A Long Ride Home

[Thomas Uriel Bates]

A Long Ride Home

Scene I “Respect”
Marsh Wheeling Factory – Wheeling, West Virginia

Gravel makes way for a tire as the front wheels of Thomas Uriel Bates’ custom motorcycle enters the abandoned parking lot of the Marsh Wheeling Factory in Wheeling, West Virginia. He comes to a stop where he has a clear view of the “Marsh Wheeling Stogies” sign rusting away in a state of decay. Once the last vestige of true American Cigars, had now disappeared without even much notice. The famous Southern tobacco that defined America, killed by regulations and ever increasing taxes on the iconic American product. Marsh Wheeling was a symbol of what had become of this once great Nation; a decaying ruin.

They don’t make them anymore. You won’t find a Marsh Wheeling Stogie in any shop across the Nation. Occasionally one may hear of someone having just a few more left. Thankfully, Thomas Uriel Bates knew someone with nearly a hundred left, and he bought every last one of them. He reached up to the left breast pocket of his leather vest, beneath the faded patch stating “Defilers of Logic”, and withdrew a thin rectangular tin box. He opened it, to reveal several Marsh Wheeling Stogies, a rarity even in this part of the country. He took the cigar out and returned the tin to the worn pocket of his vest.

He cut the head, causing it to fall to the sacred ground and end its life where it began. He took from his bottom right pocket a butane lighter, and heated the foot before lighting it. A Marsh Wheeling Cigar isn’t like a Cuban, but it still deserved respect. It was the oldest cigar company in America, having been around even before the War of 1861. It might have been a cheaper cigar than most, but it deserved to be treated as if it was made of gold.

As he drew the tobacco smoke into his mouth, he began to consider his beginnings. Born in a hospital in Memphis, Tennessee and moving just north to Brighton in his teenage years. The harsh realities of the city life so cold and unforgiving, and harsh but free life of the country. Raised in the fast paced world where his father was not just a giant of wrestling due to his size, but due to his merit as well. Watching his father, his mother, and his uncle dominate the wrestling industry. Missing them something fierce on those long nights with his grandparents. He never wanted for anything, except more time with them.

It was the demand of the job. Countless months out on the road, rarely ever getting to go home. Bates understood this now more than even then. When his mother retired to stay home with him, he was happy, but he still saw in her eyes the desire to roam. They went with his father from time to time, enjoyed the open road and frequented nearly every city in the United States at least a dozen times. He knew even at a young age the draw of the road.

He never blamed his parents for never being there. He knew that if they could stay they would, or if they could take him they would. The road is no place for a child, but the confines of a home is no place for a roamer. He never doubted their love for him, as they always provided for him. The job is demanding. The job is stressful. The job can leave you in ruins.

He understood their sacrifice, but wanted to provide more for his eventual family without sacrificing everything. He went to college, and earned himself a degree, a Bachelor of Arts in History, then a Masters in History. Thomas Uriel Bates, built to hold the world on his shoulders, was soon employed in Alabama as a College Professor.

The decaying ruins of Wheeling, West Virginia were not the only ruins Bates could see before him. Amongst many others was the Education of this once great Nation. Children are no longer being taught history, science, or even writing. They’re given computers and told to type instead of writing. They’re encouraged to read a website, not a book. They’re told that certain people are the villains of history, when the truth is far from it.

His days as a professor were numbered. You fight the system, and the system crushes you. The first defeat Thomas Uriel Bates ever received was from the Education System. Just try to tell students to write instead of type, or that there was more than just one cause of the “civil war”, and the System will come for you faster and harder than a speeding freight train. “Professor” Thomas Uriel Bates was indeed short lived.

But he always had a home. He had trained with his father since he was young. Wrestling was second nature to him. The technical moves, the powerhouse moves, all of this he knew from an early age. Wrestling was in his blood. When his career in education failed, he went home and trained even harder. It wasn’t long before the phone rang, and a man named Seth Lerch invited him to the Wrestling Championship Federation.

He came at an interesting time. Legends in the business such as Bobby Cairo, ICE Beckman, Corey Black, Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, Odin Balfore, the WCF was the home of some of the greatest wrestlers of our time. He could have been lost in the crowd, but he stood out yet again. It’s in his blood. Not just in his blood to be a good wrestler, but in his blood to become a legend.

He’s not there yet, but he’s getting closer. In the top 20 of most overall title reigns, 2015 Trios Cup Tournament winner, and Triple Crown champion, Bates was fast approaching a prestigious career in the WCF. He had made a name for himself.

He made a name for himself, but the WCF was not in the best of conditions. Seth Lerch had run the company down, and now Sarah Twilight, as General Manager, was running it down even further. This is the first time since the shutdown that the WCF was heading to the Deep South. It was really the first time they were leaving the same region they have been in since May. In addition to “making it”, Bates was happy because he was finally heading home.

His cigar is finished. He bends down and lays the remainder on a broken brick, allowing it to die in the place it was born. He turns back to his bike. A custom Harley Davidson Heritage Softail with Ape Hangers reaching high to the heavens before dropping back down to Earth. An extended Sissy Bar at the rear, with attached a series of feathers, rabbit’s feet, and a Confederate Battle Flag. The paint is black, with “BATES” written in big red letters on the side of the gas tank. The emblem of the Dark Riders Gang MC is barely visible behind the red letters. This was his bike. He has had it since he first joined the WCF. He rode it with the Dark Riders Gang. He rode it with Gonzo, Mikey, Doug, Danny, and Gemini. It was a worn and weathered as he had gotten. It still deserved respect.

The Mountain of WCF sat on his bike, and took off. Heading to Interstate Seventy East, riding off. He was heading, finally, to home.

Scene II “Cheap”
Cracker Barrel – Cambridge, Ohio

The wood creaked as the chair gently rocked to and fro. The rhythm of the rocking chair joined by the steady tap of the back hitting the wooden wall of the old fashioned designed Cracker Barrel store. The night air breezes by, with the wind carrying away with it the smoke from an old and worn Churchwarden pipe. The pipe rested in the hand, and on the lips, of the very Mountain itself.

As he drew the smoke into his mouth, he seemed to breathe in the very air of the earth itself. As he blew the smoke from his mouth, it seemed to form the very clouds themselves as they carried away in the dark starry night. His massive frame resembled the very mountains he has been named for. His tired skin hugged tightly to the bone, his eyes piercing through the sky, and his beard seemingly growing longer as we observe.

He wore the clothes not of a gentleman, nor of a businessman. No suit, and no tie. He wore the attire of a man that for the moment, was unconcerned of his appearance. The worn out blue jeans, the black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, and the worn out black leather vest bearing the patches of the Dark Riders Gang MC. Still visible, though fading each day, the patch denoting his time as a member of the Defilers of Logic. Out of the three of them, only two remained. Of those two, only he seemed to cherish their time together.

As we have grown accustomed to, the giant ignores the presence of the WCF owned cameras. His piercing eyes remained fixed on some faraway thing as he continued to smoke his pipe, as if he remained uninterrupted. He did know he was not alone, for he spoke. His deep Mississippi Delta Southern Accent carried through the air, soothing and yet frightening all in the same. He addressed not an audience of fans, but one man in particular.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Crazy J, before I begin in regards to our upcoming match, I would like to extend my condolences to your loss. From everything that I have seen, she meant a lot to you. I want you to know, that no matter how our match may go, that you can come to me if you need to. Be it a simple talk in the back, or letting all of your anger and frustration out on me in the ring. In this regard, Crazy J, I am here for you.

He has still yet to look at the camera, or to move his eyes from the fixed location in which they are locked. He draws another smoke in, and exhales slowly. His tone changes slightly, but remains soothing and terrifying. As if at any moment he will utter a curse that will shake the earth itself, and make rivers flow backwards. A very old way of speaking.

Thomas Uriel Bates: With that concluded, I would like to address you concerning the aforementioned match. It appears, Crazy J, that you have been teamed with Kevin Bishop and CJ Phoenix whereas I have been teamed with the current WCF Tag Team Champions Tom-O-Hawk and Captain WCF. The level of talent in this match alone is a testament to the greatness of the WCF itself. Our locker room is full of champions and potential champions, legends and potential legends. You, Crazy J, may even be one of them.

Now I could go on about your appearance as well as your behavior. While you do not care for them, you do indeed have a resemblance for the group known as the Insane Clown Posse. You both wish to cause violence, you both wear the paint, and you both have an affinity for harsh language. You are Crazy J, and they have a Violent J. Your group, Crazy J, shares many similarities with the ICP. You are, however, not the exact same. You and your Zero Tolerance have far more talent in that ring than all the ICP ever dreamed of.

You, Crazy J, are the WCF Hardcore Champion. That is something those painted fools never achieved. They had to start their own company just to get titles, but you, Crazy J, came into the WCF and turned the company upside down. You came in here with the rest of Zero Tolerance and you made people take notice. You didn’t do it by inserting yourself in everyone else’s business, you did it right there in the ring. You and your team all came here with a promise, and the determination to keep that promise.

Make no mistake, Crazy J, I do not care for you and your group, but I will not sit here and write you off, nor will I pretend that you are something less than you are. I will not take you or your group lightly. My eyes have been on you since you stepped into this company, and they will not falter. It would be foolish of me to ignore your existence.

I know that you will bring a lot to this match. You will fight, and you will pour everything you have into this match. This, Crazy J, is more than just a match for you. This is a chance for you to prove to any naysayer just what you can do. You can prove to anyone who doubts that Zero Tolerance is not to be easily dismissed. By taking out the Tag Team Champions and the World Champion, Crazy J, you will make your mark.

I know the target is on my back, and I know that you have zeroed in on that target. Any fighter worth their salt wants to prove they can climb the Mountain. Any fighter with a lick of sense knows their future can be decided in this very match. A great performance in this match means a potential World Championship title match down the road. A poor performance means moving to the back of the line, and only if you’re lucky getting a chance again months down the line. Crazy J, I expect you know this.

You’re going to be coming at me with everything it took to get that Hardcore Championship, and more. You’re going to fight like you’ve never fought before, and I expect nothing less. The violence that you will exhibit in this match, Crazy J, I am certain will exceed all expectation.

Though, Crazy J, this is not a hardcore match. Hardcore matches are cheap. In this match, Crazy J, you get no weapons in which to make your task easier to achieve. You don’t get a chance at some lucky shot with a flaming barbwire and nails baseball bat that takes out the Mountain. You get no equalizer, Crazy J. Hardcore rules may be fun and entertaining for the audience to watch at home, but so much rests on the chance that you can simply beat your opponent over the head with an object and crack their skull open long enough for you to make a pinfall.

You will have to enter that ring and face me with your bare hands. If you plan on beating me, then you must do so with skill and strategy. The Hardcore Title match was the chance to prove that you could fight an excruciating battle in the most brutal fashion, but this Sunday is the chance for you to really prove yourself. A chance to prove that you don’t need weapons to fight your match.

I have faith in you, Crazy J.

He stops talking, and halts the rocking. Silence fills the air as the piercing eyes of the Mountain of WCF turn finally to the camera. He stares in silence for a brief moment, his face remaining emotionless.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Don’t let me down.

He stands. He places the pipe back in his pocket and begins to step forward, leaving the WCF camera near the rocking chair. The giant walks across the empty parking lot to his black motorcycle with the large ape hangers and the extended sissy bar. He mounts the bike, and soon leaves off, heading back on the road to home.

Scene III “Champions”
BP Gas Station – Wytheville, Virginia

A motorcycle gives good gas mileage, but it still needs to fill up the tank from time to time. The gas nozzle pours the liquid into the tank, granting the rider more miles on the open road. The rider stands nearby, watching the pump as it quickly guzzled up his money. One dollar and eighty-eight cents per gallon at this BP gas station in Wytheville, Virginia. One dollar and eighty-eight cents for twenty-nine miles.

These long roads do leave a man to think. This man had a lot to think about. He was now the WCF World Champion, and everyone was targeting him. Old enemies such as Corey Black, men he had never heard of but apparently hated him such as Johnny Rabid, and of course old friends such as Kevin Bishop. Gold does terrible things to people, it can corrupt them. Not just those who hold the gold, but those who seek it as well. Every man holding this title, or pursuing it, must keep himself in order so as not to allow the corruption to reign. It was hard.

He finished filling up his tank, and returned the nozzle to the pump. He mounted his bike once again and was soon heading out of the station. He stopped just short of the road, and turned around to a vacant space in the lot. So much on his mind, so much needed to be said. He reached in his right breast pocket, under the worn out patch stating his name, and retrieved his cell phone.

A tiny thing really, not having need of larger screens or other fancy gadgets. A phone was a phone, but these days it was everything. It was also a flashlight, a calculator, a newspaper, a social media tool, an entire world in the palm of your hand. If your phone doesn’t have some fancy gadget, then there’s an app for that. Today however, this Samsung Galaxy phone would be better served as a camera.

As he had done many times before, he tapped the camera icon and activated the feature. He placed the phone on top of his motorcycle’s tank and stared at the tiny screen showing his face and massive shoulders. He sighed, and began to speak in his heavy and deep Southern Accent. A drawl which to many is music to the ears, and to others a sign of caution much like the rattling of a rattlesnake’s tail.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Kevin Bishop, it appears we meet once more in that ring. Once more you get to test your mettle against me. Once more you get to show that you deserve to be at the top of the card in the WCF. You once more can show the WCF Galaxy why you are indeed the People’s Champion.

You stood up for the people, Kevin, that’s why you are their champion. You stood with me as we faced off against Seth Lerch and his Family. We were victorious, yet the struggle continues. Mostly contained in locked rooms in the back, or conference rooms in some lawyer’s office, our fight with Seth Lerch continues and will continue until we get true representation. You were a very important part of that fight, Kevin, and for that you will always have my thanks.

We however, did choose this career. We chose to become wrestlers. The purpose of which is irrelevant, as the fact still remains that we are in a competitive business that demands a true test of our abilities. I have no doubt as to your skill, Kevin, just as I believe you have no doubt of mine. You are the WCF People’s Champion for a reason, just as I am the WCF World Champion for a reason.

We will fight, Kevin. You will do everything you can to pin my shoulders to the mat, perhaps even more so than when we last met inside that ring. You have something even more to prove. You want to show that you can take on the WCF World Champion and win. You want to show that you can beat the Mountain. Though you showed great skill, and great promise in our previous match, you did not pin my shoulders to the mat. You did not force me to submit, and you did not render me unconscious. You defeated Teddy Blaze, your predecessor in the People’s Championship.

I know you want more. You will not be satisfied with simply winning the match. You will not be satisfied pinning Captain WCF, or defeating Tom-O-Hawk. You want me, and you want me bad. You want the gold that I carry on my shoulders, and you want to show the world that it is yours for the taking. Kevin Bishop, I know this is what you desire.

Who doesn’t want it? You want my title, even though you have one of your own. Crazy J wants my title, even though he holds his own. CJ Phoenix wants my title, and if he can hold on to the Alpha title long enough, he will get his shot. I am the target in this match, and I have no fantasies that this is not the case. Crazy J may want to prove something by taking out the Tag Team Champions, but somewhere deep inside I know he also wants to prove he can take me on.

And I am certain that all of you can. You’re all skilled, especially you Kevin. You have that ability to meet me in that ring and make me fight to keep this title. You are a Champion, and I have no doubt that this gold will one-day rest on your shoulders.

But for now, Kevin, it is on mine. I aim to keep it a little while longer. To prove my intention of keeping this belt, I must defeat you. I must defeat three worthy champions, all of whom will not make it easy for me. I will train harder, and fight harder than ever I have before. Each fight before me will be treated as the toughest fight in my life. As a result, Kevin, I am not the same fighter you stood in the ring with not so long ago. You will discover this at Slam.

He reaches for his camera, and stops the recording. He transforms it back into a cell phone, and begins to return it to his pocket. He pauses, and looks at the screen. He taps the phone icon, and scrolls down the long list of numbers to one; Grayson Pierce. He taps, and brings the phone to his ears.

He doesn’t get to speak, but the receiver of the phone does. Though the sounds were muttered, they were loud. The language seemed harsh, and the tone even harsher, yet Thomas Uriel Bates doesn’t flinch. He listens, with a smile on his face and a memory in his eyes. The loudness continues briefly, but stops abruptly. Bates removes the phone from his ear and sighs. He returns it to his pocket, and returns to the road home.

Scene IV “The Rising Phoenix”
Dixie Outpost Barbecue – Blountville, Tennessee

The smell of Southern cooking is always a welcoming smell. The smells of barbecue ribs, pork, chicken, all mixes in with the smell of beans, sweet potatoes, and more. It nearly always feels like mama’s cooking for you somewhere in the back, though of course no one can match mama’s cookin’.

It was welcoming, as are most things Southern. Not only was the air full of delicious foods, but full of hospitality as well. Not a frown in the house, not a single person simply throwing slop on a plate and walking away with a mutter. “Please” and “Thank you”, “yes sir” and “yes ma’am” still rolls off the tongue in this place. A fitting representation of The South, and of Southern Hospitality.

Sitting at a booth inside the small shack, is none other than Thomas Uriel Bates, the Mountain of WCF, and in this case the Eater of Ribs. Two full racks of ribs sit before the giant, surrounded by barbecue baked beans, Sweet Tater Delight, and deep fried pickles. The ribs are smothered in barbecue sauce. As the giant lifts a single rib to his mouth, the red sauce drips over the plate. He bites down and tears the meat from the bones and savors the taste.

As it appears always, our giant cannot eat a meal in peace. Not without the vultures of the WCF Camera crew interrupting. They always forced him to talk, and as a result his food would nearly always get cold. He knew he was a talker, but sometimes you just want to eat your food.

The cameraman was a young skinny kid, most likely a college student looking to earn some credits for some film related degree. Seth had a habit of “hiring” such kids, especially since most of them worked only for the school credits. Interns they’re called, cheap labor is what they are. This kid had a city accent, though perhaps from somewhere in the State. Knoxville maybe?

WCF Cameraman: Mister Bates, can I get you for a quick inter…

Thomas Uriel Bates: No.

Bates was quick, and perhaps even a bit rude in this case. He regretted the rudeness, but did wish for the kid to leave him in peace. The kid for his part, seemed to have all the energy drained from his body. He had seemed so full of life when he approached, but now looked like a victim of some vampire. Bates felt terrible.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Let me eat in peace, then I’ll talk to you.

The kid simply nodded his head while speaking not a word. He quickly turned and headed back to the door, leaving the giant to eat in peace. Which he did. While the cameraman presumably waited patiently outside, the Mountain of WCF consumed his meal. When the waiter came back around, he ordered two deserts to go. The waiter was prompt, and returned shortly with the deserts and the check. As always with a pleasant server, Bates placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and left the establishment.

When he walked out, he half expected the kid to have fled. As ghostly white as the kid was during their initial encounter, he was quite surprised, and pleased, to see him waiting patiently by the door. As the kid approached, Bates hands him one of the banana pudding deserts, as well as a plastic spoon.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Sorry about that. I rarely get to eat a meal at a restaurant in peace, and being back in the South, I wanted to enjoy my meal.

WCF Cameraman: I understand, Mister Bates. Sorry for the interruption.

Bates nods, and then smiles at the cameraman.

Thomas Uriel Bates: So, let’s get the show on the road. Who would you like to hear me talk about now?

WCF Cameraman: Well, I saw that you talked to Crazy J. Man that was a creepy shot. I then saw the YouTube video where you talked to Kevin Bishop. We can talk about your other opponent CJ Phoenix, or we can talk about your tag team partners. Whatever you’d like to talk about, sir.

Bates smiled. The kid seemed very well researched. He knows the match itself, and he looked to see other videos Bates had put out concerning his match. This kid was going to have a very successful career. Bates liked him.

Thomas Uriel Bates: Very well.

It’s not always easy to shift from one demeanor to another, but anyone in the public life must excel at it. One minute you can be happy and cheerful, the next you need to project an image of deep concern or great anger. One minute you can have your whole world ripped from your arms, the next you must be joyful and optimistic. The life of any public figure is a double life, if not more.

Bates was no different. As always before a film shoot, he sighs. This was not because he didn’t care about the subject, or because it was some deep emotional thing for him, not always anyway. This is how he changed. Breathe in, close your eyes, and allow the world to stop. The rain drops freeze in the air, the snow halts its fall, the dancing mirage in the distance stops its dance, and then he exhales to a new world with a singular focus.

Thomas Uriel Bates: CJ Phoenix. It appears that you get to face me in that ring before you cash in that Alpha Title. You get a chance to see if you can do the job now, or how much you need to work on to get to that level several weeks from now. The WCF Alpha Champion faces off against the WCF World Champion in a preview of what could possibly transpire soon enough.

Now CJ, I know you’re climbing the ladder, and you’re getting closer to the top. But this match my friend, can either make you or break you. If you do well, and you perform to the best of your abilities, then you have just made our upcoming match all the more meaningful. You truly prove what the Alpha Championship is all about. If you do poorly however, if you’re having an off day and you cannot give your all, then you make the Alpha Championship meaningless, and cast doubt on your worthiness to even challenge for this title when the time comes.

This is a risk for you, CJ. You had better bring everything you have to this match. If you do good, or even win, then you prove that you deserve to be at the top with the World title. You fail, CJ, then is that contract attached to your title even worth the paper it’s written on? You fail, CJ, then your fall will be a great one that will take the entire Alpha Championship with it. Just as I have a lot on my shoulders for this match, so do you.

You want to know what I think will happen, CJ? I think you will do good. You’re a great fighter, and a wonderful competitor. This is your first championship in the WCF and I know that you have the fire in your heart to achieve even more. I know that you have it in you to hold on to that belt and challenge for the World Title soon enough. The question is, CJ; do you know this? I think you do, but I also know that there is doubt in your mind.

It's nothing to be ashamed of, of course. Every champion has their doubts. Did they really deserve this title, or was it a fluke? Did I really deserve to take the World Championship from Gemini Battle and Brent Alpine, or was all of this some sort of mistake? Looking at my past here in the WCF, I can be confident in the knowledge that I earned my title, and that I deserve to be where I am at. CJ, you deserve to be where you’re at too.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You’re a champion, and from the looks of it you’re going to be a great one too. You have to keep pushing though. Give it everything you have. Every performance you give must be greater than the one you gave the week before. You must prove on a daily basis that you deserve that title, that you deserve to be here with me at the top of the ladder.

I think you can do that, and I look forward to not just this upcoming match, but the one down the road when you cash in the Alpha Championship. You must hold that title until then, just as I must hold mine. Good luck my friend.

Bates nods, and the WCF Cameraman/Film Student stops the video. The kid thanks Bates, who accepts and exchanges a few pleasantries of his own. Complementing him regarding his technique, or his behavior in the restaurant. Offering a few hints from his perspective, and what not. The two go their separate ways; the kid to his van, and Thomas Uriel Bates to his bike. Once more, he returns to the road home.

Scene V “Home”
The Bates Residence – Huntsville, Alabama

Home, it’s where the heart is. His home is getting closer. The long paved roads are flanked by tall Oak trees, providing a natural tunnel from one reality to another. From the fast moving world of cars and rockets, to the peaceful tranquility of the Southern country. Once cleared from the tunnel, we see a glimpse of the house that contains the Mountain. A single Greek Revival style plantation home in the center, at the end of the long road. The white marble nearly glows in the sun, as if it was resting on Mount Olympus itself. To the left and right of the house are rolling fields white with cotton. Off in the distance are green leaves of tobacco, beginning to turn yellow and nearing time for harvest. It was an old home, for an old soul.

One might expect to see our giant return home riding a horse, or riding in a carriage. It is as if we have traveled back in time. Our image is shattered with the roar of the motorcycle, and the arrival of Thomas Uriel Bates. He pulls up to the front of the house and stops his bike, dismounts with the saddle bags, and immediately rushes up the white marble steps and passes the large marble columns. He inserts his keys and flings open the door, rushing into the home he had been gone from for so long.

The Central Passage of the house featured a black walnut staircase leading up to the next floor of the house. The little parlor is visible on the right, with the downstairs bedchamber visible to the left. He quickly rushed through the bedchamber, and into another room with more stairs leading upwards. He turned quickly before the steps, entering finally into the room of his desire; the Study.

Bookcases filled two sides of the room, each full of countless books on the subject of history, law, and of course literary classics. On one wall of the room however, a large glass case. Within this case we see weightlifting trophies, academic awards, and the familiar representations of the WCF Championships. We see the WCF Television Championship sitting next to the WCF United States Championship. The WCF Tag Team Championship resting next to the WCF Trios Championship. An empty spot at the top of the case, and two empty slots at the bottom. Under each belt is a small brass plate naming the title, and how many times Thomas Uriel Bates has held it. “1x WCF United States Champion”, “1x WCF Television Champion”, “1x WCF Tag Team Champion”, “1x WCF Trios Champion”, his entire achievements displayed in this one case.

He reached in his pants pocket and retrieved a set of keys. He quickly unlocked the case and carefully slid the glass doors to the side. He reached into his large leather saddlebag and withdrew two gold belts. A replica, his copy, of the WCF World Championship, denoted by the word “COPY” embossed in the leather behind the plate. The second title is the real WCF World Championship, of which he sets on top of the case. He places the copy in its place in the top row, centered, and removes two small brass plates from his bag. One plate reads “1x WCF World Champion” of which he places under the corresponding title. The other reads “2x WCF Television Champion”, of which he removes the old and replaces it with the new. He finally reaches back in his bag and pulls out a plaque reading “WCF Triple Crown Champion” and places it beside the display World Title.

Only a small handful of titles were missing from the display. Some, such as the Cruiserweight Championship, he would never get. Others such as the People’s Championship, or the Internet Championship, or even the Hardcore Championship, he had little interest in. He was beginning his legacy, and carving his own path in the history of professional wrestling.

He slid the glass back and locked it before standing up and retrieving the real WCF World Championship belt. He slowly walked back through the bedchamber, and through the central passage. He now entered the small parlor and sat down on the red velvet couch. He placed the WCF World title beside him, and kicked off his boots. He was home now; it was time to relax.

He knew that he would have to face more challengers soon. CJ Phoenix, Kevin Bishop, and Crazy J all want to prove something to the world by taking out the World Champion. Johnny Rabid wants to prove something by coming back and taking on the current World Champion. Gemini Battle will eventually want to get “even” with Bates over something or another. The line keeps getting bigger and bigger. The bigger his trophy case got, the bigger the line. This was the start of his legacy.

Last year everyone was talking about ICE Beckman. Then they were talking about Bobby Cairo, then Dune. Thomas Uriel Bates faced every one of them. They each knew his strength, and they each knew his will. They all knew his determination. Even if they dared not utter it aloud, they knew that he would soon take the title they held at one point. He had climbed the ladder, and each of them knew it would happen.

Now he was on their end. Now he could look across the WCF and see the mass of talent building up, each one climbing their own ladder towards him. He had faced some of them, and he will face even more. He knew their strength, and he knew their will. He knew their determination, and their flaws. He knew who would one day hold the title that is his, and he knew they would come for him sooner or later. He welcomed them.

There was no need to worry about it now. That was in just a few short days. The gauntlet would have to wait. Thomas Uriel Bates was finally at home.