Consider The Fly Swatted

[Deleted]

Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds.
-Orison Swett Marden

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What is a man to do when the world turns against him? The seemingly insurmountable odds are against him. Those who he holds dearest to his heart have but little faith in him. They look at him, see where he is at this point in his life and how far he has fallen, and the bit of hope they once had in him vanishes. He was once among the mighty, a seemingly unstoppable force amongst mere mortals. And now...he's become the mortal as a new force has emerged. And as these two collide, the one who once was and the one who now is, the world sees it as a mismatch. And perhaps they're right in their assumptions. The Champion has been just that, a champion.

Despite rather questionable comments made in the public spectrum, the recent run the Champion has been on cannot have a blind eye turned on it. And the challenger? His recent road has been more of a roller coaster, with ups and downs and even the occasional twist. He hasn't won match after match, but he's put together a reasonable run with a title win of his own. But is he worthy of a chance to dethrone the Champion and return him to the ranks of the commoner? The world says no. The Champion says no. The so called "experts" say no. In fact the only person who doesn't say no is the one man in this world who has faith in the challenger. He, and the challenger himself, know that the Champion can be beat. The world sees him as perfect, not a flaw in his armor, but they know better. Every man and woman who has proclaimed perfection has ultimately met their Downfall, some later than others but it always comes.

And how does this man, this challenger, have such confidence that the mighty Champion can be beaten? That he can fall from grace? Because he himself has been in this exact same position. While he was never at the spot the Champion is in now, sitting over the entire company in his throne with the World Title like it was his crown, he was there at the top for a time. He had the world in the palm of his hands, and at any point he could have presumably been "that guy" if he put his mind to it. But he never did. The world may never know why exactly, but they speculate as people usually do. Some say he was just hype and nothing more. Some say he had the talent but his attitude struck the wrong people in the wrong way.

But most say he just couldn't handle the pressure of having to hold the world on his shoulders and he cracked. And that seems to have the most logic to support it than any other theory. You look back at the sudden and drastic fall, you see the time period when it all started, and it becomes obvious that the top spot didn't elude the challenger, he was simply unwilling to take on the responsibility. For all the talk about being the best, he didn't want to be the best, he just wanted people to think he was. And they did, for a short time. He had the backing of the people, the management and everyone else in the business. He had them...until they realized that they hype machine was stuck on a loop. Then as the fall started to pick up speed, so did they as they distanced themselves from him.

It really was the smart thing to do, he'll even admit that to you today. At the time he couldn't understand it, or at least he chose not to. Rather he became infuriated, blaming their lack of faith for his failure. To him, losing their support was like being stabbed in the back and heart repeatedly. But in the back of his mind he always knew it was his own fault. He'd never admit it, not publically at least, but he needed their support. He knew that he needed someone, anyone, to have his back through thick and thin or he'd never be able to survive in this world. But no one would. Why would they want to? So left alone he was, and the fall downward would quickly turn into a screaming freight train into an abyss.

You know who isn't that great of a friend? Depression. He really is a son of a bitch for those of you who haven't had the privelage of meeting him. He's always right there with you, whether you want him or not, breathing over your shoulder like a creepy guy in line. You try to shake him, but you just can't. You try to rise up, but he just drags you back down even farther. The challenger, he knows all about the bastard known as Depression. When all of those people decided to wash their hands of him, Mr. Depression rolled into town and ran him the fuck over. And once more he brought a pair of friends along with him, in the form of alcoholism and drug dependency. The Three Musketeers of fuckedupness if you will.

Do you know what kind of people want to be around a guy that sits alone in his home, popping pills and washing them down with a fifth of whiskey? Nobody. No one wants to sit and be with that kind of guy, because they know he'll just try and drag them right down to his level. And nobody wants to be at that level, not even him, but he just can't escape it no matter how badly he wants to. On the outside he tells you all how he's fine and to just leave him alone, but on the inside, if you could hear it, you'd hear the screams for help. He wants the help that you're offering but he just can't bring himself to ask for it. So you leave him to wallow in his own self pity, drinking himself into an early grave as you all move on with your lives without a care in the world.

And how can he pull himself out of the shallow grave he's dug? Is it even possible for a man to resurrect himself, let alone reclaim his former glory? It's an unenviable task to say the least. A common man facing such a mountain would falter within moments. So it's easy to see why the challenger is as ready as ever to finally climb back up that mountain and slap conventional wisdom in the face. The world says he's not ready now, nor was he ever truly ready. The world says that the Champion is too good to be beaten by such a "nobody". The challenger simply says, "Fuck you world." The world was quick to jump on the Champion's bandwagon and forget about the people that paved the way for him in this business.

That's the problem with today's world. To them it's all about what have you done for me lately and they could give a fuck less about anything else. Well if that's the case, then the Challenger is ready to open the eyes of the world and force them to take a closer look at the things going on around them. They see the Champion standing tall, title belt slung over his shoulder gleaming in the sunlight as he flashes them a smile. The Challenger sees the man who for weeks now has been talking about nothing except for not wanting to be at XIII to defend his title. For all of the bravado and conceitedness, the Challenger smells the fear. The Champion can make all the excuses he wants: He's too good for XIII. His contract says he doesn't have to show up. But the Challenger knows it's all a facade to mask his fear. The Champion knows that the challenger this time isn't a fellow flash in the pan like Sarah Twilight. The Champion knows that the challenger isn't going to shrink back from the pressure, not this time. The Champion can talk all he wants about how much he thinks he knows about the challenger, but the reality is he only knows what he's read in the history books.

He thinks he can learn how to get inside of the mind of a man merely by brushing up on some history? Crack open a book or pop in some old tapes and you'll know every move in the man's repertoire? It's laughable at how naive today's culture has become. In this go-go world where everyone expects instantaneous results, the people have become weak and dependent. You can't learn about a man by reading a book or watching a television monitor. You want to get in his head, you get in the ring with him. And this couldn't be more true when you're talking about the challenger. Almost three years wrestling for this company. Dozens upon dozens of matches against every man, woman and everything in between. You can read up on those matches or watch the tapes, but all you're going to see is an always evolving, strategically placed, psychological attack. You can't learn how to defend yourself against such a thing, you can only hope that you can find a way to survive it. You survive it, you have a chance, it's that simple. But the problem is, it's not that simple. Yes, the challenger has been beaten before, but even a dullard can see the writing on the wall crystal clear: he wins far more than he loses.

There are only a handful of individuals in this company that have won more matches that the challenger. And of that group, the number of men who have lost fewer matches than the challenger is amazing. He may not have ever held the World Championship over his shoulder or had it wrapped around his waist, but there is simply no doubting that the challenger has already solidified his place among the greats of the past with his career thus far. And that is what the challenger wants the world to remember as he walks into XIII this Friday. Focus all you want on the past. Focus on the losses, on the lack of a World Title on his resume and on the recent behavior that's been termed "undeserving of a professional" all you want. But don't for a second believe that this man, this challenger, is merely a shadow of his former self. The mind may be broken but the focus has never been clearer. The Champion wants this win only to pad his resume. But the challenger, he needs this. Not for his resume. Not for his ego. He needs this because it's time for the world to finally remember.

Remember why the fuck they call him Jay Fucking Price.

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Nothing is predestined: The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.
-Ralph Blum

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The scene fades in slowly on the green WCF logo, standing out proudly against the black banner it's emblazoned on. The camera stays on the logo for a few moments before it's operator pulls the shot back and pan downwards, bringing WCF blogger and internet reporter Scoops Callahan into focus. Scoops, dressed rather oddly in a suit that seems right out of the 1920's and a matching fedora, is shuffling through a few note cards as he talks to his producer via the earpiece he's wearing.

Scoops: "What do you mean he hasn't arrived at the builiding yet? You told him to be here at 9:30 and it's nearly 10 already."..."Look, I don't care what his agent told you on the phone last night, we had a verbal agreement in place. I don't care if he's drunk, high or comatose, he needs to be here, in this chair, in ten minutes or I'm going on the air and running him down so far into the ground that he'll never wrestle in the business again."..."You're damn right I want you to get on the phone and tell his agent what I said. You think I fear that drunken slob?"

Unbeknownst to Scoops, Jay Price has already entered the building and is currently standing just off to the side of the chair where he is sitting. Scoops is too engrossed in his note cards and the conversation with his producer to notice as Price continues to watch the show developing in front of him, occasionally taking a sip from the small silver flask in his hand.

Scoops: "I've been in this business now for over a decade kid, and I've seen every type of low life and degenerate there is in this screwed up world. And this guy, he takes the cake. He takes what was unlimited potential and shits it right into the toilet. And then, when the world turns his back on him, instead of fighting to reclaim his image he takes it like a bitch and goes off on a drinking binge like a college dropout."..."No, I would say it to his face if he were were. But of course he still thinks the world should cater to his needs despite the fact that he's a mid-card nobody who should be worrying about fighting to keep his job and not dragging down the real futures of this business."

Price takes a few quick swigs from his flask and then stuffs it away in his back pocket as he takes a few steps toward the back of Scoops' chair. As Scoops continues to shuffle his note cards and talk down Price to his producer, Price walks right up to the chair and places his hands on the back of it before shaking it violently. Scoops jumps right up into the air and lands on his feet. He spins around and his eyes become as wide as saucers as he spots Price, standing a mere five feet away with a smirk on his face.

Jay Price: "No, please, don't stop on account of little ol' me. I was actually just starting to enjoy the show."

Scoops: "Look, Jay, I...uh...I was just...you know, venting. Yeah, venting, because my....uh...my cat...he...died. Yeah, he died."

Price nods as Scoops continues to ramble off incoherent dribble in a feeble attempt to cover his ass.

Scoops: "And then I tried to call off today because of my cat dying, but my producer, he was all like "You gotta come in Scoops. We don't care that your cat just died." He didn't care Jay. He didn't are at all. So I've just been a mess all day and I guess things just finally boiled over and I said those things that I said just now."

Jay Price: "What was his name?"

Scoops: "What?"

Jay Price: "Your cat. What was his name?"

Scoops: "Uh...Mittens."

With a nod of his head, Price reaches into his back pocket and pulls his flask back out. He raises it up into the air.

Jay Price: "To Mittens!"

Price takes a hefty swig and then passes it off to Scoops. Scoops shoots Price a questioning glance and then holds the flask up.

Scoops: "To Mittens indeed."

Scoops lowers the flask and goes to take a drink. Just as it touches his lips, Price lays into him with a swift kick to the nuts. Scoops spits out the bit of whiskey in his mouth as he doubles over in pain. Price grabs the director's chair Scoops had been sitting on, lifts it above his head and brings it down across Scoops' back. Scoops drops like a sack of potatoes as the chair splinters into pieces. Price reaches down, grabs his flask and tries to take a sip only to find that the last bit has spilled out onto the ground. With a shout of anger, he throws it against the nearby wall and turns his attention back to Scoops. He goes to pull him to his feet when he hears the faint sound of someone else trying to talk to him.

Voice: "Are...okay...can...hear me? Scoops?"

Price finds the ear piece on Scoops, wipes it off and sticks it into in his own ear.

Voice: "Scoops, can you hear me? Are you okay? Hello?"

Jay Price: "Scoops is currently...occupied. If you'd like to leave a message, I'd gladly give it to him when he wakes up."

Voice: "Jay? Where's Scoops? What did you do to him?"

Jay Price: "Nothing that he didn't deserve for all of that trash he was talking. Who is this by the way?"

Voice: "Roland Jefferies, I'm the producer of the show."

Jay Price: "Nice to meet you Roland. Now on the matter of Scoops, you're probably going to need a replacement for tonight...and maybe tomorrow night."

Voice: "Luckily for us I always plan ahead."

And with that, Hank Brown enters through a set of double doors, almost as if he were just violently pushed through them.

Hank Brown: "Oh god no, come on! Roland I told you I couldn't do this. GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Hank tries to push back through the doors only to find them locked. With the nearest exit out of the question and the next closest one on the other side of Price, Hank has no choice but to turn and face his least favorite interviewee.

Jay Price: "Jeez Hank, think you could tone down the drama just a bit. You're starting to make me think you don't like me after all."

Hank Brown: "I don't like you, you psychotic fuck! The last time I tried to interview you, you locked me in a closet. YOU KNOW I'M CLAUSTROPHOBIC! And let's not forget about the shit that went down during your match against Switches."

Jay Price: "Well excuse me for trying to keep things interesting, Mr. Stickinthemud. Now are we going to stand here and keep playing the "you beat me up and locked me in a closet so now I hate you" game, or are we going to get this interview started so I can get the hell out of here already."

Hank Brown: "I'm not doing this. I refuse to interview you on the grounds that I feel that it's unethical to promote your alcoholism and drug use when we have so many young viewers."

Roland Jefferies (via ear piece): "Tell him to do it or he's fired."

Jay Price: "The man in the ear piece says do the interview or you're fired."

Hank Brown: "God damn you Roland! Fine, I'll do it."

Price takes a seat in the remaining chair as Hank stands off to the side, a good deal of space between he and Price, as he fumbles through the note cards that Scoops had been looking over. Hank then looks over to the cameraman.

Hank Brown: "All right, are we ready to roll?"

The cameraman gives him a nod and then starts the countdown from 3.

Hank Brown: "I'm here tonight with..."

Jay Price: "Hank, shut the fuck up already. Four words into the interview and you've already lost us half our viewers."

With an exasperated sigh, Hank tosses the note cards into the air and stands with his arms over his chest. The cameraman pulls the shot in on Price as he stares into the lens.

Jay Price: "Let me tell you a little something about Jay Price, Mr. Fly. You seem to think you know me like I was your best friend in the world, or at the least, an acquaintance that you've been around for a while. You think that these people around, the ones talking about my shortcomings when it comes to the "big match", are getting under my skin and in my head? No one is in my head Jonny boy, no one is now nor has anyone ever been. Let the people talk all they want about things that don't matter. To be honest, the more they talk about me, no matter the subject, the better it is for me. Why? Because the more my name get's out there, it's just all that more free publicity that I don't have to put any effort into. Doc Henry spouts off in some magazine and is quoted saying that World Title matches are like my "kryptonite". Barely a few hours pass and the internet is abuzz as everyone can't help but discuss it. My name gets thrown around, people argue for or against me, and in the end, I win because it's my name that's on their lips. I could give a fuck a less whether it's good or bad, because in the end, bad publicity and good publicity are still publicity. And in this business, that's what it's all about. The in-ring stuff, that matters, don't get me wrong. But you're not going to make it here if you don't know how to get your name out there for all of the people to know. So let the people talk. Let them talk all they want about whatever their little hearts desire.

And speaking of talking, Mr. Fly, you really seem to have a penchant for talking about people's pasts when you have no idea what they were like. You want to talk about how I like to bring up what I've done in so many conversations, well then let's. I bring them up because they were that god damn impressive. You want to belittle me, spout off bullshit about how my 2009 campaign was nothing compared to your current run, I say you need to brush up on your history just a bit more. You've had a good run, yes I'll admit that, but please, for the love of god, just tell me who the fuck you've beaten during that little run. You beat Corey Black for the belt and then you defended it against Sarah Twilight. Congratulations, you've proven to the world that you're capable of beating a newcomer and a guy that stopped giving a fuck about the WCF years ago. Let me just stop and applaud you once again. You did win the WCF World Title. You reached the top of the mountain in a matter of weeks while I've yet to do it in almost three years. But the fact of the matter is, I will always matter more than you.

You want to refer to me as irrelevant, well then allow me to ask you to find a period in WCF history in the last three years where my name wasn't being mentioned. 2009. Yeah, I went two months as Television Champion and then lost the belt. You know what I did the next week? I pinned Mr. Fucking WCF himself Logan at One. Let me know when you're co-main eventing the biggest PPV of the year against a god damn Hall Of Famer. That failed World Title match? I was returning from a broken neck after only 4 weeks. You tell me that you can win a World Title with a god damn still broken neck and I'll tell you that you're fucking Jesus. And then to run down the titles I won after that and up until now? Yeah, okay. Fine I guess you got me with the point that winning the World Title is leaps and bounds above winning the tag titles twice or winning the Hardcore Title. Again, fucking congratulations to you, sir.

But what I will not sit idly by and let slide are these continued comparisons to Jonny Fly and I. They started the day that Fly started to show a flash of promise and continued right on through his TV Title win and now up to his current standing as World Champion. The problem is, too many people are starting to state that it's now me, and not Fly, who is the one trying to be like the other. Let's get something straight right now people, when it comes to Fly and I, I can at least claim that I'm the original one. Long before there was the "Era of Jonny Fly", there was the "Era of Price." Before Jonny Fly was running rampant through the Television Title division and being heralded as one of the greatest TV Champions ever, I was running even more rampant through even tougher challengers en route to setting records that to this day still haven't been touched. And then Jonny Fly tried to put all sorts of shit on hold as he tried to sign the biggest contract in WCF history. Well what do you know. Anyone want to take a stab and guess who did the same exact thing a few years before that? All of the similarities were there indeed as Fly burst onto the scene. They were there because it was evident from day one that Fly was trying his best to pattern himself after yours truly.

Now some might say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I am not among them. I won't argue that Fly has surpassed me, for now, but I tell you all that as sure as I am alive, Jonny Fly started off his WCF career trying his damndest to be the next Jay Price."

Price pauses for a moment as he picks up a bottle of water from the small table sitting next to his chair.

Hank Brown: "Well then I guess it's good thing he decided to drop that idea and become his own person. Otherwise he'd never have won a World Title."

Price says nothing in response, instead he simply takes a sip of water and continues speaking.

Jay Price: "Now you, Mr. Fly, along with it seems most of the general public have openly decried that I'm undeserving of this World Title match that is set to take place. Everyone, including yourself, has been so quick to spout off about how you earned a World Title shot and didn't have to be given one. The problem is, I did earn it. You and everyone else, you only see things the way that you want to see them. I've been here for years, busting my ass for this company week in and week out. Yes, I've lost matches that could have put me in World Title matches. But I've also won more matches than most of the current roster has combined. I've pinned Hall Of Famers, made legends tap and stood toe to toe with the likes of which you could only dream of. And if all of that, all of those accomplishments, doesn't earn me the right to have just one World Title match where it's just me and the champion, not me, the champion and four other guys, then I don't know what does.

Corey Black, forgetting that he is a friend of mine, knows better than anyone just how hard I've busted my ass for WCF in my career. It was him that was there in the beginning, first as an enemy and then an ally, who saw the potential and helped mold my in-ring capabilities. If there were a better judge of who deserved to main event his PPV, I'd like to meet the mother fucker.

But let's get away from me for a minute, shall we Jonny. I've spent so much time talking so far, and I've yet to mention the one thing that had so many people talking. The Great Jonny Fly, "the unbeatable one", openly stating that he was planning on skipping out on XIII because he was above it. Let's put it right out in the open shall we Jonny. You're a paper champion, and a bitch to boot. You're above main eventing a PPV for the company you work for and above defending the title that you hold? You're above nothing Fly, and you proved it by digging yourself into a hole. For all of the shit you talked about me and for all of the jokes, you never wanted to show up at XIII not because it was beneath you, but because you didn't want to face me. You knew that I wasn't the newcomer that Twilight was and you knew I wasn't the disinterested, wash up that Black was. You knew that I was hungry for a win and wanted the World Title more than anything else in the world and it scared the fuck out of you. Why? Because if you won, then it was just going to be another win chalked up on your record and you could enjoy watching the "Price can't win the big one" jokes continue on. But if you lost, oh Johnny, if you lost then you knew that the pedestal you've built to perch yourself on was going to come crashing down just like the rest of your world. As much confidence as you have, as cocky as you are, you knew that there was just that chance that you could lose this match and you couldn't take it. Losing to me? For you I'm sure that would be the ultimate embarassment. After all the time you spent in the past putting me down, to lose the World Title to me, christ kid, that might just be enough to send you packing back to UWA or one of the other shit promotions where you used to be a somebody.

But it's going to happen. You and me, one on one this Friday night. Forget the fact that this is Clockwork Orange, it could have been any type of match and you and I still would have found a way to make it a war. And that's all I have to say about the match Fly. It's going to be a fucking war inside of that ring. Because I am going to walk out of Tokyo with that WCF World Title wrapped around my waist and then I'm going to back to Philadelphia and party. I want and I need this more than you Jonny. For me...there is no option but to win.

Enjoy the party now kid. Because very soon there won't be much cause for celebration.

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Winning isn't everything, but the will to win is everything.
-Vince Lombardi