Post by Rick Majors on Jan 28, 2020 21:48:11 GMT -5
As Rick Majors stepped back through the curtain, the locker room erupted. He stood there in shock, clutching his newly won PCW Underground Championship in his right hand. Rick Majors was a champion in PCW.
Road agents, producers, referees, production staff, and even fellow wrestlers rushed over for the opportunity to shake his hand and congratulate him on his victory.
“Heck of a job, Rick.”
“I’m so proud and happy for you.”
“You deserve this.”
The accolades kept coming. Rick Majors hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment he returned to the backstage area. It was a party atmosphere as he waded through throngs of people, each more eager to pat him on the back than the last.
After making it through the excited masses, a PCW staff member rushed over to him.
“It’s time to take some promotional photos of the new champ!” said the staffer. “Follow me!”
Rick Majors was directed down a hallway and into a small room where a backdrop and some lighting had been set up. The photographer asked him to pose with the title, to hold it on his shoulder and over his head and directly in front of the camera. The lights reflected off the belt, causing it to sparkle. It was the most beautiful thing Rick Majors had seen in a long time.
As soon as the photo shoot ended, Majors was whisked off to another room. “We need to change the name plate!” he was told. Majors watched as they unscrewed Holden Ross’ name and replaced it with his own. The king was dead. Long live the king.
“Rick Majors” was now officially written on a PCW championship. It felt incredible.
Rick didn’t have much time to appreciate it though, as a member of the PCW marketing team walked over to him with a stack of eight-by-tens.
“Get signing, champ,” she said. “These are flying off the website like crazy and we need more!”
Rick Majors found a table and placed the photos down on it. It was a decent photo, despite being a few years old. It didn’t really matter though and the photographer had just told him the new ones would be ready soon. Rick started to sign. He was tired. He was in pain. He was starting to feel overwhelmed. But it was okay. He was the champion and this is what champions do. Finally, he felt proud. He was back. This is where he should be. This is what he should be doing. This feels right.
While he signed, someone else walked into the room with a microphone.
“Can I get an interview for the website? Everybody wants to hear from the new champ!”
Just kidding. None of that actually happened. Rick Majors collapsed on his way up the aisle. Medical personnel rushed out to help him. Was that Holden Ross, having been checked by the medical team and apparently cleared, walking by his crumpled body? Rick wasn’t sure. He could barely keep his eyes open. He seemed to recall Holden briefly stopping to look down at his fallen enemy, but that might have been his imagination. Or the blows to the head talking. Doctors began to check Majors’ head and neck, asking him questions over and over.
“What day is it?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Do you remember the end of the match?”
Majors mumbled through his responses, apparently giving the right answers because he was helped to his feet and allowed to walk back to the locker room area on his own, without the medical team present.
As Rick Majors stepped back through the curtain, it was quiet. Half of the lights were out. He'd been down at ringside for quite some time. The show was long over. A few members of the production team rushed around, taking down monitors and microphones and packing equipment into storage containers. At the end of the hallway, a janitor slowly swept up. Rick Majors could hear a few cars start up in the parking lot, but not much else was happening. Trauma was over. The last of audience was filtering out of the building. Most of the wrestlers and referees had already left.
Rick Majors limped down a hallway, struggling to hold the Underground Title in his right hand and steady himself along the wall with his left. He finally reached his locker room, placed the title down on the bench, and tried to sit down himself. But he slipped and fell. From his position on the cold cement, he looked up at the PCW Underground Championship, which still proudly displayed Holden Ross’ name. It felt just like his enemy was looking down at him. Again. Despite the name plate, Rick Majors was Underground Champion. But did it really matter? For several moments he remained on the floor, both unable and unwilling to get up. He was tired. He was in pain. He was starting to tear up.
Slowly he returned to his feet and shuffled off to the shower. When he was done showering and changing, he packed the belt in his bag and walked out of his locker room. The scene was even darker, quieter, and more deserted than before. Suddenly, the lights in the entire backstage area went out. Rick Majors stopped and stood in the dark, unsure of what to do next.
“Hello?” he called. “HELLOOOOO?”
There was no response. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Guided by its dull flashlight, he slowly started to walk through the building. The weight of the gym bag on his shoulder made it difficult to maintain his balance, so it took quite some time for him to move throughout the arena. By the exit doors he ran into an arena employee.
“Oh, sorry about the lights,” the employee remarked. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”
Majors shrugged him off and the employee walked away. Rick slowly walked out to his car, staggering as he went. He felt dizzy and a tad disoriented. He stopped to compose himself, putting the bag down to relieve himself of the weight. Would it be better to take a cab home? Possibly.
He picked up the bag and continued his walk to the car.
After what seemed like a painful eternity, he reached his vehicle, unlocked it, threw his bag down in the back. He shut the door and placed his hand on it for a while, steadying himself. Rick Majors limped around, opened the driver's door, and took a seat behind the wheel. Once seated, he took a deep breath.
His head is throbbing. His neck hurts something awful. This is worse pain than he’s usually in after a match. He knew Holden Ross would beat the hell out of him, but this is bad. Rick Majors leaned back in his seat. His eyes slowly started to close.
He’s awoken by the vibration of his phone.
“Shit.”
He fell asleep. It’s been over an hour since he got into the car. At least his head isn’t throbbing anymore. He slowly takes his phone and looks at it. The message that woke him up is about the next Trauma card. He’s booked to defend his title against High Tide.
High Tide is back. He put on a hell of a fight tonight, despite losing his match, and now he’s coming for the Underground crown. Rick Majors knew being the Underground Champion would be demanding, but perhaps this is a little too much. Maybe he should have thought this whole thing through a bit more, but there’s no turning back now.
Majors sighs loudly and starts up the car. He drives it to the exit of the parking lot. The arm doesn’t come up. He backs up a bit, moves forward, and tries again. Nothing. The arena is shut down. The lights were shut off and there was one guy walking around an hour ago when he was leaving. Surely there’s no one around now. He sighs again, then drives his car back to the parking spot he just left.
He cuts the engine, tilts his seat back, and closes his eyes once more. The new PCW Underground Champion is going to sleep in his car.
Road agents, producers, referees, production staff, and even fellow wrestlers rushed over for the opportunity to shake his hand and congratulate him on his victory.
“Heck of a job, Rick.”
“I’m so proud and happy for you.”
“You deserve this.”
The accolades kept coming. Rick Majors hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment he returned to the backstage area. It was a party atmosphere as he waded through throngs of people, each more eager to pat him on the back than the last.
After making it through the excited masses, a PCW staff member rushed over to him.
“It’s time to take some promotional photos of the new champ!” said the staffer. “Follow me!”
Rick Majors was directed down a hallway and into a small room where a backdrop and some lighting had been set up. The photographer asked him to pose with the title, to hold it on his shoulder and over his head and directly in front of the camera. The lights reflected off the belt, causing it to sparkle. It was the most beautiful thing Rick Majors had seen in a long time.
As soon as the photo shoot ended, Majors was whisked off to another room. “We need to change the name plate!” he was told. Majors watched as they unscrewed Holden Ross’ name and replaced it with his own. The king was dead. Long live the king.
“Rick Majors” was now officially written on a PCW championship. It felt incredible.
Rick didn’t have much time to appreciate it though, as a member of the PCW marketing team walked over to him with a stack of eight-by-tens.
“Get signing, champ,” she said. “These are flying off the website like crazy and we need more!”
Rick Majors found a table and placed the photos down on it. It was a decent photo, despite being a few years old. It didn’t really matter though and the photographer had just told him the new ones would be ready soon. Rick started to sign. He was tired. He was in pain. He was starting to feel overwhelmed. But it was okay. He was the champion and this is what champions do. Finally, he felt proud. He was back. This is where he should be. This is what he should be doing. This feels right.
While he signed, someone else walked into the room with a microphone.
“Can I get an interview for the website? Everybody wants to hear from the new champ!”
Just kidding. None of that actually happened. Rick Majors collapsed on his way up the aisle. Medical personnel rushed out to help him. Was that Holden Ross, having been checked by the medical team and apparently cleared, walking by his crumpled body? Rick wasn’t sure. He could barely keep his eyes open. He seemed to recall Holden briefly stopping to look down at his fallen enemy, but that might have been his imagination. Or the blows to the head talking. Doctors began to check Majors’ head and neck, asking him questions over and over.
“What day is it?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Do you remember the end of the match?”
Majors mumbled through his responses, apparently giving the right answers because he was helped to his feet and allowed to walk back to the locker room area on his own, without the medical team present.
As Rick Majors stepped back through the curtain, it was quiet. Half of the lights were out. He'd been down at ringside for quite some time. The show was long over. A few members of the production team rushed around, taking down monitors and microphones and packing equipment into storage containers. At the end of the hallway, a janitor slowly swept up. Rick Majors could hear a few cars start up in the parking lot, but not much else was happening. Trauma was over. The last of audience was filtering out of the building. Most of the wrestlers and referees had already left.
Rick Majors limped down a hallway, struggling to hold the Underground Title in his right hand and steady himself along the wall with his left. He finally reached his locker room, placed the title down on the bench, and tried to sit down himself. But he slipped and fell. From his position on the cold cement, he looked up at the PCW Underground Championship, which still proudly displayed Holden Ross’ name. It felt just like his enemy was looking down at him. Again. Despite the name plate, Rick Majors was Underground Champion. But did it really matter? For several moments he remained on the floor, both unable and unwilling to get up. He was tired. He was in pain. He was starting to tear up.
Slowly he returned to his feet and shuffled off to the shower. When he was done showering and changing, he packed the belt in his bag and walked out of his locker room. The scene was even darker, quieter, and more deserted than before. Suddenly, the lights in the entire backstage area went out. Rick Majors stopped and stood in the dark, unsure of what to do next.
“Hello?” he called. “HELLOOOOO?”
There was no response. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Guided by its dull flashlight, he slowly started to walk through the building. The weight of the gym bag on his shoulder made it difficult to maintain his balance, so it took quite some time for him to move throughout the arena. By the exit doors he ran into an arena employee.
“Oh, sorry about the lights,” the employee remarked. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”
Majors shrugged him off and the employee walked away. Rick slowly walked out to his car, staggering as he went. He felt dizzy and a tad disoriented. He stopped to compose himself, putting the bag down to relieve himself of the weight. Would it be better to take a cab home? Possibly.
He picked up the bag and continued his walk to the car.
After what seemed like a painful eternity, he reached his vehicle, unlocked it, threw his bag down in the back. He shut the door and placed his hand on it for a while, steadying himself. Rick Majors limped around, opened the driver's door, and took a seat behind the wheel. Once seated, he took a deep breath.
His head is throbbing. His neck hurts something awful. This is worse pain than he’s usually in after a match. He knew Holden Ross would beat the hell out of him, but this is bad. Rick Majors leaned back in his seat. His eyes slowly started to close.
He’s awoken by the vibration of his phone.
“Shit.”
He fell asleep. It’s been over an hour since he got into the car. At least his head isn’t throbbing anymore. He slowly takes his phone and looks at it. The message that woke him up is about the next Trauma card. He’s booked to defend his title against High Tide.
High Tide is back. He put on a hell of a fight tonight, despite losing his match, and now he’s coming for the Underground crown. Rick Majors knew being the Underground Champion would be demanding, but perhaps this is a little too much. Maybe he should have thought this whole thing through a bit more, but there’s no turning back now.
Majors sighs loudly and starts up the car. He drives it to the exit of the parking lot. The arm doesn’t come up. He backs up a bit, moves forward, and tries again. Nothing. The arena is shut down. The lights were shut off and there was one guy walking around an hour ago when he was leaving. Surely there’s no one around now. He sighs again, then drives his car back to the parking spot he just left.
He cuts the engine, tilts his seat back, and closes his eyes once more. The new PCW Underground Champion is going to sleep in his car.
