Post by Ace Anderson on Mar 13, 2006 10:24:03 GMT -5
I slowly bring my car to a halt, and place it in park. Unstrapping my seatbelt, I exhale a short breath. 'What am I doing here?' I think to myself. Not sure why I thought that, because I know exactly why. It is something that I've been putting off for a long time. I take a deep breath once more, and then ring my hands on my steering wheel. "Come on Jason, what the fuck are you so afraid of?" I question myself aloud. 'Am I afraid?' my thoughts begin to run astray, 'or is it the wrong thing that I'm afraid of?' Being scared is not something that I've grown accustomed to, so I don't know how to approach it. I'm not even sure if it's fear that I'm feeling right now. Either way, I know what I have to do. I grab the bouquet of assorted flowers off the passenger's seat, and I get out of the car. Closing the door behind me, I turn to look out upon the graveyard.
I don't know what it is, but every time I look at a graveyard, I get the chills. This probably happens to a lot of people. It's that uneasy stillness that gets me. So peaceful, but it's still an eerie peace. Row upon row of headstones, the occasional big monument, tribute to a rich guy who kicked the bucket. I don't think he'd care about what was above his dead body. Paying homage my ass, that's just a waste of money that could be going toward something more important. Then again, when you got the money to chuck around like a worn baseball, in the words of Larry the Cable Guy, git-er-done. I begin to scan the graveyard slowly, staring blankly at the sea of marble, granite, etc. I walk across the street, looking both ways, to make sure I don't lose my life before the most important match of my career. The Prophet is the last thing I want to think about right now, though. Today has only one purpose as far as I'm concerned. I step up into the graveyard, and meet with a strange omen. A light rain begins to fall down upon my head, just a little drizzle, but still strange. I'm not even sure if rain was in the forecast or not. For all I know, it could be raining on just this spot.
I walk through the rows, past countless headstones. After what seems like an eternity, I arrive at my destination. I look down at the simple headstone, and the inscription places a frog in my throat.
R.I.P. Jason McDonald Sr.
Beloved Husband, and Father
You will never be forgotten.
At the bottom, is has one of Dad's favorite sayings. "Hope has no boundaries." I whisper to myself. I've grown to know that phrase all too well over the years, and it has been a sort of guiding light, through my early time in wrestling. While at the Hearts School of Wrestling, I often recited it to myself, because my hopes of becoming a professional wrester were beyond anything I could ever imagine. I immediately think about Game Over. It's hard not to. But I have to put it off, at least for now. This time is about me and Dad, and the things that I have to say. I place the bouquet of flowers down by his grave, and I kneel down in front of his headstone.
"I miss you Dad. I know I haven't said it yet, but I do think about you all the time. I've been mixed up in my work, and I'm sorry. Over the last week or so, I've went through some changes in my lifestyle. A month ago, I would have thought I was a blubbering sack of weakness, and a bit foolish for doing this, but I feel as though I owe you this one. What I'm here for, is to pay tribute to you, for being a great mentor, a great friend, but most importantly, the best father. The best father a boy could want, the best father a man could want. It is because of you that I am a lord among men, and it is because of you that I will remain that way. I love you, and I only want to make you proud. I'm sure I've done that already, but it will never be enough to satisfy all that you have done for me. I've been winning for myself for all this time, and now I need to start winning for a meaningful cause. That cause is you Dad, and for you, I can only exceed expectations." I say quietly, as though it was prepared. When you speak from the heart, it always sounds heroic.
I now remove the chain with the medallion from my neck, and I kiss it gently. "You never told me about this before. I will cherish this until I die, and then I will pass it on to somebody who is deserving, if not my own child. I don't know if I could ever have a child. I would never be able to match up to you as a father. I can't even think about that right now, that would just add to the list of things I'm not prepared for. My match at Game Over is one of them. I know that if you were here, you'd say something to help me out, to prepare me. But you're not, and I can't tihnk of anything to prepare myself any longer. This is going to be a hard match for me, Dad, and nobody expects me to win," I explain, as though he can hear me. I place the chain back around my neck, and I tuck the medallion in under my shirt, "but maybe those are my favoured conditions. Going back to being the underdog. It's been a while since nobody expected anything of me. It will be refreshing. Once I prove to the world why I am the World Champion, then maybe they'll finally begin to respect me. No matter what, though, I know you will always be proud. I love you, Dad."
I stand up from his grave, and I walk away. Back down the rows of headstones, through the final resting place of so many great fathers. So many great mothers. Great people who were loved by many. When I pass, who will be left to love me? Mom will. But is that it? People will be saddened by my death, I think, but only one person actually loves me. I'm not even too sure about that right now. How foolish of me to think my own mother doesn't love me, but I don't give her much reason to. Maybe I need to make a family of my own. I need to carry on my legacy. I can't have a child. Maybe I just need to find a protege. Not now I don't. Nearing the end of my career, I shall take somebody under my wing. That is my goal for the future. But my goal for right now, is to defeat The Prophet at Game Over. Tackle your goals one at a time. Don't try to take on the whole world at once.
It's like a game of Risk. You don't just go and attack everything that you can in the first turn. You slowly work your way through, building your forces, slowly taking opposing territories. Building a solid defence, and then turning that into an even stronger offence. This is what I must do. Take my goals one at a time. Starting with Game Over. Retaining my World Championship. Old Marcus Murdoc won't know what hit him. If Ace Anderson is better than The Prophet, and Jason McDonald is better than Marcus Murdoc, what does that say about Game Over? It spells game over for The Prophet.
I climb into my car, and strap on my seatbelt. My train of thought is wrecked by the familiar tone of my cellular phone ringing. I pull it out of my pocket, and check the display window to see who is calling. My agent. Don't really like the guy, but he is good at his job so I keep him around. I open up the phone, and bring it up to my ear. "What is it?" I say, with a hint of annoyance in my voice.
His voice sounds uneasy, as if he is afraid of my reaction. "Remember last month, when you got that thing for speeding or whatever?" I think back to before Mass Destruction. The cop that gave me the fine. Plus two hours of community service. This couldn't be about that, could it?
"Is this about the community service?" I ask him, getting straight to the point.
"Unforunately, yeah, Ace. Two hours of community service, and they want you to go spend those two hours at the homeless shelter. It looks like they watch E!." he tells me, his voice still uneasy.
I can't believe what I just heard. The Ace Anderson side of me is sickened by what I've just heard. The Jason McDonald side, isn't too optimistic either. I suppose it's better to get it over with though. "What time do I have to be there?"
"As soon as you can get there, Ace. The clock starts once the people who work there know that you're there. You have to stay there exactly two hours, no matter what. Those are the stipulations." he explains to me.
"Reminds me of a handicapped two hour ironman match. It will be about as fun." I say sarcastically.
"Try to look on the bright side, Ace. At least you get to meet some interesting people." he says, trying not to laugh, "so here's the deal. Get to the shelter in Boston as fast as you can. Bye now." He hangs up the phone, and I close mine. I ironically know where this place is, because I've passed it a few times on my way to the gym. I start up my car, and I drive in the direction of the shelter.
I arrive in front of the homeless shelter, and I shut off my car. How bad could it be? Two hours with some homeless people. If I can last in the ring for an hour with Non Compos Mentis, whom I have to touch and stuff, I'm pretty sure I can handle two hours with a few homeless people who I don't have to touch. I walk in through the doors, and I expect a reaction. There is usually a reaction anywhere that I go, being the World Champion, and hating on everybody on television like I do. There isn't a reaction, though. There is about 20 homeless people in there, and they are all sitting around, talking to each other. It is at that instant, when nobody reacted to me coming, that I came to see clearly what I had been missing in regards to homeless people. The key word in that sentence. People. They have more in common with me than I give them credit for. They don't know me. I don't know them. Whatever brought me to such a horrible preconceived notion, I can't pinpoint. I've spent all of this time "hating" people who don't even know or care that I exist. They have much bigger things to worry about. Eating, a place to sleep, everything that I take for granted. The compassion hit me like a tsunami, all of a sudden I wanted to help them. I shake my head. Why would I help them? They are dirty, and disgusting, and they have diseases. Or do they? Are they simply people who can't make ends meet, people with families, people with others who love them. Walking into this place, makes me realize how horrible I am. They're not the ones who have been suffering, I've been suffering, by not seeing how blessed I am to have what I have. I am idolized by many, and just as many don't even know that I exist. In four seconds, my perfect world came crashing down on me. It stings.
Somebody approaches me, and snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Are you okay buddy?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm Jason McDonald, or Ace Anderson, whatever you wanna call me." I tell him, not sure if he's seen me on television or not.
He looks me up and down, then stares at my Air Zoom Vick III's that I always wear, and then says to me, "You look much bigger on TV. Now, follow me." I follow him, reluctant to find out what I'm supposed to do, and yet, eager all the same. I want to help these people, because it isn't fair for them to have to go through what they go through. It's not their choice, and every person should be able to have a choice. He leads me to a little room in the back, and then he begins to speak again. I listen attentively, "So this is a place where people without a home can come to get out of the rain, and get out of the cold, and get some food. It's not the best food, but they don't care. It is a bit ironic that the court made you come here, with all that you've said about the homeless on television."
"I'm starting to have second thoughts about everything I've said." I interupt, I felt like I had to get that out there.
He shoots me a look, "Interesting. Now, they tell me you have to be here for a couple hours, so all you gotta do, is take this tray of sandwiches and give them out to people. There's enough for everyone there, and try not to miss anyone." I take the tray, and I walk out of the room, and into the main part of the building. I walk over to a couple of people who are closest to me, and they each take a sandwich. They mumble their thanks, and continue on with their conversation. I walk across the room to another group of people, who are laughing. To think, they live in such poor conditions, yet they can still laugh and have a good time. How have I been so foolish? They each take a sandwich, say thank you, and continue to laugh at each other's jokes. After I distribute all of the sandwiches, I return back to the guy who is standing in front of the room in the back. I hand him the tray, and he puts it inside.
The next hour and fourty five minutes are a blur. So many thoughts running through my head, while I look out at all of these poor souls and wish that they had houses to go back to, warm beds, anything that resembles what I get to experience every day. Once I am done of my community service, I shake the hands of everyone in the shelter. I don't care that their hands are dirty. Dirt wahes off. To shake the hands of those with a will as great as theirs, that is an honor.
All of the preconceived notions about homeless people, about them doing drugs and being alcoholics, it makes sense. It's not like they can get jobs when they don't have clothes aside from what is on their body. They can't make money because they can't get jobs. They can't save up their money, so what else do you want them to do with the money that they get? They try to find refuge in drugs and alcohol. It's not good for them. It has to change. I decide that I need to take my newfound compassion to the next level. Once I return to my car, I climb into the driver's seat, stop for about five minutes, and just let the thoughts roll. Finally, I pick up my cellular. I call up my agent.
"What can I do for you, boss?" he says as he picks up the phone.
I pause for a few seconds, and then I make my decision. "See what you can do about opening up the Jason McDonald Sr. Save the Homeless Foundation."
His voice changes drastically from the last time he spoke. He sounds shocked, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No I'm not fucking kidding you, asshole. Do it or you're fired." I tell him, to show him that I mean business.
"Right away, boss." he says, his voice jumbled, as he hangs up the phone.
I can make a difference, and I will make a difference. Inside the ring, and outside of it. Dad would be glad that I finally see the light.
I don't know what it is, but every time I look at a graveyard, I get the chills. This probably happens to a lot of people. It's that uneasy stillness that gets me. So peaceful, but it's still an eerie peace. Row upon row of headstones, the occasional big monument, tribute to a rich guy who kicked the bucket. I don't think he'd care about what was above his dead body. Paying homage my ass, that's just a waste of money that could be going toward something more important. Then again, when you got the money to chuck around like a worn baseball, in the words of Larry the Cable Guy, git-er-done. I begin to scan the graveyard slowly, staring blankly at the sea of marble, granite, etc. I walk across the street, looking both ways, to make sure I don't lose my life before the most important match of my career. The Prophet is the last thing I want to think about right now, though. Today has only one purpose as far as I'm concerned. I step up into the graveyard, and meet with a strange omen. A light rain begins to fall down upon my head, just a little drizzle, but still strange. I'm not even sure if rain was in the forecast or not. For all I know, it could be raining on just this spot.
I walk through the rows, past countless headstones. After what seems like an eternity, I arrive at my destination. I look down at the simple headstone, and the inscription places a frog in my throat.
R.I.P. Jason McDonald Sr.
Beloved Husband, and Father
You will never be forgotten.
At the bottom, is has one of Dad's favorite sayings. "Hope has no boundaries." I whisper to myself. I've grown to know that phrase all too well over the years, and it has been a sort of guiding light, through my early time in wrestling. While at the Hearts School of Wrestling, I often recited it to myself, because my hopes of becoming a professional wrester were beyond anything I could ever imagine. I immediately think about Game Over. It's hard not to. But I have to put it off, at least for now. This time is about me and Dad, and the things that I have to say. I place the bouquet of flowers down by his grave, and I kneel down in front of his headstone.
"I miss you Dad. I know I haven't said it yet, but I do think about you all the time. I've been mixed up in my work, and I'm sorry. Over the last week or so, I've went through some changes in my lifestyle. A month ago, I would have thought I was a blubbering sack of weakness, and a bit foolish for doing this, but I feel as though I owe you this one. What I'm here for, is to pay tribute to you, for being a great mentor, a great friend, but most importantly, the best father. The best father a boy could want, the best father a man could want. It is because of you that I am a lord among men, and it is because of you that I will remain that way. I love you, and I only want to make you proud. I'm sure I've done that already, but it will never be enough to satisfy all that you have done for me. I've been winning for myself for all this time, and now I need to start winning for a meaningful cause. That cause is you Dad, and for you, I can only exceed expectations." I say quietly, as though it was prepared. When you speak from the heart, it always sounds heroic.
I now remove the chain with the medallion from my neck, and I kiss it gently. "You never told me about this before. I will cherish this until I die, and then I will pass it on to somebody who is deserving, if not my own child. I don't know if I could ever have a child. I would never be able to match up to you as a father. I can't even think about that right now, that would just add to the list of things I'm not prepared for. My match at Game Over is one of them. I know that if you were here, you'd say something to help me out, to prepare me. But you're not, and I can't tihnk of anything to prepare myself any longer. This is going to be a hard match for me, Dad, and nobody expects me to win," I explain, as though he can hear me. I place the chain back around my neck, and I tuck the medallion in under my shirt, "but maybe those are my favoured conditions. Going back to being the underdog. It's been a while since nobody expected anything of me. It will be refreshing. Once I prove to the world why I am the World Champion, then maybe they'll finally begin to respect me. No matter what, though, I know you will always be proud. I love you, Dad."
I stand up from his grave, and I walk away. Back down the rows of headstones, through the final resting place of so many great fathers. So many great mothers. Great people who were loved by many. When I pass, who will be left to love me? Mom will. But is that it? People will be saddened by my death, I think, but only one person actually loves me. I'm not even too sure about that right now. How foolish of me to think my own mother doesn't love me, but I don't give her much reason to. Maybe I need to make a family of my own. I need to carry on my legacy. I can't have a child. Maybe I just need to find a protege. Not now I don't. Nearing the end of my career, I shall take somebody under my wing. That is my goal for the future. But my goal for right now, is to defeat The Prophet at Game Over. Tackle your goals one at a time. Don't try to take on the whole world at once.
It's like a game of Risk. You don't just go and attack everything that you can in the first turn. You slowly work your way through, building your forces, slowly taking opposing territories. Building a solid defence, and then turning that into an even stronger offence. This is what I must do. Take my goals one at a time. Starting with Game Over. Retaining my World Championship. Old Marcus Murdoc won't know what hit him. If Ace Anderson is better than The Prophet, and Jason McDonald is better than Marcus Murdoc, what does that say about Game Over? It spells game over for The Prophet.
I climb into my car, and strap on my seatbelt. My train of thought is wrecked by the familiar tone of my cellular phone ringing. I pull it out of my pocket, and check the display window to see who is calling. My agent. Don't really like the guy, but he is good at his job so I keep him around. I open up the phone, and bring it up to my ear. "What is it?" I say, with a hint of annoyance in my voice.
His voice sounds uneasy, as if he is afraid of my reaction. "Remember last month, when you got that thing for speeding or whatever?" I think back to before Mass Destruction. The cop that gave me the fine. Plus two hours of community service. This couldn't be about that, could it?
"Is this about the community service?" I ask him, getting straight to the point.
"Unforunately, yeah, Ace. Two hours of community service, and they want you to go spend those two hours at the homeless shelter. It looks like they watch E!." he tells me, his voice still uneasy.
I can't believe what I just heard. The Ace Anderson side of me is sickened by what I've just heard. The Jason McDonald side, isn't too optimistic either. I suppose it's better to get it over with though. "What time do I have to be there?"
"As soon as you can get there, Ace. The clock starts once the people who work there know that you're there. You have to stay there exactly two hours, no matter what. Those are the stipulations." he explains to me.
"Reminds me of a handicapped two hour ironman match. It will be about as fun." I say sarcastically.
"Try to look on the bright side, Ace. At least you get to meet some interesting people." he says, trying not to laugh, "so here's the deal. Get to the shelter in Boston as fast as you can. Bye now." He hangs up the phone, and I close mine. I ironically know where this place is, because I've passed it a few times on my way to the gym. I start up my car, and I drive in the direction of the shelter.
I arrive in front of the homeless shelter, and I shut off my car. How bad could it be? Two hours with some homeless people. If I can last in the ring for an hour with Non Compos Mentis, whom I have to touch and stuff, I'm pretty sure I can handle two hours with a few homeless people who I don't have to touch. I walk in through the doors, and I expect a reaction. There is usually a reaction anywhere that I go, being the World Champion, and hating on everybody on television like I do. There isn't a reaction, though. There is about 20 homeless people in there, and they are all sitting around, talking to each other. It is at that instant, when nobody reacted to me coming, that I came to see clearly what I had been missing in regards to homeless people. The key word in that sentence. People. They have more in common with me than I give them credit for. They don't know me. I don't know them. Whatever brought me to such a horrible preconceived notion, I can't pinpoint. I've spent all of this time "hating" people who don't even know or care that I exist. They have much bigger things to worry about. Eating, a place to sleep, everything that I take for granted. The compassion hit me like a tsunami, all of a sudden I wanted to help them. I shake my head. Why would I help them? They are dirty, and disgusting, and they have diseases. Or do they? Are they simply people who can't make ends meet, people with families, people with others who love them. Walking into this place, makes me realize how horrible I am. They're not the ones who have been suffering, I've been suffering, by not seeing how blessed I am to have what I have. I am idolized by many, and just as many don't even know that I exist. In four seconds, my perfect world came crashing down on me. It stings.
Somebody approaches me, and snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Are you okay buddy?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm Jason McDonald, or Ace Anderson, whatever you wanna call me." I tell him, not sure if he's seen me on television or not.
He looks me up and down, then stares at my Air Zoom Vick III's that I always wear, and then says to me, "You look much bigger on TV. Now, follow me." I follow him, reluctant to find out what I'm supposed to do, and yet, eager all the same. I want to help these people, because it isn't fair for them to have to go through what they go through. It's not their choice, and every person should be able to have a choice. He leads me to a little room in the back, and then he begins to speak again. I listen attentively, "So this is a place where people without a home can come to get out of the rain, and get out of the cold, and get some food. It's not the best food, but they don't care. It is a bit ironic that the court made you come here, with all that you've said about the homeless on television."
"I'm starting to have second thoughts about everything I've said." I interupt, I felt like I had to get that out there.
He shoots me a look, "Interesting. Now, they tell me you have to be here for a couple hours, so all you gotta do, is take this tray of sandwiches and give them out to people. There's enough for everyone there, and try not to miss anyone." I take the tray, and I walk out of the room, and into the main part of the building. I walk over to a couple of people who are closest to me, and they each take a sandwich. They mumble their thanks, and continue on with their conversation. I walk across the room to another group of people, who are laughing. To think, they live in such poor conditions, yet they can still laugh and have a good time. How have I been so foolish? They each take a sandwich, say thank you, and continue to laugh at each other's jokes. After I distribute all of the sandwiches, I return back to the guy who is standing in front of the room in the back. I hand him the tray, and he puts it inside.
The next hour and fourty five minutes are a blur. So many thoughts running through my head, while I look out at all of these poor souls and wish that they had houses to go back to, warm beds, anything that resembles what I get to experience every day. Once I am done of my community service, I shake the hands of everyone in the shelter. I don't care that their hands are dirty. Dirt wahes off. To shake the hands of those with a will as great as theirs, that is an honor.
All of the preconceived notions about homeless people, about them doing drugs and being alcoholics, it makes sense. It's not like they can get jobs when they don't have clothes aside from what is on their body. They can't make money because they can't get jobs. They can't save up their money, so what else do you want them to do with the money that they get? They try to find refuge in drugs and alcohol. It's not good for them. It has to change. I decide that I need to take my newfound compassion to the next level. Once I return to my car, I climb into the driver's seat, stop for about five minutes, and just let the thoughts roll. Finally, I pick up my cellular. I call up my agent.
"What can I do for you, boss?" he says as he picks up the phone.
I pause for a few seconds, and then I make my decision. "See what you can do about opening up the Jason McDonald Sr. Save the Homeless Foundation."
His voice changes drastically from the last time he spoke. He sounds shocked, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No I'm not fucking kidding you, asshole. Do it or you're fired." I tell him, to show him that I mean business.
"Right away, boss." he says, his voice jumbled, as he hangs up the phone.
I can make a difference, and I will make a difference. Inside the ring, and outside of it. Dad would be glad that I finally see the light.