Post by Gerard Angelo on Nov 27, 2022 5:00:44 GMT -5
“...And Parsons takes down Jones! My god…”
Gerard sat on his couch in the same spot he’s been since he got home from Clash. His eyes locked on the football game on the television before him, he lifted the bottle of Johnnie to his lips, taking a long swig. He finally lost again. Gerry knew it was bound to happen sooner or later but it happening in the semis of WOTY? It was brutal for him. He called his shot like the Babe but instead of putting one in the seats, he flew out to short right. Gerard hadn't even been able to bring himself to watch the match. He would never hear the end of it from fans, from his peers. Gerard shook his head and took another sip from the bottle, feeling the liquid burn down his throat pleasingly, warming him up from the inside. It wasn’t a shame to lose to a competitor the caliber of Downfall, as hundreds of texts and tweets had told him. So why did he feel empty inside?
The ringer on his iPhone went off and he grabbed it off the cushion next to him to read the screen. It was Jonathan. That’s when he remembered what he was supposed to do.
“Hello?”
“So since we’re finishing up dessert now, I guess that means you’re not coming.”
“I’m so sorry, Jon. It just slipped my mind.”
“Yeah, the second biggest holiday in the country slipped your mind.”
Gerard fell silent. He lost the match on Monday and immediately withdrew into himself, selfishly focusing on his own issues. He had promised Jonathan that he would come out and have dinner with his family. He was sure to get an earful from Jon’s wife Maria the next time he saw her, too.
“I know you probably heard this a hundred times, Gerry, but everyone loses.”
“I know, I know,” Gerry said with a sigh, “I’ve lost before and I’ll lose again. Just this one was… different.”
“I understand, kid. I remember thinking I was gonna win this big battle royal back in the territory days. I didn’t even make the final four. Sometimes things just happen in wrestling.”
“I guess you’re right,” Gerard said, taking another swig from the Johnnie.
“You should focus on the positives. Use this as a chance to regroup and refocus. You’re still the champ. The guy everyone is chasing. You can’t have any lapse in concentration because you lost one match.” Gerard pondered over these words from his trainer, his second father. He was right. Jon usually was. He needed to focus on the World title right now. The vultures were starting to circle.
“You’re right, Jon.”
“I know my boy. Why don't you fly out here tomorrow and we’ll have second Thanksgiving. We can break down your match with Downfall while you're here and game plan for that Hot Shot guy. That way Maria won’t kill me, or you, for wasting her food.”
They shared a chuckle but Gerard’s mind was already to something else.
“Jon, since I have you on the phone, I need a favor.”
“What is it?”
Gerard paused and took a deep breath before he asked.
“Can you give me Kara’s number? I really need to talk to her.”
“Gerry I don’t think that’s such a good idea…”
“Please. She’s the only one that I can talk to about… certain things. I really need this.”
There was a pause and on the phone, it sounded like a conversation going back and forth for what seemed like an eternity.
“Alright, fine,” Jon said, getting back on the phone, “I’ll send you her number.”
Gerard started to thank him but was cut off.
“But if you do ANYTHING to that poor girl again, I’ll stretch you myself.”
“Sure, I just wanna talk.”
“Fine, fine. See you tomorrow yes?”
“Absolutely.”
They hung up and Gerard sat there, staring back at the traditional Thanksgiving football on his mounted TV. He got an alert off his phone, Jon sharing the contact information with him. This was what he needed. He needed to talk to Kara. The girl who knew everything about him. The one that could give him the counsel he sought. His ex-wife.
Gerard added her to his contacts and sent a text.
Hey.
The dots appeared.
I keep replaying the end of the match over and over in my head. Thinking about what I could have done differently. Trying to find my one slip-up. Trying to find what led to my defeat. It looks like Downfall just caught me at the right time.
People keep trying to make me feel better. “Oh, it’s just one match. ADub is so competitive someone was going to beat you eventually.” “You lost to Downfall. He’s a legend!” Or even the old cliché “even the best fall down sometimes.”
If all of that is true, why is it eating away at me inside?
I should be fine. I’m still the World Heavyweight Champion. I’m still the guy around here. People say I should be happy about that. Happy that the title wasn’t on the line.
Fuck that shit.
I’m a competitor. I want every accolade I can get my hands on. I had a chance at history. To cap off the ultimate perfect first year in the company’s history. And all of that got ruined in an instant. I’ll see Downfall again down the line. That’s when I will carve out the pound of flesh I’m owed for this. I don’t forget. I looked into his eyes during that match. It took everything he had to put me down. One minor miscalculation was the difference at the end.
But being the Action Wrestling Champion, I need to completely change my focus to this week. I have to defend my title against “Hot Shot” Wayne Austin.
Really guys? Are we just handing out title shots like Halloween candy now? Now guys from other companies can just waltz in and go “hey Pasternak, lemme get one of them title shots there.” Oh, you’re telling me this bald douchebag had a cup of coffee in Action? Oh good! That qualifies him to get a World title shot at one of the biggest premium live events we have!
That’s called sarcasm boys and girls.
Also, before we get into it. The name is GERARD, not Gerald you dumb fucking redneck. I would ask you if you knew how to read, write, or even comprehend the English language but you’re from Texas so that answers all of my questions. Maybe you should put the bottle of Thunderbird down and cut back on them cheap beers. Then you would be able to pronounce my name properly
You wanna show up here in my company put your shiny bald head in front of my cameras, on my show. Why Wayne? Was being a medium-sized fish in a swallow pond over in Showtime not enough for you? You wanna add the most prestigious title in the game to your collection?
I get that. Holding this means you’re the best of the best. You’d jump-start that old career of yours in an instant. Listening to all the fans chat “Hot Shot! Hot Shot!” as you hold two titles above your head. It’s like a dream ending.
Except this isn’t a dream you bald bitch. This is reality. A reality where I’ve been at the mountain top for a hundred and twenty-seven days. A reality where I’ve only ever been beaten twice in Action Wrestling.
And don't you fucking dare think that just because I lost last week I’m easy pickings. It took everything a future Hall of Famer had to pin my shoulders to the mat last week. I’m fucking furious about it. And I’m going to take all of my frustrations out on you, Wayne. I need to show everyone that the crown, while heavy, still rests comfortably on my head. I’m going to make an example out of you, “Hot Shot”. I’m going to show you why I am the best in the business while I beat you from pillar to post. I’m not just gonna beat you, I’m going to embarrass you. You think you can walk into my house and skip to the front of the line?
Nah, bitch.
You wanna talk about being hardcore, flexing that little indie championship like you made it in art class for your mommy. How hardcore can you be when you can’t grip your title or a weapon because I shattered your fingers? How hardcore can you be when you can’t walk because I tore every ligament in your knee? How hardcore can you be when you are numb from the chest down because I stomped the back of your neck too hard?
See, you’re not just a match, Austin. You’re a message. One I’m going to send to Jill Park, to Downfall, to Spencer Adams, to everyone in the number one contender’s match. The message is that I’m still the fucking top guy around here. You’re going to step up into my spotlight, Wayne, and your gonna realize you don’t got thick enough skin to stand in it. You’re going to realize how much of an insignificant insect you are when I rain the fury of a wrestling god down upon you.
I’ll give it to you straight. I’m Gerard Angelo and you’re not. Keep drinking, Wayne. You’re gonna need that liquid courage to willingly walk down to that ring Sunday. Drink some beer, tequila, vodka, rum, whiskey, and scotch. I’m gonna look you dead in the eye and slap you so hard you’re gonna go stone-cold sober. I’m gonna watch your confidence disappear as you realize you’re in over your head. My reign doesn’t end with you, Hot Shot. You’re gonna be watching the rest of the show from the comfort of your hospital bed.
I’m done playing games. Downfall knocked something loose in my head when I ate that Godkiller. No longer am I going to ignore the disrespect for me that’s been growing around here. You wanna say my name wrong? That’s fine. I’ll make sure you’re saying it correctly after I snap your joints. You want to stake claim to my belt? Sure, go ahead. You’ll be wondering what happened after you wake up from your coma.
I’m refocused on my real goal now. To lead this company into the future of this business as its champion and face. Everyone around here thinks that they can fill this role I’m in. Everyone thinks they can do what I do when they would collapse like a dying star under this pressure. You won't have to worry though.
I’m going to be the Forever Champ. And forever starts at Turmoil.
Gerard sat on his couch in the same spot he’s been since he got home from Clash. His eyes locked on the football game on the television before him, he lifted the bottle of Johnnie to his lips, taking a long swig. He finally lost again. Gerry knew it was bound to happen sooner or later but it happening in the semis of WOTY? It was brutal for him. He called his shot like the Babe but instead of putting one in the seats, he flew out to short right. Gerard hadn't even been able to bring himself to watch the match. He would never hear the end of it from fans, from his peers. Gerard shook his head and took another sip from the bottle, feeling the liquid burn down his throat pleasingly, warming him up from the inside. It wasn’t a shame to lose to a competitor the caliber of Downfall, as hundreds of texts and tweets had told him. So why did he feel empty inside?
The ringer on his iPhone went off and he grabbed it off the cushion next to him to read the screen. It was Jonathan. That’s when he remembered what he was supposed to do.
“Hello?”
“So since we’re finishing up dessert now, I guess that means you’re not coming.”
“I’m so sorry, Jon. It just slipped my mind.”
“Yeah, the second biggest holiday in the country slipped your mind.”
Gerard fell silent. He lost the match on Monday and immediately withdrew into himself, selfishly focusing on his own issues. He had promised Jonathan that he would come out and have dinner with his family. He was sure to get an earful from Jon’s wife Maria the next time he saw her, too.
“I know you probably heard this a hundred times, Gerry, but everyone loses.”
“I know, I know,” Gerry said with a sigh, “I’ve lost before and I’ll lose again. Just this one was… different.”
“I understand, kid. I remember thinking I was gonna win this big battle royal back in the territory days. I didn’t even make the final four. Sometimes things just happen in wrestling.”
“I guess you’re right,” Gerard said, taking another swig from the Johnnie.
“You should focus on the positives. Use this as a chance to regroup and refocus. You’re still the champ. The guy everyone is chasing. You can’t have any lapse in concentration because you lost one match.” Gerard pondered over these words from his trainer, his second father. He was right. Jon usually was. He needed to focus on the World title right now. The vultures were starting to circle.
“You’re right, Jon.”
“I know my boy. Why don't you fly out here tomorrow and we’ll have second Thanksgiving. We can break down your match with Downfall while you're here and game plan for that Hot Shot guy. That way Maria won’t kill me, or you, for wasting her food.”
They shared a chuckle but Gerard’s mind was already to something else.
“Jon, since I have you on the phone, I need a favor.”
“What is it?”
Gerard paused and took a deep breath before he asked.
“Can you give me Kara’s number? I really need to talk to her.”
“Gerry I don’t think that’s such a good idea…”
“Please. She’s the only one that I can talk to about… certain things. I really need this.”
There was a pause and on the phone, it sounded like a conversation going back and forth for what seemed like an eternity.
“Alright, fine,” Jon said, getting back on the phone, “I’ll send you her number.”
Gerard started to thank him but was cut off.
“But if you do ANYTHING to that poor girl again, I’ll stretch you myself.”
“Sure, I just wanna talk.”
“Fine, fine. See you tomorrow yes?”
“Absolutely.”
They hung up and Gerard sat there, staring back at the traditional Thanksgiving football on his mounted TV. He got an alert off his phone, Jon sharing the contact information with him. This was what he needed. He needed to talk to Kara. The girl who knew everything about him. The one that could give him the counsel he sought. His ex-wife.
Gerard added her to his contacts and sent a text.
Hey.
The dots appeared.
I keep replaying the end of the match over and over in my head. Thinking about what I could have done differently. Trying to find my one slip-up. Trying to find what led to my defeat. It looks like Downfall just caught me at the right time.
People keep trying to make me feel better. “Oh, it’s just one match. ADub is so competitive someone was going to beat you eventually.” “You lost to Downfall. He’s a legend!” Or even the old cliché “even the best fall down sometimes.”
If all of that is true, why is it eating away at me inside?
I should be fine. I’m still the World Heavyweight Champion. I’m still the guy around here. People say I should be happy about that. Happy that the title wasn’t on the line.
Fuck that shit.
I’m a competitor. I want every accolade I can get my hands on. I had a chance at history. To cap off the ultimate perfect first year in the company’s history. And all of that got ruined in an instant. I’ll see Downfall again down the line. That’s when I will carve out the pound of flesh I’m owed for this. I don’t forget. I looked into his eyes during that match. It took everything he had to put me down. One minor miscalculation was the difference at the end.
But being the Action Wrestling Champion, I need to completely change my focus to this week. I have to defend my title against “Hot Shot” Wayne Austin.
Really guys? Are we just handing out title shots like Halloween candy now? Now guys from other companies can just waltz in and go “hey Pasternak, lemme get one of them title shots there.” Oh, you’re telling me this bald douchebag had a cup of coffee in Action? Oh good! That qualifies him to get a World title shot at one of the biggest premium live events we have!
That’s called sarcasm boys and girls.
Also, before we get into it. The name is GERARD, not Gerald you dumb fucking redneck. I would ask you if you knew how to read, write, or even comprehend the English language but you’re from Texas so that answers all of my questions. Maybe you should put the bottle of Thunderbird down and cut back on them cheap beers. Then you would be able to pronounce my name properly
You wanna show up here in my company put your shiny bald head in front of my cameras, on my show. Why Wayne? Was being a medium-sized fish in a swallow pond over in Showtime not enough for you? You wanna add the most prestigious title in the game to your collection?
I get that. Holding this means you’re the best of the best. You’d jump-start that old career of yours in an instant. Listening to all the fans chat “Hot Shot! Hot Shot!” as you hold two titles above your head. It’s like a dream ending.
Except this isn’t a dream you bald bitch. This is reality. A reality where I’ve been at the mountain top for a hundred and twenty-seven days. A reality where I’ve only ever been beaten twice in Action Wrestling.
And don't you fucking dare think that just because I lost last week I’m easy pickings. It took everything a future Hall of Famer had to pin my shoulders to the mat last week. I’m fucking furious about it. And I’m going to take all of my frustrations out on you, Wayne. I need to show everyone that the crown, while heavy, still rests comfortably on my head. I’m going to make an example out of you, “Hot Shot”. I’m going to show you why I am the best in the business while I beat you from pillar to post. I’m not just gonna beat you, I’m going to embarrass you. You think you can walk into my house and skip to the front of the line?
Nah, bitch.
You wanna talk about being hardcore, flexing that little indie championship like you made it in art class for your mommy. How hardcore can you be when you can’t grip your title or a weapon because I shattered your fingers? How hardcore can you be when you can’t walk because I tore every ligament in your knee? How hardcore can you be when you are numb from the chest down because I stomped the back of your neck too hard?
See, you’re not just a match, Austin. You’re a message. One I’m going to send to Jill Park, to Downfall, to Spencer Adams, to everyone in the number one contender’s match. The message is that I’m still the fucking top guy around here. You’re going to step up into my spotlight, Wayne, and your gonna realize you don’t got thick enough skin to stand in it. You’re going to realize how much of an insignificant insect you are when I rain the fury of a wrestling god down upon you.
I’ll give it to you straight. I’m Gerard Angelo and you’re not. Keep drinking, Wayne. You’re gonna need that liquid courage to willingly walk down to that ring Sunday. Drink some beer, tequila, vodka, rum, whiskey, and scotch. I’m gonna look you dead in the eye and slap you so hard you’re gonna go stone-cold sober. I’m gonna watch your confidence disappear as you realize you’re in over your head. My reign doesn’t end with you, Hot Shot. You’re gonna be watching the rest of the show from the comfort of your hospital bed.
I’m done playing games. Downfall knocked something loose in my head when I ate that Godkiller. No longer am I going to ignore the disrespect for me that’s been growing around here. You wanna say my name wrong? That’s fine. I’ll make sure you’re saying it correctly after I snap your joints. You want to stake claim to my belt? Sure, go ahead. You’ll be wondering what happened after you wake up from your coma.
I’m refocused on my real goal now. To lead this company into the future of this business as its champion and face. Everyone around here thinks that they can fill this role I’m in. Everyone thinks they can do what I do when they would collapse like a dying star under this pressure. You won't have to worry though.
I’m going to be the Forever Champ. And forever starts at Turmoil.
