Shortly after leaving the beach the day
prior, Chamelion returned home and put together his meager travel bag. He never went anywhere with a lot of
luggage. His gym bag held everything he
needed for wrestling, and his back pack that he takes as a carry on held one
change of clothes, a little reading, medications, and a portable video player
to review his opponents matches. Beyond
that, what more did he need? The flight
to
He spent better part of the day in the gym,
doing basic exercises to stretch out and get into a routine. Since he’d not had a lot of sleep, he didn’t
intend to over exert himself just yet.
Saturday he’d practice basic moves and the final touches before getting
to bed early. For now, as he leaves the
gym and steps onto the sidewalk, he gazes around him at the
On his way to
Smirking, Chamelion remembered that Marticus
also had a humorous side to him, and he’d have to watch out for that. Toxic?
Apparently he’s got a strong sense of media talent, and admittedly,
there was something Chamelion lacked, an understanding of ‘video-editing’. So, hey, what if it is Toxic he has to go
against in a little over a month’s time, what does Chamelion do then? Simple, he just out thinks and out smarts him, just as he’s going to do with Legend at Broken
Resolutions.
Strolling down the sidewalk, Chamelion
watches the busy hubbub of commuters returning home from a hard days work,
wondering if their salaries and over time made up for the stress of living in
such a claustrophobic city.
“I know
I quipped that I was a patient man, working my way into this situation, but
honestly, I’m getting a bit antsy. I
swear, Sunday can not come soon enough.”
He stops suddenly then, and looks right at
us.
“Funny
though, how I have to go through this ‘bureaucracy and red tape’ while others
can just walk in and get title shots left and right. All it took for Torborg to get a BWF title
shot was whine and get hit on the head with a chair. Hell, all Brian Cade had to do was swing a
chair like a freaking caveman, and he’s in a title match. And Toxic? Toxic LOST to David Blazenwing,
and he’s going for the BWF World title!
To quote another well known wrestler; “What’s up with ‘Dat???”
Sighing deeply, he resumes moving along the
sidewalk.
“If I
knew all I had to do was bash a couple of heads in and lose a match or two to
get my title shot, I would have skipped all these subtle and devious tactics
against Legend and just knocked him silly with a chair and claim my spot as the
fourth man in the World Title match at Wrestle Fest! But NOOO, Chamelion has to go through all the
steps, build heat, make a real feud out of this for the fans to sink their
teeth into… Damn!”
“Then
again, when people look back on Wrestle Fest and Broken Resolutions, one name
is going to be stand out, acknowledged and counted upon to deliver the very
best in entertainment, both inside and out of the squared circle… and it
certainly won’t be Legend!”
Coming to a stop at an intersection,
Chamelion rocks on the heels of his shoes while he awaits the change from red
to green so he may cross.
“And
then onward I march, focused on a new target; Marticus or Toxic, I don’t know…
but I do know whichever one it is, won’t be prepared for the Most Devious SOB
in the business today has in store for them.
Yet, that one bump in the road still remains… The so called Legend, Mr.
Anthony Johns.”
The light turns green and Chamelion makes his
way to the other side and continues on.
“So,
Anthony, we’ve covered clocks and ocean waves as analogies, what else is
there? Oh, wait, how about I reflect
momentarily on your situation over in Roughkut? The tourney where athletes from
all over the world converge with the single desire to be called the very best. I have to admit to a little distraught that
you feel so blatant that you can divide your attention between myself and your competition over there… as if I’ve not 100%
worthy of your focus. Then again,
perhaps it will work to my advantage… I mean, you have so much going on, what
with facing me, facing this Jason Violent, and your
gaming…”
He smiles darkly, digging into the open wound
left by Legend.
“Wait,
did I say gaming? I mean, really, is
this a game to you? Calling professional
athletes Role-Players? I tune in to see
what quips you’d have your first round, and Jason’s right, when did this turn
into a D&D game? Oh, I understand it
could very well been a slip of the tongue, kiddo, but I gotta ask what your
mind is really on, when you make an error that severe?”
He holds up a hand, as if to wave that
thought off, and changes track.
“Seriously
though, to me it’s not a big deal, because in a way, we’re all characters,
aren’t we? We create an image of our selves,
project it to the world around us, representing the best aspects of us. It’s up to our opponents to find the chinks
in our character’s image, break it down and expose it for what it really
is. Like, for instance, Anthony, your
declaration of being a cold, sadistic asshole.
I really don’t want to find a chink in that image, because it suits you
quite well and I’ve watched you live up to it.
Five out of court settlements for sexual harassment while having a
lovely girlfriend at home. Forcing
people to work in your Regime, and carrying a hefty ego of self-imagery as a
Legend in this business. It really does make sense, doesn’t it?
“I can
understand easily that you only care about winning and yourself, it’s what one
does when they have little else to offer.
You want this to be all about you, but it’s not, not anymore. You rose quickly as a rookie in the BWF, I
admit, but you did so in a not so amazing fashion. Any man can win four matches in a month, and
surprise, surprise, you’re certainly not the first to win a major championship
in their first six months in a fed. I,
myself, won the HiC World Championship in four months over there. I main evented five of their six PPVs… and if
you really want to open the floor to some history, I have to my credit SIX
undefeated title reigns.”
Acting as if he, himself, is surprised to
discover this fact, Chamelion walks in silence while
he counts on his fingers, to recheck those figures. Nodding approval, he stops in front of his
Hotel.
“Yup. Six. Anyway, here we
are, and since I don’t want to bother the other patrons, do follow me upstairs
and we can continue this in my room.
Well, didn’t that sound intimate??”
Laughing softly, Chamelion
opens the door and walks quietly through the lobby. Reaching the elevator, he pushes the up
button and is glad the doors slide open right away. Stepping in, he taps key #3 and takes it up
to his floor. He exits the elevator,
walks six doors down and slips his card key into the slot. Entering his room, he flips on the light,
walks over the bed and fetches the TV remote off the stand. Clicking on the TV, he searches the selection
of channels and finds what he’s looking for; the BWF promo show. I mean, these don’t happen at house shows, do
they, gotta be able to watch them SOMEHOW! Funny, the convenience of timing, isn’t
it? He sits on the edge of the bed,
watching, and smiles gleefully when Legend’s latest rebuttal finally presents
itself. He listens, intently, the world
around him non-existent, until it ends, and he clicks the TV off.
“If
there is one fault that I must admit too, it’s being so into what I’m doing,
that I get ahead of myself. I questioned
if we would move on to some other parallel besides clocks and ocean waves, or
altogether skip such notions. I wondered
if we would resign ourselves to the here and now, and leave history to the
past. I guess not. Granted, I enjoyed displaying some of my better moments, I
can’t deny that… and when you really think about it; what makes us who we are
today, but our history?”
“NO man can lay claim to greatness unless
he has worked to achieve it. No man can
have the inspiration to fight if there is nothing worth fighting for, or to
elevate himself above what he has already accomplished. And no man, should be allowed to do something
and then turn around and accuse another of the same thing. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black,
which in this case, the pot really is black. Heh. You began your tirade quoting history, and
then had the nerve to tell me that I seem obligated to bring it up? Kiddo, without the past, there is no
future. It didn’t seem to stop you from
quoting your own past as well, but you’re still in denial of a very important
fact, a fact the rest of the world is seeing with clear eyes; Your BWF record
is marred with dirty wins, tainting your career from almost day one. You emphasize your pluses, and try to sweep under
the carpet your minuses.”
“I, on
the other hand, am quite open with the truth of my career. There have been times that my victories were
not totally mine, I know… but for the most part, I’ve earned everything I
received. Both my title wins, clean finishes, my singles career, pretty damned
good… Rose is an exception since I got lambasted by a steel chair. You claim I
only see the past, but have I not been telling you what the future holds? The clock? My words that you latched
onto. I spoke of destiny, and again you
latched onto it. I took a forceful step
to challenge for the World Championship, and you latched onto it. From the first moment I spoke, I talked of
the future, of following my path to claiming the World Championship, and
history was my evidence. Each time we
speak, we remind each other of things past, making you just as guilty as me, so
don’t suggest I am stuck living in the past, any more then you are. Besides, I had a lot of fun earlier talking
about my undefeated title reigns, it does leave warm fuzzies in my belly!”
“It was
a nice attempt, to cover your mistake when you spoke about taking action.
Saying that I waited for things to happen, where as you did not? Yet then you
twist it around to say we each took action in our own ways? Kiddo, the biggest issue with you, is that
you lose sight, flounder off in different directions, hoping just one of them
will make sense. I manipulated my way
into contention, where as your in this position because you lost. As we learned from earlier, I took the more
interesting, earned route, and it will pay off.”
“And yet
again, you fill time with an abundance of clichés; “Tick-Tock, Destiny, Falling
from the sky, planting seeds.” Metaphors of a more simplistic truth, Anthony, albeit
not the truth you want to hear. Sunday,
the only thing that will be broken is your belief, the belief that your time
here will continue with a march to the World Heavyweight Championship. Let’s just shed away the word games, shall
we? Anthony, you are not the best in
this business; you never were. You got
lucky, and then with good skill, you managed to keep being lucky. You’re a simple minded, one tracked fool who
claims to be a major of English, but can’t put two words together without
sounding like a Ape with an articulate tongue.
You have power, strength and desire, but you do not have the necessary
tools to merge them into something long lasting, worthy and reliable. You have moments of amazing stardom, you have
sprouts of success, and it leads you to believe you are a God? A Legend???”
He pauses for a moment,
and something clicks, and his face lights up in revelation.
“Ya know, if we were to look into the literal definition of
Legend, you may not be so eager to call yourself such. The definition of Legend specifically means
an UNVERIFIED story handed down from earlier times, suggesting years, decades,
millennia… it can also mean a popular myth of modern times! We can’t exactly use the first definition,
since your storied career lasts seven months, now can we? So, that leaves us with number two, where
you, Anthony, are nothing more then a myth! I kinda like that one, myself.”
“I guess
in all honesty, perhaps even I can’t use the moniker for my seven year career,
but it’s never really been a big issue for me.
I like the idea of being considered a Legend, and in the PWA, I definitely
have an historical significance to it.
None the less, Anthony, for you; Legend is just a title, one you bestowed
upon yourself to exaggerate an otherwise miniscule career. The blatant use of God, well, that’s just
blasphemy, but since I’m atheist, who the hell cares, right?”
“I think
I’ve taken up enough time here today, especially since I know this won’t be the
last time the fans of the BWF here from each of us. I promise next time to try to incorporate a
little of my trade mark humor so I can entertain them, instead of rehashing
clocks, oceans and decrepit old houses… which, hey, fits you damned
nicely! For my parting words, listen
closely; I sleep just fine, with dreams of what I will accomplish in a few
days. I will continue to fuck with you
because, HEY, that’s what got me here in the first place and it’s a necessary
evil to accomplishing my.. heheh, destiny.
There is no warning of yours I need to heed, because it wouldn’t be
prudent of me to do so. I know what I’m
getting into, and I know what must be done.
You can try to put the fear of God in me, with your demonstrations of
demolitions, but what good does it do, huh?
If I don’t believe in God, then how the hell can I believe in you? GOT
IT?”
Picking up the remote control, Chamelion aims it right at us and clicks the off button.
.:STATIC:.