glass shards getting stuck in my jeans, I succeed in breaking it in half and the man jumps backwards.
“You make one more accusation like that again...and you won’t speak again…” I darkly reply, my voice dripping with menace, “So if you value your life...you’ll run right now."
The man looks at the half of the bottle and there’s that moment of hesitation as he’s trying to evaluate everything before he just turns completely white. It registers. I just tighten the grip on the bottle handle to indicate I am not bluffing. He then decides that discretion is the better part of valor and he starts to flee the scene and run for his life and then I just let out a sigh discarding the other half of the bottle before looking down at my tattered jeans and one of the parts did lacerate through and I’m certainly bleeding but I don’t feel it. My anger has gotten the best of me.
“Dude, you’re bleeding.” Vincent informs me if I didn’t already know.
“Stupid bastard doesn’t really know what he wants…” I mutter coldly, “None of them ever fucking do…”
I start marching off toward the path where the parked cars are, sick of dealing with people in general muttering to myself about how nobody has ever learned from my mistakes on the drugs. They never know what they want. Some of them want to remove the pain, some of them want that high to do something else and then take that drug...and then it popetulates one stupid decision into another unitl you spiral out of control.
And then you reach bottom like I did.
Fortunately for Bobby, and I hate giving him credit for anything, he was smart enough to hop off of that bandwagon, both the actual physical drugs and the drug of religion even though so many people have bought into his version of a hallucinogenic. People really want to believe this heroic tale and it infuriates me as much as seeing these entitled drug addicts staggering around who do nothing but throw their damned lives away and take it out on the rest of us.
And I’m beyond sick of people propping up false heroes.
It’s part of they don’t really know what they want at the end of the day. But unlike everyone else in this situation, it’s crystal clear what I want in this. It’s been something I’ve wanted for years. Hell, the thoughts have polluted some of my actual decision making in terms of my career for a couple of years because I was a little TOO crazy on revenge but...I know one thing for sure.
I want Bobby Backdoor a broken man for all of his sins to professional wrestling and life itself.
In a couple of years, I guarantee the people of the industry, the ones who write the history books, they’ll thank me for this endeavor. They will thank me for wiping out the memory of trying to celebrate someone who lied, cheated, and stole actual money from so many wrestlers while simultaneously trying to drive all of us out of work in one form or another. And the arrest and circumstances that put him in the company to begin with puts a giant asterisk to his accomplishments and while it’s a shame that his talent is wasted.
...The bastard deserves every moment of this ridicule for making a joke of all of our lives one too many times.
I honestly can’t wait to see you drag yourself down holding your hurt shoulder and trying to give the people who propped you up the false hope until it’s broken and dashed in front of them all...
There won’t be a court system that will save your ass and give you that slap on the wrist when many of them should’ve thrown the book at you for your previous crimes years ago.
There won’t be Phoenix busting through to save your sorry ass either.
I also guarantee there won't be some miracle cure to rid yourself of any and all ring rust to get you in peak fighting condition against someone of MY caliabar...which makes your slaughter at my expense all the better.
It’ll just be you left a broken, battered mess...proven inferior to one of the best wrestlers this company and the world has ever seen. Because you truly didn't know what you wanted and I do at the end of the day.
You finally found your God. Now kneel to the Deity of Destruction.
You can show me how something can be motivated by a genuine desire to do something better but a version of mission creep can corrupt the best of them, tainting their overall impact and creating many lasting consequences. Hell, even some bad actions could have a couple of good consequences. But it goes beyond decisions even, it could be things that we claim we want and then suddenly...we reject those things. Human beings are built by contradictions at the core. It’s part of what makes us all have this wide, varied color palate rather than the black and white pages everyone seems to believe in.
The black and white morality and belief that someone is the good guy no matter what and somebody else is the bad guy and that’s that also falls in line with this never ending paradox that we’re nothing but a line of contradictions. We want to accept that certain people in our lives have this color palette but when we buy the ticket and become a fan for a sporting event or a wrestling event...this line of thinking goes away and we get lost in the moment. We just want to believe deep down in the propaganda someone tells us about how there’s certain glory, prestige, and how certain people are just honorable beings while doing their best to sweep aside every little flaw they have.
Even my opponent has had his own experience at this being one point a servant of ‘God’ yet partaking in a homosexual pornographic career. The latter is far more tolerable than the former for the record, but he’s not immune to this. If anything, he’s an important case study as to why this is the case and based on the reception of how the fans reacted to his ‘retirement’ which I’m not even sure he truly wanted deep down. He hesitated slightly when he got drunk off that feeling. Mission creep stepped in. And being a human being filled with contradictions...I stepped in and whether he knew it or not, I probably did him a favor even if it cost him some precious feeling in that left arm of his.
And the damned fans that cheered him absolved him of all his sins...as if they didn’t even exist, further perpetuating this problem we all have as humans.
I’m sure when he wanted to open PWE, he wanted to do right for some fans and whatever investors he had as well. Being older brings that perspective along, but as with most human beings, mission creep came in and it became a bit of an attempt to take down companies like NEW. Don’t think I don’t remember that, I was signed to a specific contract that was meant to pay me a certain amount. And the heart of the biggest grievance that might seem petty on the surface but...it’s far from that. And before I go into bigger detail later about my own grievance, let’s just say a lot of people are owed a lot of money that they haven’t seen and won’t ever see because he let mission creep get the best of him.
You fast forward a little while later and you end up seeing this man walk into the company, not by choice mind you, but because an arbitrary court system decided to make him work for the company to pay off his debt to society because instead of blaming the logical person in the room for his failure of PWE and pointing the thumb to himself...he pointed the finger at everyone including the rules and laws of our society. He then proceeded not only to assault various stars with his Phoenix faction that he started to put together but performed various acts in an attempt to get the company thrown off of television because he’s too selfish to see the bigger picture for EVERYONE else. Once again, he’s at least trying to take money off the table for everybody else and screwing with their families in a dangerous game.
But all of this is forgiven in the fickle minds of the people because he did some entertaining things with Ricky Bobby once upon a time. All because people merely want to live in that memory...ignore the truth and yet hold other people to an impossible standard in our industry. They remember his triumphs too, the NEW World Title, the successful tag team action, even the Youngblood title reign where he went through the wringer and back in his peak. But alas part of that hypocrisy again is looking through everything through those rosy goggles yet again.
When this man doesn’t deserve a joyful retirement.
Before I’m derided yet again for being grouchy and bitter, again you have to take into consideration how much of a selfish streak he truly has. It’s such a strong selfish streak that he often has to pollute others into helping him do his dirty work time and time again. He seldom acts on his own because...if you have the kind of sway he often found himself, it’s the path of least resistance. That, too, is human nature in a nutshell. But a man who doesn’t go out there at the end of the biggest show of the year to ruin a man’s triumph, a man who I hate with every fiber of my being in Matt Slater might I add, but he went out there and ruined it for him, the deluded fans that believed in the Silver Knight, and just gave a middle finger to everyone that night.
No respect for traditions that night as if those attempts to try to get everyone kicked out and ruin their financial situations wasn’t bad enough.
But do I have an ax to grind? Of course I do. I’m not absolving myself from my own faults. I know what they are. I’ve long had a bad habit of holding grudges for years...that human habit. Whether it’s someone who had more than I did, or someone who was in the way of what I wanted, I did what I needed to and I’ve carved my own path. But Bobby committed the ultimate sin to me years ago.
He broke his promise.
In the wrestling world, all you need is a handshake. That’s all I have for this match anyhow, the handshake to wrestle and be paid handsomely for my services. But because of the unsavory characters that have mixed their own greed with spending arbitrarily on other ends, the duality and contradictions of human nature, that’s why we pushed for guaranteed contracts. And Bobby should’ve guaranteed his end of the deal when he signed me years ago. Especially in a time frame when money wasn’t near as easy to come by for me…
Bobby Backdoor cheated me out of six figures of money in a time where I was still in the process of fighting some of my own demons and figuring out the facts of humanity.
Just before PWE closed and the checks started bouncing...I felt that anxiety grip my chest. No, not anxiety...a fear. Something I seldom have ever felt in my life. Not because I feared anybody in the ring...I’ve stepped in the ring with Hazard and never blinked an eye knowing what that son of a bitch was capable of. But I felt a fear of wondering how to provide for my young daughter at the time. It was one thing if it was just me...living out on my own. Sure that would be enough of a justification of a grudge in my mind…
But when my daughter asked why I couldn’t afford to send her on a school trip that she was looking forward to...that broke my heart.
When my daughter wondered if we would live in a better situation than being crammed up in that little sweatbox apartment in god damned Canada that my mentor helped me locate...that wounded me further. Because I couldn’t guarantee anything at the time because one man’s selfishness to destroy something, alter the lives of many of us, and even end a couple of careers had poisoned me far worse than any drug had. And I had finally been clean at that point.
So to say I was offended when they wanted to send Bobby Backdoor off in a positive life with a one day contract to ‘honor’ him despite how much time he’s devoted to try to destroy everyone who was ever involved in the company is an understatement! I wish I could say I’d stop at giving him a six figure beating but...no, the wound goes far deeper.
...I’ll always been haunted by Allison asking me those questions…
And Bobby Backdoor...I promise you’ll be haunted by Seth Iser when everything is said and done.
The heart of Green Bay, Wisconsin has a little more of a small town feel to it rather than anything that would resemble a place that holds one of the more historic NFL franchises. The breeze from the lake helps to cool down the heat ever so slightly from the hottest summer ever recorded for the umpteenth year in a row. And when you’re at the foot of one of the most well known lakes of the United States, why WOULDN’T you take out a boat and fish a little bit?
“Your West Virginia is showing…” Vincent teases as I place the bait on the hook.
I ignore the verbal reply and just glance on the boat that oversees our border from the states to Canada and just scowl in that general direction and end up tossing the rod into the water and just let my thoughts empty slightly. The breeze coming from the north beats down over my black t-shirt, jeans, and sways my messy hair and beard in every direction. Vincent takes a seat on the driver’s side with a pouting face as he straightens his tie.
“You’re no fun right now…” Vincent scowls before his black eyes light up like a cats, “But I think if you get any more West Virginian you’d start hunting bears with a musket in the mountains and then start hating Bobby Backdoor for his sexuality like most of the people in your state.”
“I don’t need an arbitrary reason to hate that man…” I feel my face contorting into a scowl, completely annoyed, “It’s 2019, there are many more concrete reasons to hate a human being and I have over a hundred thousand reasons to roast him over an open flame…”
A pause as I think on something else in the household.
“Besides...if I were, I wouldn’t be fit to be Allison’s parent and my girlfriend would kill me.” I offer with a shrug.
“Oh so she’d kill you huh…” Vincent offers with a smirk.
“She’d kill you too and give you an unmarked grave…you know this already.” I answer deadpan.
Vincent recluses back slightly thinking about how true that statement is. Before he can properly retort, both of our attention is pulled to the pull on the fishing rod and I feel it in my hands. It’s a struggle...and I hide the faintest of smiles knowing it didn’t take long. In anticipation I give the fishing rod a mighty pull and start to reel it in and I can feel the little jitters you’d get trying to conquer wildlife coming in. Even Vincent peers over in my direction interested and I feel his curious stare. Another huge tug when I feel reeling it in isn’t doing much before reeling it further and then pulling up onto the little white rental boat is far from what I expect.
“What the hell!?” I growl.
I can hear Vincent bust out into laughter as apparently a fish had managed to do something unthinkable, put my hook into a damned bottle and instead of hooking a fish, I hook someone’s thoughtless waste. As much as I want to let out a profane yell the only thing I can manage is a shake of the head in utter disappointment and a tilt of the jaw just wondering how long that adventure was for that particular bottle.
“Maybe they wanted to send a love letter to somebody in Canada and it got lost,” Vincent howls out while slapping his knee, clearly amused.
“You’re making it awfully tempting for me to break this bottle over your damned head…” I make eye contact to try to dissuade him.
“Oh help! Please help! Maybe you can give me health insurance!” Vincent continues his brand of a joke to which I just roll my eyes.
“You’re an idiot…” I grumble before letting out a sigh, “Though I think the damned bottle was probably a sign to not fish today.”
“No shit!” Vincent squeaks, his voice getting a little higher in tone, “I don’t know how anybody does it.”
“You can’t imagine sitting still unless it’s in front of a poker table with cards and a glass of jack…” I roll my eyes before gesturing him to go to the land, “Back to Green Bay.”
The trip back toward the boat house where we rented this felt the usual turbulence you find when you’re on a boat bumping over the water. The usual instability that comes with that and how shaky everything does feel. It could partially be that Vincent Moretti is a horrendous driver but in it’s own way as I just sit on the passenger seat twirling the bottle I fished up in my hand, I can’t help but wonder if there was some sort of symbolism there, especially with a different co owner, a different kind of conniving plot to try to maximize their own power, a different kind of personal feud...and no television...yet. The more things change, the more they stay the same. The more people think they are benefiting themselves and then perhaps don’t even want the full responsibility of it all in the end. The contradictions of human minds...everywhere.
And I wonder if the former head of the Mafia has a plan or not. Even if he was hospitalized the way he was the show I came through the ring, I know him too damned well at this point. He’s probably calculated something else everyone else hasn’t seen yet and is just waiting to play that trump card. He’s been devious enough like that in the past.
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all…” I mutter to myself.
“Hm?” Vincent peers toward me.
“It’s...nothing.” I lie through my teeth.
“It’s never nothing…” Vincent muses half teasing, but having the full read on me.
“Fine.” I dismissively answer, “It’s unimportant...for now. There are other worries for us.”
“If you say so…” he then replies with a frown as we are near our land.
Last several seconds going through the lake end in silence as I continue to go through my thoughts and the turbulence throughout, a constant in NEW history and wrestling history as a whole quite frankly. The two of us end up landing as we should as I start to walk absentmindedly through the checkout to let Moretti handle that portion. It might be paranoia coming in the more I think on that but something else worse could be coming and I might have to think about where to stake my flag and when.
On autopilot thinking of those thoughts stepping on Bay Beach as the sun is beating down on various goers looking for their elusive tan. A couple of families are enjoying the day splashing in the water on the other side of the beach. With my arms crossed, the bottle underneath my arm, I just observe some of the moments of tranquility despite not being dressed to fit in with most of the beach crowd.
“Hey.” Vincent’s voice calls back out snapping me back out of it, “You forgot the fishing pole.”
“Oh…” I blink before tilting my head to the side in agitation for letting my thoughts get the best of me, “Well shit.”
Vincent thankfully hasn’t forgotten the fishing pole though he does look fairly ridiculous carrying it in one hand and using a cane on the other to support his weight dealing with the fact that he has a bad wheel. An incident with him as manager as an aftermath in one of my matches put him in that spot and well...the person who crossed the line was dealt with in the worst way even if that scar hasn’t exactly healed for him yet. Vincent then scowls across at a pair who have unflattering looking physiques to be going shirtless. Every time that pair takes a step their entire body seemingly jiggles. To the sights I’ve seen it doesn’t register but to Moretti? He’s repulsed and sees this as a grotesque sight.
“Shouldn’t they also be arrested like Bobby Backdoor was for indecent exposure?” Vincent quips.
“...Fuck you California.” I instinctively reply, remembering that airing on television. I’ll forget things in the market and that’ll frustrate my girlfriend but that moment? It’s burned in my memory.
Not to mention on that same show a specific demon and her associate blurts out my birth name before we have a fight in Japan...so not my favorite show I’ve ever been a part of for NEW.
“Oh yeah...it was California who did it…” Vincent blinks, “This is why I’m a Vegas native. Those damn hippies can’t make weird rulings like that anyway.”
“...I don’t even want to think about his mental fight club or the admission of that he was on PCP…” I mutter in disgust before I just shutter in place, "Our legal system is fucked..."
“PCP?” we both hear a third voice pipe up.
“Shit…” I mutter not wanting the attention.
The two of us turn around to the source of that voice and it isn’t either of the obese men that were following but rather a different man, very unkempt. The beard is a shaggy mess with some sand chunks stuck in there mixing with his black and grey. His hair is best described as looking like a stereotypical hobo as he peers at us with those glazed blue eyes and the way he’s staggering around and how thin he does appear...he doesn’t appear to have all of his mental capabilities on my estimation. As much as that could’ve been Bobby under the influence running a mental club...it’s also a good representation of who I was when I was knee deep in my drugs and alcohol problem when all I wanted was to get high.
...The damned contradictions of the human mind. Even I’m not immune to that…
“Did I just hear some’n bout PCP?” the drugged up man slurs.
“You know it’s not nice to eavesdrop on private conversations you’re not involved in right?” Vincent chastises the man before escalating, “Why would you even ASK that question to begin with?”
“Well I wasn’t gonna ask for PCP…” the man specifically denies.
“Sure you weren’t…” I reply dryly with a roll of the eyes, “Next you’re going to tell me you’re sober.”
This warrants an actual chuckle from the man but it isn’t from a pure perspective at all. It’s kind of malevolent in nature and I just palm the bottle a little tighter.
“But you two with the beard an’ the tattoos look like you know how to make some really good meth...and that’s the good shit…” he bluntly states, “So gimme some.”
“Heh.“ Vincent chuckles, “You’re insane!”
The malevolent read turns out to be correct as he suddenly turns hostile, almost as if there’s a strong desire to really get that drug in his system again. Vincent’s coy smirk doesn’t vanish but I feel my own heartbeat pulse in my ears. I’ve seen where this is going far too many times in my life.
“I know ya got that good shit...and if you don’t, I’ll force it out of you…” the man then turns
Vincent starts laughing at the ridiculous direction of this irrational conversation from this irrational man but my eye twitches at that. I’ve been pulled over enough times by the police when traveling just based on the beard and long hair because they have a certain stigma of what a ‘meth dealer’ could look like. Yet alone my own past with drugs...but rather than just beat this man to a pulp on the spot, I don’t want to end up in a court system so close to an important fight, another idea comes through. An intimidation tactic mixed with some time spent being a bouncer when I was younger. I end up swinging the bottle as hard as I can over the hard surface of my shoe and despite wincing and some of the glass shards getting stuck in my jeans, I succeed in breaking it in half and the man jumps backwards.
“You make one more accusation like that again...and you won’t speak again…” I darkly reply, my voice dripping with menace, “So if you value your life...you’ll run right now."
The man looks at the half of the bottle and there’s that moment of hesitation as he’s trying to evaluate everything before he just turns completely white. It registers. I just tighten the grip on the bottle handle to indicate I am not bluffing. He then decides that discretion is the better part of valor and he starts to flee the scene and run for his life and then I just let out a sigh discarding the other half of the bottle before looking down at my tattered jeans and one of the parts did lacerate through and I’m certainly bleeding but I don’t feel it. My anger has gotten the best of me.
“Dude, you’re bleeding.” Vincent informs me if I didn’t already know.
“Stupid bastard doesn’t really know what he wants…” I mutter coldly, “None of them ever fucking do…”
I start marching off toward the path where the parked cars are, sick of dealing with people in general muttering to myself about how nobody has ever learned from my mistakes on the drugs. They never know what they want. Some of them want to remove the pain, some of them want that high to do something else and then take that drug...and then it popetulates one stupid decision into another unitl you spiral out of control.
And then you reach bottom like I did.
Fortunately for Bobby, and I hate giving him credit for anything, he was smart enough to hop off of that bandwagon, both the actual physical drugs and the drug of religion even though so many people have bought into his version of a hallucinogenic. People really want to believe this heroic tale and it infuriates me as much as seeing these entitled drug addicts staggering around who do nothing but throw their damned lives away and take it out on the rest of us.
And I’m beyond sick of people propping up false heroes.
It’s part of they don’t really know what they want at the end of the day. But unlike everyone else in this situation, it’s crystal clear what I want in this. It’s been something I’ve wanted for years. Hell, the thoughts have polluted some of my actual decision making in terms of my career for a couple of years because I was a little TOO crazy on revenge but...I know one thing for sure.
I want Bobby Backdoor a broken man for all of his sins to professional wrestling and life itself.
In a couple of years, I guarantee the people of the industry, the ones who write the history books, they’ll thank me for this endeavor. They will thank me for wiping out the memory of trying to celebrate someone who lied, cheated, and stole actual money from so many wrestlers while simultaneously trying to drive all of us out of work in one form or another. And the arrest and circumstances that put him in the company to begin with puts a giant asterisk to his accomplishments and while it’s a shame that his talent is wasted.
...The bastard deserves every moment of this ridicule for making a joke of all of our lives one too many times.
I honestly can’t wait to see you drag yourself down holding your hurt shoulder and trying to give the people who propped you up the false hope until it’s broken and dashed in front of them all...
There won’t be a court system that will save your ass and give you that slap on the wrist when many of them should’ve thrown the book at you for your previous crimes years ago.
There won’t be Phoenix busting through to save your sorry ass either.
I also guarantee there won't be some miracle cure to rid yourself of any and all ring rust to get you in peak fighting condition against someone of MY caliabar...which makes your slaughter at my expense all the better.
It’ll just be you left a broken, battered mess...proven inferior to one of the best wrestlers this company and the world has ever seen. Because you truly didn't know what you wanted and I do at the end of the day.
You finally found your God. Now kneel to the Deity of Destruction.