Post by Holden Ross on Mar 20, 2022 12:58:41 GMT -5
Wednesday, March 16th
A camera opens on a shot of Holden sitting in a wooden chair with, what appears to be, black velvet padding on the backrest, armrests, and seat. He is clad in a black “GRINDHOUSE” hoodie and cut off Dickies shorts. On the table next to him is a can of “green” Monster energy drink. He cracks his knuckles and looks to his left. The shot widens to show none other than Harvey Marx sitting in a matching chair. He looks like a million bucks in his light gray suit. He flashes his megawatt smile as he addresses the camera.
”Hello ladies and gentlemen, it is I, Harvey Marx, and I am blessed to be here with GRINDHOUSE member, Holden Ross. First off, I gotta say, nice house! How do you like it here in Vero Beach, Florida?” Harvey asks with genuine interest.
”What’s not to love? Look at this view!” Holden turns in his seat and motions to the view out the large bay window behind them. When the camera shows the view it is of a clear, blue sky meeting the aqua blue water. With just the tops of a few palm trees visible, it is a picture perfect idea of what “paradise” looks like in most people’s heads. ”As you know, I moved here this past week in preparation for my new second gig at the ‘Champions Advantage Performance Center’ here in Vero Beach.
Since joining Action Wrestling, I have yet to be pinned or submitted in a singles match. I have formed one of the most brutal Tag Teams this company has ever seen and, at Battlebowl, we stole the show! This week, Robbie is in for more than he bargained for. I still got a bitter taste in my mouth after Battlebowl and Robbie is going to pay for it.”
” RBD has sa-“ Holden cuts him off.
”His name is Robbie. Like some piss-ant momma’s boy, always sniveling about something.”
Harvey flashes his smile and continues.
”As I was saying, Robbie Big –“ you guessed it, cut off again by a scoff this time from the Bastard.
”It’s Robbie……just fuckin Robbie!” Holden slams his right fist down on the arm of his chair and it issues a soft ‘pop’ in retort.
”Okay…..no need to get angry….”
Holden slowly runs a hand down his face before he speaks. ”One thing I’ve learned over the years; if they drive big, jacked up trucks, love assault rifles, or talk about how big their gimmick is, they’re hung like a stud field mouse in reality. Look, Harvey, I’m not mad, not at you. Not at anyone, really. This week, Robbie is in way over his head.
We got a guy who only shines he’s in a garbage match. Nothing against outlaw mudshows or death matches, I; cut my teeth in those very same matches myself. But I evolved, grew, adapted and moved on while lil Robbie wallows in mediocrity. He grew up wanting to be Hogan but turned out being the Brooklyn Brawler.
Lil Robbie can’t beat me. He can’t carry my bags. When the match is over, Harvey, I will be declared the victor and, when he pulls himself up to his feet, the crowd will go mild. He can forfeit the match, I wouldn’t blame him, but I know his type. Too stupid to know any better.”
Harvey mouths the word “Damn!” with almost cartoonish, exaggerated facial expressions. Holden, meanwhile, takes a swallow from his glass.
”I think you’ve said all that needs to be said, Holden. It’sbeen great seeing you and thank you for inviting me –“
”My pleasure. I’d like to add just one more thing, if I may…”
Holden shifts in his chair to look at the camera straight on.
”Vanguard, GRINDHOUSE ain’t done with you by a damn sight. You put up more of a fight than I expected. I underestimated you and that won’t happen again. Don’t get too comfortable, boys, cause we are still here. Still hungry. Only next time I know what to expect. See ya round…”
The camera fades out while Harvey reaches out and shakes Holden’s hand. Their mouth are moving but the viewers at home can’t hear what they are saying. After it fades to black, the crew pack up and Holden and Harvey share a quick hug to see Harvey out the door.
Sunday, March 20th
Holden enters the “Champions Advantage Performance Center” in Vero Beach. It still has yet to open to the public and, so, it is only him and a few other trainers currently in the building. He changes in the locker room and heads for the heavy bag. For the next forty minutes he works the bag over in four minute intervals, with thirty seconds rest in between in “round.” He then moves onto the speed bag for another twenty minutes. He eventually hits the weight room. With Ghostemane blasting in from his ear buds, he spends the next two hours lifting.
The whole time reflecting on all that has happened since he joined Action Wrestling. His stock is rising in the company. He has a small following of fans who enjoy the brutality he brings to the ring. He, through contacts made after signing with Action Wrestling, was able to get this gig as the “Striking Coach” at “Champions Advantage.” But, most importantly, he met Serenity
She has flipped his world upside down. He is no longer eager to get to the bar and leave with a ring rat. He doesn’t spend his nights in a bottle with a stripper and hung over the next morning, feeling like shit. He isn’t quite “in love” yet but he can himself heading that way if he let himself.
He also thinks about Frank. He misses him more than he thought he would. A lump forms in his throat, his eyes brim with tears, and he wracks the barbell he was lifting. Alone, in silence, he lets some of his sorrow escape. The tears spill over and streak down his cheeks like it was a race. It only lasts about a minute, though, before he wipes his face and nose and stuffs it back down. Stuffs it deep and buries it.
“I miss you, Dad.” he whispers to the empty room.
A camera opens on a shot of Holden sitting in a wooden chair with, what appears to be, black velvet padding on the backrest, armrests, and seat. He is clad in a black “GRINDHOUSE” hoodie and cut off Dickies shorts. On the table next to him is a can of “green” Monster energy drink. He cracks his knuckles and looks to his left. The shot widens to show none other than Harvey Marx sitting in a matching chair. He looks like a million bucks in his light gray suit. He flashes his megawatt smile as he addresses the camera.
”Hello ladies and gentlemen, it is I, Harvey Marx, and I am blessed to be here with GRINDHOUSE member, Holden Ross. First off, I gotta say, nice house! How do you like it here in Vero Beach, Florida?” Harvey asks with genuine interest.
”What’s not to love? Look at this view!” Holden turns in his seat and motions to the view out the large bay window behind them. When the camera shows the view it is of a clear, blue sky meeting the aqua blue water. With just the tops of a few palm trees visible, it is a picture perfect idea of what “paradise” looks like in most people’s heads. ”As you know, I moved here this past week in preparation for my new second gig at the ‘Champions Advantage Performance Center’ here in Vero Beach.
Since joining Action Wrestling, I have yet to be pinned or submitted in a singles match. I have formed one of the most brutal Tag Teams this company has ever seen and, at Battlebowl, we stole the show! This week, Robbie is in for more than he bargained for. I still got a bitter taste in my mouth after Battlebowl and Robbie is going to pay for it.”
” RBD has sa-“ Holden cuts him off.
”His name is Robbie. Like some piss-ant momma’s boy, always sniveling about something.”
Harvey flashes his smile and continues.
”As I was saying, Robbie Big –“ you guessed it, cut off again by a scoff this time from the Bastard.
”It’s Robbie……just fuckin Robbie!” Holden slams his right fist down on the arm of his chair and it issues a soft ‘pop’ in retort.
”Okay…..no need to get angry….”
Holden slowly runs a hand down his face before he speaks. ”One thing I’ve learned over the years; if they drive big, jacked up trucks, love assault rifles, or talk about how big their gimmick is, they’re hung like a stud field mouse in reality. Look, Harvey, I’m not mad, not at you. Not at anyone, really. This week, Robbie is in way over his head.
We got a guy who only shines he’s in a garbage match. Nothing against outlaw mudshows or death matches, I; cut my teeth in those very same matches myself. But I evolved, grew, adapted and moved on while lil Robbie wallows in mediocrity. He grew up wanting to be Hogan but turned out being the Brooklyn Brawler.
Lil Robbie can’t beat me. He can’t carry my bags. When the match is over, Harvey, I will be declared the victor and, when he pulls himself up to his feet, the crowd will go mild. He can forfeit the match, I wouldn’t blame him, but I know his type. Too stupid to know any better.”
Harvey mouths the word “Damn!” with almost cartoonish, exaggerated facial expressions. Holden, meanwhile, takes a swallow from his glass.
”I think you’ve said all that needs to be said, Holden. It’sbeen great seeing you and thank you for inviting me –“
”My pleasure. I’d like to add just one more thing, if I may…”
Holden shifts in his chair to look at the camera straight on.
”Vanguard, GRINDHOUSE ain’t done with you by a damn sight. You put up more of a fight than I expected. I underestimated you and that won’t happen again. Don’t get too comfortable, boys, cause we are still here. Still hungry. Only next time I know what to expect. See ya round…”
The camera fades out while Harvey reaches out and shakes Holden’s hand. Their mouth are moving but the viewers at home can’t hear what they are saying. After it fades to black, the crew pack up and Holden and Harvey share a quick hug to see Harvey out the door.
Sunday, March 20th
Holden enters the “Champions Advantage Performance Center” in Vero Beach. It still has yet to open to the public and, so, it is only him and a few other trainers currently in the building. He changes in the locker room and heads for the heavy bag. For the next forty minutes he works the bag over in four minute intervals, with thirty seconds rest in between in “round.” He then moves onto the speed bag for another twenty minutes. He eventually hits the weight room. With Ghostemane blasting in from his ear buds, he spends the next two hours lifting.
The whole time reflecting on all that has happened since he joined Action Wrestling. His stock is rising in the company. He has a small following of fans who enjoy the brutality he brings to the ring. He, through contacts made after signing with Action Wrestling, was able to get this gig as the “Striking Coach” at “Champions Advantage.” But, most importantly, he met Serenity
She has flipped his world upside down. He is no longer eager to get to the bar and leave with a ring rat. He doesn’t spend his nights in a bottle with a stripper and hung over the next morning, feeling like shit. He isn’t quite “in love” yet but he can himself heading that way if he let himself.
He also thinks about Frank. He misses him more than he thought he would. A lump forms in his throat, his eyes brim with tears, and he wracks the barbell he was lifting. Alone, in silence, he lets some of his sorrow escape. The tears spill over and streak down his cheeks like it was a race. It only lasts about a minute, though, before he wipes his face and nose and stuffs it back down. Stuffs it deep and buries it.
“I miss you, Dad.” he whispers to the empty room.