Viola Moonlight
I'm Literally Just Here for WZCW
Deadline is 11:59pm Central Time, Friday 14th December. Extensions as per thread.
Unscripted '12: Rush (c) vs. Celeste or Tastic or Dragon (Eurasian Title)
- Thread starter Viola Moonlight
- Start date
- Status
Following Matt's victory over the enigmatic El Califa Dragón, Vance Bateman took it upon himself to announce who would face Rush for the Eurasian Championship at Unscripted. Given the nature of the event, a fan poll is opened to select the challenger. Matt Tastic is among the choices alongside Celeste Crimson and El Califa Dragón. However various things about this decision bother Matt. He's scheduled to meet with Meltdown and Eurasian GM, Big Dave. However the mind of Matt Tastic can be very big. And imaginative......
Matt makes his way down a hall at the WZCW offices as heads to Big Dave's office. He's displeased by the situation surrounding the Eurasian Championship. He eventually reaches the office and knocks.
Come in!
Matt enters the office and sits. He crosses his legs and give an awkward expression and Big Dave struggles with some paperwork.
..
...
....
.....
......
*ahem* Boss?
Dave continues to struggle with the papers.
Bloody papers. Sorry, I'm not used to this still. How can I help you?
Yeah, well.......
Matt uncrosses his legs.
I don't like the decision for the Eurasian title.
What are you talking about? You're in the match.
No I'm not.
You're one of the choices in the match.
That's why I have a problem with this.
What is the problem? The fans get to pick between you, El Califa and Celeste.
I understand that. But let's analyze this for a sec. What has Celeste done recently?
She slapped Rush.
Then lost to his underling, Sam.
She has no real reason to be on this pole, Boss.
He started screwing around with Rush. But you see, I take exception to that. Rush faked a heart attack to sucker punch me earlier in the year. He then Bombed me on a solid fencing at Kingdom Come. Then he beats me for that title he has.
I beat Rush. Then I beat Cali. There is no reason for this pole to exist other than to get all of us on the show. I'm the top contender without question.
Dave looks on before responding.
That's true. But we need to also think of what's best for this company. Celeste is a popular mainstay and Califa has been a nice tap into our Latino market. Something you aren't despite being Latino yourself. If you want a straighter answer, money is it.
This entire year has been nothing but filler. Lethal Lottery, King For a Day, a 6 Pack Qualifying match, 4 team elimination match. This time I'm not even guaranteed a match! What the hell is that!? Business? I do anything for this company. When is business going to do me a favor? Rush calls me a puppet and by all means, it would seem he's right.
..
...
....
.....
......
I understand your complaint. But like I told you, it's business. What exactly do you want me to do about it?
Nothing.
Dave bounces off the chair at the response.
WHAT?! Then why complain?
Because I'd rather speak my mind than stay mad and quiet. I don't expect you to do anything, because at this point you can't. But I did want you to take the time and listen to me.
Well then. The best I can do for you is apologize. And wish you good luck, Matt. You really are a one of a kind worker here.
I know.
The two shake hands and Matt heads off. To make his way to Rush he must first win the poll. But that still doesn't guarantee a win for him. Can Matt pull through once more to win the Eurasian Championship?
Matt makes his way down a hall at the WZCW offices as heads to Big Dave's office. He's displeased by the situation surrounding the Eurasian Championship. He eventually reaches the office and knocks.
Come in!
Matt enters the office and sits. He crosses his legs and give an awkward expression and Big Dave struggles with some paperwork.
..
...
....
.....
......
*ahem* Boss?
Dave continues to struggle with the papers.
Bloody papers. Sorry, I'm not used to this still. How can I help you?
Yeah, well.......
Matt uncrosses his legs.
I don't like the decision for the Eurasian title.
What are you talking about? You're in the match.
No I'm not.
You're one of the choices in the match.
That's why I have a problem with this.
What is the problem? The fans get to pick between you, El Califa and Celeste.
I understand that. But let's analyze this for a sec. What has Celeste done recently?
She slapped Rush.
Then lost to his underling, Sam.
She has no real reason to be on this pole, Boss.
Enter El Califa Dragón. This guy comes from out of nowhere and pins Rush. As usual, he throws a fit like if he was Lord Zedd and the two go at it. One swift issue though, Rush picks a fight me and I go and...... Play his game, I guess. But Cali, with no real authority, cuts in. With his reasoning being that he beat Rush. I get that.
He started screwing around with Rush. But you see, I take exception to that. Rush faked a heart attack to sucker punch me earlier in the year. He then Bombed me on a solid fencing at Kingdom Come. Then he beats me for that title he has.
I beat Rush. Then I beat Cali. There is no reason for this pole to exist other than to get all of us on the show. I'm the top contender without question.
Dave looks on before responding.
That's true. But we need to also think of what's best for this company. Celeste is a popular mainstay and Califa has been a nice tap into our Latino market. Something you aren't despite being Latino yourself. If you want a straighter answer, money is it.
This entire year has been nothing but filler. Lethal Lottery, King For a Day, a 6 Pack Qualifying match, 4 team elimination match. This time I'm not even guaranteed a match! What the hell is that!? Business? I do anything for this company. When is business going to do me a favor? Rush calls me a puppet and by all means, it would seem he's right.
.
..
...
....
.....
......
I understand your complaint. But like I told you, it's business. What exactly do you want me to do about it?
Nothing.
Dave bounces off the chair at the response.
WHAT?! Then why complain?
Because I'd rather speak my mind than stay mad and quiet. I don't expect you to do anything, because at this point you can't. But I did want you to take the time and listen to me.
Rush used to keep all his pent up aggression inside of him. Now look at him. Always angry. What does he enjoy out of life? I'm still waiting for this big celebration he said he'd throw, but he's so busy beating up people, he's forgotten all about it. Now if I want to face and stop him, I have to hope the fans decide they want to see me Deliver Kickassery. The fans have supported me and gotten me this far. I'm no fan of this poll, I trust that after all my showing leading us here, I've made a strong enough case for the fans to support me. Like a real Super Saiyan, each fight with him has brought me closer and closer to finally getting through to him. Maybe this time might be the charm.
Well then. The best I can do for you is apologize. And wish you good luck, Matt. You really are a one of a kind worker here.
I know.
The two shake hands and Matt heads off. To make his way to Rush he must first win the poll. But that still doesn't guarantee a win for him. Can Matt pull through once more to win the Eurasian Championship?
Muffin Top Merkley
Be a man!
Despite its best efforts, the aroma of dried potpourri and recently delivered floral arrangements did little to remove the stale and ever-present stench of death that had crept its way into every corner on every floor of the rustic building.
A slight shake of my head had released flakes of snow from their temporary resting place atop of my hair, causing them to fall to the carpeted floor below. With a tug at each fingertip, the grasps of my gloves loosened, my hands eventually freed from their warm confinement. The black leather gloves were placed into a side pocket on my jacket and my hands were free to unbutton and remove the jacket from around my torso without restriction.
The traction and friction created from alternately dragging the soles of my polished shoes across the floor mat that welcomed the public to The Irving Family Funeral Home was enough to remove the final traces of snow and mud that stubbornly refused to remove themselves when given the opportunity I provided them as I approached the large wooden door that marks the entrance to the buildings interior.
Good evening, sir. May I take your jacket for you?
A womans delicate voice interrupted my act of surveying my immediate surroundings past the (more than likely) original but horrendously tacky, two-tone green wallpaper juxtaposed against the massive, immaculate, equally original but significantly less tacky, staircase constructed of solid wood leading to the upper floors.
I was greeted by a young, petite woman, her arm reaching for my jacket well before I am able to respond. My mind wanders as I try to determine the age of my greeter. Shes young. Eighteen, maybe? No. Its her glasses that make her appear younger. Her grey business suit, which doubles as her work uniform isnt very flattering for her body and makes her appear older. Twenty? No. Older than twenty, but not by much.
I hate funerals. There is nothing appealing or desirable about them and I constantly find myself actively searching for something, anything, to keep me distracted and mentally remove myself from the room.
Twenty-Two? Twenty-Three?
I almost reply before I realise that I have already been freed from the burden of carrying my jacket throughout this entire sombre event. My coat as already been added to the top of a collection of coats that she has managed to gather from complete strangers that have also chosen tonight to pay their respects to the departed.
I am forced to combat the look of disgust that is fighting to etch its way across my face when I notice her name which had been engraved in the gold nametag that comfortably calls her right breast home before she moves past me with a smile and towards another jacket as it walks through the door.
Emmalee?
Why would you destroy a simple name like Emily?
Unconstrained from my jacket, I finally enter the private room that had been requested by the family. I approach a podium at the mouth of the room to sign my name on the guest book. This pen writes really well. As I write, out of the corner of my eye I see the casket at the opposite end of the room. I try to write my name as slow as possible, but I can only stall for so long. M A C C O L V I L L E I put the pen back into its original resting place before slowly turning towards the direction of the casket. Im relieved to see a small group of young, aspiring wrestlers from the local wrestling academy paying their respects and blocking my view.
Until they move.
For the first time, I see my long-time friend laying at peace inside his casket.
I expected more people to be here. I thought as I claimed my position at the end of the line to the casket. Sure, there were plenty of vultures standing on a sidewalk adjacent to the funeral home , all gathered in hopes to make eye contact with a wrestler that they were more knowledgeable of. If they were lucky, maybe they could hustle for an autograph or two; Autographs when they could, and undoubtedly would, attempt to sell online for some extra cash. A few so called fans of Buddy Dodgers even have the audacity of wearing the apparel of other wrestlers and wrestling companies that Buddy never even wrestled for. Others demonstrated their faux sympathy to Buddys close friends and family by ignorantly boasting signs such as R.I.P. Buddy Dodgers and Gone but never forgotten
Most, if not all of these bottom feeders probably havent even watched any more than one or two Buddy Dodgers matches. And if they had watched any of his matches, surely it was watched for free via the internet. Between the Youtube clips and scanning Wikipedia for Buddys championship history, these scum now feel entitled and properly educated enough to participate in yearly tournaments where they debate his progress in hypothetical What If matches against the worlds other top wrestling talent to determine who is The Best Wrestler of All Time
Every time Buddy doesnt make it to at least the semi-finals, theyre wrong.
Despite their poorly veiled malevolent intentions, somehow Im the villain whos booed for my actions. They constantly refuse to accept responsibility for being the catalyst for my desire to destroy the sports-entertainment that they love.
They dont deserve this thing that people like Buddy Dodgers, myself and other pioneers of this craft have worked so hard to build.
Im much closer to my friend now. Both in terms of the ever decreasing distance that separates our two bodies in this room, as well as my proximity in joining him in
...
I dont believe in a Heaven anymore. So by association, I suppose I no longer believe in a hell either.
In my mind I search for the exact moment when my belief in an eternal afterlife ended. There was nobody that assisted in shattering this illusion much like my older siblings tactlessly informed me that there was no such thing as Santa Claus when I was only six years old.
I wonder why they ruined Christmas for me? Easter too. Probably just tired of pretending, I suppose.
The revelation that your soul has nowhere to go except for accompanying your cold, stiff body into the ground was one I discovered by myself. Both experiences were equally traumatic at the time, but in a funny way, becoming privy to the inner workings of life and death had been the more comforting and tranquil of the two eye-opening experiences. No longer did it matter if I helped the elderly cross the street or steal money from a church. Both events are treated equally, yet hold no real relevance in the eyes of Death.
I was much closer to Buddy now. Only three middle-aged men and an elderly woman separated me from his newly widowed wife. My structure towered over the remaining guest, providing me with my first real, clear look of the body.
Nice flowers. They look cheap
My eyes darted throughout the room, eagerly searching for a new distraction.
Stained glass window
The body
That chandelier is probably original too
Buddy
Im thirsty. Normally they have water around her somewhere
I hope the snows eased up outside. I hate brushing snow off of my car
Buddy
Buddy
Buddy
He could no longer be avoided.
He missed you, you know.
Her voice, instantly recognizable hadnt indicate the signs of age her body had begun to show.
KAREN DODGERS: It is really nice to see you, Mac.
How long had I been at the front of the line? I notice the people who had been before me have paid their respects and are already gone as the words from Buddy Dodgerss widow frees me from my thoughts.
Our arms extend and we engage each other in a warm, familiar hug. This time lasting than they ever have before.
KAREN DODGERS: How have you been, Mac?
RUSH: Im living.
Fuck. I hate funerals. Despite being to so many of them, I still bumble around when searching for the proper words to say.
Signs of a small smile begin to emerge from the corners of Karen Dodgers mouth, silently telling me that she wasnt offended or even a touch of being upset.
Shes probably used all of her tears already today.
KAREN DODGERS: Every week hed watch you.
The confusion belonged to me as I tried to decipher her unintended code.
KAREN DODGERS: WZCW. He never missed a show. He loved watching you perform in the ring. He always said you reminded him of the good ole days. When wrestling was truest.
RUSH: Buddy sold away his good ole days as soon as his star began to fade. The words flowed from my lips like water from a river. Im not even sure I realized what I was saying until I was done speaking.
That wasnt true, was it?
It must be considering how easy the words escaped my mouth.
Buddy Dodgers was the type of wrestler that promoters couldnt wait to get their hands on and were always willing to pay top dollar for his services. Every single one of them eager to display Buddy as the face of their territory.
Buddy was the total package; a true professional of the business and one of the once in a generation stars that are rare to find. His long blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect smile and chiselled jaw sat atop of his solid, burley frame. Buddy was the measuring stick other wrestlers were often compared to. Everyone wanted to be him, or be with him.
Buddy never rested on his laurels and let his look, or anyone else for that matter, do the talking for him. No matter how many people were listening to him speak live or in TV, Buddy controlled each and every one of them. He was gifted with the ability to grab their full and undivided attention for as long as he needed it. He knew how to gain their support as well as how to quickly get them to throw garbage in his direction. He knew how to make them cheer and curse his name, but he also knew how to get them to remain silent when he needed to be.
Where Buddy shined most was inside the place he loved to be: the ring.
More than anything else, aside from his wife which he would meet later in his life, Buddy loved to wrestle. He constantly strived to educate himself from his peers in the locker room, and his opponents worldwide. There was nothing he couldnt do inside the ring. If a promoter needed a brawler, Buddy was more than willing to scrap. If a territory lacked a mat-based, chain wrestler, Buddy became its top technician. Dastardly heel to homegrown county boy babyface, Buddy was a jack of all trades.
No matter where he wrestled, Buddy Dodgers always made an impact on his debut. His unique but recognizable look, paired with his in-ring ability put him at the forefront of all wrestling conversations, both good and bad. He was a star and a threat.
El Califa Dragon.
The success and fame never went to Buddys head. He remained humble and grateful for the opportunities that he had received. He appreciated the fact that he was playing a large role in molding professional wrestling into what it would become. He was a journeyman of the sport and respected the business and everyone in it.
Well, almost everyone.
If there was one thing about wrestling that Buddy had zero tolerance for, it was midgets.
Well, midgets or women or any other god damn sideshow freak act that promoters stoop to in order to earn an extra buck at the gate when theyre just too damn lazy to book an entertaining show on their own talent as he so often worded it.
He wasnt wrong. Any and every promoter or booker should have enough confidence in their guys to make money for everyone involved. The proper talent, advertising, story and venue should be enough, and it often is. But every so often, someone gets the idea that they need more; a gimmick of sorts in order to garnish that extra bit of buzz to further draw the masses.
Often it was midgets or women. Ironically enough, female midgets never drew a dime.
Midgets were one thing. They knew their role on the card was less about the wrestling and more about the entertainment and laughter. They understood what they were brought in to do and they booked their matches to suit this.
Women on the other hand, they seemed to actually be trying. They believed that they were equals to their male counterparts in the ring and always were determined to prove it.
It never worked.
Midgets and women were nothing but cheap and dirty ploys and last ditch effort in order to make another dollar.
Always were, always will be.
Celeste Crimson
Buddy loved the attention that he received by being one of the true wrestling greats in the world. He ached for the spotlight because he believed in the sport of wrestling.
Despite our attempts at maintaining and protecting the purity and portrayed realism of professional wrestling, it would eventually (d)evolve into a new era where it developed a new attitude as many would come to call it.
Foul language, sex, and blood would eventually replace the athleticism, logical and intelligent storytelling and actual wrestling.
And women were everywhere.
Sensing the shift, but seeking the warmth of the spotlight, Buddy tried to adapt and cling to his star. In doing so, he veered too far off course and in the other direction. What once was a man who used the microphone to talk, was now using a chair to do the talking for him and barbed wire to really bring his point forward. A man who once would only bleed to add to a story was now blading in every match. A man who used to tell stories inside the ring was now willingly throwing himself off of twenty foot ladders into dumpsters like his body was nothing but the trash that would normally occupy it.
The cheers were his drug, and he was addicted. Resorting to any means necessary in order to hear the crowd pop for him one more time, he depended on their satisfaction like a ****e.
Matt Tastic
The painkillers that he would later become addicted to were every bit as addictive as his search for relevance and ultimately prevented his star from continuing to shine.
No other words were spoken between Karen and myself. We stood in silence, reminiscing in our own way about the man we both had cared for but with different thoughts and memories. She would be the first to look away, her body following shortly after.
I made my way to Buddys coffin. I looked at my best friend resting and for the first time since I had arrived to this place, there were no thoughts.
He looked familiar, yet unrecognizable all at the same time.
He wasnt quite a shell of the man he once was, but he somehow managed to look sadder than I had seen him before.
I reached into a back pocket on my pants and removed an old trading card that was produced during our run as a tag-team called The Twin Towers. I placed the card under my friends cusped hands before walking away.
The trading card represented us and what we used to be.
It represented us when we were at our absolute best.
A slight shake of my head had released flakes of snow from their temporary resting place atop of my hair, causing them to fall to the carpeted floor below. With a tug at each fingertip, the grasps of my gloves loosened, my hands eventually freed from their warm confinement. The black leather gloves were placed into a side pocket on my jacket and my hands were free to unbutton and remove the jacket from around my torso without restriction.
The traction and friction created from alternately dragging the soles of my polished shoes across the floor mat that welcomed the public to The Irving Family Funeral Home was enough to remove the final traces of snow and mud that stubbornly refused to remove themselves when given the opportunity I provided them as I approached the large wooden door that marks the entrance to the buildings interior.
Good evening, sir. May I take your jacket for you?
A womans delicate voice interrupted my act of surveying my immediate surroundings past the (more than likely) original but horrendously tacky, two-tone green wallpaper juxtaposed against the massive, immaculate, equally original but significantly less tacky, staircase constructed of solid wood leading to the upper floors.
I was greeted by a young, petite woman, her arm reaching for my jacket well before I am able to respond. My mind wanders as I try to determine the age of my greeter. Shes young. Eighteen, maybe? No. Its her glasses that make her appear younger. Her grey business suit, which doubles as her work uniform isnt very flattering for her body and makes her appear older. Twenty? No. Older than twenty, but not by much.
I hate funerals. There is nothing appealing or desirable about them and I constantly find myself actively searching for something, anything, to keep me distracted and mentally remove myself from the room.
Twenty-Two? Twenty-Three?
I almost reply before I realise that I have already been freed from the burden of carrying my jacket throughout this entire sombre event. My coat as already been added to the top of a collection of coats that she has managed to gather from complete strangers that have also chosen tonight to pay their respects to the departed.
I am forced to combat the look of disgust that is fighting to etch its way across my face when I notice her name which had been engraved in the gold nametag that comfortably calls her right breast home before she moves past me with a smile and towards another jacket as it walks through the door.
Emmalee?
Why would you destroy a simple name like Emily?
Unconstrained from my jacket, I finally enter the private room that had been requested by the family. I approach a podium at the mouth of the room to sign my name on the guest book. This pen writes really well. As I write, out of the corner of my eye I see the casket at the opposite end of the room. I try to write my name as slow as possible, but I can only stall for so long. M A C C O L V I L L E I put the pen back into its original resting place before slowly turning towards the direction of the casket. Im relieved to see a small group of young, aspiring wrestlers from the local wrestling academy paying their respects and blocking my view.
Until they move.
For the first time, I see my long-time friend laying at peace inside his casket.
I expected more people to be here. I thought as I claimed my position at the end of the line to the casket. Sure, there were plenty of vultures standing on a sidewalk adjacent to the funeral home , all gathered in hopes to make eye contact with a wrestler that they were more knowledgeable of. If they were lucky, maybe they could hustle for an autograph or two; Autographs when they could, and undoubtedly would, attempt to sell online for some extra cash. A few so called fans of Buddy Dodgers even have the audacity of wearing the apparel of other wrestlers and wrestling companies that Buddy never even wrestled for. Others demonstrated their faux sympathy to Buddys close friends and family by ignorantly boasting signs such as R.I.P. Buddy Dodgers and Gone but never forgotten
Most, if not all of these bottom feeders probably havent even watched any more than one or two Buddy Dodgers matches. And if they had watched any of his matches, surely it was watched for free via the internet. Between the Youtube clips and scanning Wikipedia for Buddys championship history, these scum now feel entitled and properly educated enough to participate in yearly tournaments where they debate his progress in hypothetical What If matches against the worlds other top wrestling talent to determine who is The Best Wrestler of All Time
Every time Buddy doesnt make it to at least the semi-finals, theyre wrong.
Despite their poorly veiled malevolent intentions, somehow Im the villain whos booed for my actions. They constantly refuse to accept responsibility for being the catalyst for my desire to destroy the sports-entertainment that they love.
They dont deserve this thing that people like Buddy Dodgers, myself and other pioneers of this craft have worked so hard to build.
Im much closer to my friend now. Both in terms of the ever decreasing distance that separates our two bodies in this room, as well as my proximity in joining him in
...
I dont believe in a Heaven anymore. So by association, I suppose I no longer believe in a hell either.
In my mind I search for the exact moment when my belief in an eternal afterlife ended. There was nobody that assisted in shattering this illusion much like my older siblings tactlessly informed me that there was no such thing as Santa Claus when I was only six years old.
I wonder why they ruined Christmas for me? Easter too. Probably just tired of pretending, I suppose.
The revelation that your soul has nowhere to go except for accompanying your cold, stiff body into the ground was one I discovered by myself. Both experiences were equally traumatic at the time, but in a funny way, becoming privy to the inner workings of life and death had been the more comforting and tranquil of the two eye-opening experiences. No longer did it matter if I helped the elderly cross the street or steal money from a church. Both events are treated equally, yet hold no real relevance in the eyes of Death.
I was much closer to Buddy now. Only three middle-aged men and an elderly woman separated me from his newly widowed wife. My structure towered over the remaining guest, providing me with my first real, clear look of the body.
Nice flowers. They look cheap
My eyes darted throughout the room, eagerly searching for a new distraction.
Stained glass window
The body
That chandelier is probably original too
Buddy
Im thirsty. Normally they have water around her somewhere
I hope the snows eased up outside. I hate brushing snow off of my car
Buddy
Buddy
Buddy
He could no longer be avoided.
He missed you, you know.
Her voice, instantly recognizable hadnt indicate the signs of age her body had begun to show.
KAREN DODGERS: It is really nice to see you, Mac.
How long had I been at the front of the line? I notice the people who had been before me have paid their respects and are already gone as the words from Buddy Dodgerss widow frees me from my thoughts.
Our arms extend and we engage each other in a warm, familiar hug. This time lasting than they ever have before.
KAREN DODGERS: How have you been, Mac?
RUSH: Im living.
Fuck. I hate funerals. Despite being to so many of them, I still bumble around when searching for the proper words to say.
Signs of a small smile begin to emerge from the corners of Karen Dodgers mouth, silently telling me that she wasnt offended or even a touch of being upset.
Shes probably used all of her tears already today.
KAREN DODGERS: Every week hed watch you.
The confusion belonged to me as I tried to decipher her unintended code.
KAREN DODGERS: WZCW. He never missed a show. He loved watching you perform in the ring. He always said you reminded him of the good ole days. When wrestling was truest.
RUSH: Buddy sold away his good ole days as soon as his star began to fade. The words flowed from my lips like water from a river. Im not even sure I realized what I was saying until I was done speaking.
That wasnt true, was it?
It must be considering how easy the words escaped my mouth.
Buddy Dodgers was the type of wrestler that promoters couldnt wait to get their hands on and were always willing to pay top dollar for his services. Every single one of them eager to display Buddy as the face of their territory.
Buddy was the total package; a true professional of the business and one of the once in a generation stars that are rare to find. His long blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect smile and chiselled jaw sat atop of his solid, burley frame. Buddy was the measuring stick other wrestlers were often compared to. Everyone wanted to be him, or be with him.
Buddy never rested on his laurels and let his look, or anyone else for that matter, do the talking for him. No matter how many people were listening to him speak live or in TV, Buddy controlled each and every one of them. He was gifted with the ability to grab their full and undivided attention for as long as he needed it. He knew how to gain their support as well as how to quickly get them to throw garbage in his direction. He knew how to make them cheer and curse his name, but he also knew how to get them to remain silent when he needed to be.
Where Buddy shined most was inside the place he loved to be: the ring.
More than anything else, aside from his wife which he would meet later in his life, Buddy loved to wrestle. He constantly strived to educate himself from his peers in the locker room, and his opponents worldwide. There was nothing he couldnt do inside the ring. If a promoter needed a brawler, Buddy was more than willing to scrap. If a territory lacked a mat-based, chain wrestler, Buddy became its top technician. Dastardly heel to homegrown county boy babyface, Buddy was a jack of all trades.
No matter where he wrestled, Buddy Dodgers always made an impact on his debut. His unique but recognizable look, paired with his in-ring ability put him at the forefront of all wrestling conversations, both good and bad. He was a star and a threat.
El Califa Dragon.
The success and fame never went to Buddys head. He remained humble and grateful for the opportunities that he had received. He appreciated the fact that he was playing a large role in molding professional wrestling into what it would become. He was a journeyman of the sport and respected the business and everyone in it.
Well, almost everyone.
If there was one thing about wrestling that Buddy had zero tolerance for, it was midgets.
Well, midgets or women or any other god damn sideshow freak act that promoters stoop to in order to earn an extra buck at the gate when theyre just too damn lazy to book an entertaining show on their own talent as he so often worded it.
He wasnt wrong. Any and every promoter or booker should have enough confidence in their guys to make money for everyone involved. The proper talent, advertising, story and venue should be enough, and it often is. But every so often, someone gets the idea that they need more; a gimmick of sorts in order to garnish that extra bit of buzz to further draw the masses.
Often it was midgets or women. Ironically enough, female midgets never drew a dime.
Midgets were one thing. They knew their role on the card was less about the wrestling and more about the entertainment and laughter. They understood what they were brought in to do and they booked their matches to suit this.
Women on the other hand, they seemed to actually be trying. They believed that they were equals to their male counterparts in the ring and always were determined to prove it.
It never worked.
Midgets and women were nothing but cheap and dirty ploys and last ditch effort in order to make another dollar.
Always were, always will be.
Celeste Crimson
Buddy loved the attention that he received by being one of the true wrestling greats in the world. He ached for the spotlight because he believed in the sport of wrestling.
Despite our attempts at maintaining and protecting the purity and portrayed realism of professional wrestling, it would eventually (d)evolve into a new era where it developed a new attitude as many would come to call it.
Foul language, sex, and blood would eventually replace the athleticism, logical and intelligent storytelling and actual wrestling.
And women were everywhere.
Sensing the shift, but seeking the warmth of the spotlight, Buddy tried to adapt and cling to his star. In doing so, he veered too far off course and in the other direction. What once was a man who used the microphone to talk, was now using a chair to do the talking for him and barbed wire to really bring his point forward. A man who once would only bleed to add to a story was now blading in every match. A man who used to tell stories inside the ring was now willingly throwing himself off of twenty foot ladders into dumpsters like his body was nothing but the trash that would normally occupy it.
The cheers were his drug, and he was addicted. Resorting to any means necessary in order to hear the crowd pop for him one more time, he depended on their satisfaction like a ****e.
Matt Tastic
The painkillers that he would later become addicted to were every bit as addictive as his search for relevance and ultimately prevented his star from continuing to shine.
No other words were spoken between Karen and myself. We stood in silence, reminiscing in our own way about the man we both had cared for but with different thoughts and memories. She would be the first to look away, her body following shortly after.
I made my way to Buddys coffin. I looked at my best friend resting and for the first time since I had arrived to this place, there were no thoughts.
He looked familiar, yet unrecognizable all at the same time.
He wasnt quite a shell of the man he once was, but he somehow managed to look sadder than I had seen him before.
I reached into a back pocket on my pants and removed an old trading card that was produced during our run as a tag-team called The Twin Towers. I placed the card under my friends cusped hands before walking away.
The trading card represented us and what we used to be.
It represented us when we were at our absolute best.
Viola Moonlight
I'm Literally Just Here for WZCW
The scene opens at the terminal of a busy airport. Various WZCW stars can be seen walking by to a different terminal, all except one who sits in a chair, his red mask clearly making him stand out from everyone around him. His head is lowered and his hands clasped around the handle of a laptop case. A female voice calls out suddenly behind him and he slowly lifts his head up and looks towards the person, revealing to be Becky Serra.
Becky: Califa our flight is this way.
Califa: I'm not going.
Becky: What?!? The PPV is coming up we have to go!
Califa turns his head away from her and shakes his head as Becky quickly moves around the chairs to face him.
Califa: Me voy a casa a México.
Becky: Mexico? You can't be serious. You have a chance at being chosen to face Rush for the Eurasian Title.
Califa: El Califa is not worthy of facing Rush.
Becky: But you defeated him....
Califa: And it means nothing. Tastic withstood the roar of the dragon and claimed victory over me. I have no claim to the title shot. Tastic es el hombre para matar al gigante no yo. I'm returning home to train more. It's clear that I have took WZCW too lightly.
Becky: Have you told Big Dave or Vance Bateman?
Califa: I left Dave a message. By the time he gets back to me it will be an international call.
Becky frowns as she looks over towards the terminal where the other WZCW stars are gathering waiting for their flight out of town. She looks back to Califa with a concern look on her face.
Becky: Are you sure about this?
Califa: I am sure of everything I do in my life señora. Even if I were victorious over Matt Tastic I am not welcome here in WZCW. Yo soy el forastero para todos ustedes. A man with no allies or friends. I don't care. After Unscripted I will rightfully earn my shot at the Eurasian Championship. I won't leave it in the hands of anyone else's but my own!
Just then the attendant at the terminal announces that the flight is about to depart. Califa stands and tosses the case behind his back, holding it by the handles. He begins walking towards the line before stopping. He looks over his shoulder at Becky and nods his head.
Califa: Enjoy the pay per view señora. If you run into Matt Tastic give him my best wishes. I will rally my people behind him and we will cheer for his victory over Rush.
Califa turns and walks through the door leading to the airplane as Becky watches him disappear before turning and walking towards the other terminal as the scene fades out.
Becky: Califa our flight is this way.
Califa: I'm not going.
Becky: What?!? The PPV is coming up we have to go!
Califa turns his head away from her and shakes his head as Becky quickly moves around the chairs to face him.
Califa: Me voy a casa a México.
Becky: Mexico? You can't be serious. You have a chance at being chosen to face Rush for the Eurasian Title.
Califa: El Califa is not worthy of facing Rush.
Becky: But you defeated him....
Califa: And it means nothing. Tastic withstood the roar of the dragon and claimed victory over me. I have no claim to the title shot. Tastic es el hombre para matar al gigante no yo. I'm returning home to train more. It's clear that I have took WZCW too lightly.
Becky: Have you told Big Dave or Vance Bateman?
Califa: I left Dave a message. By the time he gets back to me it will be an international call.
Becky frowns as she looks over towards the terminal where the other WZCW stars are gathering waiting for their flight out of town. She looks back to Califa with a concern look on her face.
Becky: Are you sure about this?
Califa: I am sure of everything I do in my life señora. Even if I were victorious over Matt Tastic I am not welcome here in WZCW. Yo soy el forastero para todos ustedes. A man with no allies or friends. I don't care. After Unscripted I will rightfully earn my shot at the Eurasian Championship. I won't leave it in the hands of anyone else's but my own!
Just then the attendant at the terminal announces that the flight is about to depart. Califa stands and tosses the case behind his back, holding it by the handles. He begins walking towards the line before stopping. He looks over his shoulder at Becky and nods his head.
Califa: Enjoy the pay per view señora. If you run into Matt Tastic give him my best wishes. I will rally my people behind him and we will cheer for his victory over Rush.
Califa turns and walks through the door leading to the airplane as Becky watches him disappear before turning and walking towards the other terminal as the scene fades out.
Bernkastel
Reaper of Miracles
[youtube]7YMh4ki8Dpk[/youtube]
The sound of a clock filled the room drowning out the noise of a roaring fire. I sat on my couch in front of the hearth staring into the flames as they licked back and forth; I was focused on one thing, and that was Unscripted; the pay per view where the fate of each match would be decided by the tally of votes. Despite my recent run of bad luck I felt that this was finally my time to shine; my opportunity to finally submit my invaluable name inside the history books of WZCW.
‘How fitting this must be to be vying for the Eurasian title,’ I thought to myself.
I sat back and slowly sipped at a glass of vodka I had poured for myself. Even though I had never won the title before, there was already so much symbolism and history that I had tied up within that fifteen pound gold belt. There were three of us now gunning for the right to face the champion; the only thing standing in our way was the luck of the draw.
‘In order to face Rush I have to convince the fans that I am the best choice for this match,’ I began to ponder the history between me and the current Eurasian champion.
Even though our recent time as opponents had been brief, I still took the time to remember our past encounters. I leaned back against the sofa as my mind flashed back to 2009. Rush was a wily veteran of the Independent circuit who was trying to make a name for himself here in WZCW. I was a mercenary for hire who couldn’t have given a damn for anything in the company other than lining my own pockets. I initially thought nothing of the giant man as anything more than a punching bag, and in our match together I handed him his first loss.
I remember standing next to Becky Serra three years ago looking at the wall of her locker room doing an interview before my first match with Rush. I held a demented scowl on my face as I ran him down into the ground. Has there been any change since then, Rush? Have you become more important since winning the Eurasian title? Perhaps… but you’re still a drone because you’ve become complacent in your place.
‘Did you really think that defeating Black Dragon would be the end of your worries?’ I thought as I took another sip of my drink. ‘Don’t forget that we’ve still got a score to settle.’
I was no longer that kind of person; Rush and I were going to have a fair fight to the finish because after all of these years our mutual respect for each other has grown.
‘It’s ironic, Rush, that afterwards you referred to me in an interview as your goal because I brought out the best in you,’ I thought.
We would face each other a few more times that year, while I continued to be a bane to his existence. When our paths crossed for the last time at All or Nothing he surprised me that night… or rather I surprised myself. By not taking our match seriously and acknowledging him as a legitimate force I lost; Rush’s will to win was stronger than mine that night. My mind began to wander as I starred ahead into the flames as they crackled and burned. Our paths never crossed again and I began to regret the fact that I would never get the opportunity to avenge that loss.
‘Perhaps it was the fact that I did not acknowledge you that I lost that night at All or Nothing,’ I quickly snapped back into focus as the clock on my wall began to toll; the bell chiming twelve times, the sound reverberating through my living room.
‘But I don’t plan on making that mistake again,’ I stood, placed my glass on the table, and made my way to my kitchen.
Laxus was still sleeping upstairs and little Nero had been down for awhile. I stepped inside the powder room, turned on the light, and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Things changed didn’t they? The rematch we were supposed to have never happened because we both retired. He suffered a heart attack in a match against Blade, another man at the time I despised.
I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with water, ‘I’m not going to lie to myself Rush... when you suffered that heart attack I was initially angry because I wasn’t your opponent that night. I hated the fact that you didn’t respect me enough to put your health on the line when we went toe to toe.’
I put my livelihood on the line every time I compete; my career could very well end next week because of some unforeseen injury that I could not feel. Rush is an old man now – old enough to nearly be my father –he can understand the feeling of walking the thin line of retirement.
‘We both left for a few years and returned to the company as different people; I as beacon of hope to those that opposed chaos, and you wanting to prove that you still had a spring in your step,’ I pondered as I turned off the sink and walked back into the living room.
‘We faced off once more in a tag match where I fell to Sam Smith,’ looking back on it now my heart wasn’t in the mood for such a battle because I felt no pride in winning or losing that match.
I peered at the clock which now read fifteen minutes past the hour and then back to the fireplace; I was restless because I had been feeling a sense of dread wash over me as this match inched closer and closer. Years ago when Rush and I first clashed the Eurasian title had been on the line; only I wasn’t interested and my will was too much for Rush to overcome. Now the tables have been turned into a scenario much to my disdain.
‘I want that title because I want to prove that my existence is worth something; that I too am worthy of such prestige. I wonder now if my will is strong enough to defeat yours?’
I no longer denied Rush of his existence as a strong competitor and I felt myself inching closer and closer to obscurity as time passed. Starring into the fire I wondered aloud, “Have you forgotten me?”
I walked over to the couch and laid down on the plush pillows, ‘You made it to the top of the mountain before I could. Now I feel withered because an old man accomplished what I could not.’
My will at Unscripted is unbreakable; my resilience is absolute, and my desire is omnipresent. I found I could barely keep my eyes open as the clock chimed signaling half pass the hour. As I fought to remain awake I began to think to drift in and out of consciousness. My thoughts raced one last time.
‘If you don’t recognize my existence Rush it will be your downfall; whether or not we face off at Unscripted or not one thing is for certain, our imminent clash will be a cataclysm. And not because we hate each other, but because we recognize that we bring the best out of each other… and by the end I’m certain both of us will retire.’
I closed my eyes as sleep took me, the taste of vodka weighed heavy on my breath; the last thing I remember being the crackling and roar of the fire.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning I packed my wrestling gear and my overnight bag and made my way to the airport. WZCW pay per views were never small venues and I found myself overrun by my fans nearly everywhere I went. I signed as many autographs as I could and posed for as many photos as possible on my trek to the arena. I climbed out of the taxi and paid my fare as I walked to the front entrance. Unscripted was unique because the fans had the power to decide the matches instead of creative. It was a rather humbling experience to learn just how beloved you were or how much they all thought you sucked. Careers could be made or broken here.
‘There are three of us fighting for the right to prove our existences,’ I thought as I walked to my dressing room.
I turned the knob and walked inside; suddenly feeling light headed, moody, and aggressive. Maybe it was the sheer implications that I would have to win the fans over despite my competition being quite fierce. As I changed into my ring gear I flashed back to my recent losing streak and something inside me broke. Steven Holmes proved his existence mattered when he defeated me, as did Sam Smith, but what about me? Was I doomed to fall down the card like my friend Steven Kurtesy?
‘If I cannot prove myself here, then I’m worthless,’ I thought suddenly sitting down on the bench beside my locker. ‘I failed to defeat Ty Burna, I failed to stop the chaos I fought so hard to purge, I failed to win the WZCW championship and was beaten by a robot, I failed Arashi and he walked out on me, and I failed to put Steven Holmes in his place.’
I suddenly felt like crying; my tough exterior falling. I held my face in my hands in shame, ‘If I lose again….’
No! It was the paranoia taking hold of me again; taunting me. It was hard to be prideful and cocky when you had nothing to show for it. The one thing that I had left was my reputation, and now that was on the line as well. With the advent of Isabel Stone the only other thing that made me unique was gone.
‘Matt Tastic is nothing but a glass cannon,’ I thought, trying to boost my confidence. Sure he’s beaten Rush before, but so have I. The fact that I threw my final match against him all those years ago is still considered a myth-
‘I won’t be absent this time,’ I thought.
It was Tastic’s own misfortune that he always seemed to flop when the big spotlight hit him, and like the mighty super saiyan in his final battle against the pink demon Tastic was going to overestimate his popularity and fail once again.
‘El Califa Dragon has an existence worth less than mine even if I do fail again. I have nothing to be worried about.’
I put on my best smile, stood, opened the door and walked down the corridor in front of me. I didn’t get far when Becky Serra stopped me for an interview. The brunette seemed cheerful as she introduced me. It eased me to know that she was probably rooting for me over the other two, but I said nothing until she pointed the microphone in my direction.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to WZCW Unscripted! Becky Serra here with WZCW’s own Celeste Crimson.”
I smiled and greeted the girl warmly. Always one to be spunky she dove right into the interview and wasted little time pointing out the elephant obvious to the both of us.
“It may seem a little like déjà vu to me but even with Matt Tastic and El Califa Dragon involved this match seems familiar. You and Rush faced each other once before with the Eurasian title at stake-”
“We did, in the first Eurasian Tournament,” I interjected. “And I was the one that defeated him in the first round.”
“That was his debut if I recall,” she replied. “How does it feel to potentially face Rush with the same prize on the line again?”
I smiled, “I feel like this was destiny Becky. If the fans vote for me I will give them a show that they will never forget. Those that remember the matches that Rush and I put on in the old days know that I am the best opponent for him.”
I hesitated slightly with my words but I pressed onwards, “I need to win the Eurasian title not only for myself, but for all those that supported me through everything this year.”
Becky smiled, “And we’d all love to see you succeed Celeste but this match isn’t a Fatal Four Way; this is a fans choice match-”
“I get it; I understand,” I said. “It makes no sense to run down my opponents when we all have a fair shot at being chosen for this honor. I but I have something much more valuable to prove then they do.”
I gritted my teeth and trudged forward, “Matt Tastic has already proven his existence to the fans here; why should he have this opportunity when he’s sure to have another in the future? He’s won titles before in the past; his name is already engraved in the archives. And Califa Dragon – what echelon has he been placed upon to warrant such merit? He’s still a rookie and he’s already received this kind of opportunity? Even if he were to face Rush and lose he’d bounce right back.”
I stumbled and stuttered as the words left my mouth, “But I-I; Rush and I understand what it’s like to walk the fine line of retirement. We both know what it’s like to push ourselves to the point where our health suffers. If I’m chosen I will make damn sure that my existence is validated over all the failures I’ve suffered this year.”
My mind suddenly flashed back to something that I had said years ago during my feud with Rush; that was something that I no longer believed. I tried to validate my legend by beating everyone I came across and never losing. My record was flawless at one point, and now I had more losses to my name than victories. Was I truly that pathetic years ago?
Becky smiled, “So is this the storm that rages inside of you now?”
I cocked my head in surprise as she continued, “That’s what you said to me during our interview when you faced off against Rush the first time. The anger and passion burning inside you is what fueled your willpower to beat him.”
I smiled and shook my head, ‘What was I thinking?’
“You’re right Becky, I still have my pride as a person regardless if I win or lose and that alone is enough to validate myself,” I responded as my confidence grew. I turned and stared into the camera.
“Listen up WZCW fans, don’t vote for the clichéd glass cannon Matt Tastic or the rookie Califa Dragon; instead vote for the gal who will give you the best match of the year!”
Becky smiled as the interview came to a close. I grinned knowing that she was right; even if I didn’t face Rush tonight I still had my pride, and that was the most important thing. I turned to walk down the hallway my thoughts blazing. I silently swore that I wasn’t going to become a drone once I became a champion. My mind flashed back to something Rush had said long ago.
I asked Rush to wait for me to catch up; even if we didn’t face off tonight, I wanted our encounter to be one for the ages. Even if we both retired in the process.
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