Post by Speede on Jan 27, 2019 23:46:12 GMT -5
21 January 2019
The scene opens up backstage in Pensacola, Florida, where WCF is holding its weekly Slam event. The fans are packed into the arena, and there seems to be a ton of buzz around the sixteen names to be drawn, largely at random, into tag teams for quite possibly the tournament of the year. The noise of the arena's main exhibit hall can even be heard deep in the catacombs and in the furthest corners of the structure, and somewhere within it all sits one man, jeans adorning his lower extremities and a hooded sweatshirt pulled up over the crown of his head, leaving only a dark brown beard visible of his features and the tanned skin of his hands as another somewhat identifying mark, those claws clutching a phone.
As he stands, tucks the phone into his front pocket, and throws the hood off of his head, it becomes immediately clear whom we're watching: it's Roy Speede! He starts off down the hallway, turns a corner, and pushes open a door to reveal a filming studio, much more secluded and blocked off from the rest of the surrounding world than one might be inclined to expect, and standing center stage as if waiting for him is none other than WCF's resident interrogator, Hank Brown. Speede approaches wordlessly, and shakes the man's hand before finally letting his lips part to speak.
"It's been far too long."
"That it has, Roy, my boy! How're you doing?"
"I've been having a lot more success for myself outside these walls, actually. I'm almost starting to wonder if WCF was holding me back."
"What?! This place was your start, kid! You grew so much inside that ring out there. How many big name stars did you go toe to toe with? How many asses did you kick?"
"I'm not saying I didn't compete against some of the best. I'm saying, though, that I never seemed to be in a place where I could break the proverbial glass ceiling that most of my generation got trapped under. Guys like FPV, Deruty, the guys that got management's golden seal of approval and all the opportunities in the world were the ones that got that far. Me? I was cast to play the crown prince of fucking Hot Dogs."
"I guess that's fair. But alongside Logan, you were making such great progress!"
"But I wasn't ME, Hank. And even when I ditched that moron and started serving as an advocate for 'The Silver Lining' and only 'The Silver Lining', I didn't make it out from under the oppressive thumb of the same management that has always despised me in some form or another. Seth? Yeah, cool dude, but he couldn't run this ship right to save his fucking life. And you and I both know that Corey Black never respected me enough to give me a shot at anything worthwhile. The closest I ever got under that jackass was Ultimate Showdown, and you've seen how difficult that motherfucker is, especially going in during the golden era of this company against some of the biggest stars they could amass at the time."
"Roy, you walked out of the 2012 Showdown with the Hardcore belt!"
"And it should've been World Championship gold, but once again I found myself on the mat staring up at the lights while Jonny fucking Fly walked away the big winner. How many guys from that match should definitely have been in the Hall of Fame? And it came down to Fly and yours truly... You know what? off topic. Way off track. Can we please get to the interview?"
"The camera's been rolling since you walked in the door, sonny! This is the interview!"
"You mean I- Hank!! You know I don't drop F-Bombs on camera. Why didn't you freakin' say anything?"
"Because this allowed me to capture more of the true essence of what sort of man you've become! Not knowing, you actually put on some real emotion, some real thoughts and sentiments, not what you think the world wants to hear or what corporate is demanding you to say."
"But I-... I guess that's a fair point. But that also means you're stalling! So, whose ass am I gonna have to show back up to carry through this tournament? Kennedy Matthews? Vincent Augustine? Please, dear God, tell me it's not Jay Price!"
"It's not Price."
"Hank!
Who!
Is!
My!
Tag!
Team!
Partner?!"
"It's John Rabid."
Speede's mouth drops open.
"John Ra- JOHN RABID?"
He jumps in the air in excitement, fist pumping.
"YESSS! I'm not the only freaking half of this team with talent!!"
"Now, calm down, Roy! Yeah, you're teaming with John Rabid, but you do realize what this means, right? John Rabid is-"
"Yeah, I know exactly what that means, Hank. But I also know that our team is immediately the favorite to win this whole tournament, no questions freaking asked."
"I suppose that's fair, yes, but John Rabid is-"
"John Rabid is one of the most talented wrestlers on the planet, Hank. Make no mistake, he's an intimidating being, and I'm not entirely certain he isn't some sort of meta-human considering the wrestlers he's taken down without a hint of difficulty, but damn, I'm teaming with John freakin' Rabid!"
Roy races out the door from where Hank was standing, leaving the latter hesitant and in disbelief at the reactions of the former. In bursting through the doorway, he nearly flattens someone, and immediately his demeanor changes to assure that he hasn't harmed anyone. Then, he discovers that it was in fact Alex Haden that he nearly trampled.
"Dude, what're you so hyped up about?"
"Hank just told me who I'm teaming with in this tournament thing that starts next week."
"Whatcha think?"
"What do you mean?"
"Definitely the favorites, huh?"
"How do you-"
"Dude, did you seriously not just check the website? Everything's posted online already. John Rabid!!"
"Yeah, John Rabid... I'm excited, but in a kinda nervous way. He's good. Real good. The kind of guy I don't want to be teaming with should I fuck up. The kind of guy who even scares me a bit."
"Why?"
"We're undoubtedly the best team in this tournament, and the entire damned thing is ours to walk away with just at the announcement, basically, but I'm not sure how well we'll coexist in the ring. I mean, he's just... John freakin' Rabid."
"So? It's John Rabid. He's another guy in that wrestling ring. What's to say you couldn't destroy him like everyone else?"
"Look at how his career has played out so far; and I mean, beating Odin?"
"You've beaten Odin."
"Yeah, in 2011. These last few years, Odin's changed, dude. He's grown into something more than an old man with a size advantage. He's turned into... well, the All-Father. And Rabid put him on the mat like it was nothing! You saw how Altimate Showdown went, and to see Odin eat canvas like that? Rabid's got something more than just crazy going on in his head. We're a damned good team, but I need to tread lightly and give it everything I've got so as to assure I don't screw up."
"There are a lot of 'not quite human' in this company, dude. That's why I was hoping you'd stay with A-Dub. You were the MAN over there."
"I am the MAN over there, and I'm taking a step toward becoming the MAN here, Alex. Rabid and I are going to become the TEAM to beat in this company. And in Georgia, we're going to make certain of that. Besides, there are too many similarities on this team for it to be coincidence that we're paired up."
"What do you mean?"
"For instance, take SJW."
"What does Warwick have to do with anything?"
"Two world title reigns, one in each company. How did xe win those belts? Beating Rabid in WCF, and beating me in the A-Dub."
"Okay, big deal."
"It's just the surface, Alex. This goes a lot deeper than two losses to the same guy. Let's just say, there's a reason I walked out on the rest of an interview with Hank when I got the news."
Roy turns and starts to walk away, with Alex following him; Roy pulls a pair of Powerbeats out of his pocket and hooks them into his ears, as if ignoring his longtime ally, and the scene fades to black.
---
23 January 2019
Highway 95, somewhere in eastern Florida or maybe into Georgia by this point; kinda hard to tell for certain. All that's clear is that traffic is at a complete standstill, and somewhere in that mess is a blue sedan. Inside the vehicle, Alex Haden is growing visibly more frustrated and anxious. To his right, Speede sits buried in his cell phone, not a word escaping either of their mouths. On the speaker system, some lesser known hard rock music is blasting.
"So, it looks like week one, we're up against Michael X and Jaice WIlds."
"So another former World Champ, and then- wait, who?"
"I was looking up some stats on him now. Apparently in addition to appearances in Action Wrestling as well, he's worked dilligently with The Guardians for some time now."
"So he's a good guy?"
"Sounds like it. Little tiny kid with a penchant for jumping off the top turnbuckles and a love of taking risks."
"So he's basically a modern day version of the 2011 Roy Speede?"
"Albeit not as long a list of accomplishments, but yeah. Says here he used to be 'El Payaso Loco' here back in the day, too."
"So he should have the experience to know what he's gotten himself into."
"Not necessarily. I mean, Michael X is something else, dude. I'm pretty sure he associates with a legitimate serial killer, and Mikey himself is literally a lesser-liked, less-talented Roy Speede himself."
"Then how come he has a WCF World Title and you don't?"
"Because I wrestled primarily during WCF's Golden Era, and his rise to fame came during the WCF's Great Exodus, when everybody who was worth a damn jumped ship and came to Action Wrestling to get a piece of me."
"But still, serial killer?"
"Yeah, Mikey's got a darker cult going. I wouldn't be surprised if Jaice Wilds himself was the reason that team fell apart, he gets scared, bails on Mikey, and goes hunting for a new generation of Guardians where he can feel like he's got himself a safe haven."
"Cult? Are you calling the church of Si-"
"I'm not entirely certain that ever was a real thing. I think Singh made all that shit up to mess with us and ran some sort of Men In Black mind-scrambling mumbo-jumbo to make us remember this generation of WCF differently. It would explain how Singh, and Michael X, got their hands on that belt."
"So now that just, y'know, never happened?"
"And Jaice Wilds' career actually has? What's he actually done? Says here- umm... Okay, my phone froze, but I don't remember anything."
"Wait, Jaice Wilds? He's the one banging the Hardcore Champ, yeah?"
"Probably. All I know is that I stopped giving a damn about the Hardcore Title a long time ago. Barely even bothered getting to the arena for that match when it happened last year."
"So what ARE you doing in the WCF then?"
"I heard there was a randomized tag team tournament and signed up, because I figured carrying somebody to the finish line would restore some credibility over here. People seem to forget that 2018 was the Year of the Speede, and we're starting the Year of the Speede, Two."
"In A-Dub it was the 'Year of the Speede'. Over here it was crap. You wrestled, what, three matches?"
"Something like that. Nearly beat Odin and took a World Title home here, too. But this place isn't exactly priority numero uno for me, so I figured I'd not part-time the gold. That's kind of a shitty thing to do, y'know?"
"Yeah, I get you, but I mean- why even bother showing up if you're just taking a spot from someone who might've done something with it?"
"I very well could've. Odin got the better of me that night; proved he's grown quite a bit in these last few years. Like I said, he's the freakin' All-Father... I didn't manage to make it work. But oh well."
"Yeah, and we all saw what he did to Michael X for that World Title right afterward. You put up a hell of a lot more fight than X did."
"X couldn't give it to 'em."
HA!
"And now you're gonna give it to X?"
"Damned straight. Michael X's rise to fame during one of the lowest points in the WCF's storied history was shorter-lived than an average goldfish, and it came at a time when the only relevant opponent on the active roster was freakin' Odin Balfore. He made the most of one big match, and that's why his name is on the recordbooks for the World Title. He's on his way down the card infinitely quicker than he rose, and he'll soon be remembered only as fondly as Dake Ken, Jay Williams, and all those other countless competitors who made it big for one short stint and then never replicated their success."
"Wow, really flashing the ol' WCF knowledge, huh?"
"When you've been involved with something for eight years, be it directly or indirectly, you learn a thing or two- more than either of my opponents have had the opportunity to learn."
"Mikey's been around a while, though!"
"Yeah, I know. Wanna take a guess at when he first put his name in the historybooks, though? 2015. Four years after I did. By the time he finally made set foot in this company, I was off pursuing other interests to pass my time, and the golden era of the WCF was all but dead."
"You keep referencing this 'Golden Era'. Why do you keep coming back if that time is so far in the past?"
"Because I'm one of the notable faces from that era that still has the push to compete from time to time. I made my way to A-Dub because I wanted to get back into this sport, and it was the best place for me to be. WCF was my first home, and it will always be the place I bum around when I'm bored, though. And right now? They're offering an incentive to do so. This tournament grants both its winners any match they want. I could take that World Title right off the shoulders of Noble Savage or Odin Balfore or whomever the hell has it by the time I feel like cashing in. I could use my shot to face Corey Black, which I still have never gotten to do, and give him a right fine ass-kicking for all the shit he put me through when he first took the reins of this company back in 2011. Hell, I could order a match to unify every single championship into one grand prize. I want to show the WCF management crew that they messed up by offering that stipulation. I love the tournament idea, this is going to be a blast, but I can punish this company for never giving me my due."
"Whoa, Roy, starting to sound a little bit crazy there, dude!"
"What can I say, Alex? To team with a madman, you've gotta think like a madman, and I'm definitely thinking like a madman! Wilds has no idea what he's getting into, and X is clinging onto relevancy by turning even more sadistic, but Rabid and yours truly as a team? Now that's a show that going to have everybody on the edge of their seats."
The car jerks forward, and Roy looks forward to see the traffic starting to move again.
"About damn time..."
The scene fades to black.
---
24 January 2019
The following appears in its original form on the official blog of wrestler Roy Speede.
Big return time, huh? That's what the world was thinking when I made my way back to the WCF for Altimate Showdown. A bunch of wrestlers who had no earthly business being considered legitimate contenders for the World Championship. And then there were two. I was as close as it could friggin' get to my one on one opportunity at the World Championship, and it all fell apart, because that's just the story of my time in this company. How many people have come and gone and faded into irrlevancy over the years, much less, how many World Champions have either deteriorated into nothing more than jobbers to the true talents in this business? Where the hell is Brad Kane lately? What happened to Natural ICE Beckman? And now here we are with Michael X, already starting down the card, back where he started. To never-again-land. Who wants to see him back at the top? I know I don't.
It's great to think that somebody could start as nothing and make something of themselves. I would love to say that such a fairy-tale ending is a guaranteed, that winning the 'big one' and riding off into the sunset was the end of the storybook, but as Michael X is slowly beginning to discover, it's anything but the final chapter. Defending that belt, losing that belt, and then making your way back onto the top of the mountain to fight for it again, or retiring. Those are the next chapters of where the book would ideally go, but those flimsy pages can be erased and rewritten in any number of different ways. It's almost a disappointment that the story of Mikey Xtreme, or perhaps our more beloved Michael X, would be scribbled onto loose leaf to get lost time and time again, only for that one big victory to be the only satisfaction that his fans might ever get. And yet, here we are, and poor Mikey's pen is starting to run out of ink. That raises the question, is that pen one that you can refill, or shall we just toss it in the trash when it finally runs dry?
Then, there are other books, books that haven't even begun to be written yet, huh Jaice? Still working to try and climb that mountain, secure yourself some notariety other than the sexy bitch in your bed at night, or is that just a little too much for you, Lamar Odom? Being a cog in the wheel of a group that wins championships, but never so much as becoming a team captain, barely a starter and riding the pine half the time while your buddies showcase themselves to be the value of the team. I hope you're not trying to do that again, because Michael X definitely can't do this on his own; he might not be able to even with some help, but you're a weak link, a naive fool if you don't study up and make yourself aware of just what you're about to start into. Jaice, don't be a Lamar Odom. Make your own team, where you can be a star and force people to grow and develop around you. Be a LeBron, or even let yourself be that hint more selfish and call yourself Kobe. Until you can do that, I'm going to be the one shooting my shots.
As it stands now, the Splash Brothers of the WCF are about to kick your asses. John Rabid and I are the ones who keep calling and making those shots, here and elsewhere. We're the ones who just keep friggin' winning. You and Michael X are just steppings stones on the next path we're crossing, and as it turns out, it's Rabid and Speede on the same team for once. A team that will allow us both to shine, while the has-been just burns out, and the never-was sputters on chapter one. It's long overdue that I make another run at doing something in WCF, and I've decided to make it happen now. Thanks for being the first two to fall at my feet.
End Post.
The scene opens up backstage in Pensacola, Florida, where WCF is holding its weekly Slam event. The fans are packed into the arena, and there seems to be a ton of buzz around the sixteen names to be drawn, largely at random, into tag teams for quite possibly the tournament of the year. The noise of the arena's main exhibit hall can even be heard deep in the catacombs and in the furthest corners of the structure, and somewhere within it all sits one man, jeans adorning his lower extremities and a hooded sweatshirt pulled up over the crown of his head, leaving only a dark brown beard visible of his features and the tanned skin of his hands as another somewhat identifying mark, those claws clutching a phone.
As he stands, tucks the phone into his front pocket, and throws the hood off of his head, it becomes immediately clear whom we're watching: it's Roy Speede! He starts off down the hallway, turns a corner, and pushes open a door to reveal a filming studio, much more secluded and blocked off from the rest of the surrounding world than one might be inclined to expect, and standing center stage as if waiting for him is none other than WCF's resident interrogator, Hank Brown. Speede approaches wordlessly, and shakes the man's hand before finally letting his lips part to speak.
"It's been far too long."
"That it has, Roy, my boy! How're you doing?"
"I've been having a lot more success for myself outside these walls, actually. I'm almost starting to wonder if WCF was holding me back."
"What?! This place was your start, kid! You grew so much inside that ring out there. How many big name stars did you go toe to toe with? How many asses did you kick?"
"I'm not saying I didn't compete against some of the best. I'm saying, though, that I never seemed to be in a place where I could break the proverbial glass ceiling that most of my generation got trapped under. Guys like FPV, Deruty, the guys that got management's golden seal of approval and all the opportunities in the world were the ones that got that far. Me? I was cast to play the crown prince of fucking Hot Dogs."
"I guess that's fair. But alongside Logan, you were making such great progress!"
"But I wasn't ME, Hank. And even when I ditched that moron and started serving as an advocate for 'The Silver Lining' and only 'The Silver Lining', I didn't make it out from under the oppressive thumb of the same management that has always despised me in some form or another. Seth? Yeah, cool dude, but he couldn't run this ship right to save his fucking life. And you and I both know that Corey Black never respected me enough to give me a shot at anything worthwhile. The closest I ever got under that jackass was Ultimate Showdown, and you've seen how difficult that motherfucker is, especially going in during the golden era of this company against some of the biggest stars they could amass at the time."
"Roy, you walked out of the 2012 Showdown with the Hardcore belt!"
"And it should've been World Championship gold, but once again I found myself on the mat staring up at the lights while Jonny fucking Fly walked away the big winner. How many guys from that match should definitely have been in the Hall of Fame? And it came down to Fly and yours truly... You know what? off topic. Way off track. Can we please get to the interview?"
"The camera's been rolling since you walked in the door, sonny! This is the interview!"
"You mean I- Hank!! You know I don't drop F-Bombs on camera. Why didn't you freakin' say anything?"
"Because this allowed me to capture more of the true essence of what sort of man you've become! Not knowing, you actually put on some real emotion, some real thoughts and sentiments, not what you think the world wants to hear or what corporate is demanding you to say."
"But I-... I guess that's a fair point. But that also means you're stalling! So, whose ass am I gonna have to show back up to carry through this tournament? Kennedy Matthews? Vincent Augustine? Please, dear God, tell me it's not Jay Price!"
"It's not Price."
"Hank!
Who!
Is!
My!
Tag!
Team!
Partner?!"
"It's John Rabid."
Speede's mouth drops open.
"John Ra- JOHN RABID?"
He jumps in the air in excitement, fist pumping.
"YESSS! I'm not the only freaking half of this team with talent!!"
"Now, calm down, Roy! Yeah, you're teaming with John Rabid, but you do realize what this means, right? John Rabid is-"
"Yeah, I know exactly what that means, Hank. But I also know that our team is immediately the favorite to win this whole tournament, no questions freaking asked."
"I suppose that's fair, yes, but John Rabid is-"
"John Rabid is one of the most talented wrestlers on the planet, Hank. Make no mistake, he's an intimidating being, and I'm not entirely certain he isn't some sort of meta-human considering the wrestlers he's taken down without a hint of difficulty, but damn, I'm teaming with John freakin' Rabid!"
Roy races out the door from where Hank was standing, leaving the latter hesitant and in disbelief at the reactions of the former. In bursting through the doorway, he nearly flattens someone, and immediately his demeanor changes to assure that he hasn't harmed anyone. Then, he discovers that it was in fact Alex Haden that he nearly trampled.
"Dude, what're you so hyped up about?"
"Hank just told me who I'm teaming with in this tournament thing that starts next week."
"Whatcha think?"
"What do you mean?"
"Definitely the favorites, huh?"
"How do you-"
"Dude, did you seriously not just check the website? Everything's posted online already. John Rabid!!"
"Yeah, John Rabid... I'm excited, but in a kinda nervous way. He's good. Real good. The kind of guy I don't want to be teaming with should I fuck up. The kind of guy who even scares me a bit."
"Why?"
"We're undoubtedly the best team in this tournament, and the entire damned thing is ours to walk away with just at the announcement, basically, but I'm not sure how well we'll coexist in the ring. I mean, he's just... John freakin' Rabid."
"So? It's John Rabid. He's another guy in that wrestling ring. What's to say you couldn't destroy him like everyone else?"
"Look at how his career has played out so far; and I mean, beating Odin?"
"You've beaten Odin."
"Yeah, in 2011. These last few years, Odin's changed, dude. He's grown into something more than an old man with a size advantage. He's turned into... well, the All-Father. And Rabid put him on the mat like it was nothing! You saw how Altimate Showdown went, and to see Odin eat canvas like that? Rabid's got something more than just crazy going on in his head. We're a damned good team, but I need to tread lightly and give it everything I've got so as to assure I don't screw up."
"There are a lot of 'not quite human' in this company, dude. That's why I was hoping you'd stay with A-Dub. You were the MAN over there."
"I am the MAN over there, and I'm taking a step toward becoming the MAN here, Alex. Rabid and I are going to become the TEAM to beat in this company. And in Georgia, we're going to make certain of that. Besides, there are too many similarities on this team for it to be coincidence that we're paired up."
"What do you mean?"
"For instance, take SJW."
"What does Warwick have to do with anything?"
"Two world title reigns, one in each company. How did xe win those belts? Beating Rabid in WCF, and beating me in the A-Dub."
"Okay, big deal."
"It's just the surface, Alex. This goes a lot deeper than two losses to the same guy. Let's just say, there's a reason I walked out on the rest of an interview with Hank when I got the news."
Roy turns and starts to walk away, with Alex following him; Roy pulls a pair of Powerbeats out of his pocket and hooks them into his ears, as if ignoring his longtime ally, and the scene fades to black.
---
23 January 2019
Highway 95, somewhere in eastern Florida or maybe into Georgia by this point; kinda hard to tell for certain. All that's clear is that traffic is at a complete standstill, and somewhere in that mess is a blue sedan. Inside the vehicle, Alex Haden is growing visibly more frustrated and anxious. To his right, Speede sits buried in his cell phone, not a word escaping either of their mouths. On the speaker system, some lesser known hard rock music is blasting.
"So, it looks like week one, we're up against Michael X and Jaice WIlds."
"So another former World Champ, and then- wait, who?"
"I was looking up some stats on him now. Apparently in addition to appearances in Action Wrestling as well, he's worked dilligently with The Guardians for some time now."
"So he's a good guy?"
"Sounds like it. Little tiny kid with a penchant for jumping off the top turnbuckles and a love of taking risks."
"So he's basically a modern day version of the 2011 Roy Speede?"
"Albeit not as long a list of accomplishments, but yeah. Says here he used to be 'El Payaso Loco' here back in the day, too."
"So he should have the experience to know what he's gotten himself into."
"Not necessarily. I mean, Michael X is something else, dude. I'm pretty sure he associates with a legitimate serial killer, and Mikey himself is literally a lesser-liked, less-talented Roy Speede himself."
"Then how come he has a WCF World Title and you don't?"
"Because I wrestled primarily during WCF's Golden Era, and his rise to fame came during the WCF's Great Exodus, when everybody who was worth a damn jumped ship and came to Action Wrestling to get a piece of me."
"But still, serial killer?"
"Yeah, Mikey's got a darker cult going. I wouldn't be surprised if Jaice Wilds himself was the reason that team fell apart, he gets scared, bails on Mikey, and goes hunting for a new generation of Guardians where he can feel like he's got himself a safe haven."
"Cult? Are you calling the church of Si-"
"I'm not entirely certain that ever was a real thing. I think Singh made all that shit up to mess with us and ran some sort of Men In Black mind-scrambling mumbo-jumbo to make us remember this generation of WCF differently. It would explain how Singh, and Michael X, got their hands on that belt."
"So now that just, y'know, never happened?"
"And Jaice Wilds' career actually has? What's he actually done? Says here- umm... Okay, my phone froze, but I don't remember anything."
"Wait, Jaice Wilds? He's the one banging the Hardcore Champ, yeah?"
"Probably. All I know is that I stopped giving a damn about the Hardcore Title a long time ago. Barely even bothered getting to the arena for that match when it happened last year."
"So what ARE you doing in the WCF then?"
"I heard there was a randomized tag team tournament and signed up, because I figured carrying somebody to the finish line would restore some credibility over here. People seem to forget that 2018 was the Year of the Speede, and we're starting the Year of the Speede, Two."
"In A-Dub it was the 'Year of the Speede'. Over here it was crap. You wrestled, what, three matches?"
"Something like that. Nearly beat Odin and took a World Title home here, too. But this place isn't exactly priority numero uno for me, so I figured I'd not part-time the gold. That's kind of a shitty thing to do, y'know?"
"Yeah, I get you, but I mean- why even bother showing up if you're just taking a spot from someone who might've done something with it?"
"I very well could've. Odin got the better of me that night; proved he's grown quite a bit in these last few years. Like I said, he's the freakin' All-Father... I didn't manage to make it work. But oh well."
"Yeah, and we all saw what he did to Michael X for that World Title right afterward. You put up a hell of a lot more fight than X did."
"X couldn't give it to 'em."
HA!
"And now you're gonna give it to X?"
"Damned straight. Michael X's rise to fame during one of the lowest points in the WCF's storied history was shorter-lived than an average goldfish, and it came at a time when the only relevant opponent on the active roster was freakin' Odin Balfore. He made the most of one big match, and that's why his name is on the recordbooks for the World Title. He's on his way down the card infinitely quicker than he rose, and he'll soon be remembered only as fondly as Dake Ken, Jay Williams, and all those other countless competitors who made it big for one short stint and then never replicated their success."
"Wow, really flashing the ol' WCF knowledge, huh?"
"When you've been involved with something for eight years, be it directly or indirectly, you learn a thing or two- more than either of my opponents have had the opportunity to learn."
"Mikey's been around a while, though!"
"Yeah, I know. Wanna take a guess at when he first put his name in the historybooks, though? 2015. Four years after I did. By the time he finally made set foot in this company, I was off pursuing other interests to pass my time, and the golden era of the WCF was all but dead."
"You keep referencing this 'Golden Era'. Why do you keep coming back if that time is so far in the past?"
"Because I'm one of the notable faces from that era that still has the push to compete from time to time. I made my way to A-Dub because I wanted to get back into this sport, and it was the best place for me to be. WCF was my first home, and it will always be the place I bum around when I'm bored, though. And right now? They're offering an incentive to do so. This tournament grants both its winners any match they want. I could take that World Title right off the shoulders of Noble Savage or Odin Balfore or whomever the hell has it by the time I feel like cashing in. I could use my shot to face Corey Black, which I still have never gotten to do, and give him a right fine ass-kicking for all the shit he put me through when he first took the reins of this company back in 2011. Hell, I could order a match to unify every single championship into one grand prize. I want to show the WCF management crew that they messed up by offering that stipulation. I love the tournament idea, this is going to be a blast, but I can punish this company for never giving me my due."
"Whoa, Roy, starting to sound a little bit crazy there, dude!"
"What can I say, Alex? To team with a madman, you've gotta think like a madman, and I'm definitely thinking like a madman! Wilds has no idea what he's getting into, and X is clinging onto relevancy by turning even more sadistic, but Rabid and yours truly as a team? Now that's a show that going to have everybody on the edge of their seats."
The car jerks forward, and Roy looks forward to see the traffic starting to move again.
"About damn time..."
The scene fades to black.
---
24 January 2019
The following appears in its original form on the official blog of wrestler Roy Speede.
Big return time, huh? That's what the world was thinking when I made my way back to the WCF for Altimate Showdown. A bunch of wrestlers who had no earthly business being considered legitimate contenders for the World Championship. And then there were two. I was as close as it could friggin' get to my one on one opportunity at the World Championship, and it all fell apart, because that's just the story of my time in this company. How many people have come and gone and faded into irrlevancy over the years, much less, how many World Champions have either deteriorated into nothing more than jobbers to the true talents in this business? Where the hell is Brad Kane lately? What happened to Natural ICE Beckman? And now here we are with Michael X, already starting down the card, back where he started. To never-again-land. Who wants to see him back at the top? I know I don't.
It's great to think that somebody could start as nothing and make something of themselves. I would love to say that such a fairy-tale ending is a guaranteed, that winning the 'big one' and riding off into the sunset was the end of the storybook, but as Michael X is slowly beginning to discover, it's anything but the final chapter. Defending that belt, losing that belt, and then making your way back onto the top of the mountain to fight for it again, or retiring. Those are the next chapters of where the book would ideally go, but those flimsy pages can be erased and rewritten in any number of different ways. It's almost a disappointment that the story of Mikey Xtreme, or perhaps our more beloved Michael X, would be scribbled onto loose leaf to get lost time and time again, only for that one big victory to be the only satisfaction that his fans might ever get. And yet, here we are, and poor Mikey's pen is starting to run out of ink. That raises the question, is that pen one that you can refill, or shall we just toss it in the trash when it finally runs dry?
Then, there are other books, books that haven't even begun to be written yet, huh Jaice? Still working to try and climb that mountain, secure yourself some notariety other than the sexy bitch in your bed at night, or is that just a little too much for you, Lamar Odom? Being a cog in the wheel of a group that wins championships, but never so much as becoming a team captain, barely a starter and riding the pine half the time while your buddies showcase themselves to be the value of the team. I hope you're not trying to do that again, because Michael X definitely can't do this on his own; he might not be able to even with some help, but you're a weak link, a naive fool if you don't study up and make yourself aware of just what you're about to start into. Jaice, don't be a Lamar Odom. Make your own team, where you can be a star and force people to grow and develop around you. Be a LeBron, or even let yourself be that hint more selfish and call yourself Kobe. Until you can do that, I'm going to be the one shooting my shots.
As it stands now, the Splash Brothers of the WCF are about to kick your asses. John Rabid and I are the ones who keep calling and making those shots, here and elsewhere. We're the ones who just keep friggin' winning. You and Michael X are just steppings stones on the next path we're crossing, and as it turns out, it's Rabid and Speede on the same team for once. A team that will allow us both to shine, while the has-been just burns out, and the never-was sputters on chapter one. It's long overdue that I make another run at doing something in WCF, and I've decided to make it happen now. Thanks for being the first two to fall at my feet.
End Post.
