Post by Seth Iser on Apr 9, 2024 18:34:31 GMT -6
The idea of war is a far different proposition then people on the surface believe it to be. It is common for the human populace to glorify it with delusions of grandeur. Sometimes that glory is for themselves, a way to find meaning in their own life that was previously lacking. Hell, it can become the beating heart of their own identity saying that they were out there in the heat of battle all in an effort to say this was their true calling in life. What an antiquated way of thinking in the modern world but I have to also remember I was a young man looking for a meaning in life then too.
The other big unifyer when it comes to war and this works for a different kind of person in the populace and that is an attempt to bring country, religion, or some other galvanizing ideal that the power broker made up to say we are working together for a greater good. There is something above any of us as individuals but if you work alongside your brothers and sisters next to you, you can accomplish damn near anything! For some people, it’s a way to play to zionist or ‘the other side is trying to get us’ beliefs; the other side is this is for a collective greater good. This tactic is more effective because many human beings believe themselves to be decent. Good? Maybe not, but decent minded in their own self evaluations of self.
I never viewed myself as that, however but that’s a different story for another day.
But here I am…finding myself in another situation involving that damnable structure. While I haven’t had to worry about limbs being blown off from bombs or gunfire, I find myself risking what’s left of my career stepping inside war games again. There are enough moving parts where one bad landing on my knee could damn well be the end of the line for me. That isn’t even getting into the damned steel mesh that easily lacerates skin and god knows what other creative surprises that could come from the opponents. You have the X-Core champion on the opposite side and he’s been a grouchy individual about elder gentlemen like me to begin with so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was gunning for me or the Boss.
Then there’s the mystery man who I haven’t been looped in on yet in terms of our partner. I normally don’t like playing with so many variables that can be risky in that endeavor but when I asked Jesse to take a risk to put me opposite Bobby…it’s fair enough that I’d agree to a different kind of calculated risk. War is already risky to begin with as we know…in this setting, and this is something a lot of the veterans do know but it hasn’t fully clicked for Garrison and it certainly hasn’t clicked for young Abbigail yet what it truly means to be in a situation where it could all end in an instant.
Those two could ask Roger about said risk but I highly doubt Abbigail especially would be so keen on trusting a word from him considering the stunt he pulled on her mentor walking out the way he did.
I still have enough foresight to remember what it was like to be younger and angrier at both the world and even wrestling itself though. You feel bitter at the perceived lack of opportunity; the slight when you feel like you don’t sense that the industry itself both in your home company and in the broader world of professional wrestling starts to spiral in your mind and soon you start making enough rash decisions that can get your mind, your body, and your future prospects in trouble. All because they, in their own ways, fall into the first trap of why so many people go into war. There might be some commonality…they don’t like The Business, they have something to prove…but there’s no real true unification there. Hell, I doubt from the bottom of their hearts Andrew Garrison and Abbigail Dresden really give a rat’s ass about one another’s plights at the end of the day. Wrestling is selfish, I understand that. Take what you can get and all that…
But you can’t afford that when you step into the realm that is War Games. And while I’m not in love with the unknown element of a mystery partner, Jesse Styles and I have had years on and off of working together with no issue. I understand what he’s capable of when the bell rings and he’s learning rapidly about how I’ve evolved over the last ten years as a professional. And we both want the same thing at the end of the day: the betterment of the company which means the betterment of the industry. Security for ourselves as well…especially if not everything has gone the way we would have preferred as of late.
Just I figure there’s a reasonable question that needs to be asked. It’s not something you have to admit publicly but rather…something that’s sacred amongst us professional wrestlers. For all the complaints about the older guard…have you truly thought long and hard about how we’ve survived at this game? Does the saying beware the old man who survives at a young person’s game mean anything to you two? I know it does to Roger, for as much as he and I despise one another, the man is a genuine cockroach. He just won’t die no matter what the hell is brought in front of him. The hero has his claws, in other words but I don’t deny that he’s a survivor. Jesse and I too…we’re elder statesmen in our own way. Jesse for the company he’s owned and myself for the entire industry over the last two decades. Imagine all of those tricks we’ve learned…on top of our knowledge of what we know of each other from a tell department, compiled as a unit walking into war fully committed to our belief in what professional wrestling should look like.
It won’t be a pretty picture when we’re done with the disorganized line only caring about themselves and advancing their own agenda but…the pictures of war never are.
The traffic in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is often heavy during the day. It’s significantly worse after you’ve picked someone up from the airport and are trying to rush to the stadium but find yourself stuck in it. But that is the situation I have found myself in as the driver in my moderately new white impala. The traffic seldom moves but for a couple of inches before the passenger in the car decides to voice his irritation at being here.
“And you accused my city of having horrible traffic, what the hell is this!?” growls an obviously irritated Jesse Styles as his eyes roll up into orbit.
“I never said I liked this city, Jesse.” I cooly reply, “Being a fan of a team doesn’t mean I suddenly have to embrace the city after all.”
Jesse pauses for a moment before raising an eyebrow in my direction, “How can I forget the riot you and Valora caused here over a decade ago.”
“My regret there is that I didn’t punch the drunken Steeler fan in the front row that day…” I trail off, “Motherfucker held a cane Allison sign.”
“Yeah that’ll do it…” Jesse blinks for a moment, pausing a minute before looking around at the steel city’s sights from the car view, “A baseball game though…that was a surprising offer.”
I sigh for a moment, “We’re about to enter a damn war, we have Hunter literally taking every chance to agitate all of us and the company itself could use some decent publicity after Johnny’s no show. I think the game itself would do us some good. Not to mention the two of us throwing the first pitch would at least promote a little bit of good will that we desperately need at the moment. Two birds, one stone.”
I then get a better glance at what Jesse’s wearing and it’s not exactly going to let him be warmly received by Pirates fans considering he’s wearing the uniform of the division rival Chicago Cubs as well as a pair of jeans considering the usual weather in Pittsburgh this month. While you’d expect me to wear a three piece suit to most events, that’s not exactly the dress code for a baseball game so I find myself in a black Pittsburgh Pirates jersey that’s unbuttoned with a plain black t-shirt underneath it all as well as my own pair of jeans. It is a little foreign though that I’m not wearing the suit I’m often associated with but when in Rome, right?
“You know…one of the first times I went to a baseball game was when Al Envy invited me to a Rangers game," I peer over in his direction, breaking the ice slightly.
Jesse shoots me a disbelieving glance, “You went to a baseball game with Envy? How the hell did that end?”
“Ah, you just want to get to the end.” I smirk.
“It was before they won the title so the game itself could’ve been entertaining for the wrong reasons.” Jesse replies with a shrug, “Still can’t believe they won the title…”
“Maybe the Pirates will win again someday. Hell, your Cubs already did once.” I returned the shrug, “Though I found them more entertaining when they didn’t win…”
“Of course you would…” Jesse sneers.
“I’m a fan of a division rival, can’t help it, but back to the story: It was when they were playing at Globe Life Park rather than Globe Life Field. I know, what a difference…” I scowl for a second before shaking my head and continuing with the story, “I remember not enjoying the game and add to the fact that I was smelling the stench of stale beer everywhere that day and I was starting to lose it a bit. I hadn’t been in a ton of situations socially yet since I had gotten clean that didn’t involve professional wrestling.”
Jesse’s mood goes back to neutral for a moment after the usual sports banter died for the momentary second. I glance in his direction and see he’s still engaged.
”To bottom line it: I clotheslined one of the Ranger players and got myself arrested.” I state calmly.
“Pfft…” Jesse snickers, holding in his laughter, “How the hell did you two get out of that one?”
“Not my proudest moment but on Al Envy’s suggestion I acted off the rocker as if I wasn’t completely aware of the situation…wasn’t that hard to do when I’ve seen some of the other wrestlers of our generation act. Then we had to apologize that I wouldn’t do such a thing again. But let’s just say that game drove me up a wall then…” I grin at the memory, “If you don’t believe me, you could call Al yourself!”
It’s a rare sight these days, Jesse actually barks up a laugh at the absurdity of that tale and when that happens, we actually start moving faster than a snail's pace on the interstate.
“Oh I needed that one…” he grins, a rare good nature coming from the boss these days, “But…would you do that in this one?”
“During the game?” I raise an eyebrow, “Nah…the worst you’ll probably hear from me is either shouting that the team itself sucks or that Bob Nutting is a cheap motherfucker who doesn’t invest properly more often than not on the Pirates. As fun as that memory might be looking back on it, my days of acting like a hooligan to that degree have been done for a while now.”
The conversation has helped buffer the time because now we’re not too far from our destination, the parking lot for PNC Park…home of the Pittsburgh Pirates. By the standard of baseball stadiums it’s aging gracefully even compared to the modern marvels being built today though it isn’t anywhere near as old as say Wrigley Field. Even as guests of honor, we still have to pay for parking and I get in line for the closest parking lot so we don’t have to dawdle long. But as we’re waiting in line for a different reason now,
“It’s a little bit of a risk, boss…” I start, my face being more quizzical rather than hostility, “We’re stuck with an unknown. I trust you well enough to go into War Game’s but the unknown is a bit of a concern for me.”
“Are you worried about that?” Jesse answers with a question of his own.
“It’s a variable, Jesse." I continue in my normal, neutral tone, "The one major advantage we have is our history of working together obviously. The other side is fragmented at best…while we make sure our minds are good, we should look to exploit the hell out of that. But…you’re positive about this mystery man.”
“It’s a calculated risk but one I’m more than willing to take after the disaster that was the pay per view on most levels, Seth.” he answers firmly, “Hell, I’d argue one of the few things that went right from my perspective was your performance.”
“Fair.” I just nod, “He’s meeting us here, correct?”
“That’s the plan.” Jesse leans back on his black car seat, “You’ll be able to size him up yourself here in a few minutes.”
“That works for me…” I answered calmly, “Good thing I did say there were three of us greeting but only two of us pitching before the opening here against Detroit. If you feel as if the mystery man’s mystique and them not knowing in any form or fashion who he or she is will be an advantage then we’ll weaponize that as well.”
“Speaking of hiding identities Seth. How did you hide your identity when you were wearing a mask? Always wanted to know that.” Jesse questions.
“It was easier back then before social media really blew up; I could change clothes and go unmasked and most people wouldn’t recognize me in the slightest back then because that ghoulish gray mask was so intrinsic as part of my identity.” I answered honestly, “It also helped that I wasn't a bar guy and often when I wasn’t working just drove home to spend as much time with my kid as possible. That was my schedule."
The conversation ceases for a minute as I have to roll down the window and we’re greeted by a man near the parking lot who handles the money getting in. The younger man appeared about six feet and was wearing shorts and a yellow Pirates t-shirt in his own support for the team but there were no remarkable facial features to him; the hair is just a black messy wave and I can smell the slight smell of weed on him. Dealing with Johnny enough times as well as Vincent and my own respective pasts means I have a keen sense of smell for that odor. I put the vehicle in park as the man sizes me up momentarily while I just keep a neutral, but fairly intimidating glance etched on my face. The battle of wills ends when he blinks and stops the eye contact for a half of a second. Content with that small victory, I reach into my jeans pocket for my wallet expecting to pay the price associated.
“Thirty-five dollars,” the parking vendor says flatly.
Choosing not to reply to him verbally I just pull out a pair of twenties from my wallet and hand him the forty dollars…to be fair to the lad, he seems high functioning as he quickly processes the amount and hands me a five dollar bill in change which I pocket swiftly. He gestures for us to go forward and once he makes that motion, up the window goes and we start driving into the parking lot where we’re instructed very quickly to park closer toward the building then most of the other cars, I take it we’re recognized for who we are for a moment, not a problem, as we put the vehicle on park.
“Finally…” Jesse takes a breath as he opens the passenger door and escapes the vehicle as fast as he possibly can.
I glance at the clock and we’re about an hour and fifteen minutes earlier considering that’s when first pitch is, it’s a habit at this point for me to arrive as early as possible within reason. There aren’t too many people arriving quite yet into the parking lot but I assume most of them are getting a bite or two to eat before they swing by into the stadium. I exit the vehicle in nowhere near as swift of a manner as the boss, content to just take my time knowing we have that for the moment as I rub the back of my neck. Jesse also takes this opportunity to smoke a cigarette now but also starts going to his phone at the same time.
“Thank you for not smoking in the car,” I continued stretching.
I had to drive from Morgantown to Pittsburgh to pick up Jesse beforehand then there was the drive to the stadium. It’s not the easiest drive on a gameday and I feel it in the bones, just letting out a couple grunts while Jesse takes a quick puff of that cigarette while he has the opportunity to. I felt a little sweat come down as it dawned on me that the weather has now turned more toward the warmer side rapidly since we had massive rainstorms in the area that nearly flooded everything.
“I smoke too many of these damned things since the…agreement to the fuck’n divorce.” Jesse replies with a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone, “But I needed one. Besides, can't smoke in the ballpark.”
That makes…a lot of sense, I thought. That topic will continue to be a particularly sensitive one for him while I’m still preparing for my own marriage coming up. What a whirlwind life is sometimes…but I also sense the gloom impending and this isn’t the time for that particular conversation so I decide to pivot the conversation to something else.
“Is our mystery man already here?” I ask in a serious tone, crossing my arms.
“I just texted him our location, we just have to wait…” he says stoically.
Rather than answer verbally I glance in the direction Jesse is looking at. I assume that’s where he’s coming from, just a little further down the lot. There are a couple more people pulling in but I don’t see anyone fitting that profile but I see someone exiting a red vehicle a little further down the lot. He’s striking to me compared to everyone else in the general area; he’s not exactly a short man and his face is completely covered up in some manner. As he begins walking closer, I can see he’s wearing a basic blue t-shirt with a Pirates hat over his head, a pair of sunglasses to conceal his eyes and a black winter liner over his head and neck. He pantomimes a little as if he’s a bit chilly, I don’t know if that’s entirely an act or not as he makes eye contact with me first and then Jesse who notices him and gestures for him to come our direction. Now I get a better gauge of the man’s size, he’s maybe a little shorter than Jesse but comparable size wise to the both of us. While I have a decent idea who this might actually be now…I opt to keep my mouth shut. You never know who the hell could be recording it.
“You’re the guy…” I just studied him briefly looking for more tells to confirm the theory I have in my brain.
“Yes, yes he is…” Jesse grins, “We’re all together now and two of us have a ceremony to go prepare for.”
There isn’t any response from the mystery man as he offers out merely a shrug as the three of us start walking toward the entrance of the stadium. While the other two probably don’t know the ins and outs, I at least have first hand knowledge of this place considering I’ve been up here with my loved ones a few times now on days off. I glance at my phone, looking at the instructions set for myself now as Jesse discards his cigarette as we’re moving. It seems one fan notices the three of us and instinctively begins booing in Jesse’s direction. The joys of division rivalry.
“YOU SUCK CUBBIE!” the chubby yinzer shouts.
“Your mom sucked my nine incher last night. Fuck off.” Jesse barks back offering a middle finger gesture, “You want to make something of it?”
Rather than risk a physical confrontation, both the mystery man and I come to the same conclusion and step between the two and I put on my most menacing stare and when you have muscles, several inches on the man, and a hardened stare that’s been used for years, it doesn’t take long for his general verbal abuse to end and he ends up retreating back toward wherever yinzers go to…live their life.
Can you tell I’m a Morgantown native who doesn’t care for the city? Probably did that boy a favor when we stepped in to intimidate him away in an old bouncer trick…but I don’t want a massive incident when we’re trying to promote good will!
“I was hoping he’d jump…” Jesse sneers.
“I get it…nobody does more than me, but let’s save the aggression for the ring. We don’t have Johnny pissing us off today.” I keep my tone low, trying to reason with the boss, “Hell, just remember that yinzer more when you’re punching the X-Core champion later.”
“...That’s one less stresser when I still have many…” the boss growls as he’s rubbing his temple, “But…you’re not wrong.”
Normally, this is where you go to the gate to start to come in but that isn’t entirely the process we’re getting today. We have to meet with the president of the team as we’re going down for the first pitch. I’m a little surprised the president of the Pirates deigned it appropriate to do this today but I guess when you compare the surprise of the Buckos start to the disappointment of the Islanders he’s also president of…I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. As I just saw on the phone and confirmed to me, waiting for us out front is Travis Williams, the president.
“Mr. Styles, Mr. Iser…” he looks at both of us before glancing at our third man, “Is he with you?”
“He’ll be accompanying us to the booth, but not partaking in the first pitch.” I reply smoothly, “I take it things are still in order?”
“Yes, I think it is…” Jesse puts on the mask of a businessman in this moment that’s often needed in moments like this, “We’re going to be meeting some of the players too, correct?”
“How perceptive though…” Williams pauses as he glances at Jesse’s choice in uniform, “You might catch some flak for that uniform choice.”
“Story of our lives…” Jesse dismisses swiftly.
“He’s a Chicago native; he won’t lie about who he is.” I jump in, “I’d rather we be transparent about matters anyway.”
“As you wish, Mr. Iser…” he nods his head, his own mask remaining on, “I suppose I’ll take you on a quick tour before we get you ready for first pitch.”
The president begins the tour as I’m looking around and seeing all the Pirates memorabilia on display within the stadium. You get the aura that you know baseball is played here, something you don’t always get when you tour a specific sport stadium. Hell, I can even see where they briefly mention roid merchant Barry Bonds in passing but as the president is talking and my two partners are looking around in vague interest, I find myself tuning everything out. I can’t help it, I’ve been here enough times.
My mind even wanders slightly thinking about what the real plan is for War Games. I’m a wrestler, I can’t help it but I’m curious to see how our mystery man fits in with what Jesse and I do specifically in terms of working together as a unit. Though I suspect he at least has knowledge of what we’re both capable of…provided my theory is correct anyhow. That just means I have to wonder what oddity Hunter might throw at us to get us agitated and off task. That’s…another worry.
He’s as rebellious and uncouth as ever…especially in wanting to poke out the monster but there’s just things he has to learn about that. Us humans are far scarier than any monster.
If you want proof of that…look at how Barry Bonds treated the media in Pittsburgh as some proof.
“The tour is over, and we’re walking to the dugout now…” I finally hear the President’s voice come over my brain and I blink around and we’re near the dugout.
“Huh…” I blink a couple more times, “That was…fast.”
“I tend to prefer to keep things brief and I appreciate the lack of questions…” Travis says bluntly, “Besides, we’re running a smidge late. So I apologize you won’t get too much time talking to the players.”
“I see…” Jesse muses, faking a little disappointment, “That is a shame.”
“Alright…have a good game, gentlemen.” he pauses as we’re entering the dugout, “Your names will be called very soon.”
I can already hear the attention gathered in our general direction considering one of us was bold enough to wear a custom Cubs jersey to a division rival from the audience that has seen us. They’re filtering in, I don’t think it’s going to be near a full house but it’s an afternoon weekday game, not the biggest surprise. I glance at the time, it’s almost twelve twenty. They’ll truly be calling our names soon. While Jesse and the mystery man seem to be huddled together, not interested in talking to anybody, I’ll at least get in something brief with someone who is on his second stint with the team. The former MVP Andrew McCutchen. He looks up once he sees me approaching, the man isn’t even six feet tall but still carries an impressive presence regardless. Cutch does extend a polite handshake.
“I take it you’re Seth Iser?” he asks.
“Yes, I am.” I reply calmly, “How’s the second tour of duty?”
“Well…” he pauses, “It’s never the easiest being the veteran in a younger club but I see the talent here.”
“As a wrestler, I felt that…” I nod my head.
“You ever play any sports?” he just casually asks.
“Football was my primary, I also did amateur wrestling at the high school level…” I grin briefly.
“Considering your size, I would’ve put you as a potential basketball player…” 'Cutch lightly smirks.
“Shit Cutch…I had a junkyard dog mentality when I did play basketball. An actual well schooled basketball player’d kick my ass on that court. What good is a center when you’re only six foot five?” I keep the grin, genuine in it's good nature.
“Never a baseball player?” Andrew continues the line of questions, almost knowing the answer.
“Didn’t appreciate the sport more until I got older and had a child.” I answer, being sincere but I sense the time approaching, “But I shouldn’t take too much of your time. Good meeting you.”
“Same to you big man. Have a good fight in your wrestling event coming up, yeah? I might not be as familiar with what you do but it seems very physically demanding.” he nods his head.
“Good luck chasing three hundred homers,” I return the gesture.
I step away after having that brief conversation, polite in its nature before returning to my two teammates for said War Games. I do hear the P.A. announcer start the spiel on the National Anthem. Even as an older man, it’s one of those traditions I didn’t always care for but I respect the sporting traditions too much not to do them here, especially in the dugout. After the applause from the ending of said anthem goes by, things get a little more clear.
“Please welcome for your first pitch…Jesse Styles…” I hear over the system.
Jesse steps forward, wearing that Cubs uniform and I hear the half full building take the energy of a filled wrestling crowd as they shower him with boos for his choice in uniform! Jesse seems…amused by the negative reception he’s getting as he starts to walk toward the mound.
“And Seth Iser!” the PA concludes.
Then it’s my turn to start walking up to the mound and again, the boo birds are vicious in my direction. It seems many of the Yinzers remember me negatively and that actually warms my heart a little that I’m not forgotten in the slightest. As the boos intensify briefly as I’m heading toward the mound, I can’t help myself but give a wave in the style of the Queen of England as I’m heading there. We are both handed a baseball by a staff member as the two catchers are at the plate, not entirely sure of what either of us are capable of throwing a pitch. In decent synchronization, Jesse and I end up throwing a pitch to our respective catchers. Jesse’s pitch was a touch outside while mine got there a little high but both were caught expertly by the professionals. After we do that, the two of us do the ceremonial shake of the hand with the catchers and that’s where I glance to see I had the ball caught from young Henry Davis.
“Good luck tonight,” I give the courtesy that you should in that spot.
All I get for a reply is a polite “Thank you.” from Chris Davis.
After that, we started to head back, a few fans still booing us but this never bothered true professionals like Jesse or myself. It almost energizes me, personally as there’s a little more spring to the step then when I probably had when the President was giving us a brief tour.
“You think your Pirates are winning both games against the Tigers now after you took the first one?” Jesse questions, shifting the topic to more what's in front of us for the minute.
The mystery man gives a rare response of a non committal shrug, maintaining his calm throughout regardless.
“I guess we’ll see…” I give a noncommittal answer, “Let’s go up to the luxury box we were promised and we’ll see how the game plays out.”
Between this game and War Games coming out, I guess we’ll see how it all plays out but I’m not worried. So far, no real incident. Everything is being played out as it should. Hell, even the boo birds were a welcome surprise for me. It is what it is though, we’re going to be a professional unit through that night while we lose ourselves as best we can in this baseball game.
The other big unifyer when it comes to war and this works for a different kind of person in the populace and that is an attempt to bring country, religion, or some other galvanizing ideal that the power broker made up to say we are working together for a greater good. There is something above any of us as individuals but if you work alongside your brothers and sisters next to you, you can accomplish damn near anything! For some people, it’s a way to play to zionist or ‘the other side is trying to get us’ beliefs; the other side is this is for a collective greater good. This tactic is more effective because many human beings believe themselves to be decent. Good? Maybe not, but decent minded in their own self evaluations of self.
I never viewed myself as that, however but that’s a different story for another day.
But here I am…finding myself in another situation involving that damnable structure. While I haven’t had to worry about limbs being blown off from bombs or gunfire, I find myself risking what’s left of my career stepping inside war games again. There are enough moving parts where one bad landing on my knee could damn well be the end of the line for me. That isn’t even getting into the damned steel mesh that easily lacerates skin and god knows what other creative surprises that could come from the opponents. You have the X-Core champion on the opposite side and he’s been a grouchy individual about elder gentlemen like me to begin with so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was gunning for me or the Boss.
Then there’s the mystery man who I haven’t been looped in on yet in terms of our partner. I normally don’t like playing with so many variables that can be risky in that endeavor but when I asked Jesse to take a risk to put me opposite Bobby…it’s fair enough that I’d agree to a different kind of calculated risk. War is already risky to begin with as we know…in this setting, and this is something a lot of the veterans do know but it hasn’t fully clicked for Garrison and it certainly hasn’t clicked for young Abbigail yet what it truly means to be in a situation where it could all end in an instant.
Those two could ask Roger about said risk but I highly doubt Abbigail especially would be so keen on trusting a word from him considering the stunt he pulled on her mentor walking out the way he did.
I still have enough foresight to remember what it was like to be younger and angrier at both the world and even wrestling itself though. You feel bitter at the perceived lack of opportunity; the slight when you feel like you don’t sense that the industry itself both in your home company and in the broader world of professional wrestling starts to spiral in your mind and soon you start making enough rash decisions that can get your mind, your body, and your future prospects in trouble. All because they, in their own ways, fall into the first trap of why so many people go into war. There might be some commonality…they don’t like The Business, they have something to prove…but there’s no real true unification there. Hell, I doubt from the bottom of their hearts Andrew Garrison and Abbigail Dresden really give a rat’s ass about one another’s plights at the end of the day. Wrestling is selfish, I understand that. Take what you can get and all that…
But you can’t afford that when you step into the realm that is War Games. And while I’m not in love with the unknown element of a mystery partner, Jesse Styles and I have had years on and off of working together with no issue. I understand what he’s capable of when the bell rings and he’s learning rapidly about how I’ve evolved over the last ten years as a professional. And we both want the same thing at the end of the day: the betterment of the company which means the betterment of the industry. Security for ourselves as well…especially if not everything has gone the way we would have preferred as of late.
Just I figure there’s a reasonable question that needs to be asked. It’s not something you have to admit publicly but rather…something that’s sacred amongst us professional wrestlers. For all the complaints about the older guard…have you truly thought long and hard about how we’ve survived at this game? Does the saying beware the old man who survives at a young person’s game mean anything to you two? I know it does to Roger, for as much as he and I despise one another, the man is a genuine cockroach. He just won’t die no matter what the hell is brought in front of him. The hero has his claws, in other words but I don’t deny that he’s a survivor. Jesse and I too…we’re elder statesmen in our own way. Jesse for the company he’s owned and myself for the entire industry over the last two decades. Imagine all of those tricks we’ve learned…on top of our knowledge of what we know of each other from a tell department, compiled as a unit walking into war fully committed to our belief in what professional wrestling should look like.
It won’t be a pretty picture when we’re done with the disorganized line only caring about themselves and advancing their own agenda but…the pictures of war never are.
The traffic in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is often heavy during the day. It’s significantly worse after you’ve picked someone up from the airport and are trying to rush to the stadium but find yourself stuck in it. But that is the situation I have found myself in as the driver in my moderately new white impala. The traffic seldom moves but for a couple of inches before the passenger in the car decides to voice his irritation at being here.
“And you accused my city of having horrible traffic, what the hell is this!?” growls an obviously irritated Jesse Styles as his eyes roll up into orbit.
“I never said I liked this city, Jesse.” I cooly reply, “Being a fan of a team doesn’t mean I suddenly have to embrace the city after all.”
Jesse pauses for a moment before raising an eyebrow in my direction, “How can I forget the riot you and Valora caused here over a decade ago.”
“My regret there is that I didn’t punch the drunken Steeler fan in the front row that day…” I trail off, “Motherfucker held a cane Allison sign.”
“Yeah that’ll do it…” Jesse blinks for a moment, pausing a minute before looking around at the steel city’s sights from the car view, “A baseball game though…that was a surprising offer.”
I sigh for a moment, “We’re about to enter a damn war, we have Hunter literally taking every chance to agitate all of us and the company itself could use some decent publicity after Johnny’s no show. I think the game itself would do us some good. Not to mention the two of us throwing the first pitch would at least promote a little bit of good will that we desperately need at the moment. Two birds, one stone.”
I then get a better glance at what Jesse’s wearing and it’s not exactly going to let him be warmly received by Pirates fans considering he’s wearing the uniform of the division rival Chicago Cubs as well as a pair of jeans considering the usual weather in Pittsburgh this month. While you’d expect me to wear a three piece suit to most events, that’s not exactly the dress code for a baseball game so I find myself in a black Pittsburgh Pirates jersey that’s unbuttoned with a plain black t-shirt underneath it all as well as my own pair of jeans. It is a little foreign though that I’m not wearing the suit I’m often associated with but when in Rome, right?
“You know…one of the first times I went to a baseball game was when Al Envy invited me to a Rangers game," I peer over in his direction, breaking the ice slightly.
Jesse shoots me a disbelieving glance, “You went to a baseball game with Envy? How the hell did that end?”
“Ah, you just want to get to the end.” I smirk.
“It was before they won the title so the game itself could’ve been entertaining for the wrong reasons.” Jesse replies with a shrug, “Still can’t believe they won the title…”
“Maybe the Pirates will win again someday. Hell, your Cubs already did once.” I returned the shrug, “Though I found them more entertaining when they didn’t win…”
“Of course you would…” Jesse sneers.
“I’m a fan of a division rival, can’t help it, but back to the story: It was when they were playing at Globe Life Park rather than Globe Life Field. I know, what a difference…” I scowl for a second before shaking my head and continuing with the story, “I remember not enjoying the game and add to the fact that I was smelling the stench of stale beer everywhere that day and I was starting to lose it a bit. I hadn’t been in a ton of situations socially yet since I had gotten clean that didn’t involve professional wrestling.”
Jesse’s mood goes back to neutral for a moment after the usual sports banter died for the momentary second. I glance in his direction and see he’s still engaged.
”To bottom line it: I clotheslined one of the Ranger players and got myself arrested.” I state calmly.
“Pfft…” Jesse snickers, holding in his laughter, “How the hell did you two get out of that one?”
“Not my proudest moment but on Al Envy’s suggestion I acted off the rocker as if I wasn’t completely aware of the situation…wasn’t that hard to do when I’ve seen some of the other wrestlers of our generation act. Then we had to apologize that I wouldn’t do such a thing again. But let’s just say that game drove me up a wall then…” I grin at the memory, “If you don’t believe me, you could call Al yourself!”
It’s a rare sight these days, Jesse actually barks up a laugh at the absurdity of that tale and when that happens, we actually start moving faster than a snail's pace on the interstate.
“Oh I needed that one…” he grins, a rare good nature coming from the boss these days, “But…would you do that in this one?”
“During the game?” I raise an eyebrow, “Nah…the worst you’ll probably hear from me is either shouting that the team itself sucks or that Bob Nutting is a cheap motherfucker who doesn’t invest properly more often than not on the Pirates. As fun as that memory might be looking back on it, my days of acting like a hooligan to that degree have been done for a while now.”
The conversation has helped buffer the time because now we’re not too far from our destination, the parking lot for PNC Park…home of the Pittsburgh Pirates. By the standard of baseball stadiums it’s aging gracefully even compared to the modern marvels being built today though it isn’t anywhere near as old as say Wrigley Field. Even as guests of honor, we still have to pay for parking and I get in line for the closest parking lot so we don’t have to dawdle long. But as we’re waiting in line for a different reason now,
“It’s a little bit of a risk, boss…” I start, my face being more quizzical rather than hostility, “We’re stuck with an unknown. I trust you well enough to go into War Game’s but the unknown is a bit of a concern for me.”
“Are you worried about that?” Jesse answers with a question of his own.
“It’s a variable, Jesse." I continue in my normal, neutral tone, "The one major advantage we have is our history of working together obviously. The other side is fragmented at best…while we make sure our minds are good, we should look to exploit the hell out of that. But…you’re positive about this mystery man.”
“It’s a calculated risk but one I’m more than willing to take after the disaster that was the pay per view on most levels, Seth.” he answers firmly, “Hell, I’d argue one of the few things that went right from my perspective was your performance.”
“Fair.” I just nod, “He’s meeting us here, correct?”
“That’s the plan.” Jesse leans back on his black car seat, “You’ll be able to size him up yourself here in a few minutes.”
“That works for me…” I answered calmly, “Good thing I did say there were three of us greeting but only two of us pitching before the opening here against Detroit. If you feel as if the mystery man’s mystique and them not knowing in any form or fashion who he or she is will be an advantage then we’ll weaponize that as well.”
“Speaking of hiding identities Seth. How did you hide your identity when you were wearing a mask? Always wanted to know that.” Jesse questions.
“It was easier back then before social media really blew up; I could change clothes and go unmasked and most people wouldn’t recognize me in the slightest back then because that ghoulish gray mask was so intrinsic as part of my identity.” I answered honestly, “It also helped that I wasn't a bar guy and often when I wasn’t working just drove home to spend as much time with my kid as possible. That was my schedule."
The conversation ceases for a minute as I have to roll down the window and we’re greeted by a man near the parking lot who handles the money getting in. The younger man appeared about six feet and was wearing shorts and a yellow Pirates t-shirt in his own support for the team but there were no remarkable facial features to him; the hair is just a black messy wave and I can smell the slight smell of weed on him. Dealing with Johnny enough times as well as Vincent and my own respective pasts means I have a keen sense of smell for that odor. I put the vehicle in park as the man sizes me up momentarily while I just keep a neutral, but fairly intimidating glance etched on my face. The battle of wills ends when he blinks and stops the eye contact for a half of a second. Content with that small victory, I reach into my jeans pocket for my wallet expecting to pay the price associated.
“Thirty-five dollars,” the parking vendor says flatly.
Choosing not to reply to him verbally I just pull out a pair of twenties from my wallet and hand him the forty dollars…to be fair to the lad, he seems high functioning as he quickly processes the amount and hands me a five dollar bill in change which I pocket swiftly. He gestures for us to go forward and once he makes that motion, up the window goes and we start driving into the parking lot where we’re instructed very quickly to park closer toward the building then most of the other cars, I take it we’re recognized for who we are for a moment, not a problem, as we put the vehicle on park.
“Finally…” Jesse takes a breath as he opens the passenger door and escapes the vehicle as fast as he possibly can.
I glance at the clock and we’re about an hour and fifteen minutes earlier considering that’s when first pitch is, it’s a habit at this point for me to arrive as early as possible within reason. There aren’t too many people arriving quite yet into the parking lot but I assume most of them are getting a bite or two to eat before they swing by into the stadium. I exit the vehicle in nowhere near as swift of a manner as the boss, content to just take my time knowing we have that for the moment as I rub the back of my neck. Jesse also takes this opportunity to smoke a cigarette now but also starts going to his phone at the same time.
“Thank you for not smoking in the car,” I continued stretching.
I had to drive from Morgantown to Pittsburgh to pick up Jesse beforehand then there was the drive to the stadium. It’s not the easiest drive on a gameday and I feel it in the bones, just letting out a couple grunts while Jesse takes a quick puff of that cigarette while he has the opportunity to. I felt a little sweat come down as it dawned on me that the weather has now turned more toward the warmer side rapidly since we had massive rainstorms in the area that nearly flooded everything.
“I smoke too many of these damned things since the…agreement to the fuck’n divorce.” Jesse replies with a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone, “But I needed one. Besides, can't smoke in the ballpark.”
That makes…a lot of sense, I thought. That topic will continue to be a particularly sensitive one for him while I’m still preparing for my own marriage coming up. What a whirlwind life is sometimes…but I also sense the gloom impending and this isn’t the time for that particular conversation so I decide to pivot the conversation to something else.
“Is our mystery man already here?” I ask in a serious tone, crossing my arms.
“I just texted him our location, we just have to wait…” he says stoically.
Rather than answer verbally I glance in the direction Jesse is looking at. I assume that’s where he’s coming from, just a little further down the lot. There are a couple more people pulling in but I don’t see anyone fitting that profile but I see someone exiting a red vehicle a little further down the lot. He’s striking to me compared to everyone else in the general area; he’s not exactly a short man and his face is completely covered up in some manner. As he begins walking closer, I can see he’s wearing a basic blue t-shirt with a Pirates hat over his head, a pair of sunglasses to conceal his eyes and a black winter liner over his head and neck. He pantomimes a little as if he’s a bit chilly, I don’t know if that’s entirely an act or not as he makes eye contact with me first and then Jesse who notices him and gestures for him to come our direction. Now I get a better gauge of the man’s size, he’s maybe a little shorter than Jesse but comparable size wise to the both of us. While I have a decent idea who this might actually be now…I opt to keep my mouth shut. You never know who the hell could be recording it.
“You’re the guy…” I just studied him briefly looking for more tells to confirm the theory I have in my brain.
“Yes, yes he is…” Jesse grins, “We’re all together now and two of us have a ceremony to go prepare for.”
There isn’t any response from the mystery man as he offers out merely a shrug as the three of us start walking toward the entrance of the stadium. While the other two probably don’t know the ins and outs, I at least have first hand knowledge of this place considering I’ve been up here with my loved ones a few times now on days off. I glance at my phone, looking at the instructions set for myself now as Jesse discards his cigarette as we’re moving. It seems one fan notices the three of us and instinctively begins booing in Jesse’s direction. The joys of division rivalry.
“YOU SUCK CUBBIE!” the chubby yinzer shouts.
“Your mom sucked my nine incher last night. Fuck off.” Jesse barks back offering a middle finger gesture, “You want to make something of it?”
Rather than risk a physical confrontation, both the mystery man and I come to the same conclusion and step between the two and I put on my most menacing stare and when you have muscles, several inches on the man, and a hardened stare that’s been used for years, it doesn’t take long for his general verbal abuse to end and he ends up retreating back toward wherever yinzers go to…live their life.
Can you tell I’m a Morgantown native who doesn’t care for the city? Probably did that boy a favor when we stepped in to intimidate him away in an old bouncer trick…but I don’t want a massive incident when we’re trying to promote good will!
“I was hoping he’d jump…” Jesse sneers.
“I get it…nobody does more than me, but let’s save the aggression for the ring. We don’t have Johnny pissing us off today.” I keep my tone low, trying to reason with the boss, “Hell, just remember that yinzer more when you’re punching the X-Core champion later.”
“...That’s one less stresser when I still have many…” the boss growls as he’s rubbing his temple, “But…you’re not wrong.”
Normally, this is where you go to the gate to start to come in but that isn’t entirely the process we’re getting today. We have to meet with the president of the team as we’re going down for the first pitch. I’m a little surprised the president of the Pirates deigned it appropriate to do this today but I guess when you compare the surprise of the Buckos start to the disappointment of the Islanders he’s also president of…I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. As I just saw on the phone and confirmed to me, waiting for us out front is Travis Williams, the president.
“Mr. Styles, Mr. Iser…” he looks at both of us before glancing at our third man, “Is he with you?”
“He’ll be accompanying us to the booth, but not partaking in the first pitch.” I reply smoothly, “I take it things are still in order?”
“Yes, I think it is…” Jesse puts on the mask of a businessman in this moment that’s often needed in moments like this, “We’re going to be meeting some of the players too, correct?”
“How perceptive though…” Williams pauses as he glances at Jesse’s choice in uniform, “You might catch some flak for that uniform choice.”
“Story of our lives…” Jesse dismisses swiftly.
“He’s a Chicago native; he won’t lie about who he is.” I jump in, “I’d rather we be transparent about matters anyway.”
“As you wish, Mr. Iser…” he nods his head, his own mask remaining on, “I suppose I’ll take you on a quick tour before we get you ready for first pitch.”
The president begins the tour as I’m looking around and seeing all the Pirates memorabilia on display within the stadium. You get the aura that you know baseball is played here, something you don’t always get when you tour a specific sport stadium. Hell, I can even see where they briefly mention roid merchant Barry Bonds in passing but as the president is talking and my two partners are looking around in vague interest, I find myself tuning everything out. I can’t help it, I’ve been here enough times.
My mind even wanders slightly thinking about what the real plan is for War Games. I’m a wrestler, I can’t help it but I’m curious to see how our mystery man fits in with what Jesse and I do specifically in terms of working together as a unit. Though I suspect he at least has knowledge of what we’re both capable of…provided my theory is correct anyhow. That just means I have to wonder what oddity Hunter might throw at us to get us agitated and off task. That’s…another worry.
He’s as rebellious and uncouth as ever…especially in wanting to poke out the monster but there’s just things he has to learn about that. Us humans are far scarier than any monster.
If you want proof of that…look at how Barry Bonds treated the media in Pittsburgh as some proof.
“The tour is over, and we’re walking to the dugout now…” I finally hear the President’s voice come over my brain and I blink around and we’re near the dugout.
“Huh…” I blink a couple more times, “That was…fast.”
“I tend to prefer to keep things brief and I appreciate the lack of questions…” Travis says bluntly, “Besides, we’re running a smidge late. So I apologize you won’t get too much time talking to the players.”
“I see…” Jesse muses, faking a little disappointment, “That is a shame.”
“Alright…have a good game, gentlemen.” he pauses as we’re entering the dugout, “Your names will be called very soon.”
I can already hear the attention gathered in our general direction considering one of us was bold enough to wear a custom Cubs jersey to a division rival from the audience that has seen us. They’re filtering in, I don’t think it’s going to be near a full house but it’s an afternoon weekday game, not the biggest surprise. I glance at the time, it’s almost twelve twenty. They’ll truly be calling our names soon. While Jesse and the mystery man seem to be huddled together, not interested in talking to anybody, I’ll at least get in something brief with someone who is on his second stint with the team. The former MVP Andrew McCutchen. He looks up once he sees me approaching, the man isn’t even six feet tall but still carries an impressive presence regardless. Cutch does extend a polite handshake.
“I take it you’re Seth Iser?” he asks.
“Yes, I am.” I reply calmly, “How’s the second tour of duty?”
“Well…” he pauses, “It’s never the easiest being the veteran in a younger club but I see the talent here.”
“As a wrestler, I felt that…” I nod my head.
“You ever play any sports?” he just casually asks.
“Football was my primary, I also did amateur wrestling at the high school level…” I grin briefly.
“Considering your size, I would’ve put you as a potential basketball player…” 'Cutch lightly smirks.
“Shit Cutch…I had a junkyard dog mentality when I did play basketball. An actual well schooled basketball player’d kick my ass on that court. What good is a center when you’re only six foot five?” I keep the grin, genuine in it's good nature.
“Never a baseball player?” Andrew continues the line of questions, almost knowing the answer.
“Didn’t appreciate the sport more until I got older and had a child.” I answer, being sincere but I sense the time approaching, “But I shouldn’t take too much of your time. Good meeting you.”
“Same to you big man. Have a good fight in your wrestling event coming up, yeah? I might not be as familiar with what you do but it seems very physically demanding.” he nods his head.
“Good luck chasing three hundred homers,” I return the gesture.
I step away after having that brief conversation, polite in its nature before returning to my two teammates for said War Games. I do hear the P.A. announcer start the spiel on the National Anthem. Even as an older man, it’s one of those traditions I didn’t always care for but I respect the sporting traditions too much not to do them here, especially in the dugout. After the applause from the ending of said anthem goes by, things get a little more clear.
“Please welcome for your first pitch…Jesse Styles…” I hear over the system.
Jesse steps forward, wearing that Cubs uniform and I hear the half full building take the energy of a filled wrestling crowd as they shower him with boos for his choice in uniform! Jesse seems…amused by the negative reception he’s getting as he starts to walk toward the mound.
“And Seth Iser!” the PA concludes.
Then it’s my turn to start walking up to the mound and again, the boo birds are vicious in my direction. It seems many of the Yinzers remember me negatively and that actually warms my heart a little that I’m not forgotten in the slightest. As the boos intensify briefly as I’m heading toward the mound, I can’t help myself but give a wave in the style of the Queen of England as I’m heading there. We are both handed a baseball by a staff member as the two catchers are at the plate, not entirely sure of what either of us are capable of throwing a pitch. In decent synchronization, Jesse and I end up throwing a pitch to our respective catchers. Jesse’s pitch was a touch outside while mine got there a little high but both were caught expertly by the professionals. After we do that, the two of us do the ceremonial shake of the hand with the catchers and that’s where I glance to see I had the ball caught from young Henry Davis.
“Good luck tonight,” I give the courtesy that you should in that spot.
All I get for a reply is a polite “Thank you.” from Chris Davis.
After that, we started to head back, a few fans still booing us but this never bothered true professionals like Jesse or myself. It almost energizes me, personally as there’s a little more spring to the step then when I probably had when the President was giving us a brief tour.
“You think your Pirates are winning both games against the Tigers now after you took the first one?” Jesse questions, shifting the topic to more what's in front of us for the minute.
The mystery man gives a rare response of a non committal shrug, maintaining his calm throughout regardless.
“I guess we’ll see…” I give a noncommittal answer, “Let’s go up to the luxury box we were promised and we’ll see how the game plays out.”
Between this game and War Games coming out, I guess we’ll see how it all plays out but I’m not worried. So far, no real incident. Everything is being played out as it should. Hell, even the boo birds were a welcome surprise for me. It is what it is though, we’re going to be a professional unit through that night while we lose ourselves as best we can in this baseball game.
