Post by Deleted on Jan 7, 2010 2:54:08 GMT -5
ACT I
Once in a rare moment each of us is presented with an opportunity to change our life. Those who seize the opportunity are the ones who realize their dreams. Those who pass believing that it’s just not for them… those people will falter and collect trash for a living. They’ll go home, eat their frozen Salisbury steak and lament about what could have been. Some people were born to suck eggs in this world. Some people were born to be less than everything they could have hoped for. They lament because lamenting is all they’ve ever known and their parents didn’t teach them better. Chad Evans will not lament. He will not lament tonight, tomorrow or the next day. Chad Evans can fly so high as a kite and never come back down. Chad Evans can burn brighter than a thousand suns because he has the courage to stand and fight for what he believes in. Chad’s actions are not always understood by others but they make perfect sense to him. Since Chad’s abrupt return to WCF on Monday night many people have been asking the question…
Bolts Quackenbush: “Why did you attack Brad Kane, Chad?”
Chad is with his trainer Bolts at the Ultra Nova Dojo in Brooklyn, New York. Ultra Nova has been the site of Chad’s training since he decided to drop his hat into the professional wrestling ring after being recruited by Bobby Cairo in 2007. Bolts is the man who groomed Cairo for stardom in WCF and later worked his magic on Chad. Even Bolts doesn’t understand the rationale behind Chad’s attack on Kane.
Before returning to WCF Chad had been working as a grappling and striking coach at Ultra Nova, teaching others the art of self defense. Now Chad is training for his own battle this Monday. Chad is striking a kick bag with a flurry of punches and kicks, never relenting in his onslaught. Chad’s form is pure; he doesn’t sweat the technique he just pours on the pressure while Bolts holds the bag. After completing his reps Chad steps back to assess his damage, admiring his handiwork with a sneer on his face. Chad’s mood has shifted due to Bolts’ line of questioning.
Chad Evans: “I’m not about all that playing, Bolts. I see those clowns in WCF talking their shit, walking their jailbird walk, acting like they’re hard. All I see is punks, chumps and the lowest common denominator from our society. Do I think that somewhere in all of that mess there’s a slice of pie for me? You’re goddamn fucking right I do. Listen, Bolts…”
Chad eases down from his striking posture and moves closer to Bolts, not meaning any disrespect.
Bolts thinks this cat is tripping but he doesn’t say anything yet.
Chad Evans: “I appreciate everything that Ultra Nova has brought me. This place is a hallowed ground in my book. I will never disregard anything that I’ve learned here because all of it has helped shape me and make me the fighter and the man that I am today. Do I like the occasional drinky poo? Fuck yeah it makes me happy. Do I like to fuck women? Absolutely I’m a man. One thing that I will never do is dishonor Ultra Nova.”
Bolts sighs; he’s been made to feel uneasy by Chad’s allusions and the direction of Chad’s tone of voice and spoken words.
Chad thought he was saying good shit but it rolled right off Bolts.
Bolts Quackenbush: “You have to look me into the eyes and explain something to me, Chad. You have to explain why you went and did that shit on Monday. You weren’t taught to sneak up from behind and cheapshot a grown ass man, not here at Ultra Nova. Did you learn that shit in Brazil? Did you learn it in Thailand? I thought we purged that shit from your system.”
Chad views this as inequitable language coming from Bolts’ mouth; Chad shakes his head at this transmission.
Chad Evans: “You don’t understand much of anything anymore, Bolts. Do you think that I’m a small child, a baby in a blanket that you can hold and coddle?”
Chad reaches down and pulls off his black training shorts, revealing a lack of underpants beneath the shorts and more importantly revealing his genitalia. Chad’s sizeable cock and balls are hanging freely between his legs. The cock is not erect but it’s still a good handful of inches, maybe eight. The other trainers and students in the training room sense a feeling of dismay and quickly clear the room. Bolts appears disconcerted by Chad’s display of unruly disregard for social norms.
Bolts Quackenbush: “What the fuck are you doing, Chad? Did you go off the deep end? You say that you’re not a baby, well then put some goddamn clothes on.”
Chad Evans: “I don’t need to wear clothes for precisely the opposite reason, Bolts. I don’t need to wear clothes because I am a man. I’m a man with a big penis and an even bigger ambition. I’ve got three girlfriends, Bolts. Think about that.”
Chad counts with his fingers like the Count from Sesame Street, but without the creepy Italian accent.
Chad Evans: “One… two… three girlfriends. Can you even conceive of what that means? Do you understand the pressure of juggling three beautiful women and the pressure that gets released when I’m inside of those three beautiful women? No you don’t understand jack shit anymore, Bolts. You wouldn’t even realize that you got shot until the bullet entered your flesh and the wound became infected.”
Bolts extends his hand in a heartbeat and smacks the side of Chad’s face so hard that Chad falls to the mat as if he’s been shot. Chad is stunned and dazed from the blow. Bolts ain’t playing with the look on his face, and his squared-up posture ready to throw down.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Don’t you ever talk that shit to me, boy. I’ll smack the potato salad out of your system. You see this ring on my finger?”
Bolts flashes his hand, displaying a gold wedding band on one finger. Chad is seeing three and four rings in his woozy state of mind but he gets the picture.
Bolts Quackenbush: “That’s my wedding ring, motherfucker. I was married to my wife for 43 years when she passed away from cancer. You think that I don’t understand the game of love? You think that I don’t understand matters of the heart? You think that I don’t understand what it’s like to love and hate, fight and bleed, live and die? I was spilling my guts upon the canvas when you were making green shit in your Pampers, and I had been doing it for forty years before that. Don’t you ever spit your shit at me, Chad. You save that for Hank Brown on Monday night.”
Chad’s field of vision gradually comes back to him; the three and four Bolts’ that he had witnessed moments ago have now morphed into one. Chad’s brain is realigned and he’s no longer feeling the confusion that comes with getting mollywopped, but the fresh aching wound on his face remains.
Chad kips up to his feet and feints a kick to Bolts’ quad. Bolts swiftly flips backward and postures up. Both men are ready to throw down. Both men lay down their arms just as quickly and stand as reasoned folk with neither fists nor feet.
Chad Evans: “I understand what you’re saying, Bolts. I’mma pull up my shorts now.”
The floppy penis between Chad’s legs has now been covered by his shorts.
Bolts Quackenbush: “You do that, Chad. You do that and you don’t ever take off your shorts again unless you’re getting changed in the locker room or fucking your fifteen little girlfriends. I don’t mind seeing genitalia up close and personal but it better be something that I can stick my Johnson into, and I’m not talking about your sweet bunghole, Chad.”
Chad notes the assertiveness in Bolts’ voice, and his clear and concise manner of speaking.
Chad Evans: “You impressed me with the way that you handled yourself there, Bolts. I always wondered if you could get the job done when push came to shove.”
Bolts cocks his head to the side like a rapper or an Italian.
Bolts Quackenbush: “You doubted me, Chadwick? You doubted me for how long, until I put you on the ground?”
Bolts playfully connects with a right jab on Chad’s jaw, nothing hard or anything. Chad answers with a foot sweep that puts Bolts on the mat. Chad mounts Bolts and rears back with his fist, playing like he’s gonna clobber Bolts’ skull, but he pulls back and helps Bolts to his feet.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Good, fluid movements. Good work, Chad.”
Bolts ain’t ashamed to give credit where it’s due. Chad is appreciative of the praise from his mentor.
Chad Evans: “This is how we do it, Bolts. This is how it’s been for almost three years. You and me, we go toe to toe, we throw down like a motherfucker. Sometimes I take your block off, sometimes you take mine. That’s how it works. Not too many people would understand it. Not too many people could reason in their simple minds…”
Bolts Quackenbush: “Baby, don’t you…”
Chad Evans: “Bump-da-buh-da-bump…”
Bolts Quackenbush: “Forget about me.”
Chad Evans: “How two people who claim to love each other, claim to throw down together, could pick up arms against each other.”
Bolts Quackenbush: “It’s not for them to understand. If an action must be explained then what is the point of acting? The action speaks for itself.”
Chad Evans: “If that’s true then why must I explain why I attacked Brad Kane? Obviously Brad Kane is a man whom I despise. I despise everything that he stands for. I despise his clothes, his voice, his tattoos, his love for his family and his fondness for the straight edge subculture. Straight edge is a fashion statement, not a social movement. It’s not saving people’s lives it’s just turning them into uptight pricks. I seized the opportunity to attack a man whom I truly and wholly detest, a man whom I’ve done battle with on many occasions in the past.”
Bolts isn’t really buying it, he knows Chad too well. Chad’s logic isn’t entirely faulty but there’s something that he’s withholding.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Your actions are inconsistent with your words, Chadwick. You didn’t demand a match with Brad Kane. You didn’t scream and shout for all the world to hear, that you wanted to rip the man’s flesh from its bones. Surely you despise Kane and surely you reveled in harming his person, but I don’t believe that your attack was motivated by disdain for Brad Kane.”
Bolts places his hand on Chad’s shoulder and performs a massaging action, comforting and coaxing the truth from Chad’s conscience.
Bolts Quackenbush: “When you attacked Kane you were making a conciliatory gesture toward Jimmy Dean, weren’t you?”
The lights in Chad’s eyes turn dim. Chad thinks back to a time and place of almost exactly one year ago. Chad thinks about a match that involved himself, Brad Kane and Prince Jimmy Dean. It was a triple threat match on Slam. This match was a proving ground for three men eager to move up the ladder of the relaunched WCF brand. At that point in time Chad believed that he and Jimmy were friends, good friends, and they would use their friendship to topple a mutual foe in the nefarious Kane. It wasn’t Chad’s decision to come to blows with Jimmy Dean in that match. Chad couldn’t believe what was happening when Jimmy attacked him.
Chad Evans: “It was like my world was coming to an end, Bolts. I had already lost Bobby and now I was losing Jimmy. My two best friends in the world had abandoned me, one simply disappeared and the other stabbed me in the back. I don’t know which one hurt more.”
Bolts is feeling Chad’s pain while also compelled to dig deeper for the answers.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Why now, Chad? Why reach out to the Prince now?”
Chad Evans: “It’s time for a rebirthing of things, Bolts. My animosity for the Prince simmered for many months, almost a year, but there comes a time when peace must be made between reasonable people. I don’t know how the Prince will respond to the olive branch that I extended when I brutalized Brad Kane on Monday night. I don’t know how the Prince will react until I see him again next Monday. We are performing battle against The Big Time Jerks, former WCF Tag Team champions. If Jimmy will look into his heart he will find the answer: he will know that my gesture is pure and that our friendship is truly rekindled.”
Bolts grabs deep into his pocket and removes a plastic device, a black fine-tooth comb that he uses to straighten his hair and beard in the restroom mirror. Bolts presses the point of the comb against his chin.
Bolts Quackenbush: “And what if he doesn’t? Will you retract your overture of reconciliation and shatter Prince Jimmy’s cranium into so many shards? Will you act the role of unrequited lover or will you accept his decision and move forward with your life?”
Chad wholeheartedly shrugs like Atlas on high.
Chad Evans: “That’s a question that cannot be answered until we look into the mirror. Michael Jackson understood a simple fact before he perished: if a man cannot look into the mirror and accept the consequences of his actions then his actions were not pure of heart. I try not to focus on the negative, Bolts.”
Bolts suspends his disbelief for the sake of conversation.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Are you sure about that? You strike me as a bitter and angry man in many ways and means, Chad.”
Chad is infuriated by that remark but he doesn’t let it show; in this moment he thinks about punching Bolts in the face but he quickly realizes that he would be proving Bolts correct.
Bolts Quackenbush: “You wanted to punch me just now, didn’t you?”
Chad explodes with denials, unconvincing and hammy as they might be.
Chad Evans: “No, no! That’s not even remotely accurate! I’m a man of peace!”
Bolts shakes his head, laughs a pity laugh at this man, a flustered unbelieving laugh of pity. In that moment the hairs of Bolts’ white beard stand on their end.
Bolts Quackenbush: “You’re so full of shit, Chad. You’re just…”
Bolts taps the kick bag with his fist, wanting to unload with a flurry of punches like Bruce Lee but knowing that such an expulsion of anger from his body would accomplish nothing.
Chad Evans: “Let me turn the tables on you, Bolts. You’re the big man with the big plan? What makes you so great? You’re so holier than thou, the wise man with the wise beard and the balding scalp. What makes you the be-all/end-all?”
Bolts presses his person close against Chad, standing face-to-face, nose-to-nose with Chad in a staredown like two foes before a vicious brawl.
Bolts Quackenbush: “I possess in my brain something that you will not soon come to learn: the advantage of experience. I can stand here and speak for days and I will not reveal drops in a bucket from what I’ve seen and learned. I can smell the breath of God and the stench of death when I see you suffer.”
Bolts touches Chad’s cheek as father to son, a tearful look in his eye. Chad feels somber toward the old man.
Chad Evans: “Why don’t, uh… why don’t we grab a drink?”
Bolts Quackenbush: “I think that’s something that we can do.”
ACT II
It wasn’t long before the two men had changed from their grappling gear into their street clothes, jeans, sweatshirts, sweaters, boots and the like. New York is not sunny liberal California in the middle of this harsh winter, and neither of these men are going out for a night of dancing. Daybreak has passed through the city and the rest of the Ultra Nova team has returned to training in light of Chad’s departure, while Bolts and Chad are taking a walk down a paved sidewalk to a little place on the corner of the street.
It’s a bar and grill where you can order a beer, get your grub on, and doesn’t matter if you’re poor because they have reasonable prices. This place doesn’t have a name but most people call it the Hole in the Wall. It’s a tongue in cheek reference because this place is a refuge for the working man. The walls aren’t adorned with photographs of celebrities or politicians, such folk are not welcomed in this establishment. This is an old world joint, constructed of solid craftsmanship and brick, oak and cobblestone. The clientele is working class, including Bolts and Chad. There was a time when those two men would have been heisted from this joint upon their asses, but recessions and crooked bureaucrats took their toll on bank accounts.
A shadowy figure in the back of the room pops a quarter into the old style jukebox. Nobody’s dancing except for the puss in boots who climbs upon her table.
Chad and Bolts are straddled upon their stools at the counter. The counter top is clean but it’s old and has its share of dents and bruises like any time-tested piece of furniture. If you spend enough time in this world you’re bound to take your lumps, even if you’re an inanimate object. Chad takes a sip of American lager from his frosty mug, the cold and brew stimulate his senses. Chad postulates a nugget in his heightened state of awareness.
Chad Evans: “Do you think that we’re born into this world with a predetermined fate, Bolts?”
Bolts takes a long hard drink from his glass and thinks about the question. Bolts even strokes his beard for a bit because it helps him think.
Bolts Quackenbush: “That’s an interesting question, Chad. I don’t have a definitive answer but I can tell you my perspective. Sometimes I wonder if I’m living to live or if there’s a greater purpose for what I’m doing. If there is such a thing as fate then perhaps I’m doing both. On the contrary, if we live in a world of freewill then perhaps I need to get on my horse and ride far away from this?”
Chad Evans: “Are you talking Harley Davidson style?”
Bolts Quackenbush: “It’s the only way here in America. I’m an Easy Rider, baby.”
Chad Evans: “I’ll drink to that.”
They share a toast to life, love and pursuing your dreams as the music from the jukebox grows louder and the drunk redhead on the table shakes her bootay.
Chad Evans: “It’s the only way to live, Bolts, as a free man in a free country. We just need to find a free country.”
Or…
Bolts Quackenbush: “Maybe we need to make this country free.”
The light bulb.
Chad Evans: “We can do that, Bolts. If we could start with one major step, an accomplishment of considerable stature then we could start the snowball rolling. Our point of entry is WCF, WCF is the key.”
Chad is getting excited now; he’s looking at Bolts with that crazed look in his eye.
Bolts feels uneasy and gestures with his hands for Chad to calm down. Bolts speaks in a soothing voice, trying to defray a possibly volatile situation.
Bolts Quackenbush: “Chad, calm down, baby. Let’s not go off the deep end here. We’re just drinking and talking.”
Chad Evans: “I know what you’re thinking, Bolts. You think I’m drunk and crazy, but you’re wrong. I remember a time when Bobby Cairo was world champion. He fucked it up with stupidity but I won’t make that same mistake. I don’t even have to become THE world champion. I can be tag team champion of the world with Prince Jimmy. We can help each other become champion and then we can make WCF free and equitable for all the working people. We can shine a beacon and set an example for the greatness of anarchism, autonomy and freedom from tyranny. We will rise up as a people and hold Seth Lerch’s severed head to the sky. When we’re through with Seth he’ll be screaming and crying in the gutter with his bonnet tied tight and no limbs or torso to speak of.”
Bolts is beside himself with the wackiness in Chad’s prognostication, but he cannot fight the urge.
Bolts Quackenbush: “What you’re saying… I have to admit…”
Bolts takes another deep gulp of beer; he needs the liquid courage in this moment.
Bolts Quackenbush: “What you’re saying has potential, Chad. You need to refine some shit. You need to hook up with me at Ultra Nova and make sure that you stay on the ball with your training. All of that sounds good to me. If you and Jimmy can find a groove, find your chemistry then I believe you can be tag team champions. I don’t know about all of that other shit, starting the snowball rolling or whatever, but you will be a champion if you stick with the program, son.”
Bolts hoists his glass to toast a new beginning, the reawakening of the beast within young Chad.
Chad Evans: “I hear all of that, Bolts.”
Chad raises his glass. Together they drink, the music on the jukebox reaches its crescendo, a stranger enters the bar, the dust settles on the cascading tile.
Chad Evans: “You’re giving me the essentials, Bolts. You’re giving me the essentials that I need to construct the innovative technique. Man oh man you will not believe the piles of destruction that Prince Jimmy and myself will leave in our wake on Monday night. We’re going to start our insurrection with a simple tag team match on a simple wrestling show, and with that momentum we’re going to build a machine that kills fascists, rednecks and all other corrupt motherfuckers. We’re going to cast aside every politician, every businessman, every member of the established elite who strives to exploit the working class worldwide. We’re going to take back America for the Americans, and bring peace and prosperity to the masses. I’m holding a vision of perfection in my mind, Bolts. A vision of a world without government, a world without a tyrannical and oppressive hierarchy.”
The blood is pumping in Chad’s veins and into his brain, but even the vitality of the blood cannot match the energy, excitement and passion that Chad is feeling.
Bolts cannot help but admire the pure unadulterated joy that Chad is experiencing. It makes Bolts appreciate the times in his own life when he’s felt that way. Bolts thinks about his wife, all the wonderful moments that they shared together, and he smiles. In this moment two men with different ideas of perfection share a common bond.