Post by Roger Wright on Mar 22, 2013 16:59:32 GMT -6
WHAT MAKES TJE MAN?
Time and time again, the age old question of what makes a man great, a man strong, a man loved, and a man hated is asked. Not always by those around the man, but by the man himself. This man will ask himself at times why people think of him the way they do, why their opinions have changed, and why you has gone the path he chose. Sometimes that man might not even know why he chose the path he now walks, and like many lost souls he looks for a way out, a way to be the man he was, the man he wants to be. This is the story of a journey of such a man, a man lost on his path.
March 20th, 2013
Nearly two years passed since his last title reign, since his last moment of relevance, and Roger Wright had hit rock bottom. His group he had hired to fix his life, to make the fans like him had bailed, no amount of money bringing them back, not that Roger had any money left to pay them with. When a man takes a fall like Roger, he has everything at the beginning, and at the end is left with nothing, not even his own dignity.
Just three weeks ago, Roger had gone toe to toe with Seth Iser, and in his mind won the match, but Iser got the last laugh as a planted plastic toy gun landed Roger Wright in an Air Force Base jail cell. Having been returned to the United States, the charges were dropped, but the damage had been done. No it wasn’t just the arrest, or the bad publicity, it was the realization that his life had fallen hard into the crapper. One time friend and enemy Al Envy made it clear to Roger, he was no longer the man that people feared, but a man they laughed at.
Lost in his way, nowhere to turn, his closest friend having long since given up on the cause that was Roger Wright, Roger found himself at the last place anyone would have expected. Standing outside of a Psychiatrists office, the building reaching so high it literally scraped the sky, Roger was down to his last chance, his final moment to become the man he was, to find his way. This wasn’t a joke, a filmed skit for people to laugh at when it was played on the internet, this was reality, the last desperate move of a man with nothing else to lose.
Lowering his head in shame, Roger pulled the hood of his sweater of his hair to cut the cool breeze that was coming off the bay. Born in Texas and a permanent resident of the state, Roger had chosen one of the most respected psychiatrists in the country, one that worked out of the Galveston and Corpus Cristi area. Tucking his hands into the pocket, head down, Roger moved through the spinning doors of the entrance to the building and stopped at the kiosk. Barely lifting his head he located the office of Dr. Jandowski, and proceeded to the elevator.
Located on floor 54, the ride would be long, and from the beginning it was clear it wouldn’t be fun. On the first floor, 19 other people got on the elevator, Roger standing at the back, head down and drawing looks of worry from many of the other riders. In his get up he looked the part of a man out of place. The women wore nice dresses, cardigan sweaters, and the men in suits, and here at the back of the elevator stood Roger, torn pull over black hoodie, torn jeans, hands in his pockets, and his head to the floor, everything that would make anyone on an elevator nervous.
But as the elevator made stop after stop, people getting on and people getting off, there were no incidents, no issues, just the constant murmuring about work, about people hating their jobs, hating their co-workers. In many ways it was no different than in the locker rooms of NEW, wrestlers ran their mouths about others, and in a way it told Roger that it wasn’t just NEW that had the problems, but all jobs. And as he rode upward towards his destination, Roger found himself imagining the wrestlers of the NEW, especially Jake Youngblood, the man Jesse had pegged Roger to wrestle this week.
What would Jake say in the Elevator, would he talk about how he could destroy Roger Wright, the man lost and confused about who he was? Would he simply tell the world how great he was, and how Roger was no longer a man to worry about in this industry? All the questions ran through his head, no answers came, just more questions, more wonder and more worry, and then came a ding from the elevator that seemed louder than everyone before it. Looking up Roger found himself alone on the elevator, his destination reached.
Pushing the question out of his mind, Roger stepped off the elevator to find himself in an empty bland hallway. There were no pictures on the walls, just a tope colored tunnel with doors brown doors lining it. Across from him a sign hung upon the wall, directing offices 100-122 were to the left, and 123 – 145 were to the right. Lowering his head, Roger began to walk to the left, the doors of his chariot to the floor closing behind him, it’s next destination unknown to anyone but itself.
Reaching the door labled 22, the name Dr, Jankowski was printed in gold on a frosted window in the door. Taking one last deep breath, Roger reached down and turned the knob, entering into a small office area, another door at the back wall. Behind the desk a young woman with hair pulled up into two pony tails and colored red and blue down the middle smiled at him. “Can I help you?” She asked as her eyes returned to the computer screen before her.
“Roger Wright here for my one o’clock.” For a moment the woman balked, as if she knew his name, and Roger waited for the response, but none came. Instead she reached into a drawer, her eyes never leaving the computer screen. Seconds later her hand emerged, clipboard in it, and paper attatched to the board.
“Fill this out and have a seat, Dr. Jankowski will be with you in a moment.” The words came out rather matter of factly, as if she had said them many times before, and would say them even more times than she already had. Either way Roger acquiesced to the request and took a seat filling out the information.
Minutes later, Roger stood and brought the clipboard back, paperwork filled out, and his hands trembling a bit. For the first time in a long time he was scared, scared like he was the first time he climbed into terrordome, like the first time he stepped into the ring to defend his NEW World title after terrordome. He was scared like he used to be when that bell went off, like when he stood behind the curtain and waited for his music to hit. For the first time he felt normal, that fear giving him a strange happiness.
“You may go back now.” The woman said as she took the paperwork and slipped it back into the drawer, her eyes locked on the computer screen. As Roger walked towards the door, he glanced over his shoulder and peaked at the images on the woman’s screen, the article she read entitled, ROGER WRIGHT! FALL FROM GLORY! Shaking his head he turned the handle on the door and pushed it open, his mind and thoughts falling on the thoughts of that woman, and her no doubt inner laughter at the man he had become.
“Ahh, Roger. Have a seat won’t you?” Dr. Jankowski stood up from behind her desk and pointed towards the couch under the window of the office. “Sorry about the wait, but when you first arrive for the first appointment, you have to fill out some paperwork. I trust it wasn’t too intrusive?” She asked the question with a wry smile on her face as she grabbed a pad of paper off the table next to an oversize chair and took a seat.
Still standing Roger scanned the room and woman. Everything about the room was inviting, warm, and comforting. Even the woman seemed homely. Her hair pulled up in a nice little bun, her flowery summer like dress bright and welcoming, rather un-assuming. Yet Roger felt lost, out of place. Everything about this room seemed normal, seemed plain, it seemed all wrong. And for the a long moment, Roger balked, then finally said what the hell and sat down on the couch, it’s soft cushion pulling him in and relaxation taking him over.
“Tell me Roger why are you here?” Dr. Jankowski crossed her legs and clicked her pen as she flipped open the pad of paper in her hand. Everything about it seemed cliché to Roger, and yet it all seemed so welcoming, refreshing.
“I…” Roger paused as he tried to find the right words. “I…” And again the letter was the only thing he could get out, his mind was blank, he couldn’t get out what he wanted to say, couldn’t put words to what he wanted.
“Just speak Roger, what you say will stay here, it won’t leave this room. I am here to help, not to judge.” Her soft honeyed voice gave Roger a calm, a feeling he had not felt in a long time.
“I am not the same man I once was.” Roger sighed as he said the words, as he admitted the failure that he had become. “There was a time when people feared me, when I thrived on their fear, and people loved me for it. Now those people who loved me hate me, and the people who feared me simply mock me, they laugh when I am not around, and laugh harder when I am.” A chill ran over the entirety of Roger’s body as his own words sank in.
“You want things to be like they were?” The Dr. asked, her eyes fixing on Roger’s. In that moment he felt compelled to remove the hood of his sweater, to let his hair fall out from it. Her eyes penetrated him, as if she was looking into his vary soul and seeing him for all of his faults, all of his failures.
“Yes…no, I don’t know what I want. All I know is, I don’t want what I have now, don’t want to be thought of as I am now.” Sadness filled Roger’s words as he spoke, and a tear welled in his left eye. “It was never about the fame, never about the money, it was about the passion I had for wrestling. Now it’s all gone, the money, the passion, the only thing that remains is the fame, and even that is infamy.” The tear broke from its hold and rolled down the cheek of Roger.
“Do you know what made you great?” The tone of the Dr. changed. She seemed to not be asking a question so much, as telling Roger that she in fact knew the answer.
Pulling his lower lip under the upper lip, Roger looked to the floor as another tear followed by another fell from his left eye. His right eye was already beginning to well with water. “I had passion?” He finally asked.
“You were normal, a man that didn’t as you said, want the money, want the fame, but just wanted to wrestle. There was a time when you came to that ring, and everyone in the crowd could see themselves in you. You weren’t some mythic being, some guy that threw money around or ran his mouth about his greatness. You were the man they wanted to be, the man that came from humble beginnings, fought for what he wanted, and in the end became the best in the business.” As the woman spoke, Roger looked up at her and found she had moved forward, her elbows on her knees, her eyes staring hard at him.
“But I am not normal.” Roger finally uttered, the tears falling from both of his eyes.
“Are you not?” She asked, leaning back. “Have you not fallen from grace, been bitten by the snake that is fame? Your life is nothing more than that of a normal person. Every person spends their time searching for who they are, who they want to be, and here you are, doing just that. You are nothing more than a normal person who has lost his direction, lost his drive.” Standing up, the woman came across the room and sat down next to Roger. “Tell me, do you want to lose?”
“What?” Roger asked his head turning to look at the woman.
“Who do you wrestle this week?” She asked.
“Jake Youngblood.” Roger responded.
“Tell me then, do you want to lose to this Jake Youngblood? Do you want to be the man who is on his back, shoulders to the mat, while the other man has his hand raised in victory, his music being played the background? Is that what you want?” As the woman spoke, Roger bit his lip, the image of Jake Youngblood beating him stirring an anger inside of his stomach. Pulling in a deep breath, Roger used the back of his right hand to wash away the tears under his eyes.
“No!” He finally said, his eyes focusing on the woman. “The last thing I want is to the be the man on the mat, the man having to look up at his opponent, their hand being raised in victory.” Roger snared a little as he further pictured the image in his head.
“Then don’t be that man, beat Jake Youngblood. But don’t do it because you want the fans to love you, or because you want to be the best in this industry, or you want to make money. Do it because you don’t want to be the man that loses. Do it because it is who you are and not what you do.” Standing up, the woman patted Roger on the shoulder and walked to her desk. “You want the fans to love you, then be the man you are, not the man you think they want you to be.” Smiling she sat down behind her desk.
“How?” Roger asked.
“There was a time when you had something special, but you didn’t realize it was special. Find that thing, that normalcy that was you, and don’t let it every go again.” Smiling she looked at Roger. “Go Home Mr. Wright, Go home and find your heart.” With a final wink, Dr. Jankowski motioned for the door, and Roger got the hint.
Standing up he looked at the woman and smiled back. “Thank you.” Roger said as he moved for the door.
“Thank me by showing the world who you really are.” The Dr. said as Roger opened the door and stepped out of the office. Without a word Roger walked past the woman at the front desk as she snickered. In the elevator, Roger stood, hood off and hands at his side. He felt different, and had an idea of what he needed to do. For the first time in over two years, Roger had a plan, a place to go, a drive behind his decisions.
MARCH 22ND, 2013
Standing on the used car lot, Roger signed the paperwork and shook the man’s hand. The truck he had sold nearly a year ago was his once again. The Lamborghini was now long gone, the day before all the homes, all the crap he had bought was sold. He bought back is families farm, and now had one last destination, home.
Hopping into his truck, Roger drove down the road and pulled into his parent’s old home, the place he grew up, Roger and his brother helping their father plant the crops and tend the cattle. Now it was Roger’s again, and forever it would be. As the people had bought it from Roger had said, they didn’t even use the house, everything was still there, his clothes, the furniture, everything untouched.
Moving through the house, Roger came to a stop at the patio door, as he slid it open and stepped out onto it. Sure he had tried to remake this look at the home he bought in Chicago, but this was home, this was his fortress of solitude, and tonight it was the place that Roger would do what he did best, figure out just how he would beat Jake Youngblood at Ignite. Beating Jake Youngblood was the only thing Roger had left to do to get his life back on track, to begin walking the right path, the one he had walked so far from over the last two years.