The Trump Card

Scene I: New York City, New York - Trump International Hotel & Tower - Thursday, July 24, 2003

I had flown to New York City the previous day, after leaving Wessex, and hopefully, along with my troubles, behind.  I knew it was not likely.  Satan's promise and hold on me had not relinquished.  But for the moment, a change of scenery, in New York City.

The desire to be at the pay-per-view the few nights before was subdued by sheer obliviousness on my part, from the trauma Simkins' revelation had upon my mind and body.  And aside from that, I had to inspect my new purchase, a lavish and utterly self-indulging condo in one of Trump's buildings on Central Park West, giving me a glorious view of Sinatra's city.  At a cost of twelve million US, I thought twice, but didn't hesitate too long after seeing what it provided.  I said to hell with cost.  It was my time to be greedy.

Stephanie bought me out of our home in Nebraska, and I decided that to commute back and forth from shows in the central states to NYC was worth the price of living in the city.

As much as I adore my home in England and the countryside, I long for something vibrant again within my life.  Stagnant marriage played a heavy toll on me, and NYC's social venues outstripped any in the nation.  I decided to mingle again with whomever would allow themselves to welcome me into their arms.  Getting active in charity had crossed my mind once more, especially for the cause of alcoholism.  Or rather, attempting to erradicate it.

Impossible? Of course.

But why not try.  I had planned a press release to be sent out to the entire Coalition sooner rather than later regarding this new endeavour of mine, and see what kind of reception it would get.  I am hoping positive.

The biggest challenge though, of all, was not the charity work itself that I am going to undertake.  The very concept of "mingling" had escaped my social repetoire for the past five years or more, as Steph and I were hardly active in that field.  The idea of possibly meeting a woman, and dating her - another term that is nearly alien to me - was captivating.  Yet nerve wracking.

Stephanie was the only woman I ever dated.  The rituals of courting had never been practiced when I was a young man.  I saw a woman, I took her, either by wit or charm, alcohol, or money.  I had very few scruples when dealing with a girl with a soft smile, and firm tits.

Now that I am left with no woman of any sorts, it may be time to start looking again.  I am in no rush per se, but I never appreciated nights when I had nobody in my bed.

Last night was a lonely one indeed.

The days after Coronation II, where history was once again made, heroes were made, villains fell, and many were cast into the shadow of mediocrity after falling to defeat.  And I had no opportunity to be there, in the ring, in front of millions around the world, watching intently as champions were made and broken.  Someday though...someday.

I logged on earlier a few days ago to see the results, as I had not a chance to see them with my own eyes.  Jeff fought valiantly against all odds and nearly snatched victory away from the jaws of defeat.  The Fates decreed otherwise though.  But his effort and resiliancy is something I hope to encapsulate, as I did while wearing the World Heavyweight Tag Team Championship, in any and every other championship match I may find myself privy to be participating.

Xavier had retained against Boudreaux.  How anti-climatic though.  A count out.  It had proved nothing to me whatsoever. They took each other apart maneuver by maneuver, limb from limb.  But for what.  A more-or-less stale mate.  Nighthawk would not settle for this, and I do have a feeling that it will not be the last that the CSWA sees of these warriors in the ring together.

But not if I could help it.  If there was ever to be a heavyweight championship match in the CSWA in the near future: I will attempt with all my might to be a part of it.  There is already word around that Marshall is planning a tournament where by the winner will get a shot at the heavyweight champion that same night.

I vowed to myself that I would be a part of it.  No matter whom I had to face.  My lord required ruthlessness as did my father, as he had to show in combat in the Second World War.  The entire CSWA would be mine enemy.

However the barriers would be considerable.  And the first of which stood next week in front of me, at the premier Viewer's Choice Wildfire.

I had been selected amongst a grouping of fourteen of the creme de la creme of the CSWA.  I had been given a tremendous gift.  Chris Wright.

Once mortal enemy, then close friend, now a mere acquaintance.  We drifted considerably as of late. He and Jennifer had a new life to prepare themselves for.  And I, one to destroy and forget.  We went opposite paths.  But, to my pleasure, I shall not deny: although he was catapulted to the top of the CSWA, I was to the World.  But now that with Seamus, I was brought down to earth courtesy Impact, Big D, Wright was still the second man in the CSWA.  And given Xavier's drunkenness, who is to deny that perhaps he is number one now.

The long road back to singles stardom would be long for me.  Serpiente Americano was an excellent start.  The luchadore can take anyone the distance, at any time, in any match.  But I know Wright can do the same.

I know all too well.

Each time we met, whether in restaurant, in my ring at home, through indirect contact of a little painting I had delivered to him - a painting by Herr Andros, of Wright standing and smiling in a red wine soaked suit, courtesy myself - and even in the ring, I somehow had the benefit of getting the upper hand.

And I wore MSWA gold on account of it.  Now he is the man with the golden belt, and although not on the line, I know that Wright will try through his heart of hearts to turn the page on our relationship, in the ring, as men, and show that his championship is no fluke.  And I know it is not.

He has defeated the best in the world.  But he has not defeated me.

I intend to keep it that way, come Wildfire.

History is on my side.  And though it has proved to be a very fickle ally.

I knew that history, would, in time...be my trump card.


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