Post by Stace Matthews on Nov 13, 2017 19:43:51 GMT -5
If they were to compare the weight of each of their schedules going into this “take home” show, the last televised show before the big payday, it would be very clear that there are some working harder than others.
Let's just put it out there, by making every committed live appearance since returning to Pure Class Wrestling, Johnny Vivacious is beginning to tarnish his well-earned reputation, flaking as “Mr. One Night Only”.
These are the headlines, compliments and somewhat exaggerated recollections that rolled through his mind as he maneuvered into a parking spot, cut the purring V12 to silence and sat.
Smoking.
For several minutes.
Then, he stacked together some paperwork in the passenger seat and snuffed the Red. Even with the papers in his hand, ready to go, he hesitated.
In addition to the live appearances, he had made publicity and media interviews with his Notorious ally as well as on his own.
Appearing for the network, with six E!News mentions and Daily Pop coverage of the return, the alliance and the Collision Course challenge; the once boasted network liability was proving to be anything but.
Vivacious’ appearances on Ridiculousness and The Chris Gethard Show brought national attention to the last PCW pay-per-view of the year.
He remains in the public eye as much as possible and in front of a live feeding camera whenever possible; he builds his Collision Course challenge with every single word he spits out.
With Stormm, Notorious have instructed a wrestling clinic at the Greenville Convention Center together as well as hosted a beer pong contest at the Uptown Brewing Company. Nothing is off the table for these two.
While his partner, very verbal about not being a “coffee person”, promoted his championship match downtown, Vivacious appeared on local the “9 on Your Side” morning show to award the “Mug a Day Giveaway” the day following his Collision Course challenge.
“Talk about a whirlwind,” Vivacious mumbled. “Fucking chump.”
He took a quick look in the mirror, mumbled something else to himself and threw the driver's door open. One Harley-Davidson Badlands boot after the other, he stepped out onto the asphalt.
Of all of these appearances, interviews and media spots, there was no visit or stop more important to him personally and no matter that was more important than that gripped tightly in his hand.
The Garden Estates of Corpus Christi is a pampering, five-star resort for the elderly, plain and simple. Just walking into this place, the staff are just as quick to see to your every need and whim as if you lived there.
“Mr. Matthews,” Lisa Reed greeted as he entered, “we have been expecting you. He is out in the garden, I would be happy to show you the way.”
They passed through an archway and down a corridor, Vivacious remained kind and polite as he waved, shook hands, gave hugs and shared good morning greetings with residents, staff members and visitors in the hallway. Here, everyone knows who he is, but no one makes a big deal of it.
Besides, in all black, he contrasted the red, white and blue, stars and stripes, patriotic decorations. The entire building buzzed with gratitude and appreciation. Today, the big deal was hanging on sporadic doorknobs down every hall that read, “Thank you for your service.”
It's Veteran's Day.
Approaching a set of closed doors, Reed swiped her badge near a keypad on the right wall. The doors automatically swung open and Vivacious continued to follow her into the Memory Care Unit.
“He is really a pleasant and caring man,” she commented as they rounded a corner to the right. “He is quite the charmer too.”
Vivacious nodded, with a knows-all-too-well laugh under his breath, “Sounds like him.”
“He loves the flowers,” she added, “he will spend the entire day pruning and talking to them. You have a garden at home, I hope.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” home, around everyone from home, his Texas drawl slightly emerged.
Reed swiped her card once more and they exited the building into a colorful wonder that Mother Nature herself would marvel. Add in the delightful lavender and lilac whirling on the gentle breeze, the songs of birds in the trees with the tinkling of wind chimes, it would be very easy to allow time to slip away in the tranquility.
“He spends most of his day right over there,” Reed pointed across the fountain, “in the Yellow Rose Sanctuary.”
Weston Wright, his father's right hand for many decades of his ninety-four years, gently caressed the flowers from the stems to the large yellow blooms. He was careful to avoid the sharp thorns as he spoke to them softly.
“How has he been doing,” Vivacious asked.
“According to the nurse’s report,” Reed responded, “yesterday was twelve days without an episode, outburst, behavior or refusal of care.”
A normal good run being three to four days, twelve days without episode is a real improvement, since the dementia became a life changing challenge for him.
It was a frightening fearful episode that cued Vivacious to the decline in Wright's condition before leaving weeks ago.
In the open doorway between the carpeted family room into the linoleum kitchen of the Matthews’ estate, a passway that Wright had crossed through several times each day for years, became an abyss past the carpet and his fear of falling into it was traumatic. Since, he continues to suffer sudden moments of paranoia, claiming to have heard or seen scary things.
He often awakes in the night, crying for his Margie, unable to understand that she has been gone nearly ten years now. His behaviors range from stubborn non-compliance to accusing facility staff of lying or abusing him. After first moving in, he refused care from the staff, including his medications which led to more intense episodes of fear.
“What about the shakes?” Vivacious questioned?
“Those are managed,” Reed assured, “but they exhaust him.”
The full-body trembles during his terrified moments are attributed to the Parkinson’s that he had endured and learned to cope with before ever leaving the commentator’s table.
“I am going to talk to him for awhile,” Vivacious explained, “and then we can meet afterward.”
“Let my staff know if there is anything you need while you are here,” Reed offered.
“Thank you.”
As he approached, Vivacious heard Wright whisper, “You are just perfect, lil’ Darlin’.”
Wright raised up out of his wheelchair, produced a set of trimmers and cut the rose from the bush. Attempting not to startle the man, Vivacious waited until he sat all the way down in the chair and had dropped the trimmers before placing his hand on Wright’s shoulder.
“How are you, Pops?” Vivacious asked, turning the old man around.
“Johnny,” Wright's face lit up. “I am doing well, Son. I am so happy to see you.”
Vivacious knelt down on one knee beside the old man in his wheelchair.
“Son, you look far too good to smell so damned bad,” Wright was blunt and to the point, “did you torch an entire pack on your way here?”
“I am sorry, Pops,” Vivacious apologized and failed to explain, “life…”
“Don't give me that life babble,” Wright waved Vivacious off, “I gave cigarettes most of my life too.” He shook his head adding, “More than my Margie. More than your father.” Then he drove it home, “I know all of the ‘because life’ excuses, Boy.”
“Okay,” Vivacious nodded, “well, I really need to talk to you.”
“Take me inside, to my room,” the old man requested, “I have to piss and that man over there has bothered me all day.”
Vivacious looked around and found Wright being the only man in the garden, maybe there was someone out here prior he shrugged and pushed Wright into the building.
“I hear you are working for Lou,” Wright mentioned. “He always had a decent product out east.”
“Yes,” Vivacious confirmed, “with Pure Class Wrestling.”
“I hear you have a big match coming up,” Wright added.
“For an old fart,” Vivacious joked, “you seem to hear a lot.”
“Of course,” Wright laughed, “my aide Marvin is one of your biggest fans. He watches wrestling from all over the place on the Internet. Said he was sneaking his computer in here to watch your big match next month.”
“Is that right?” Vivacious asked, rounding the corner and pushing Wright into his room.
“Yes, Sir.”
Wright stood up, large yellow bud in hand, and crossed the room to a framed black and white photograph of his beloved Margie. He replaced a wilted rose from the corner of the frame with the one he had just cut fresh.
“I really wish I could see this next show,” Wright said as he returned to his chair. “Your father always said, the pay-per-view was only as good as that take home show.”
“I remember,” Vivacious nodded. “The most important show is your take home show, following the fallout show, the take home show will make or break your closed circuit event.”
“Damn,” the old man was shocked, “saying that word-for-word, you sound just like him.”
Both men laughed.
Both men felt the void.
“Are you carrying,” Wright questioned, “or chasing?”
“Neither.”
“You have to have a big feud match then,” Wright assumed.
“You could say that,” Vivacious nodded again, “I went in and challenged ‘the man’ right of the mark.”
“So,” Wright figured, “you are going for instant impact then?”
“Or humiliation.”
“I doubt that,” Wright shook his head. “What do you have lined up for the take home?”
“A totally random and unrelated opponent,” Vivacious shrugged. “It seems I upset the brass by hiring my own opponent at the last show.”
“What is his part at the pay-per-view?”
“Not sure he even has a match,” Vivacious concerned.
“That's dangerous.”
“Tell me about it,” Vivacious dropped his head.
“I don't think you’ll want to hear it.”
The likelihood was just that, no, Vivacious didn't need to hear it.
He was very aware of the dangers of facing an opponent simply looking for a place on the pay-per-view card. He knew, as a huge draw, an upset at the take home show could dramatically change his direction and catapult someone else.
For him, the big match is already signed, now it was time to deliver. Few, like him, understand that this next show, the pressure is on every single talent to make people press “Order”.
Hell or high water, Tyrone Smith could not and would not be stopping the momentum Vivacious is building. Until now, it really wasn't a concern. Crazy Boy didn't really concern Vivacious all that much.
It was time to turn it up, but wait a minute, that isn't what he was here for. “All of that said,” Vivacious changed the subject, “I am here to take you home.”
“No,” Wright responded, immediately turned off to the whole idea, “thank you.”
“Come on, Pops,” Vivacious urged, “this was supposed to be temporary.”
“I am not dying in that room, Son.”
“I know you miss her,” Vivacious attempted, “but wouldn't you rather be somewhere she knew she would find you?”
“Don't talk like that, Boy,” Wright shook his head, “there are no such thing as ghosts.”
Wright wheeled himself into his bathroom and shut the door. Without the fan on, he could clearly be heard urinating before flushing the toilet and washing his hands. When the door flew open, Wright's mood was different.
“Is that feller with you,” a panic overwhelmed Wright's face as his eyes widened. “He doesn't look too happy, Son.”
Vivacious looked over his shoulder, nothing but the hallway through the open door.
“Oh,” Wright shook his head, “he badly needs a shave.”
Vivacious was on his feet immediately, “Pops, what day is it?” He scrambled to find the call button to call the nursing staff.
“I reckon it has to be the fourth of July,” Wright answered, “all that glory there in the hallway.”
As the nurse and aide rushed into the room, Vivacious explained that Wright was seeing things that just couldn't be there. Soon after, having noticed the old man's light, Reed was also in the room.
“I think he has had enough excitement for the day,” Vivacious said, rolling the papers and sticking them in his back pocket, “he has definitely opened my eyes to some things.
Searching the room once more and finding nothing, Vivacious could do nothing for the man that had raised him and his little sister in their parents’ absence, nothing but watch, as both the dementia and Parkinson’s took control of the old man.
Let's just put it out there, by making every committed live appearance since returning to Pure Class Wrestling, Johnny Vivacious is beginning to tarnish his well-earned reputation, flaking as “Mr. One Night Only”.
These are the headlines, compliments and somewhat exaggerated recollections that rolled through his mind as he maneuvered into a parking spot, cut the purring V12 to silence and sat.
Smoking.
For several minutes.
Then, he stacked together some paperwork in the passenger seat and snuffed the Red. Even with the papers in his hand, ready to go, he hesitated.
In addition to the live appearances, he had made publicity and media interviews with his Notorious ally as well as on his own.
Appearing for the network, with six E!News mentions and Daily Pop coverage of the return, the alliance and the Collision Course challenge; the once boasted network liability was proving to be anything but.
Vivacious’ appearances on Ridiculousness and The Chris Gethard Show brought national attention to the last PCW pay-per-view of the year.
He remains in the public eye as much as possible and in front of a live feeding camera whenever possible; he builds his Collision Course challenge with every single word he spits out.
With Stormm, Notorious have instructed a wrestling clinic at the Greenville Convention Center together as well as hosted a beer pong contest at the Uptown Brewing Company. Nothing is off the table for these two.
While his partner, very verbal about not being a “coffee person”, promoted his championship match downtown, Vivacious appeared on local the “9 on Your Side” morning show to award the “Mug a Day Giveaway” the day following his Collision Course challenge.
“Talk about a whirlwind,” Vivacious mumbled. “Fucking chump.”
He took a quick look in the mirror, mumbled something else to himself and threw the driver's door open. One Harley-Davidson Badlands boot after the other, he stepped out onto the asphalt.
Of all of these appearances, interviews and media spots, there was no visit or stop more important to him personally and no matter that was more important than that gripped tightly in his hand.
The Garden Estates of Corpus Christi is a pampering, five-star resort for the elderly, plain and simple. Just walking into this place, the staff are just as quick to see to your every need and whim as if you lived there.
“Mr. Matthews,” Lisa Reed greeted as he entered, “we have been expecting you. He is out in the garden, I would be happy to show you the way.”
They passed through an archway and down a corridor, Vivacious remained kind and polite as he waved, shook hands, gave hugs and shared good morning greetings with residents, staff members and visitors in the hallway. Here, everyone knows who he is, but no one makes a big deal of it.
Besides, in all black, he contrasted the red, white and blue, stars and stripes, patriotic decorations. The entire building buzzed with gratitude and appreciation. Today, the big deal was hanging on sporadic doorknobs down every hall that read, “Thank you for your service.”
It's Veteran's Day.
Approaching a set of closed doors, Reed swiped her badge near a keypad on the right wall. The doors automatically swung open and Vivacious continued to follow her into the Memory Care Unit.
“He is really a pleasant and caring man,” she commented as they rounded a corner to the right. “He is quite the charmer too.”
Vivacious nodded, with a knows-all-too-well laugh under his breath, “Sounds like him.”
“He loves the flowers,” she added, “he will spend the entire day pruning and talking to them. You have a garden at home, I hope.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” home, around everyone from home, his Texas drawl slightly emerged.
Reed swiped her card once more and they exited the building into a colorful wonder that Mother Nature herself would marvel. Add in the delightful lavender and lilac whirling on the gentle breeze, the songs of birds in the trees with the tinkling of wind chimes, it would be very easy to allow time to slip away in the tranquility.
“He spends most of his day right over there,” Reed pointed across the fountain, “in the Yellow Rose Sanctuary.”
Weston Wright, his father's right hand for many decades of his ninety-four years, gently caressed the flowers from the stems to the large yellow blooms. He was careful to avoid the sharp thorns as he spoke to them softly.
“How has he been doing,” Vivacious asked.
“According to the nurse’s report,” Reed responded, “yesterday was twelve days without an episode, outburst, behavior or refusal of care.”
A normal good run being three to four days, twelve days without episode is a real improvement, since the dementia became a life changing challenge for him.
It was a frightening fearful episode that cued Vivacious to the decline in Wright's condition before leaving weeks ago.
In the open doorway between the carpeted family room into the linoleum kitchen of the Matthews’ estate, a passway that Wright had crossed through several times each day for years, became an abyss past the carpet and his fear of falling into it was traumatic. Since, he continues to suffer sudden moments of paranoia, claiming to have heard or seen scary things.
He often awakes in the night, crying for his Margie, unable to understand that she has been gone nearly ten years now. His behaviors range from stubborn non-compliance to accusing facility staff of lying or abusing him. After first moving in, he refused care from the staff, including his medications which led to more intense episodes of fear.
“What about the shakes?” Vivacious questioned?
“Those are managed,” Reed assured, “but they exhaust him.”
The full-body trembles during his terrified moments are attributed to the Parkinson’s that he had endured and learned to cope with before ever leaving the commentator’s table.
“I am going to talk to him for awhile,” Vivacious explained, “and then we can meet afterward.”
“Let my staff know if there is anything you need while you are here,” Reed offered.
“Thank you.”
As he approached, Vivacious heard Wright whisper, “You are just perfect, lil’ Darlin’.”
Wright raised up out of his wheelchair, produced a set of trimmers and cut the rose from the bush. Attempting not to startle the man, Vivacious waited until he sat all the way down in the chair and had dropped the trimmers before placing his hand on Wright’s shoulder.
“How are you, Pops?” Vivacious asked, turning the old man around.
“Johnny,” Wright's face lit up. “I am doing well, Son. I am so happy to see you.”
Vivacious knelt down on one knee beside the old man in his wheelchair.
“Son, you look far too good to smell so damned bad,” Wright was blunt and to the point, “did you torch an entire pack on your way here?”
“I am sorry, Pops,” Vivacious apologized and failed to explain, “life…”
“Don't give me that life babble,” Wright waved Vivacious off, “I gave cigarettes most of my life too.” He shook his head adding, “More than my Margie. More than your father.” Then he drove it home, “I know all of the ‘because life’ excuses, Boy.”
“Okay,” Vivacious nodded, “well, I really need to talk to you.”
“Take me inside, to my room,” the old man requested, “I have to piss and that man over there has bothered me all day.”
Vivacious looked around and found Wright being the only man in the garden, maybe there was someone out here prior he shrugged and pushed Wright into the building.
“I hear you are working for Lou,” Wright mentioned. “He always had a decent product out east.”
“Yes,” Vivacious confirmed, “with Pure Class Wrestling.”
“I hear you have a big match coming up,” Wright added.
“For an old fart,” Vivacious joked, “you seem to hear a lot.”
“Of course,” Wright laughed, “my aide Marvin is one of your biggest fans. He watches wrestling from all over the place on the Internet. Said he was sneaking his computer in here to watch your big match next month.”
“Is that right?” Vivacious asked, rounding the corner and pushing Wright into his room.
“Yes, Sir.”
Wright stood up, large yellow bud in hand, and crossed the room to a framed black and white photograph of his beloved Margie. He replaced a wilted rose from the corner of the frame with the one he had just cut fresh.
“I really wish I could see this next show,” Wright said as he returned to his chair. “Your father always said, the pay-per-view was only as good as that take home show.”
“I remember,” Vivacious nodded. “The most important show is your take home show, following the fallout show, the take home show will make or break your closed circuit event.”
“Damn,” the old man was shocked, “saying that word-for-word, you sound just like him.”
Both men laughed.
Both men felt the void.
“Are you carrying,” Wright questioned, “or chasing?”
“Neither.”
“You have to have a big feud match then,” Wright assumed.
“You could say that,” Vivacious nodded again, “I went in and challenged ‘the man’ right of the mark.”
“So,” Wright figured, “you are going for instant impact then?”
“Or humiliation.”
“I doubt that,” Wright shook his head. “What do you have lined up for the take home?”
“A totally random and unrelated opponent,” Vivacious shrugged. “It seems I upset the brass by hiring my own opponent at the last show.”
“What is his part at the pay-per-view?”
“Not sure he even has a match,” Vivacious concerned.
“That's dangerous.”
“Tell me about it,” Vivacious dropped his head.
“I don't think you’ll want to hear it.”
The likelihood was just that, no, Vivacious didn't need to hear it.
He was very aware of the dangers of facing an opponent simply looking for a place on the pay-per-view card. He knew, as a huge draw, an upset at the take home show could dramatically change his direction and catapult someone else.
For him, the big match is already signed, now it was time to deliver. Few, like him, understand that this next show, the pressure is on every single talent to make people press “Order”.
Hell or high water, Tyrone Smith could not and would not be stopping the momentum Vivacious is building. Until now, it really wasn't a concern. Crazy Boy didn't really concern Vivacious all that much.
It was time to turn it up, but wait a minute, that isn't what he was here for. “All of that said,” Vivacious changed the subject, “I am here to take you home.”
“No,” Wright responded, immediately turned off to the whole idea, “thank you.”
“Come on, Pops,” Vivacious urged, “this was supposed to be temporary.”
“I am not dying in that room, Son.”
“I know you miss her,” Vivacious attempted, “but wouldn't you rather be somewhere she knew she would find you?”
“Don't talk like that, Boy,” Wright shook his head, “there are no such thing as ghosts.”
Wright wheeled himself into his bathroom and shut the door. Without the fan on, he could clearly be heard urinating before flushing the toilet and washing his hands. When the door flew open, Wright's mood was different.
“Is that feller with you,” a panic overwhelmed Wright's face as his eyes widened. “He doesn't look too happy, Son.”
Vivacious looked over his shoulder, nothing but the hallway through the open door.
“Oh,” Wright shook his head, “he badly needs a shave.”
Vivacious was on his feet immediately, “Pops, what day is it?” He scrambled to find the call button to call the nursing staff.
“I reckon it has to be the fourth of July,” Wright answered, “all that glory there in the hallway.”
As the nurse and aide rushed into the room, Vivacious explained that Wright was seeing things that just couldn't be there. Soon after, having noticed the old man's light, Reed was also in the room.
“I think he has had enough excitement for the day,” Vivacious said, rolling the papers and sticking them in his back pocket, “he has definitely opened my eyes to some things.
Searching the room once more and finding nothing, Vivacious could do nothing for the man that had raised him and his little sister in their parents’ absence, nothing but watch, as both the dementia and Parkinson’s took control of the old man.