The Sweet Taste of Defeat

The lessons of the two liberties were complete.  Yet they were not enough.

And I pledged to myself that if I defeated one of them...I defeated them all.

How prophetic.

For I did not defeat any of them, falling to a man whom I thought I had some measure of respect.

Illusionary, or so it would seem - the term "respect" and the name "Constantine" in the same sentence.  I was glad to see the bastard not go through, even at the hands of another almost equally contemptuous bastard, Moonstar.

A shame for Seamus, pardon the alliteration.  And for Wright...I suppose it was not the right time.  They are to be praised however; they shone and faught under the Jacobin banner proudly.

For Jeff?

His golden years were now upon him.  And I could not be more pleased for him.  He for years has worked tirelessly to be all he can be in this sport, from his struggling days as a mere ref to our days together in the Triumvirate in the NAWA to the WWA, MSWA, and CSWA.  And now he is truly one I look up to all the more, for I must seek the same inspiration in him that drove him to the top, in myself.

Someday...someday.

But that day has arrived for me already.

Yet I await for it still.

Can one lose yet still win simultaneously?

The answer is a resounding yes.

Ah, the sweet taste of defeat.


Scene I: New York City, New York - Trump International Hotel & Tower - Monday, September 15, 2003

I have yet to even sleep since arriving home.  But at this time I do not really even feel like sleep.  My mind is aflame of the occurrences of a mere few hours ago.

I just want to relax, relax, and relax.  And gaze upon my new prize.

I now could call myself one half of one of the finest tag team combinations in the history of our sport.

And with Seamus Finnegan, we made CSWA history.  The first and only men to have held the CSWA Central States Tag Team championship and CAL World Heavyweight Tag Team championship.

The championship lays on my bed and glints slightly in the late afternoon sun.  I smile softly and speculate as to what those titles will mean for Seamus and myself.  What battles await us.  Whose blood would we spill in defense of them.  And most importantly: the prestige and honour we will bring to them.

But I cannot deny that I still seek success on my own...and I promise myself that I will still actively pursue to this ends.  At any price.

Even if I must step on some toes...to put it lightly.  The Dark Force drives me still, and I am a slave to its desires and whim.  

What is a man possessed to do.

In the meantime however, three bottles of scotch await me.  And not just any scotch.  Johnnie Walker Gold, aged eighteen years, perhaps the best scotch I've ever had.  Two of which were not for myself.

One for Seamus, who I know will appreciate every single drop of the precious liquid, and one for Jeff.  He may not drink, but I am sure he will appreciate the symbolism.

I take pen to note and write a message for each and attach them to the bottles.

Seamus:

A little something for ye, for all your hard work and for showing the world why we are whisky's devils.  We are once again at the pinnacle of this sport and there we shall remain.  Feckin' aye.  RL.

And for Jeff:

Jeff:

I know you do not drink but take this golden liquid to represent your golden years.  My warmest congratulations and may you receive all which is deserving unto you from all you care about.  Truly, RL.

I looked up from the notes and smiled.  I know both men will appreciate the gesture.  

And I know I shall appreciate their results all the more so.

I unscrewed a third bottle of JW Gold and poured myself a glass, added ice, and raised it in the air, speaking to nobody but myself and the Dark Force.

"To the sweet taste of defeat.  May it be truly golden."


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