Choices

[Kyle Kemp]

Part 1 

I look up at the sky as the sun begins to set as I walk towards the baseball diamond. It is merely hours till One and I’m on my way to meet Rabid. My heart races as I see the diamond a block away. I know that Rabid is waiting for me for our customary pregame ritual of batting practice. It was Rabid’s idea to to start this a few weeks back. He thinks it is teambuilding but little does he know, I just imagine pounding his face over the centerfield wall with every swing. For the past month he has been my partner and for every second I get more and more worried. Worried about what the hell Rabid really is. Worried about the future of #BeachKrew. Worried that Rabid is watching me at all times. I don’t know how he does it but it’s almost like he isn’t human with all the shit that he pulls. I can’t stand it. That is why I know what I must do.

I reach up and adjust the black stocking cap on top of my head and shift my weight according to the sports bag over my right shoulder. I see Rabid standing with his arms crossed at the pitcher's mound and an automatic sneer comes over my face. While baseball is a passion and a release for me in the past, I have come to hate it over the past month. Every time I toss Rabid a fastball I think of aiming for his forehead. Every time he calls it rounders I want to swing the bat into his knees. It’s fucking baseball. Not rounders. Not cricket. It’s fucking baseball.

I walk onto the field and up to home plate. Rabid walks over to meet me with a smile on his face. ”Hello Kyle. You’re early.”

I take a moment to answer as I slowly put the sports bag down. A half smile comes over my face as I know what is to come. "So are you. Maybe the big night’s got us antsy?” 
“Antsy? Not me. Besides, It’s only a big night for those broken down mid-carders. Those that chase us with their slender, malnourished talents, all squirming like toads baking on a hot summer’s highway. Squirming with regret, the kind that comes when you know you’re way in deep over your head. Everything is on the line for those toads now. It’s their all or nothing days, their crossroads; their slide down the history books, leaving a trail like a slug as they crumble in slow motion. The strong, broken by the weak; Preecha Kamon, Spencer Adams, Ricky Hatcher, it doesn’t matter which equation you pick, they’re all dragging the same dead weight around like a curse. Ashamed to gaze into the eyes of their partners. Ashamed of their poor choices. Tonight’s their Thermopylae; their Alamo. Their last roll of the dice. It’s their judgment day and they’ll fail.”

The comment about judgement day makes me pause. If only Rabid knew what I had planned. What I have had planned for close to a week now. I know that judgment day is here.

“But for us? For us it’s just another Sunday. Just another stamp of the boot across the throat of this industry. Just to remind them, one more time, that we are their champions. It’s the only truth the people of this city, the people of this nation, will ever need to know. And that truth? It’s going to live on, Kyle. Long after a Raymond Hatcher and a Adam Young break up over who gets the duvet. Long after a Spencer Adams plays his last card of the deck and reveals his hand, that he’s nothing more than a second rate Howard Black cos-player; trapped in a forever spin cycle of cum up short title shots. Long after an Adam Young runs out of desperate ways to reinvent himself, long after a Vic Venable realizes that this industry demands too high a price from him, a man without true conviction; a man distracted by a hunt for vengeance that will never right his scorecard of endless wrongs. This is an industry with no time for lost causes, Kyle, no time for a man like Patrilli; who winks in and out of existence on a whim because he can never find focus enough to matter because he can never understand himself. Or a Preecha Kamon who only seems interested when he feels the tug of the leash from his master, Armand De La Fontaine; this sex trafficing huxster who play acts Buddy Roman; yet only has a teardrop of his talent. Let’s be honest, ONE is a joke to us, Kyle; because ONE is simply the clearing of the deck. You know what awaits us after? We have the Thickness to attend to. And attend to we shall.”

This little speech makes me pause and look down at the handle sticking out of the bag. His thoughts about these other guys make me pause. If I don’t do this then will I become like these other fools? I don’t want to be a mindless robot or a lost soul. I want to be better than that like I claim to be. Rabid has taken that from me and now it is time to take it back.

“We are here, Kyle...week in and out. We arrive...we win...because for us? That’s all there is. To win is to exist. It’s the engine that drives us. The fire that consumes us. Others pretend to embrace the obsession, but they remain afraid to be consumed by it. Maybe that's what truly sets us apart, Kyle. We do what needs to be done.”

The smirks and little facial ticks all disappear. My face becomes cold as I now know what I must do. What is necessary. Little does Rabid know but getting rid of him is what is necessary. “I agree. No turning back.”

I stare at Rabid as he adjusts his batting gloves. This pisses me off. He always has to go first. The focus is always on Rabid. It’s never about anyone else and that is what has hindered this team and #BeachKrew for the past month. This may seem small and I may be thinking like a child but fuck Rabid. Kyle Kemp goes first. I can tell he has noticed the change in my demeanor as he looks up at me.

“You sound different. You good?”

I disregard the question completely. “I hear the Staples center is sold out. Eighteen thousand and change. Biggest night of our lives and here we are...pretending.”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah, pretending. Pretending to be human. Pretending to be...real. I dunno anymore which way is up. And that has to change, John. I need to cut my faults away. I need to be better. That’s my obsession I suppose. Always has been...to cut my mistakes away.”

“And that's why they’ll lose. They don’t possess your level of conviction. They’re all tethered to a loss; to an Adam Young, to a Patrilli, to a Vic Venable. Anchored to failure. You have to cut that away, Kemp. Sever it from your being. That's what marks us as strong.”

I smirk at the word sever. “Yeah, I do.”

I kneel down and unzip the sports bag. I look up at Rabid and the rage inside me that is fueled with anger, confusion and paranoia swirling inside my head. “I’ve been wondering recently...If I was a monster, A TRUE MONSTER whose face would I wear? Yours, or mine? Maybe there’s no difference; maybe we’re just a pair of reflections that carry the weight of each others crimes. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that It has to end Johnny. A mirror has to crack. And what happens when that mirror cracks is just a consequence I’m going to have to live with.”

I see Rabid begin to get wise on what is about to happen. He knows that a bat is not in the bag but his fate. What he fucking deserves.

“But not with my help, I imagine.” I shake my head no at him with a steely stare. “Well then; to answer your question. My face of course. It has more style.”

I see Rabid tense up a little as I remove what is not a bat from the bag but a sawn-off shot gun. The thought out plan begins to come into focus as I point it at Rabid. The gun is perfect to end Rabid once and for all. Even he isn’t quick enough to get out of the range of this gun when I shoot it. There is no escape. This all ends now. I raise the barrel, aiming at Rabid’s chest. More specifically where in a normal human being a heart would be. However I know there’s no heart there. “I won’t live my life looking over my shoulder anymore, John Rabid. I’m not a man accustomed to fear. I’m better than that. Always have been.”

“Well then. Proceed with your mission. And let us truly see...who’s better.”

I simple pull back the hammer to the gun as I see Rabid’s face not even twitch. My hand shakes slightly but I take a breath to steady the aim. I take one last look at Rabid with hatred in my eyes and I fire.

Part 2 

It has been a week since the last Slam and the same thoughts have dominated my thoughts. Rabid. Fucking Johnny Rabid. That smug mother fucker. With each passing day I get a little more paranoid. Ever since I followed him around for Jared weeks ago I have suspected that Rabid is more than just a normal human being. Looking through tinted windows, the unexplained speed and the other quirks of Rabid have finally caught up to me.

From the outside we look like a fine tuned machine. A team that has not stopped and a dominant extension of #BeachKrew. We took the Tag Team Titles from Venable and Adams and everyone praised us in the aftermath. However the inside tells the true story. The inside is where it all comes to a head. The inside shows a team with nothing in common but a belt. The inside shows two men that don’t like each other and I don’t respect Rabid. I sure as hell don’t trust him.

These are the thoughts I think about as I sit at the dinner table of my Chicago apartment. All other members of #BeachKrew are trapsing around and I have refused to leave the apartment. I claimed to the others that I wasn’t feeling well and would be spending a few days at home before I head to Los Angeles to meet everyone. It is here that I am making the plans that will shape my future. A cup of coffee sits beside me as I space out. I have a huge decision to make.

Do I finally give myself to Johnny Rabid and begin to learn the things that he claims to have to show me to reach what he thinks is my full potential? Or do I stick with my way. The fucking Kyle Kemp way which is to be cocky and do it with flare. Rabid is so calculated and sometimes that doesn’t fit my style. I don’t need to think because when you’re this talented, you don’t need a gameplan. You just need to show up.

I think of the past couple of weeks and I know deep down that I have lost that side of myself. The side that I love. The cocky smile that I usually have plastered all over my face has been lost and the only way to find it is to pick a side.

I know though that the only way to find that cocky, better than you Kyle Kemp is to rid myself of Johnny Rabid and there’s only one way to do that. Rabid isn’t going to let me go without a fight and that fight will need to end in death. It’s the only way and even then it might not be enough. At this point Rabid may rise from the dead but I may as well try. It’s at this moment where I pick up the phone and dial a number. A familiar number from my past. I wait till I here a hello on the other end and I simple say a couple of words. “It’s Kemp. I need a favor. I need a gun.”

Part 3 

Well the time has finally come for the showdown of showdowns. Ladies and Gentlemen One is mere days away and I know that all of you are in disbelief when you take a look at the card. Legends, champions and stars are littered throughout the card but none of them shine brighter than yours truly. For I am Kyle Kemp and not only am I better than you but Seth Lerch proved that he feels that way as well when he assembled this card. Why? Because there’s only one name that is lacing up the boots twice and that name would be mine. It’s not Spencer Adams, the so called up and comer that everyone is talking about. It’s not Teo Del Sol, the supposed People’s Champion. It’s not Gemini Battle, a “threat” to my bro Wade Moor. It’s fucking Kyle Kemp. It’s me and all of you people should feel blessed to see me do my thing once at One, let alone twice.

It became apparent to me a few weeks ago that this was a real possibility and it is something that I have been relishing. Ever since I supposedly lost at XIII I have been itching to get in front of you people at One because I knew it was the one spot where I could walk down to the ring and make all of you notice. This isn’t a random Slam in a podunk town like St. Paul, Minnesota. This isn’t a “huge” pay per view in Rochester. This is fucking One in Los Angeles at the Staples Center that will be seen worldwide! The audience will include a who's who of people and I can’t think of a better place to walk out and show all of you that I am better than you.

Now I know many of you expect me to discuss my People’s Title match but I have other plans to address that a little later in the week. Besides I could care less about a match where the fans bring the weapons. What I care about is the TLC Tag Team Title match. I care because that is where I can truly leave my stamp on One. Let’s be honest, beating Teo Del Sol one more time won’t really push the needle but beating 3 other teams at One will do just that and with the roll Rabid and I have been on….I can’t see anything really stopping us. Not even the returning team of the Thickness to keep order in this matchup.

I think the only smart thing to do to wet your appetite on my opinions of our opponents this week I have to discuss the shittiest team of the 4 which is Raymond Hatcher and Adam Young. Let us start with you Hatcher. Now most would think that Adam Young is the easiest target in the match with him having the worst track record of all of us and for his antics outside of the ring but Hatcher that distinction actually falls onto you. Some might not see the game that you are playing but I do. You see I was one of the people that got really confused when you decided to team up with Adam Young. I wanted to know why someone would want to do that besides one of Adam Young’s half retarded inbred siblings but it dawned on me. Adam Young is everything that you need right now.

Example number one of that would be his personality. His brash, over the top, vulgar personality draws all the attention from the fact that you don’t have one. You are full of cliches and quotes that you heard once on a Comedy Central presents special. You say things like you are a God among men which is laughable because God wouldn’t be a mediocre waste of space like you. It is this lack of imagination that makes you need someone like Adam Young to be your mouthpiece.

Example number two is the obvious next option which is your lack of intelligence. You have to agree that picking Adam Young for a partner simply is a lapse in judgement but the fact that you have not corrected it makes me think that you may actually be that dumb. That you may have no idea just how screwed you are when you decide to face TLC at One. This match is going to be a trainwreck and one that if you don’t have your guard up, you’ll get run over. That actually favors your partnership with Adam Young and leads into the final example.

Now I know many of you have to be wondering how getting the shit kicked out of you at One can be a great example of why Adam Young is the perfect partner for Hatcher but stay with me here. What is the one thing that Hatcher has never done here? Well besides act like a functional human being in simple situations? It’s simple guys. It’s that Adam Young is his scapegoat. Adam Young is his fall guy.

Ever since you showed up here Hatcher there have been expectations. So many expectations for you. I can see you running through them all in your head right now. Losses in number one contender matches. Losses in title matches. Losses in any match that you faced any expectations whatsoever and now another chance to meet those expectations was coming our way one more time. One is where if you’re going to be better than an average wrestler, you step up and take what is yours. You knew stepping up was not in your DNA and you couldn’t imagine facing the crowds with another big match loss. That is when you had the best idea ever! Ask Adam Young to make a team with you to go after our titles at One. If you somehow won it would be because of you carrying Adam Young and if you lost you could blame him as well. It’s a win win situation for you Hatcher. I almost commend it except what you don’t realize is that we all see right through your plan. We all see what you are doing and that is worse than not living up to expectations. Why? Because you aren’t just a bust now but you are a bust that gave up and blatantly let us all know it

All of these things combined makes you the easy target I spoke of earlier Hatcher. There’s nothing easier to make fun of than a bust. Just ask Ryan Leaf. He was ridiculed so much that he now sits in a jail cell where he hopes everyone could forget him. That fall will start from you at One when Rabid and I destroy you.

Now while you are falling Adam Young will continue to stay the same because there isn’t much farther this idiot could fall. Adam Young is a continuing story of ineptitude and not giving a fuck. Let’s be honest….does anyone care about the misguided adventures of Adam Young and his backwater gang? I feel like every time he comes on the tv that our ratings plummet. Adam Young isn’t the type of person that should be part of our brand in the WSeaF let alone be on national television. However somehow we trot him out every week as if to give all rednecks and hilbillies everywhere hope that one of them can make it. It’s sad really.

What is even sadder is the most pathetic “rivalry” that I have ever seen in Adam Young and Spencer Adams. It’s like watching 2 mothers fight on Black Friday at Wal Mart. It’s sad and disheartening that they’re people like Adams and Young but we can’t help but watch because it’s fucking hilarious. Neither can see that the entire crowd is laughing at them and what is worse is that they play it up like this is a fight over the World Title. Sorry guys but this is nothing more than a fight over the “new” my little pony.

With all that said Adam you have to know that you don’t belong in this matchup. You’ve always been a curtain jerker and you always will be. Your inability to put it all together has been evident since day one and this will be nothing more than just another example of why you will never be at my status. Why you will never be better than anyone. That goes for Hatcher as well. You both will see why no one can touch myself or Rabid as tag team champions and if anyone is going down at One, it will surely be both of you

To Be Continued