Tire tracks made their dirty prints in the dirt drive that led up the hill to a home with a, usually described, cozy appearance. Dark brown bricks covered the two floored, simple architecture of the modest, ranch-style home. The ruins of a basketball goal remained barely attached above the garage door which held on by a single nail. The net hung more loosely to the rim than the rotting back board did the garage; it was as if a hefty gust of wind could blow it away as it had done with the many fallen leaves of the season. At the base of the hill in a ditch laid the flattened, color-faded basketball; whoever once played here had obviously moved on to other things. Inside of the house, there was commotion, conversation, and festivities. A gathering of family members gathered around a long table where mashed potatoes, green beans, baked beans, corn, and gravy were being passed around. Two golden turkeys, fresh rolls, peach cobbler, pumpkin pie and other assortments of goods sat there for the eager bodies to help themselves.
My compliments to the chef, said a greying man who scraped up the remnants of his plate with a fork.
Thanks, somberly replied the soft voice of a middle-aged woman.
Shed been slightly less joyous during the occasion. Shed kept a cordless home phone near her hardly touched plate of food. Her focus remained on it as if she was waiting for the phone to grow legs and walk off the table. She stared at the phone and waited for any signs of life but there was nothing.
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Sorry, excuse me, sorry bout that, scuuuuse me! And here we are, huffed a rather large man as he made way down a row of people to finally collapse into his seat. He made a conscious effort not to spill his beer or drop his nachos but made little effort in avoiding making contact with the body of Jacoby Capone with his bulbous ass.
Have I missed much action? asked the man of Jacoby.
Capone turned to blankly stare at him and merely pointed at the wrestling ring which was about 30 yards from where the two sat. The man could sense Jacobys annoyance with him and returned his attention to his nachos. It was at that moment where the sound of spine to metal could be heard crack throughout the arena. Next, the slapping of the canvas by the referee could barely be made out over the chorus of the crowd chanting in unison,
1..2..THREEE!!!
The man next to Capone leapt to his feet yelling spilling drops of beer on to Capones leg. Jacoby remained slumped in his seat staring at what had transpired in the ring. A rush of emotion swelled up inside of Capone.
Goddamnit, Runn! Youre going to let Vega beat you. VEGA! thought Capone.
Capone had always kept harsh feelings for Vega ever since he, as Jacoby felt, cost him his first recorded loss while the two were partnered together. The next week during the Apocalypse pre-show, Capone had positioned himself to win contendership for the Mayhem title, but Vega pulled him out of the ring and went on to win the match himself. Now before Capones eyes, on a card that had excluded him, Vega had won the very title he had been chasing. He couldnt help but feel frustration that Runn, the more seasoned of the two, couldnt prevent Vega from obtaining a title that he so undeservedly obtained.
Capone so desperately wanted to run down and jump the barricade to crack Vegas skull with the same chair hed used to finish off Ricky Runn. But Connor Reese apparently had the same idea as he proceeded to pop out and beat Vega with a chair of his own. Reese began to cut a promo, but Capone didnt stick around to hear what he had to say, hed seen enough.
Where ya going, man! Theres plenty of show left, said the man who now had a bit of cheese smeared on his chin.
Capone ignored him and scooted down the row and made towards the exits. He had wanted a match at the Supershow but wasnt put on the card and he wasnt going to sit and be a spectator any longer. He was roster member after all, and while it didnt especially bother that he wasnt recognized as such among the crowd, he felt the desire for them learn who the hell he was.
Besides, Thanksgiving was in a few days, maybe hed surprise the family who hadnt seen since flying out for his match by popping in for the holiday.
But he would choose to focus on being ready for his upcoming match. No better way to finally start getting recognition than to work his way toward winning the belt.
No more being left off cards. No more ignorant losses. Of course this was something he did have on the freshly defeated Runn. While he
had lost consecutive matches, Capone had yet in his career find himself on the canvas to be pinned. That was still undefeated in his mind.
It was approaching rather quickly in Jacobys mind. No time to waste. This was the more important matter for him to attend to.
