Post by tony on Feb 19, 2023 18:05:33 GMT
“Hello….HELLLO!”
The streets of NY shouldn’t be empty any time of day, especially midday. Times Square should be wall to wall traffic on both the roads and sidewalks. There should be droves of people in the center of town. New York was the city that supposedly never slept, but what I was seeing right now…
Fuck, it was like somebody slipped Fentanyl in the water supply, or made them watch a Holden Ross promo marathon. The whole city was dead. Not even the lights and the giant video screens worked. It wasn’t just Times Square that went dark; Central Park West, 5th Avenue, and Wall St. were morbidly silent. Brooklyn Bridge and the Tunnels were clogged with abandoned vehicles. The city that never slept was in a coma,and I had this sinking feeling I was the only person awake to experience this walking nightmare.
“HELLLLO!!!”
Nothing. Not even a typical warm and friendly New York “Fuck You!” in response. This was unreal. The ride became frightening when I noticed a bulletin board erected near the GUESS outlet entrance. Every inch of space covered with posters. Missing person posters.
“HAVE YOU SEEN SO AND SO…MISSING SINCE…LAST SEEN AT (INSERT COMPANY NAME HERE) SHOW…
Some wore masks, other donned face paint and costumes, some where greasy looking and flipping off the camera, but they all had a common thread attaching them…they were all WRESTLERS!
“Jesus…”
I nearly dropped the duffle bag with my World Title, the only thing I could find in my hospital bed. Seriously, my shoes went missing. This is Die Hard bullshit, running around with no shoes. Plus, they were Kobe 9’s, and the thought of some orderly running around in vintage limited edition kicks getting stool sample all over them…ugh!
I was hungry, thirsty, bewildered, and shoeless. I truly thought things couldn’t get worse…
Then I heard hissing and saw figures darting behind cars circling me, and I remembered in these scenarios you NEVER ask if things get worse. They always do!
A handful came into view. Their eyes were bloodshot (nothing abnormal if you personally knew), they were mumbling and snarling (again, wrestlers. This is how some cut promotionals by snarling at a camera), and some were dragging barbwire bats and carts with their mediocre home brewed “merch” (I admit I’m kind of lazy when it comes to design, plus I got Nike money. I’ll just have the nerds in Oregon design something.) They saw me and started shambling in my direction. I put my hands up…
“Okay, bitches. You want this smoke; I’m about to puff it in your face like I got a Camel cigarette…oh, shit!”
A handful doubled up, then quadrupled, then…they were showing up in droves now. A whole goddamn army of suplex and catchphrase obsessed meat sacks lurching towards me, looking at me like I was on the menu. I picked my bag back up and…
“*nervous laugh* Okay, I think things got a little heated…*starts backing away*…say, how about we forget this poor introduction and we slide on down to Cheesecake Factory, have ourselves some Cajun Chicken and a slice of strawberry swirl, on me?”
They didn’t seem interested in the least bit.
“Really? No? C’mon, best part is, no 2 hour waiting period like they usually have…”
They made up their mind about lunch. And your hero just turns to you viewers and says…
“And now, my next impersonation:Usain Bolt at the 2012 Olympics. SHIT!!!”
Good thing my cardio is Zombieland level, and most wrestlers get winded thinking about running. But they just lept coming out of the woodwork. They popped out of cars, alley ways, jumped through windows. I was getting surrounded. And I almost stepped in dog shit, too. You know how gross stepping in canine crap is barefoot. Days after you wash it off, you can still feel the…ugh. I ran, and ran…
But I couldn’t run anymore; they had me penned in. I noticed they all wore the same damn t-shirt….CCPE. But when I thought I was zombie chow…
“My DOOOOD…FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
Somebody in a gas mask and retro J.J. Watt jersey started chucking petrol bombs into the mass of muscle and belligerent egos. As they started scattering, I saw an opening in the crowd.
“GET OVER HERE, TONY, BEFORE THEY EITHER EAT YOU OR MAKE YOU BABYSIT BAM MILLER’S BRICK! I’D PERSONNALY PREFER GETTING TURNED INTO ZOMBIE SHIT THAN DEAL WITH THAT!”
The stranger didn’t have to tell me twice. I hauled ass to the guy.
“Shit, thanks…”
“Dude…*laughing*…forget white, you’re almost transparent. Doesn’t Cass let you out in the sun?”
I recognized that voice.
“Cashe?”
“We need to get you a tanning bed, you are EXTRA shades of honky!”
Yup, special guest star Jason Cashe. He took off the gas mask and grinned at me. “World got upside down while you were out. I got a shelter nearby. First, we need to get you some pants. Damn you’re your own shade of white.”
….Yeah, I do need to hit the beach again. I can’t tan worth a damn.
After a few pit stops to grab supplies, we ended up taking refuge in a sneaker store, which was great. Goddamn asphalt put a blister on my foot. I snagged a pair of Jordan’s (yup, plug that merch) in my size and put them on. Cashe was hitting the blunt and slapping the mask back on. Hotboxing military style.
“Gorilla Glue strain you’re the only thing holding civilization together.” Cashe quipped, blowing smoke rings.
“Jesus Christ, Jason. What the hell happened? I’m out for 28 days, the damn world turned into Resident Evil.”
“The games, or those shitty matrix knockoffs?”
“Dude, seriously. What the fuck happened.”
Cashe put out the blunt and shook his head. “Sissy PD and that damn Clique Virus he unleashed.”
“Huh?”
“C’mon, you had to know…”
“No, I mean, are they a stable? Talent agency? Cult? I’m not quite clear…”
“They’re a virus spreading, that’s what they are. Chris has been infecting the entire wrestling world with his graps-for-cash Rich Paul routine. They guy was signing everybody he could.”
Flashback to a secret laboratory hidden in the Velvet Rabbit, and me in a lab coat and a blonde wig holding a vial in my hands laughing.
“BWAHAHAHAHA! I’ve done it! My ultimate scheme to make money and get over the laziest way possible has been perfected! With this disease, I’ll have the entire wrestling industry kissing my ass and tossing me 20% every paycheck. Nothing will stop me…*phone rings*…dammit! Should have turned my phone off before going in on my evil genius rant. Oh, it’s Candice….”
“Hi, babe. How you doing?”
Blah, blah, blah on the other end.
“What? The car broke down? Shit! I mean, I COULD pick you up, but I’m in the middle of unleashing my diabolical…”
More blah, blah, blah…this time it’s in an irritated tone.”
“NONONONO….honey…okay, okay, I’ll pick you up from pilates class, no problem.”
Yada, yada, yada…
“Really? Good lord. Sebastian and Thad going at it again over Sloane? Thad. Swear to GOD that man will flirt with anything with a set of genitals. Least he’s socially active. Fucking can’t get Pete Vaughn to even flutter sexy eyes at anybody. All he’s about is suplexes and talking about that damn deck he put up in his middle of nowhere place. Seriously, he needs Tinder or a book club or something. Go put himself out there…huff…it’s like I’m running a daycare for muscle heads. Wait, how am I going to deploy this sinister sickness….”
*sees a stack of contracts*
“BRILLIANT! Plus they’re already printed out! Less work for me.”
*Back to NY*
“After that,” Cashe continued after relighting the blunt. “Night of the Living Dead. They’re coming to getttttt youuuuuu Barbara…yeah, it’s been spreading like pinkeye.”
I couldn’t believe how fast this progressed since the last event. “How many have been infected.”
“Like KPop band level prolific. He’s scooping up everybody in wrestling boots he can. I got some bad news, too…”
“He snagged your pirate crew from UGWC as well.” Cashe shows me the image on his phone. CCPE had put out an announcement. They signed Lucy Wilde and Rogan Maclean. My heart sank.
“No…no…no…oh God…they…”
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“But…they helped me fight off CCPE at the Outlast tourney. They helped me win the World Title there…how…why….”
“Oh God…..NOOOOOOO!”
I threw a pair of Yeezy’s at a wall. Heavily discounted too, they were not moving units anywhere anytime soon. Fake weeping, I lament…
“And Rogan owes me $200 for fronting him weed too! HOW COULD THEY! Oh, wait, I almost did…”
Cashe nearly chokes on his hit. “What!?”
“Yeah, couldn’t come to terms on merchandising and appearance fees. No hard feelings; just business. Plus I signed with Harvey Marx.”
“How is big dood doing?”
“Great. He had this new idea for and entrance. Doves and smoke machines like a John Woo movie…wait, you hear that?”
The damn things broke through the barrier and were swarming in. We had to think fast, we needed weapons….
Sneakers don’t make good zombie slaying gear, though you do look fresh doing it wearing them. Somebody left a box of records and a cricket bat…no guns…wait!
“Cashe, you got your title belt from XWF with you?”
“I like where you’re head is at!”
Fun fact: Championship belts are for some reason the most LETHAL foreign objects in professional wrestling. It’s science! C4, barbwire bats, light tubes; you can hit a motherfucker with that shit all day long, a wrestler will keep coming. Yet clock somebody with a belt, it’s like getting hit with Thor’s hammer for some odd reason. Instant slept! But, like Zombieland, the rule is double tap. The Chris zombies…Chrisbes…there we go, start dropping. And we didn’t do any of that corny Matrix knockoff super kung-fu shit like Resident Evil. Besides, it’s a wrestling promo; the production budget isn’t exactly Disney level here.
We stood over a pile of of infected wrestlers down for good, and after a moment like this, I reach into the pocket of some sweatpants I stole from a shop for something to celebrate this moment.
“Care for a Twinkie!?”
“Rather have a Moon Pie, but…”
Cashe rips open the package, and as he eats his treat, the wheels are in motion.
“Okay, so here’s the plan!”
“Christopher Robbin’ is going to be at the Garden trying to take my World Title belt. That shit ain’t happening. So, we’re gonna finish this blunt, roll down a few blocks to the area like Shaun of The Dead and re-unalive these Chrisbes, then….THEN….”
“I’m going to pin his ass to the canvas like a poster, then…”
“We’re going to Shake Shack for a burger and a nice peanut butter mocha malt. Now, how’s THAT for a slice of fried gold, ol’ buddy!/”
“YEEEEEEAH, BOYYYYYE!”
“And CUT! We’re done, great job!”
This is were we resume our regularly scheduled championship program. Tony’s cameraman Rick is getting good at this directing thing. Filmed it all on his Iphones, too, the man knows how to stretch a production budget.
“You sure, Rick? We can do another…”
“Nah,Tony, we’re good. We nailed it. Plus, we need to move on to the next set.”
And that is where the locale changes to Mecca itself, Madison Square Garden. Tony’s sitting in the same seat court side that’s reserved for Spike Lee during game-time, eating popcorn and watching the crew transition the legendary venue from basketball hardwood to wrestling canvas and ropes. Tony admired the speed and precision the crew displayed with the switchover. World class crew. And the venue itself held so many memories for the World Champion.His first match here was nearly 10 years ago on the undercard. Each visit, win or lose, was remarkable. For Tony, it wasn’t just an arena but a library. The stories told and contained here could fill entire shelves. He wasn’t just here to add another volume of his tale on the shelf. He was here to introduce one of his greatest works he would pen.
He didn’t know how many stories in the ring he had left to tell, so it was his goal to write New York Times Bestsellers while he could.
“Sometimes the best stories are the simplest ones, folks.”
“11 years ago, when I first started this insane ride, I was told a whole bunch of tales about how my future would turn out.”
“You don’t have the pedigree or the background for this. You didn’t have to struggle in your comfy life. You’re just a guest in this sport…”
“Most of those people that spun those yarns at me, don’t have anything to say now. Their tales ended. Mine, they were just beginning. I didn’t believe any of those stories. I had already outlined my saga, and it unfolded day after day, week after week, like the author envisioned. Sure, there were pitfalls and plot twists along the way. What good story doesn’t? Who’d be interested in a hero that always succeeded?”
He wiped his hands and put the snack aside for a minute.
“I knew my story would lead me to these hallowed grounds; I just didn’t know I’d keep coming back to this place in the epic over and over again. But now, it’s a different plot. Usually, it was me climbing the mountain in this arena. Now, I AM the mountain. Entity World Champion. #1 in the company. It’s been like that since day 1”
“First to hold the title. First in merchandise sales. First in critical acclaim. The ONE from the moment this company was birthed took the banner and ran with it. When you’re so good at what you do you don’t have to give yourself a nickname, you get titles bestowed upon you.”
“Apex Predator. Props to Dead City Wrestling for that moniker. For that’s what I am. Top of the food chain. But now, another tiger’s wandered into my hunting grounds. Chris Page.”
Tony flashes a grin.
“I don’t need to tell you folks what Chris is about. If you don’t know what he’s done in this sport, you haven’t been watching enough of it. Like me, all you have to mention is the name and you already have the idea. This is the biggest match in company history, the type that doesn’t “move the needle” but breaks the gauge.”
“It is a bit different beast though from what I’ve faced. People LOVE to remind me of that…”
“But Tony, Chris has more years and accolades than even you. He has a whole army behind him. You can’t escape his reach anywhere in this sport. CCPE is just too much even for you. How do you fight a legion like that? Well…”
That’s when his smile widens, and he picks up his old leather cut from back in the day, with a name and logo that instilled hatred and dread across the sport: DOGS OF WAR!
“Who better to battle a legion than a former Legate?”
“I have to remind people who say these things to me look upon my works. CCPE may have conquered the world, but when it comes to the Republic of Tony, they’ve had a helluva time breaching the walls. Not for lack of trying.”
“Peter Vaughn, one of the best in the sport. NEVER defeated me, solo or in a group. Holden Ross, the monster: NEVER defeated me. Mac and Amber Bane are one of the best duos to grace the industry, and they STILL have a goose egg in the win column against me. Sebastian Everett Bryce…”
“Seb took the Chaos title from me in UGCW. Good show, ol’ chap. After he fought me, he’s become the greatest to hold that belt. But at Outlast, I denied him the World belt. Evened out the score in spades. Rogan MacLean still has yet to beat me. And these are names above names. Hall of fame dwellers and multiple time champs. CCPE boasts arguably the most impressive lineup since D.O.W. and left a trail of bodies, but when it comes to me…”
“They just seem to be the Knicks going against Michael Jordan; not quite enough game to make it to the next round in the playoffs when I take the court. That’s just the truth, and the best stories are based on true stories.”
“Chris’ minions couldn’t quite get the job done, so now the “God” has to do it himself. Heh, always had to chuckle at people deifying themselves. Others would call it delusion or narcissism, and Chris can be all of that. Considering what he’s done, it’s not hard to think that way. Damn fine resume. But there’s the problem for him. That’s just an invitation for wrestling’s Galactus to come and eat. Call yourself a monarch, I turn into a guillotine and take your fucking head. Proclaim yourself a legend who’s seen and done it all, I force you to witness things you could never conceive. Establish yourself as a religion, Tony shows up, sacks and burns your temples, and salts the soil underneath them. Some complain Chris takes shortcuts, games the system. Those people are usually the ones fearful of doing what you need to do to win. Me…”
“I know what he can do solo. I applaud him for taking extra measure to protect the throne. And I will tell you, Page…”
“And you know this in your heart, watching me in person and having faced me before….DO WHAT THE FUCK EVER IS NECESSARY! Bring the crew, bring the guns. Have NYPD and the Ny National Guard on standby. Bring all that experience and lore pinned to your name because I am in orbit around your world now and even with the gold around my waist I am ALWAYS hungry. And you’re looking like Michelin star cuisine. A meal to rave about online.”
He picks up his belonging and glares at the camera with ice coming out of his baby blues.
“And I’m still just the guy from ATL that goes home and does the husband and dad thing. Funny, in a world full of gods and monsters, it’s just a person who rises above all that that ends up the protagonist everybody wants to read about.”
“This will be a night everybody remembers. Chris Page against your World Champion. A story that doesn’t need fluff to entertain the readers. But as epic as this ballad will be, when it comes to CCPE, I always seem to win in the end. I don’t plan on writing that chapter any different.”
He starts to walk away, then turns back…
“Why should I? When I’m constantly #1 on this bestseller’s list.”
The streets of NY shouldn’t be empty any time of day, especially midday. Times Square should be wall to wall traffic on both the roads and sidewalks. There should be droves of people in the center of town. New York was the city that supposedly never slept, but what I was seeing right now…
Fuck, it was like somebody slipped Fentanyl in the water supply, or made them watch a Holden Ross promo marathon. The whole city was dead. Not even the lights and the giant video screens worked. It wasn’t just Times Square that went dark; Central Park West, 5th Avenue, and Wall St. were morbidly silent. Brooklyn Bridge and the Tunnels were clogged with abandoned vehicles. The city that never slept was in a coma,and I had this sinking feeling I was the only person awake to experience this walking nightmare.
“HELLLLO!!!”
Nothing. Not even a typical warm and friendly New York “Fuck You!” in response. This was unreal. The ride became frightening when I noticed a bulletin board erected near the GUESS outlet entrance. Every inch of space covered with posters. Missing person posters.
“HAVE YOU SEEN SO AND SO…MISSING SINCE…LAST SEEN AT (INSERT COMPANY NAME HERE) SHOW…
Some wore masks, other donned face paint and costumes, some where greasy looking and flipping off the camera, but they all had a common thread attaching them…they were all WRESTLERS!
“Jesus…”
I nearly dropped the duffle bag with my World Title, the only thing I could find in my hospital bed. Seriously, my shoes went missing. This is Die Hard bullshit, running around with no shoes. Plus, they were Kobe 9’s, and the thought of some orderly running around in vintage limited edition kicks getting stool sample all over them…ugh!
I was hungry, thirsty, bewildered, and shoeless. I truly thought things couldn’t get worse…
Then I heard hissing and saw figures darting behind cars circling me, and I remembered in these scenarios you NEVER ask if things get worse. They always do!
A handful came into view. Their eyes were bloodshot (nothing abnormal if you personally knew), they were mumbling and snarling (again, wrestlers. This is how some cut promotionals by snarling at a camera), and some were dragging barbwire bats and carts with their mediocre home brewed “merch” (I admit I’m kind of lazy when it comes to design, plus I got Nike money. I’ll just have the nerds in Oregon design something.) They saw me and started shambling in my direction. I put my hands up…
“Okay, bitches. You want this smoke; I’m about to puff it in your face like I got a Camel cigarette…oh, shit!”
A handful doubled up, then quadrupled, then…they were showing up in droves now. A whole goddamn army of suplex and catchphrase obsessed meat sacks lurching towards me, looking at me like I was on the menu. I picked my bag back up and…
“*nervous laugh* Okay, I think things got a little heated…*starts backing away*…say, how about we forget this poor introduction and we slide on down to Cheesecake Factory, have ourselves some Cajun Chicken and a slice of strawberry swirl, on me?”
They didn’t seem interested in the least bit.
“Really? No? C’mon, best part is, no 2 hour waiting period like they usually have…”
They made up their mind about lunch. And your hero just turns to you viewers and says…
“And now, my next impersonation:Usain Bolt at the 2012 Olympics. SHIT!!!”
Good thing my cardio is Zombieland level, and most wrestlers get winded thinking about running. But they just lept coming out of the woodwork. They popped out of cars, alley ways, jumped through windows. I was getting surrounded. And I almost stepped in dog shit, too. You know how gross stepping in canine crap is barefoot. Days after you wash it off, you can still feel the…ugh. I ran, and ran…
But I couldn’t run anymore; they had me penned in. I noticed they all wore the same damn t-shirt….CCPE. But when I thought I was zombie chow…
“My DOOOOD…FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
Somebody in a gas mask and retro J.J. Watt jersey started chucking petrol bombs into the mass of muscle and belligerent egos. As they started scattering, I saw an opening in the crowd.
“GET OVER HERE, TONY, BEFORE THEY EITHER EAT YOU OR MAKE YOU BABYSIT BAM MILLER’S BRICK! I’D PERSONNALY PREFER GETTING TURNED INTO ZOMBIE SHIT THAN DEAL WITH THAT!”
The stranger didn’t have to tell me twice. I hauled ass to the guy.
“Shit, thanks…”
“Dude…*laughing*…forget white, you’re almost transparent. Doesn’t Cass let you out in the sun?”
I recognized that voice.
“Cashe?”
“We need to get you a tanning bed, you are EXTRA shades of honky!”
Yup, special guest star Jason Cashe. He took off the gas mask and grinned at me. “World got upside down while you were out. I got a shelter nearby. First, we need to get you some pants. Damn you’re your own shade of white.”
….Yeah, I do need to hit the beach again. I can’t tan worth a damn.
After a few pit stops to grab supplies, we ended up taking refuge in a sneaker store, which was great. Goddamn asphalt put a blister on my foot. I snagged a pair of Jordan’s (yup, plug that merch) in my size and put them on. Cashe was hitting the blunt and slapping the mask back on. Hotboxing military style.
“Gorilla Glue strain you’re the only thing holding civilization together.” Cashe quipped, blowing smoke rings.
“Jesus Christ, Jason. What the hell happened? I’m out for 28 days, the damn world turned into Resident Evil.”
“The games, or those shitty matrix knockoffs?”
“Dude, seriously. What the fuck happened.”
Cashe put out the blunt and shook his head. “Sissy PD and that damn Clique Virus he unleashed.”
“Huh?”
“C’mon, you had to know…”
“No, I mean, are they a stable? Talent agency? Cult? I’m not quite clear…”
“They’re a virus spreading, that’s what they are. Chris has been infecting the entire wrestling world with his graps-for-cash Rich Paul routine. They guy was signing everybody he could.”
Flashback to a secret laboratory hidden in the Velvet Rabbit, and me in a lab coat and a blonde wig holding a vial in my hands laughing.
“BWAHAHAHAHA! I’ve done it! My ultimate scheme to make money and get over the laziest way possible has been perfected! With this disease, I’ll have the entire wrestling industry kissing my ass and tossing me 20% every paycheck. Nothing will stop me…*phone rings*…dammit! Should have turned my phone off before going in on my evil genius rant. Oh, it’s Candice….”
“Hi, babe. How you doing?”
Blah, blah, blah on the other end.
“What? The car broke down? Shit! I mean, I COULD pick you up, but I’m in the middle of unleashing my diabolical…”
More blah, blah, blah…this time it’s in an irritated tone.”
“NONONONO….honey…okay, okay, I’ll pick you up from pilates class, no problem.”
Yada, yada, yada…
“Really? Good lord. Sebastian and Thad going at it again over Sloane? Thad. Swear to GOD that man will flirt with anything with a set of genitals. Least he’s socially active. Fucking can’t get Pete Vaughn to even flutter sexy eyes at anybody. All he’s about is suplexes and talking about that damn deck he put up in his middle of nowhere place. Seriously, he needs Tinder or a book club or something. Go put himself out there…huff…it’s like I’m running a daycare for muscle heads. Wait, how am I going to deploy this sinister sickness….”
*sees a stack of contracts*
“BRILLIANT! Plus they’re already printed out! Less work for me.”
*Back to NY*
“After that,” Cashe continued after relighting the blunt. “Night of the Living Dead. They’re coming to getttttt youuuuuu Barbara…yeah, it’s been spreading like pinkeye.”
I couldn’t believe how fast this progressed since the last event. “How many have been infected.”
“Like KPop band level prolific. He’s scooping up everybody in wrestling boots he can. I got some bad news, too…”
“He snagged your pirate crew from UGWC as well.” Cashe shows me the image on his phone. CCPE had put out an announcement. They signed Lucy Wilde and Rogan Maclean. My heart sank.
“No…no…no…oh God…they…”
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“But…they helped me fight off CCPE at the Outlast tourney. They helped me win the World Title there…how…why….”
“Oh God…..NOOOOOOO!”
I threw a pair of Yeezy’s at a wall. Heavily discounted too, they were not moving units anywhere anytime soon. Fake weeping, I lament…
“And Rogan owes me $200 for fronting him weed too! HOW COULD THEY! Oh, wait, I almost did…”
Cashe nearly chokes on his hit. “What!?”
“Yeah, couldn’t come to terms on merchandising and appearance fees. No hard feelings; just business. Plus I signed with Harvey Marx.”
“How is big dood doing?”
“Great. He had this new idea for and entrance. Doves and smoke machines like a John Woo movie…wait, you hear that?”
The damn things broke through the barrier and were swarming in. We had to think fast, we needed weapons….
Sneakers don’t make good zombie slaying gear, though you do look fresh doing it wearing them. Somebody left a box of records and a cricket bat…no guns…wait!
“Cashe, you got your title belt from XWF with you?”
“I like where you’re head is at!”
Fun fact: Championship belts are for some reason the most LETHAL foreign objects in professional wrestling. It’s science! C4, barbwire bats, light tubes; you can hit a motherfucker with that shit all day long, a wrestler will keep coming. Yet clock somebody with a belt, it’s like getting hit with Thor’s hammer for some odd reason. Instant slept! But, like Zombieland, the rule is double tap. The Chris zombies…Chrisbes…there we go, start dropping. And we didn’t do any of that corny Matrix knockoff super kung-fu shit like Resident Evil. Besides, it’s a wrestling promo; the production budget isn’t exactly Disney level here.
We stood over a pile of of infected wrestlers down for good, and after a moment like this, I reach into the pocket of some sweatpants I stole from a shop for something to celebrate this moment.
“Care for a Twinkie!?”
“Rather have a Moon Pie, but…”
Cashe rips open the package, and as he eats his treat, the wheels are in motion.
“Okay, so here’s the plan!”
“Christopher Robbin’ is going to be at the Garden trying to take my World Title belt. That shit ain’t happening. So, we’re gonna finish this blunt, roll down a few blocks to the area like Shaun of The Dead and re-unalive these Chrisbes, then….THEN….”
“I’m going to pin his ass to the canvas like a poster, then…”
“We’re going to Shake Shack for a burger and a nice peanut butter mocha malt. Now, how’s THAT for a slice of fried gold, ol’ buddy!/”
“YEEEEEEAH, BOYYYYYE!”
“And CUT! We’re done, great job!”
This is were we resume our regularly scheduled championship program. Tony’s cameraman Rick is getting good at this directing thing. Filmed it all on his Iphones, too, the man knows how to stretch a production budget.
“You sure, Rick? We can do another…”
“Nah,Tony, we’re good. We nailed it. Plus, we need to move on to the next set.”
And that is where the locale changes to Mecca itself, Madison Square Garden. Tony’s sitting in the same seat court side that’s reserved for Spike Lee during game-time, eating popcorn and watching the crew transition the legendary venue from basketball hardwood to wrestling canvas and ropes. Tony admired the speed and precision the crew displayed with the switchover. World class crew. And the venue itself held so many memories for the World Champion.His first match here was nearly 10 years ago on the undercard. Each visit, win or lose, was remarkable. For Tony, it wasn’t just an arena but a library. The stories told and contained here could fill entire shelves. He wasn’t just here to add another volume of his tale on the shelf. He was here to introduce one of his greatest works he would pen.
He didn’t know how many stories in the ring he had left to tell, so it was his goal to write New York Times Bestsellers while he could.
“Sometimes the best stories are the simplest ones, folks.”
“11 years ago, when I first started this insane ride, I was told a whole bunch of tales about how my future would turn out.”
“You don’t have the pedigree or the background for this. You didn’t have to struggle in your comfy life. You’re just a guest in this sport…”
“Most of those people that spun those yarns at me, don’t have anything to say now. Their tales ended. Mine, they were just beginning. I didn’t believe any of those stories. I had already outlined my saga, and it unfolded day after day, week after week, like the author envisioned. Sure, there were pitfalls and plot twists along the way. What good story doesn’t? Who’d be interested in a hero that always succeeded?”
He wiped his hands and put the snack aside for a minute.
“I knew my story would lead me to these hallowed grounds; I just didn’t know I’d keep coming back to this place in the epic over and over again. But now, it’s a different plot. Usually, it was me climbing the mountain in this arena. Now, I AM the mountain. Entity World Champion. #1 in the company. It’s been like that since day 1”
“First to hold the title. First in merchandise sales. First in critical acclaim. The ONE from the moment this company was birthed took the banner and ran with it. When you’re so good at what you do you don’t have to give yourself a nickname, you get titles bestowed upon you.”
“Apex Predator. Props to Dead City Wrestling for that moniker. For that’s what I am. Top of the food chain. But now, another tiger’s wandered into my hunting grounds. Chris Page.”
Tony flashes a grin.
“I don’t need to tell you folks what Chris is about. If you don’t know what he’s done in this sport, you haven’t been watching enough of it. Like me, all you have to mention is the name and you already have the idea. This is the biggest match in company history, the type that doesn’t “move the needle” but breaks the gauge.”
“It is a bit different beast though from what I’ve faced. People LOVE to remind me of that…”
“But Tony, Chris has more years and accolades than even you. He has a whole army behind him. You can’t escape his reach anywhere in this sport. CCPE is just too much even for you. How do you fight a legion like that? Well…”
That’s when his smile widens, and he picks up his old leather cut from back in the day, with a name and logo that instilled hatred and dread across the sport: DOGS OF WAR!
“Who better to battle a legion than a former Legate?”
“I have to remind people who say these things to me look upon my works. CCPE may have conquered the world, but when it comes to the Republic of Tony, they’ve had a helluva time breaching the walls. Not for lack of trying.”
“Peter Vaughn, one of the best in the sport. NEVER defeated me, solo or in a group. Holden Ross, the monster: NEVER defeated me. Mac and Amber Bane are one of the best duos to grace the industry, and they STILL have a goose egg in the win column against me. Sebastian Everett Bryce…”
“Seb took the Chaos title from me in UGCW. Good show, ol’ chap. After he fought me, he’s become the greatest to hold that belt. But at Outlast, I denied him the World belt. Evened out the score in spades. Rogan MacLean still has yet to beat me. And these are names above names. Hall of fame dwellers and multiple time champs. CCPE boasts arguably the most impressive lineup since D.O.W. and left a trail of bodies, but when it comes to me…”
“They just seem to be the Knicks going against Michael Jordan; not quite enough game to make it to the next round in the playoffs when I take the court. That’s just the truth, and the best stories are based on true stories.”
“Chris’ minions couldn’t quite get the job done, so now the “God” has to do it himself. Heh, always had to chuckle at people deifying themselves. Others would call it delusion or narcissism, and Chris can be all of that. Considering what he’s done, it’s not hard to think that way. Damn fine resume. But there’s the problem for him. That’s just an invitation for wrestling’s Galactus to come and eat. Call yourself a monarch, I turn into a guillotine and take your fucking head. Proclaim yourself a legend who’s seen and done it all, I force you to witness things you could never conceive. Establish yourself as a religion, Tony shows up, sacks and burns your temples, and salts the soil underneath them. Some complain Chris takes shortcuts, games the system. Those people are usually the ones fearful of doing what you need to do to win. Me…”
“I know what he can do solo. I applaud him for taking extra measure to protect the throne. And I will tell you, Page…”
“And you know this in your heart, watching me in person and having faced me before….DO WHAT THE FUCK EVER IS NECESSARY! Bring the crew, bring the guns. Have NYPD and the Ny National Guard on standby. Bring all that experience and lore pinned to your name because I am in orbit around your world now and even with the gold around my waist I am ALWAYS hungry. And you’re looking like Michelin star cuisine. A meal to rave about online.”
He picks up his belonging and glares at the camera with ice coming out of his baby blues.
“And I’m still just the guy from ATL that goes home and does the husband and dad thing. Funny, in a world full of gods and monsters, it’s just a person who rises above all that that ends up the protagonist everybody wants to read about.”
“This will be a night everybody remembers. Chris Page against your World Champion. A story that doesn’t need fluff to entertain the readers. But as epic as this ballad will be, when it comes to CCPE, I always seem to win in the end. I don’t plan on writing that chapter any different.”
He starts to walk away, then turns back…
“Why should I? When I’m constantly #1 on this bestseller’s list.”