Cooking with Teo Part Deux: Let it Burn

[Teo Blaze]

*RIIIIIIING*

*RIIIIIIING*

*RIIIIIIING*

“....Hello?”

“Hello Teo, sorry to wake you. We’ve got your next opponent lined up. Took a little longer than usual, between One and this little win streak you’ve put together, you’ve practically cleaned out the division.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Good one, champ! That sense of humor keeps selling those shirts. I’m telling you, if you let us market those shades you’ve-”

“No. Shirts are enough. These aren’t a fashion statement, you know that.”

“Fine, fine, so anyway, it’s you vs. Matt Draven, you think you can handle that?”

“Hank, who are you talking to? I took on Dune with a week’s notice because Corey got drunk on twitter. I have been fighting off the back foot long before I got a belt for doing so, and am ready for any challenge.”

“Ah, the confidence of youth...alright, well let me know if you have any questions.”

“I will, goodbye Hank.”

*click*

As Teo slowly sat up in the greying, once-white sheets of a $50 motel room, he rubbed his eyes. No sense going back to sleep now that he was up, after all.

Though as his thoughts slowly coalesced into something that could be called rational...and as he pondered whether or not the motel pool would allow him to swim after midnight, it occurred to him that despite what he had told Hank, he did in fact have a question.

Teo Blaze: Who the hell is Matt Draven?

WCF Television Presents:

A Must-See TV Endorsed Product!

The scene has shifted now rather dramatically, as the screen fades in from black, it opens on a scene that might be familiar to anyone who has ever worked in the kitchen. The interior of an oven, glowing orange from electric heat, waves of it practically radiating off of the metal racks and causing the air itself to vibrate.

And dead center in the oven, on a wide metal baking tray, is a lump of dough, sitting directly there by its lonesome, as though it had been dropped from the sky and onto the pan. Despite the immense heat, the edges have only just begun to brown, meaning it still retains much of its basic dough-ey qualities.

Teo Blaze: Shhhh, it’s not done yet.

From near the edge of the screen and beyond the oven door, the smiling face of the Television Champion leans into view, his eyes obscured by red lenses and his hair partially covered by a familiar chef’s hat. He points upward, and the camera slowly pans to where he stands behind a counter, grinning his trademark grin. He stands in an elaborate set made up to look like a suburban kitchen, and he leans on the counter with one hand, as looking off to one side as if he is considering something.

Teo Blaze: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Now before I go into this week’s recipe, I would like to turn my attention to my opponent for this week.

As Teo speaks, he reaches over and pulls out a cookbook, turning its pages until it comes to a promotional image of Matt Draven.

Teo Blaze: Now, it’s true that I could beat that old drum about a contender not being worthy of a Television Title shot, talking about how he’s beaten competitors that would barely qualify as jobbers in a developmental league, and how he has about as much confidence in his promos as a fifth grader who forgot to read a homework assignment…

These things are all, unquestionably, measurably, and objectively true of course...

Teo taps a raised eyebrow with his index finger as he grins at the camera.

Teo Blaze: But what would be the point? Oh sure, I could rail against the booking decision, about how much Corey Black is going to drive up WCF’s liability insurance by putting me against someone who is likely going to need several reconstructive surgeries just so they’ll recognize him at the local unemployment line, or I could list the unending list of names that I have overcome in what is quickly being considered the greatest Television Championship reign in years by fans and critics alike, one of whom is currently main-eventing One by the way…

But it won’t change the simple and underlying fact that like it or not, WCF has made its mind up that they want me to crack this young man’s skull open in front of the world in the main event of Slam.

Though I have good news, the broadcast can still be rated TV PG, because I have a feeling that once I crack open that skull, nothing’s going to come out of it but hot air.

Teo’s face now changes from a friendly grin to that of an amused grin.

Teo Blaze: See, I’ve looked into our brave little soldier this week. I make it a duty to do my research, after all, and I have to say… well, let’s go back to our recipe for the week.

Teo reaches up with his left hand and snaps his fingers, leading to an immediate picture-in-picture with the ball of dough, which despite the heat, still looks very much unchanged.

Teo Blaze: When you’re trying to do a recipe right, you take the basic ingredients, and you subject them to a bit of heat. I get that. You can’t make a roll without cooking it a bit.

Another snap, and the camera is back on Teo, who is now leaning against the refrigerator and opening a can of cola with his own face plastered over the logo.

Teo Blaze: Right now, Matt Draven is just like that little lump of dough. He’s fresh, he’s new...pretty bland…but most importantly?


He’s soft.


Teo lifts his hand, waterfalling the liquid into his mouth and tossing it off to one side.

Teo Blaze: He may think he’s overcome adversity, that he’s managed to impress by going undefeated in two matches, and by beating four opponents along the way. But here’s the thing.

When it comes to heat? Matt Draven might as well have been sitting in the refrigerator this whole time.

He has had, make no bones about it, an easy road.

He’s been able to get away with half-hearted efforts and promos that primarily rely on showing the audience just how unfit he is for this business he’s signed up for.

He actually began his promo last week with the words “how do I begin?” before launching into a self-pity rant about how terrible he was at talking.

“I’m going to beat you, I don’t have a problem kneeing you in the face. I beat these guys last week.”

Teo rolls his eyes, looking up at the ceiling lamp, before turning directly towards the camera.

Teo Blaze: Do you know where confidence comes from, Matt? Pretty simple. Confidence is bred from adversity, from having to overcome challenges.

When you say that you’re the best in the goddamned world? You better believe the words that are coming out of your mouth.

You have to be able to look directly into that camera, at a million people watching around the world, and with a smirk in your face and a twinkle in your eye, tell them that you are ready to take whatever is about to come your way.

Some weeks you’re the lion, some weeks you’re the lamb, but the staunch point remains that one way or another, you have to believe. You have to know! In your heart, that when your opponent walks down that ramp, that you will weather that storm, that you will walk through that hell.

Pain, loss, embarrassment, physical torment?

Teo turns his head and spits on the counter.

Teo Blaze: You relish it. You demand to be hurt. You beg! To be embarassed. You go into that ring and you hope that you feel that heat. You wish for a beating!

As Teo speaks, the camera slowly fades back towards the “roll” sitting in the oven, a shapeless pile of bread dough that would still best be described as a blob.

Teo Blaze: You know what happens when you play it safe, Matt? Look at you. You’ve got no spine. No durability. Anyone who steps into that ring could rip you in half as easy as they look at you.

You’ve been languishing at low heat, you’ve been letting yourself barely be challenged. Last week Ruiz didn’t even bother shooting a promo, and you were proud of that win?

Teo’s face curls into a sneer, as though he has smelled something disgusting.

Teo Blaze: Well, I have good news for you, this week Corey has decided to speed things up a bit, to really turn that heat up.

As Teo speaks, he reaches his hand towards the temperature control, and slowly turns it clockwise. The numbers on it go up...350...375...450...till the knob finally comes to a halt. Where the highest numbers would be, there is only a small engraving on the knob of Teo’s signature glasses.

Teo Blaze: Because I don’t play nice, Matt.

Not when it comes to this championship.

You shoot a promo like that, and the only assumption, the only conclusion I can come to is one of two things.

The first is that you are an incompetent, mouth-breathing son of a bitch too dumb to realize that he has signed a contract to a company where getting put in the ring with someone like me is the worst thing that can possibly happen to you, that you are treating this like a child treats a video game, and you have no regard, no respect! For the men and women who put their bodies on the line in every sense of the word every time that bell rings.

Teo’s fist has slowly become clenched as he speaks, shaking almost violently, though he attempts to hide it.

Teo Blaze: If that is the case, and you are truly too thickheaded, too self-absorbed to see what everyone in the world saw when they looked at the card this week. Then I almost don’t feel bad about what I’m going to do to you.

I am no Estrella Luiz.

I am no Mischa Killings.

Teo cocks his head slowly to one side, looking directly into the camera.

Teo Blaze: I am the worst mistake you’re ever going to make in your life.

I am the thing you’ll see for the next fifty years every time you close your eyes.

I am the one that you could have walked away from.

That you should walk away from.

But I know your type.

You’re either blinded by pride or goldlust to just what kind of situation you’ve signed up for.

You’re name on that contract?

It’s not an agreement for a title shot.

It’s a suicide note.

Teo leans heavily on the counter, his nostrils flaring as his breath slowly begins increasing in tempo.

Teo Blaze: So the only other reason I can think of why you would agree to such a match, besides being too damned stupid to realize just what a blunder you have made? Is because somewhere deep inside that dyed brick you call a cranium, deep in those recesses, you honestly want me to feel sorry for you.

Teo’s face twists slightly. Where before it was consumed by anger, tensed into a look of complete and utter contempt...he can’t help but let a chuckle escape from inside him. But it is not one of amusement. This is a laugh that is...off. Like a sound escaping from a broken place.

Teo Blaze: You want me to look at you and say that I like you. That I like your moxy, or talk about how great you could be if you could just get yourself together. You want me to encourage you to do better because I see genuine talent underneath that lack of confidence.

That you’re a talented rookie who will go places, but not this week. That you’re just waiting for an opportunity to prove yourself. You want me to root for you because of just how fucking adorably pathetic you are…

Teo’s face is almost completely emotionless, despite what sounds like laughter coming from inside him. He turns his head slowly upward to look into the camera. He is smiling, but it is not a smile that inspires warmth. This is the smile of a devil, standing in the midst of a wildfire. The grin of a demon.

Teo Blaze: No dice, junior.

Sympathy is not what I do.

When I took on the responsibility, the duty associated with that Television Championship, I swore to myself that the only way that I would let it go was if I was physically beaten within an inch of my life.

That come hell or high water, no matter who stepped through those ropes, I would treat each of them with the same fire, the same strength each and every time!

I could not give less of a damn about sympathy, and the moment you’re between those ropes, I could not give less of a damn about you. Sympathy is a luxury in this division, it is a treasure that I do not get to have!

You can try, oh I hope you try to make me feel sorry for you, to show me just how far you have to go, how little confidence you have in your own words, and you can hope, you can pray that maybe, just maybe I look upon you like the insect you are, and I don’t bring down my heel and crush you! Put you out of your and all of our fucking misery!

Teo inhales sharply, collecting himself as he stares down at the counter.

Teo Blaze: But that’s not who I am anymore.

You want mercy?

Go to confession.

You want sympathy?

Good news….because this week, you’re going to get all the sympathy you could ever want. A hundred thousand faces, all staring, all thinking the same thing. About how easy it would have been for you to just walk away.

To just lay down in that ring and save yourself the trouble.

But you want to know the worst part, Matt?

Just like every single one of them before you.

Just like every person who keeps adding to my legacy as a champion, as a survivor, as the toughest S.O.B. walking this planet!

You will have only yourself to blame.

Teo turns finally, breathing heavily to the oven, one final time. He reaches into it, not even bothering to put on an oven mitt, and grabs the tray. He inhales sharply as he does so, but it quickly turns into that same frightening grin.

Teo Blaze: You have to turn the heat up, or it’ll stay soft forever.

But you’ve turned it up too high, too fast.

And now you pay the price.

Teo drops the tray on the counter with a ringing CLANG!

Sitting directly on the tray is the remains of the dough lump. Which have now charred completely black.

The camera hangs on the image as Teo picks up his Television Championship and walks from the set.