March 22, 2018, 11:04:47 PM

Author Topic: Teeth (I of II vs Isaac)  (Read 298 times)


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Teeth (I of II vs Isaac)
« on: September 17, 2014, 06:26:14 PM »
“Daddy, I’m scared of the monsters.”

“It’s ok to be afraid son, everyone is afraid from time to time.”

“Are the monsters afraid?”

“Why do you think they spend so much time trying to scare you?”

~ ~ ~

The housekeeper was new.  She had only been employed by the Bellagio for a few months.  With the Master of the Mat tournament extending this year to free agents, she had already seen an influx of wrestlers and the often audacious entourage that accompanied them so many times.  There was nothing that would have prepared her for this.

There was very little organization left to signify that this was one of the many uniform suites that the Bellagio had to offer.  The couch, which was normally placed in the center of the room, had been lifted onto its arm, barricading the bedroom off.  All tables had been pushed against the walls creating a furniture circle around a single metal chair that had been acquisitioned from the indoor pool. 

The cable cord had been pulled from the back of the television leaving only the faint sound of static in the background.  The television itself had been covered by a full-size mirror that had been duct taped at the top and bottom to fix it in place.  The room was a wreck. 

Adorning the floor all around the chair were a litany of empty bottles of grapefruit juice and Ketel One.  Cutting through the thick fog of stale cigarette smoke was the distinct smell of the snuffed cigarettes that had been placed in the empty juice bottles with water.  The housekeeper simply dropped the roll of garbage bags that she had been holding.  There hadn’t been a sign on the door.  There had been no notification at the desk to disregard maid services.  Certainly there was no way that this was meant to be seen by anyone.  The guest hadn’t checked out, he hadn’t called for his car or car services today. 

There was a part of her that felt as if she had stumbled into a moment in time that was meant for no one to see.  Her stomach churned at the thought that she had somehow intruded on a highly personal moment in time that would be better left as forgotten by all parties involved.  She momentarily lost her breath as the thought finally dawned on her that the tenant was still here.   Quickly, she moved towards her cart and retrieved a “Do not Disturb” tag from one of the side panels.  She hung it on the outside door handle and began rolling the cart back outside before being stopped dead in her tracks.

She was turned around by the sound of shattering glass accompanied by a series of incomprehensible shouts.  The sliding glass door that lead to the balcony had been screen by a set of tall venetian blinds that had been badly damaged, but had still managed to function as a barrier to the outside world.  She began to tremble with trepidation as she slowly pulled back the blinds and slowly slid open the door.

~ ~ ~

We have very different memories of the past, Isaac.

Of course when you stand at stark contrasts to one another on the edge of history, that tends to happen I suppose.  I guess it never dawned on me that a man of your stature would ever consider me to be an insurmountable obstacle.  I mean, you gave your fair share of excuses as to why you could never quite get the job done, but that’s not exactly how I remember how the pieces were placed on the board.

From my perspective, it was always me against everyone.  Now I know that there are so many of the people in the SHOOT Project, both backstage and in the crowd that will chalk that up to my apparent narcissism, but bear in mind that at least half of those people were right there with me, viewing at me against the world.

I wasn’t some imposing beast that couldn’t be beaten.  I wasn’t an obstacle that you had to overcome for some greater good.  You were a rabid dog that needed put down.  You and Adrian both were beasts that needed to be destroyed.  I did that.  Both of you.

I guess it is a little narcissism on my part that I never stopped to think of it from your perspective.  I can’t really imagine what it’s like to have an opponent that you just cannot beat.  No matter how hard you try, that man always gets the better of you.  I never fully considered what it must have been, what it still must be like for you.  Now I am faced with a very pressing question.  It’s been digging at me ever since I beat you at Revolution so many weeks ago.

Is a monster more dangerous once it’s lost its teeth?

In the history of the SHOOT Project, you were always that creeping death in the background.  You were that dangerous mist that they were warned about stepping through after dark.  You were a bedtime story meant to keep the kids from stepping out of line.  The Boogeyman.  The Devil.  The Ivory Terror.  More often than not, you didn’t even have to step into the ring for people to be terrified of you.  That was your set of teeth.  That was your bite.  Not the fangs you fashioned for yourself, it was that image that you had painted of what you were willing to do to further your goal. 

You lost that set of teeth.  You can claim to me how hungry you are for the title of Master of the Mat, and that means honestly shit to me.  Who doesn’t want to be Master of the Mat?  Are your reasons any more valid for wanting to win than mine?  Are they any more valid that anyone else who has been in the tournament over the years? 

I don’t think so.

I know what you’re doing.  For so many years, I did it myself.  It ate at me.  It killed me little by little inside.  I fought because they needed me to.  I fought because it was the right thing to do.  I fought the good fight and I stayed on the straight and narrow because that was what the fans needed me to do.  They had had enough of watching guys like you run roughshod all over the company taking exactly what they wanted. 

Now I want you to think long and hard about all of those feeling of brokenness you had when you finally took a good look at yourself.  I want you to remember all of those feeling when you realized just how many people you had destroyed and exactly what you had put them through to reach your goals.  Now take that pain and internalize it.  Sit on it for six months.  Then realize that every bit of damage that had been done had been done to yourself and to your family.  Then maybe you’ll understand what it means to be sorry.  Maybe then you’ll fully realize what it means to “want something.” 

I’ve always been so one dimensional.  I’ve always hung my hat on the ideal that I would sacrifice everything that was dear to me for the greater good of the company.  I was always described as “Wanting it more.”  Now that I’m tired of doing it all for people who could care less I’m the fucking crybaby?  I’m the one that is going to be raked across the coals because I’m more than little tired of sacrificing for the greater good? 

Fuck You, Isaac.

Fuck you and that silver tongue of yours.  Fuck your “redemption.” 

You want to play the big hero, and you want everyone to rally around your redemption song?  Pay penance for everything you did?  Well start over here mother fucker.  You pay your penance to me.  You apologize to ME!  If it wasn’t for you?  If it wasn’t for SCAR I wouldn’t have had to play the hero.  I wouldn’t have had to put my life on hold to be the man that SHOOT needed me to be.

Jester turned his back on us, King was just too damned busy to be bothered, Maya was a goddamned nobody.  Who else were they supposed to turn to?  It had to be me.  I took that bitter pill and I choked it down my throat.  I let it simmer inside of me like a cancer while I watched my family tortured, then placed on the back burner.  I watched as the fans started to cheer for everyone else because I was just “not in right now.”  I watched as they forgot about me and everything I had done for them. 

I’m supposed to be grateful for a life that I never wanted to begin with?  I’m supposed to thank them for the chance to be someone I never wanted to be?  I wanted to have my fun.  Dan Stein got to run around and party, SCAR did whatever the hell they wanted, and I was expected to save the day.  That was my motivation.

Because it was the right thing to do.

So now you are going to try and make me your monster?  You’re going to try and paint me in a light that leaves me looking like a washed up, shell of a man, demanding things that don’t belong to him?  There are so many people in this world that carry the physical scars of what you did to them.  There are so many people we could talk to with legitimate complaints about you.  People that want you dead.  I don’t have any of those on my person.  I don’t have any physical reminders of the damage that you and your friends inflicted upon my entire house. 


I just carry around the mental yoke on my neck of knowing that you backed me into a corner that I was never meant to be in.  The greatest accomplishments of my life were not for me.  They were all for the good of someone else.  So why do I want to be the Master of the Mat?  Why do I want to win this tournament so bad?  It’s not because of some false sense of entitlement simply because I’ve been here before.  It’s not because I feel like I deserve it more than you.

It’s because Trey Willett has never won the Master of the Mat tournament.  Trey Willett has never been the World Heavyweight Champion.  No.  The fans got that.  Jason Johnson got that.  SHOOT Project got that.  I want to do something for myself for a change.  I want an accomplishment that I can clutch to my breast and know that it belongs to me. 

You don’t want this fight, Isaac.  You don’t want to come to the ring at Revolution to do anything other than to get down on your knees and BEG me for forgiveness for all of your past transgressions.  If that bell rings with you in the ring, there will be a fight that you’ve never seen before.  I won’t be a barrier.  I won’t be a wall.  I’ll be a Mack Goddamn Truck blasting through whatever is left of the Ivory Terror. 

Make no mistakes, Isaac.  This is not the beginning of your story.  You want the perfect ending to your perfect story of reformation?  Look elsewhere.  You’ll get nothing of the sort from me.  All you’re getting here is a lesson in humility and shame.  And I swear to god, if you don’t feel like begging to begin the match, you sure as hell will by the time it’s over. 

I don’t want to beat you, Isaac.  I want to embarrass you.  I want you to feel just like you did at the end of so many Revolutions ago and just before I step out of the ring I want you to rise up on your knees and shower me with thanks for not ending your life in front of your newfound fans.

It’s too bad you lost your teeth, monster.  Because I found them, and I going to gnash at you until there is nothing left.