Post by Ace Anderson on May 5, 2006 15:20:01 GMT -5
‘Alright Ace, it’s time to finish this one off.’ I thought to myself, as I looked across the ring at the winded Pegasus. We were both tired. We had been battling back and forth for what was probably about 15 minutes. I decided it was time to take a stand, and move in for the kill. I began to advance on him, and he came at me.
DING! DING! DING!
The bell rang. Why? The match isn’t over, we’re both still standing here. I stand up straight, and look at the referee. He is calling the match a no contest. Mark Long is standing outside the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this match has been declared a 20 minute time limit draw!” he says into the microphone. The look on my face changes from confused to angry. I’m sneering at the referee now, and I turn and roll out of the ring. I storm down the ramp, and into the backstage area. I start flipping tables, and hitting things as I walk by. I reach my locker room, and I throw open the door.
Once inside, I punch my locker, hard. It would probably hurt my hand if not for the adrenaline surging through my body.
“A TIME LIMIT DRAW? What in the FUCK were you thinking?” I yell out loud, entirely at myself. I can feel the anger rising, bubbling up until it is almost over the top. “A FUCKING TIME LIMIT DRAW!” I’m screaming now. I’m sure everyone can hear me. I don’t care as of right now. They can come in here and try to calm me down. “Why didn’t you just finish him off, why didn’t you just take him to school like you know you can. Why didn’t you run him through like a pirate gutting the captain of a merchant ship? You could have finished the match whenever you wanted, but instead, you have to draw it out, and you get issued a draw. Imbecile.” I’m still talking to myself. Or maybe it’s Ace talking to me. I can’t tell. Although I’m just as angry as anybody would be, I know Ace is even more angry. Anything but a victory is horrible in his eyes. He didn’t lose the match, but he didn’t win either.
I start to take off my Air Zoom Vick’s, and once they are off, I remove my pants. I get in the shower. The entire time I’m in the shower, I want to beat myself up for not finishing the match earlier. I get out of the shower, soaking wet, and I dry myself off. I put on a different pair of track pants, and put my Air Zoom Vick’s back on. I don a black t-shirt, and I sit down in a chair.
What is happening to me? I’m getting in more fights with myself than I am in that ring. I can’t decide what is controlling my life...my emotions, or my career. There is nothing I want more than to succeed, but I also want to be able to feel. It’s tough to do both. How can I explain to Katelyn that I don’t know what is more important, my obvious feelings for her, or my will to remain World Champion. I won’t be the World Champion for long if I keep showing all of this weakness. Somebody will come up and capitalize, whether it is Lantlas, The Prophet, Pegasus, or Jesus Christ himself. Nobody wants me to hold this belt. I look down at the World Championship that I left sitting on another chair in my locker room.
This isn’t a show of your standing, this doesn’t make people respect you and look to you as the best wrestler the company has to offer. Hell no, this is simply a target, a giant bulls-eye. It makes everyone want to take out their crossbows and shotguns and send you to an early demise. They’ll point fingers, saying you’re the paper champion, you don’t deserve what you have, say that they can best your skills in that ring. Right now, I’m starting to believe that my skills are dropping. I did beat Lantlas, but I’m becoming like precise in that ring. My matches are becoming drawn out, I am giving the fans something to enjoy, and that’s the last thing I want.
I don’t want them to come here to enjoy themselves, I don’t want them to have a good time while they watch me wrestle. I want them to hate me. I don’t want them to love me because I keep them entertained. I want the boos, not the cheers when I do something impressive. I want to get paid to make them hate me, not to make them happy. I don’t know what’s come over me, but all of a sudden I’m starting to sound like Ace Anderson.
I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to be like Ace Anderson. A heartless bastard who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He is merely a persona I assume whenever I am in that ring, or in this arena, or in public and want to keep up my ruse. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I’m starting to despise Ace Anderson. I want to be Jason McDonald, full time. But I don’t know if Jason could cut it in this business. I don’t know if he is full of enough arrogance, enough cockiness, enough hatred, to make the fans hate him back. I need to talk to Katelyn. I really, really need to. I have to calm down. I have to stop thinking all of these crazy thoughts. I need to pull myself together. Ace Anderson is all about being composed, collected, and right now I am everything but.
I sift through my things until I find my cell phone. I find her number in my phone book, and I call it. It begins to ring. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Soon it’s at seven rings, and she has yet to answer. I let it get to ten rings before I close it, sighing. Why isn’t she answering? It would be great if I could talk to her. She’s probably doing something important. More important than me.
‘Listen to yourself. Fucking pathetic. Talking like a real bitch, you are. Ace Anderson can’t believe how much you are hating yourself right now. Keep your fucking chin up, asshole. It might have been a draw instead of a win, and your bitch isn’t answering the phone, but it’s not like you won’t be able to exact your revenge, and it’s not like she won’t be around later on. Greatness is disgusting by you right now. Simply disgusted.’
I’m talking to myself again. But I’m talking as somebody else. Why does he always make such good points? Sure, I’m pissed that I didn’t win, and sure, Katelyn isn’t answering. But patience is a virtue. I’ll get what I deserve, in due time. I’m calm now, and I turn to the TV monitor in my room, to watch the broadcast of the triple threat match.
Anthony Douglas is such a loser. He can’t take defeat. From watching his promos, he is the most redundant person ever, and he’s possibly more cocky than Ace Anderson himself. This guy thinks that the sun rises and sets on his ass. Well, not as cocky as Ace Anderson. Ace Anderson KNOWS that the universe revolves around his dominance. Just not tonight. Everyone is entitled to a slip, even God slipped. Just not often. My attention reverts back to the monitor, to see Lantlas getting hit with a spinning powerbomb into the turnbuckle. Maybe he’ll lose this match. Except when the big monster goes to grab him, Lantlas rolls him up in a small package. The referee counts to three as Douglas is sliding into the ring, not in time to break up the count. I’m sure Douglas will complain about how he didn’t get pinned by Lantlas, yet again, but that’s besides the point. Lantlas picked up another victory. This guy is on a tear. Too bad his only defeat came at the hands of Greatness in the Flesh. Yes, a World Title match is eminent. Ace Anderson vs. Lantlas. I turn off the monitor, and I gather up my things. I head out the back door, as usual, and get into my car. A long drive home is in order. A LOT of time to reflect.
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I would usually stay in Greenville, but I planned on going home and seeing Katelyn. By the time I reached home, I was so tired that I went to my bed and immediately crashed. I don’t know why I always drive the fifteen to twenty hours home right after a show. It just seems to help me collect my thoughts and work out any inner problems that I have. This time, the drive home was full of a lot of wondering. When will I have to defend my World Title again, when will I see Katelyn again, things like that. I found out the answer to my first question as soon as I woke up.
After I showered and such, I went into my computer room the check the card, as it is usually posted by now. Turns out I was right. Second last match of the night. Ace Anderson vs. Pegasus. Rematch. However, I don’t catch the text above those two names until after I read over the entire card. World Championship Match?!? A grin comes across my face. Pegasus...prepare to feel the wrath of Greatness in the Flesh. This time, it’s for all the marbles. It’s for Ace Anderson’s most prized possession. There won’t be a chance for a time limit draw here, it’s going to be a LOT of pain, a bit of suffering, and maybe even some blood. When it’s for the World Championship, that’s when it’s personal.
I immediately headed out to my barn to start some training. I was completely rested, having slept for about 12-13 hours, and there is no better time to start preparing than right now. I get into the barn, and I change into my training gear. Air Zoom Vick’s, obviously, but I wear ankle weights and wrists weights sometimes. This helps me become quicker on my feet, and it strengthens my calves. The wrist weights improve my hand speed. Ace Anderson doesn’t plan on giving Pegasus a chance in this one. After about an hour of working out, I decided to go watch some tapes. Gotta find out Pegasus’ style. I didn’t really watch any last week, and that’s probably why we fought to a draw. I’ll definitely watch the match from last week, as well as some other ones where he is really in his prime. I know he’s going to be ready for me this time...I’ll just make sure that Ace Anderson is even more ready.
Just as I sit down on my couch in front of my television to begin watching some footage, my cell phone rings. I don’t even know why I pay the house phone bill, nobody ever calls it. Then again, who fucking cares, I’m rich. I look at the call display window.
‘Katelyn’
I feel a chill go down my spine. My arms start to tingle. I get a huge smile on my face, I can tell, even though I can’t see it. I open it up.
“Hey baby.” I say, in a soothing voice.
“Baby? What are we, going steady now?” she says, mocking me.
“Well, I would say we were if it was alright with you.” I reply.
“Of course it’s alright with me, ya big oaf.” she says laughing. I can picture those eyes now, and those lips. I imagine her smile.
“So what’s up?” I ask her. I hate the phone so much, but for some reason it’s not bad when I’m talking to her.
“Just wondering when I can see you again. Hoping that it’s today.” she says. I wince. I have to get this done. I have to be ready. This is for the World Title. Ace Anderson’s pride and joy.
“We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow. There is some work I have to do. I want to see you, but I have a World Title match coming up. I hope you understand.” I say, hoping she’s not too upset.
“I’ve thought about this. I realized that becoming involved with you would mean that sometimes I would have to take second place to your profession. You are, after all, a professional.” she says. I can’t believe it. I may have found the perfect woman. Smart, beautiful, understanding. She’s too good to be true. I make sure she knows I feel that way.
“You’re just too good to be true.” I say.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m entirely false. I don’t even exist.” she says, joking.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, how does that sound?” I ask her.
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll let you get back to your work. Goodbye.” she says.
“Goodbye.” I say to her, as I wait for the sound of her phone hanging up. I hear it, and then I hang up as well. I set my phone down, and press play on my remote. The match from last night turns on. I grab my notebook, and begin to write things down. Pegasus better be ready, because there will be blood.
DING! DING! DING!
The bell rang. Why? The match isn’t over, we’re both still standing here. I stand up straight, and look at the referee. He is calling the match a no contest. Mark Long is standing outside the ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this match has been declared a 20 minute time limit draw!” he says into the microphone. The look on my face changes from confused to angry. I’m sneering at the referee now, and I turn and roll out of the ring. I storm down the ramp, and into the backstage area. I start flipping tables, and hitting things as I walk by. I reach my locker room, and I throw open the door.
Once inside, I punch my locker, hard. It would probably hurt my hand if not for the adrenaline surging through my body.
“A TIME LIMIT DRAW? What in the FUCK were you thinking?” I yell out loud, entirely at myself. I can feel the anger rising, bubbling up until it is almost over the top. “A FUCKING TIME LIMIT DRAW!” I’m screaming now. I’m sure everyone can hear me. I don’t care as of right now. They can come in here and try to calm me down. “Why didn’t you just finish him off, why didn’t you just take him to school like you know you can. Why didn’t you run him through like a pirate gutting the captain of a merchant ship? You could have finished the match whenever you wanted, but instead, you have to draw it out, and you get issued a draw. Imbecile.” I’m still talking to myself. Or maybe it’s Ace talking to me. I can’t tell. Although I’m just as angry as anybody would be, I know Ace is even more angry. Anything but a victory is horrible in his eyes. He didn’t lose the match, but he didn’t win either.
I start to take off my Air Zoom Vick’s, and once they are off, I remove my pants. I get in the shower. The entire time I’m in the shower, I want to beat myself up for not finishing the match earlier. I get out of the shower, soaking wet, and I dry myself off. I put on a different pair of track pants, and put my Air Zoom Vick’s back on. I don a black t-shirt, and I sit down in a chair.
What is happening to me? I’m getting in more fights with myself than I am in that ring. I can’t decide what is controlling my life...my emotions, or my career. There is nothing I want more than to succeed, but I also want to be able to feel. It’s tough to do both. How can I explain to Katelyn that I don’t know what is more important, my obvious feelings for her, or my will to remain World Champion. I won’t be the World Champion for long if I keep showing all of this weakness. Somebody will come up and capitalize, whether it is Lantlas, The Prophet, Pegasus, or Jesus Christ himself. Nobody wants me to hold this belt. I look down at the World Championship that I left sitting on another chair in my locker room.
This isn’t a show of your standing, this doesn’t make people respect you and look to you as the best wrestler the company has to offer. Hell no, this is simply a target, a giant bulls-eye. It makes everyone want to take out their crossbows and shotguns and send you to an early demise. They’ll point fingers, saying you’re the paper champion, you don’t deserve what you have, say that they can best your skills in that ring. Right now, I’m starting to believe that my skills are dropping. I did beat Lantlas, but I’m becoming like precise in that ring. My matches are becoming drawn out, I am giving the fans something to enjoy, and that’s the last thing I want.
I don’t want them to come here to enjoy themselves, I don’t want them to have a good time while they watch me wrestle. I want them to hate me. I don’t want them to love me because I keep them entertained. I want the boos, not the cheers when I do something impressive. I want to get paid to make them hate me, not to make them happy. I don’t know what’s come over me, but all of a sudden I’m starting to sound like Ace Anderson.
I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to be like Ace Anderson. A heartless bastard who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He is merely a persona I assume whenever I am in that ring, or in this arena, or in public and want to keep up my ruse. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I’m starting to despise Ace Anderson. I want to be Jason McDonald, full time. But I don’t know if Jason could cut it in this business. I don’t know if he is full of enough arrogance, enough cockiness, enough hatred, to make the fans hate him back. I need to talk to Katelyn. I really, really need to. I have to calm down. I have to stop thinking all of these crazy thoughts. I need to pull myself together. Ace Anderson is all about being composed, collected, and right now I am everything but.
I sift through my things until I find my cell phone. I find her number in my phone book, and I call it. It begins to ring. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Soon it’s at seven rings, and she has yet to answer. I let it get to ten rings before I close it, sighing. Why isn’t she answering? It would be great if I could talk to her. She’s probably doing something important. More important than me.
‘Listen to yourself. Fucking pathetic. Talking like a real bitch, you are. Ace Anderson can’t believe how much you are hating yourself right now. Keep your fucking chin up, asshole. It might have been a draw instead of a win, and your bitch isn’t answering the phone, but it’s not like you won’t be able to exact your revenge, and it’s not like she won’t be around later on. Greatness is disgusting by you right now. Simply disgusted.’
I’m talking to myself again. But I’m talking as somebody else. Why does he always make such good points? Sure, I’m pissed that I didn’t win, and sure, Katelyn isn’t answering. But patience is a virtue. I’ll get what I deserve, in due time. I’m calm now, and I turn to the TV monitor in my room, to watch the broadcast of the triple threat match.
Anthony Douglas is such a loser. He can’t take defeat. From watching his promos, he is the most redundant person ever, and he’s possibly more cocky than Ace Anderson himself. This guy thinks that the sun rises and sets on his ass. Well, not as cocky as Ace Anderson. Ace Anderson KNOWS that the universe revolves around his dominance. Just not tonight. Everyone is entitled to a slip, even God slipped. Just not often. My attention reverts back to the monitor, to see Lantlas getting hit with a spinning powerbomb into the turnbuckle. Maybe he’ll lose this match. Except when the big monster goes to grab him, Lantlas rolls him up in a small package. The referee counts to three as Douglas is sliding into the ring, not in time to break up the count. I’m sure Douglas will complain about how he didn’t get pinned by Lantlas, yet again, but that’s besides the point. Lantlas picked up another victory. This guy is on a tear. Too bad his only defeat came at the hands of Greatness in the Flesh. Yes, a World Title match is eminent. Ace Anderson vs. Lantlas. I turn off the monitor, and I gather up my things. I head out the back door, as usual, and get into my car. A long drive home is in order. A LOT of time to reflect.
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I would usually stay in Greenville, but I planned on going home and seeing Katelyn. By the time I reached home, I was so tired that I went to my bed and immediately crashed. I don’t know why I always drive the fifteen to twenty hours home right after a show. It just seems to help me collect my thoughts and work out any inner problems that I have. This time, the drive home was full of a lot of wondering. When will I have to defend my World Title again, when will I see Katelyn again, things like that. I found out the answer to my first question as soon as I woke up.
After I showered and such, I went into my computer room the check the card, as it is usually posted by now. Turns out I was right. Second last match of the night. Ace Anderson vs. Pegasus. Rematch. However, I don’t catch the text above those two names until after I read over the entire card. World Championship Match?!? A grin comes across my face. Pegasus...prepare to feel the wrath of Greatness in the Flesh. This time, it’s for all the marbles. It’s for Ace Anderson’s most prized possession. There won’t be a chance for a time limit draw here, it’s going to be a LOT of pain, a bit of suffering, and maybe even some blood. When it’s for the World Championship, that’s when it’s personal.
I immediately headed out to my barn to start some training. I was completely rested, having slept for about 12-13 hours, and there is no better time to start preparing than right now. I get into the barn, and I change into my training gear. Air Zoom Vick’s, obviously, but I wear ankle weights and wrists weights sometimes. This helps me become quicker on my feet, and it strengthens my calves. The wrist weights improve my hand speed. Ace Anderson doesn’t plan on giving Pegasus a chance in this one. After about an hour of working out, I decided to go watch some tapes. Gotta find out Pegasus’ style. I didn’t really watch any last week, and that’s probably why we fought to a draw. I’ll definitely watch the match from last week, as well as some other ones where he is really in his prime. I know he’s going to be ready for me this time...I’ll just make sure that Ace Anderson is even more ready.
Just as I sit down on my couch in front of my television to begin watching some footage, my cell phone rings. I don’t even know why I pay the house phone bill, nobody ever calls it. Then again, who fucking cares, I’m rich. I look at the call display window.
‘Katelyn’
I feel a chill go down my spine. My arms start to tingle. I get a huge smile on my face, I can tell, even though I can’t see it. I open it up.
“Hey baby.” I say, in a soothing voice.
“Baby? What are we, going steady now?” she says, mocking me.
“Well, I would say we were if it was alright with you.” I reply.
“Of course it’s alright with me, ya big oaf.” she says laughing. I can picture those eyes now, and those lips. I imagine her smile.
“So what’s up?” I ask her. I hate the phone so much, but for some reason it’s not bad when I’m talking to her.
“Just wondering when I can see you again. Hoping that it’s today.” she says. I wince. I have to get this done. I have to be ready. This is for the World Title. Ace Anderson’s pride and joy.
“We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow. There is some work I have to do. I want to see you, but I have a World Title match coming up. I hope you understand.” I say, hoping she’s not too upset.
“I’ve thought about this. I realized that becoming involved with you would mean that sometimes I would have to take second place to your profession. You are, after all, a professional.” she says. I can’t believe it. I may have found the perfect woman. Smart, beautiful, understanding. She’s too good to be true. I make sure she knows I feel that way.
“You’re just too good to be true.” I say.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m entirely false. I don’t even exist.” she says, joking.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, how does that sound?” I ask her.
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll let you get back to your work. Goodbye.” she says.
“Goodbye.” I say to her, as I wait for the sound of her phone hanging up. I hear it, and then I hang up as well. I set my phone down, and press play on my remote. The match from last night turns on. I grab my notebook, and begin to write things down. Pegasus better be ready, because there will be blood.