Post by Tom Frost on Jan 22, 2017 3:27:15 GMT -5
“Ask me if there was one time a man didn’t strut his stuff and bob his head to the timeless, finger-popping groove of ‘Green Onions’, and I’d tell you it was after I pinned Ryan O’Callaghan on Slam. The tune had served me and my band countless times when we were trying to wake up an audience, and sure enough the WCF faithful whose eyes were glued to me as I strode up the ramp in victory were wide awake and cheering me on for the first time in my career.
But as for me...I could hardly hear it. Walking up the ramp, I was focused on one thing: finding that bastard Rumpke and putting him down like he’d done to me before my match with O’Callaghan that night.
I parted the curtain and flashed the first man I saw an icy stare that froze him in his tracks.”
Tom: Where’s Rumpke?
Hank Brown: I...I don’t know…he -
“I shoved the helpless pipsqueak aside and tore off down the hallway, desperate to find the Drunken Brawler.
The first door I came to read “Zero Tolerance” on the front. A group of bozos decked out in partial clown gear sat within, and they jumped to their feet as I invaded their safe space. They called out in harsh protest to my presence, but I didn’t listen. These were no clowns to fear - no band of Pennywise clones - and I paid them no mind before continuing down the hall.
The second door read “The Brotherhood”, and in throwing the door open I called out before they could react.”
Tom: Where’s Rumpke?
“They laughed and asked, ‘Who?,’ before I snarled and slammed the door shut behind me. Rumpke had no friends in this business - at least none that I had seen him with - and I kept this in mind as I passed a third door with a sign that read “Pantheon” on the front.
Reaching the end of the hallway and turning the corner, my eyes went wide with the next nameplate I saw. ‘Seth Lerch’ it read, and I pounded on it once before swinging it open and stepping inside.”
Tom: Where’s -
Seth: Rumpke?
Tom: ...Yeah. Where’s he at?
Seth: How should I know? If it was my job to babysit every man and woman on my roster, I would’ve quit this business years ago.
Tom: You saw what he did tonight, didn’t you? Before my match?
Seth: I did...but I can’t say I’m displeased. The more you two want to destroy each other in the ring at Rise Up in a couple weeks, the more people will want to see it. And you know what that means.
“But money was the last thing on my mind. I glared at Seth, who smiled wryly in return.”
Seth: That’s the spirit. Now go find Rumpke...and make sure some cameras are around to catch what goes down when you do!
“I turned and stormed out of the boss man’s office, but just before slamming the door behind me, he called out.”
Seth: Oh, and by the way, Frost! I’ve got you going against Menaki next week on Slam. Think you can handle it?
Tom: Menaki...you sure that’s a good idea?
Seth: Why wouldn’t it be?
Tom: I already beat him handily in my debut. Nothing’s gonna change a second time around.
Seth: It’ll be one-on-one this time.
Tom: Do what you’ve got to do. Whoever you pit me against, I’ll be ready.
Seth: Menaki it is. Best of luck.
“Slamming the door and damning Seth for temporarily taking my mind off Rumpke, I regained my purpose and started off in search of the Drunken Brawler.
After proceeding to tear apart every room and interrogate every person I came across backstage, I began to question my methods. ‘Where would I be if I were a drunken brawler,’ I asked myself, only to realize that’s exactly what I was...albeit a better drunk and a better brawler. Then it dawned on me: if I was Rumpke, I’d be at the nearest hole in the wall getting shitfaced.
I made my way outside and caught a cab.”
Cabbie: Where to?
Tom: The nearest drinking hole.
Cabbie: Looking to wet your whistle, huh?
Tom: Sure, maybe give my knuckles a workout while I’m at it.
Cabbie: Homer’s is just a few blocks down, you could probably walk if you -
Tom: No, just drive...I’m in a rush.
“The cab driver shrugged and started toward Homer’s, where I was sure to find the bastard who’d tried and failed wholeheartedly to cost me my match that night. A minute later he slowed to a stop, and I handed him a wad of greenbacks before stepping out of the cab and shutting the door.
Growling beneath my breath, I closed the gap between myself and the bar, swinging the door open and stepping into the small, dimly lit room.
Disappointment followed, as a quick scan revealed no one with Rumpke’s identifying traits. I almost called out his name as a last resort before something caught my eye: a man with a haircut just like my future opponent, and a shirt that read ‘One Drink at a Time’ on the back.
‘There you are,’ I said to myself as I strode toward him, not bothering to return the courtesy he’d shown me in calling out my name before cheap-shotting me backstage at the arena. I grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him off the stool, sending him crashing to the floor. I leapt on top and began smashing his face in with knuckles still beet-red and swollen from my bout with O’Callaghan mere minutes before.”
Tom: How’s that feel, you son of a bitch? Teach you to fuck with old Tom Frost!
“Within seconds I was pulled off him by a group of do-gooders who I instantly turned on and greeted with the same ferocity. I put two of them down, but when I turned to wale on the third, the barrel end of a shotgun impeded the blow.”
Barkeep: What the hell do you think you’re doing, old man?
Tom: Returning the favor that this -
“But as I turned toward the unconscious man on the ground, I realized my mistake.
I’ve never been a lucky man, and nothing had changed that night, because the bloodied face of the man who lay there wasn’t that of Rumpke...it belonged to what must have been the only person who’d ever bothered to purchase Rumpke merchandise in the whole goddamn world.
The police arrived on the scene in a matter of minutes, and I sucked down the last of an Old Gold as they pulled up...the barkeep pointing his shotgun at me the whole time.”
Officer: What do we got?
Barkeep: Attempted murder if you ask me.
Officer: That so?
“The officer took one look at the Rumpke fan’s face and cuffed me.”
Officer: How about a night in the tank?
Tom: Sounds like a rhetorical question.
Officer: Smart man. Let’s go.
“Silence ensued as we drove to the station, aside from the constant radio banter up front. I stared out the window and watched the city of brotherly love pass by, the strewn trash as numerous as the shady figures that littered the sidewalks and alleyways.
Once inside the station, I was thrown into the mix of haggards and drunkards who’d wound up there just like I had, one way or another. My cuffs were taken off, and just before I was locked in the holding cell, I called out to the guard.”
Tom: Phone call...I wanna make my phone call.
“Reluctantly, the guard nodded for me to follow him. He ushered me to a payphone on the wall nearby, and I picked up the receiver and started to dial.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. I should’ve called a lawyer. I should’ve called a bail bondsman. Hell, I should’ve called anyone with any sort of ability to help get me out of that station...but instead I called the only person who could warm my heart, if only with the sound of her voice."
Tom: Anna Marie? It’s me, it’s -
Anna: Tom Frost...I know. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Where are you?
Tom: I’m in Philadelphia.
Anna: Well I know that. Doing your WFC thing.
Tom: WCF thing, yeah.
Anna: Right...either way, it’s playing on the TV at the diner right now. Got a decent crowd in here for it. Can’t say I’m watching with them. You’re not there at the arena though, are you?
Tom: What do you mean?
Anna: Caller I.D...it’s this new thing, happen to have it on the phone up here. ‘Philadelphia Police Department?’ Jesus, Tom, what’d you get into now?
Tom: Bit of this, bit of that...
Anna: Bit of trouble?
Tom: ...Yes, ma’am. Just a bit.
Anna: How’d I know? And what are you doing calling me? Shouldn’t you have called a lawyer, or -
Tom: Yeah, I should’ve. I thought to, but that smiling face of yours came across my mind’s eye, and your sweet voice echoed inside my ears and, well...I’m sorry but I couldn’t help myself.
Anna: I know that’s right. You can’t help but cause trouble, no matter how much I plead with you to stay out of it.
Tom: I -
Anna Marie: And now you wasted your one phone call just to hear my voice? What are you thinking, Tom? What the hell’s wrong with you?!
Tom: Call it passion, Miss Anna Marie. Call me a fool running a fool’s errand - a fool in love. But don’t call it wrong. I’ve never made a finer decision in my life.
Anna: Oh, Tom...how many times do I have to tell you? I can’t love a man who goes around drinking every day and night, who goes around fighting and getting himself thrown in jail every other weekend. That’s the kind of man you are...and I can’t love a man like you. Not again...
Tom: Anyone can change.
“A brief silence followed, but just before I spoke up, Anna Marie responded.”
Anna: Maybe so...but I’m not the one who needs changing. That’s you, Tom. And until you do, don’t bother calling me again.
Tom: Anna, I -
“Click...and that was all she wrote.
From booking me in to escorting me to my humble abode for the night - a small cell at the end of a filthy hallway - about 15 minutes passed, and to tell you I was impressed with the Philly P.D.’s efficiency would be an understatement. It seemed they’d done this before.
The officer shoved me into my cell and locked the barred door before glancing in at me.”
Officer: Assuming you get lucky and the man you assaulted doesn’t press charges, you’ll be out in the morning. Until then...sweet dreams.
“Wrapping my calloused hands around the cold steel bars - an all too familiar sensation - I watched the officer disappear out of sight before taking a seat on my cot.
My mind was a flurry of thought dominated by three people - Rumpke, and how best to provide him with the comeuppance he so desperately needed; Anna Marie, and my undying love that she would never return if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass for the first time in my life; and last but certainly not least...Menaki, the big, bully-hating bull queer I was destined to square off against in a little under seven days.
It was the latter who made me speak aloud amidst the empty cell block.”
Tom: Menaki again, huh? For the second time in three weeks I’ve got the pleasure of sharing the ring with you, and just like in our first bout - just like in my match tonight - I’m gonna make the most of it.
3-0, Menaki. That’s what I’ll be after I’m through with you. Unless, that is, you plan to put up anything resembling a fight this time. Lord knows you didn’t in our respective debuts. In fact, you seem to have forgotten all about that. I saw your promo a few days ago...the one where you claimed our debut match was nothing more than a warm-up. It’s funny, because all you did that night was allow yourself to be eliminated for your first loss of many more to follow...if your record as it stands today is any indication. Some warm-up.
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt though. Maybe your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders and you haven’t yet realized that wasn’t a warm-up or practice or anything but the real thing. Having mush for brains would certainly explain how you wound up losing tonight, and to that fuck Rumpke, no less. I’ll admit, Rumpke’s not a man to be taken lightly, but you’ve shown in two weeks that you’re not a man to be taken seriously.
With that in mind, don’t believe for one second that I’m under the impression that I’m going to pin you for an easy three. You may come off like a big dumb mongrel, but the key word there is “big”, and that alone makes you a threat in the ring.
I’ve seen what you can do. You’re a mountain of a man, and should I let my guard down this week, I have no doubt you could easily capitalize and gain the advantage. I may be a fool when it comes to certain aspects of my life, Menaki, but when I’m going toe-to-toe with another man or men, I’m anything but. My wit will run circles around you and leave you hogtied and squealing for mercy. My physicality is on a level the likes of which you’ve never had the displeasure of knowing. I’m the best fighter you’ve ever been pitted against, and though you’ll be quick to deny it if only for the sake of maintaining a level of confidence going into our match, as soon as that bell rings and we start going at it, the truth of the matter’s gonna dawn on you sure as the sun’s fiery eyes are gonna break the horizon to light up this filthy town tomorrow morning.
You called this week a fresh start, and after the way you started your WCF career - by getting bested by men nearly half your size in an over-the-top battle royal - it’s no secret that you needed one. But after getting your ass handed to you tonight by the man who’s doomed to fall to me at Rise Up, I wonder what you’ll call our match next Sunday. Will it be another fresh start? If so, that’ll make three fresh starts in which you’ve flopped around in the ring like a fish out of water...which of course begs the question: do you belong here? Have you truly found a home in the WCF? Or have you made a huge mistake in thinking you can hang in the finest wrestling promotion the world over?
From what I’ve seen of you thus far...well, I think you can guess the answer.
And with the reality of being winless after two weeks washing over you and the prospect of being winless after three weeks staring you in the face, how will you respond?
You’re a giant. You’re a fucking redwood, and yet you play at being a dandelion blowing in the breeze. You bend with the slightest gust, and you topple with the storm. And right now, that’s exactly what’s heading your way, Menaki - a storm, the likes of which you’ve never seen.
“I paused as the guard threw open the door and dragged what looked to be a homeless man into the small cell block. The bum was mumbling under his breath, caught in a booze-induced dream he wouldn’t soon snap out of. The guard tossed him into the first cell, and the man flopped onto the floor before the guard locked him in and exited the room. As the drunkard continued to moan quietly in his sleep, I carried on.”
Tom: You say you were born to be in a wrestling ring. You say you’ll never lie down and allow your opponents to walk all over your seven foot frame. But hearing you say these kinds of things only makes me question what lies have fed your belief that there is any truth to them. After all, your opponents have walked all over you in both of your matches so far. And if you were born to be in a wrestling ring, then by god I was born to be a centerfold in Playgirl magazine. Sure, a few hours worth of editing in photoshop could save me in that regard, but it’s going to take far more than a few hours - or even your allotted seven days - to trim the fat off your wrestling ability; to airbrush you into oblivion and hide all those fatal flaws; to mold you into the fighter you say you truly are. But seven days is all you’ve got, Menaki...and after seven days, your time’s up.
The clock’s ticking, and with each maddening tick my desire to plant you like the flower you’ve proven to be increases. Stop me from walking all over you, Menaki, please fucking do it. I don’t want an easy win. I want your best, and I pray to god you can deliver. Show me what you’re made of. Show the WCF faithful you’re not the usual fodder that comes and goes in this business. Show the world you’re truly the talent you claim to be. Don’t let your massive frame speak for you; let your ability do the talking. People should see you and flee in the opposite direction. I won’t lie - when I first realized I was up against a man of your size in my debut, I gulped down a swig of Wild Turkey and inhaled an entire Old Gold in a single drag to ease the cold shiver that ran up my spine. But I don’t fear you, Menaki...not anymore; not after what I’ve seen of you.
You thrive on the pain and the agony - the blood, sweat, and tears that go into carving out your legacy in this business? Well goddamn, that’s something the man standing across from you in the ring should fear. So make me. I want to fear you, just like I did before we debuted.
Despite all my talk against you, know this: I don’t hate you. Why would I? I have absolutely no reason to. The only thing I’ve got against you is the knowledge that you barely showed up when we squared off the first time. I’ve got a certain level of respect for you and any other man who steps foot into the squared circle. But I could respect you a lot more, and what happens in the ring next Sunday is going to determine how much I have for you going forward.
Now, that may not mean a damn thing to you, but the simple truth is that the level of passion and desire my opponents bring to the ring has a direct correlation with the amount of respect I have for them. If you come out there and half ass it like you’ve done the past couple weeks, you’re not going to walk away with your first victory. Plain and simple. For that reason alone, gaining my respect this week should be a priority.
Without it, you don’t stand a chance.
“Longing for a cigarette, I stood up and paced back and forth in my cell before settling back down on the stiff cot - my only companion for the night. A drunken moan expelled from the bum a few cells down from me, and I responded in turn with an unintelligible howl of my own before closing my eyes. It had been a long day and even longer night, and the three fights I’d taken part in left me tired as a dog.
Within seconds I was with my sweet Anna Marie again, revisiting the life we shared...the one that existed only in my dreams.
The sound of an officer’s voice dragged me out of that heaven far too soon.”
Officer: Hey, wake up!
Tom: Huh...yeah, yeah I’m up.
Officer: You’re free to go.
“The metal on metal rustling of keys unlocking the cell had me on my feet in an instant, and I followed the officer down the hall and out of the cell block. A clerk handed me my belongings - a wallet, a flask half full of Wild Turkey, and a pack of Old Golds.”
Tom: Thank you ma’am. So I take it no one’s pressing charges?
Clerk: Not this time. The guy you attacked considered it an honor to have an actual WCF wrestler give him something to show for taking a beating. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.
“But I knew that far better than she ever would. After all, I’d never been a lucky man. Being on the right side of this once though...well, it was nice.
Tipping my hat, I turned and made my way toward the door. I stepped outside and lit a cigarette, blinded by the morning sun as I strolled off in search of breakfast and a hot cup of coffee.”