Post by Deleted on Apr 11, 2006 21:28:22 GMT -5
June 12, 2002, just after midnight
I was moving swiftly through the hall, and I know I had sinister intention.
“Guerra? Where the hell are you?!”
After every slamming door, looking for Gina Guerra, I felt my anger rising. I burst into one room that was completely dark, but for some reason I was curious. I flipped on the lights, and it was Gina Guerra's locker room. Gina, however, seemed to have vacated the premises, and I was just about to leave when I noticed some pictures on a table. Once again out of curiousity, I picked them up. I could feel my face turning completely white as I scanned through the four photographs of Val conversing with Vincent Stecchino. The odd thing about them was that Vince was wearing the same clothes in the picture that he was wearing when I had to identify him at the morgue.
“It was her! Son of a bitch...”
“Lose the "son of a", and you got it right.” I heard the voice behind me, and I knew exactly who it was. I spun around and saw Gina Guerra herself standing there. “Surprised to see me?”
Feeling incredibly stupid, I asked; “What are these pictures?”
“Things aren't always what they seem, Laiman.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think I was tailing you because I like you or something? You men are so thick-headed.”
Interesting… “Explain yourself,” I replied.
Gina rolled her eyes. “Val had Stecchino set up. She was involved with some people that Stecchino wasn't on good terms with, but your boy Vince was talked into meeting her right in the middle of their territory. Like an idiot, he did so, and here you have it.”
“How did you get the pictures of it? I mean, how did you know?”
“Stecchino told me.”
“He did?”
“You weren't around, so he told me to give you the message that he was headed for the Heights. I knew Stecchino's background, and I could tell that it couldn't be anything good. Then, I saw you involved with the same wench, so I figured out a way to get her the hell out of here.”
“Why, though? You could give a damn less about what happens to me?”
“Possibly true, but you are human. Not to mention, if anything happened to you, Uncle Z would have several cases of homicide before the week ended.”
“So what does this mean?”
“Essentially, you owe me one sometime, sooner or later.”
“You're not so bad after all.”
“If only you knew…” Typical Gina fashion. It was hard to argue with her, so I felt it was my time to leave. After all, I was in her locker room. After I walked out the door, I felt myself say out loud; “What the hell was that?”
…
I heard the power chords blast over the PA system, and I heard the roar of the crowd from the sold-out arena. I looked over at Bryan, who was still in wrestling gear after his victory earlier in the evening.
“You’re on, bro!”
I shook my head and looked out towards the stage. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
“Tonight’s your night. Take it.”
I jumped in the air and let out a sigh. I jogged towards the arena, and I heard the crowd’s cheer increase.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your main event for this evening is scheduled for one-fall, and it is for the EWF Heavyweight Championship! Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Bryan Fury, the challenger from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 220 pounds, AL LAIMAN!”
I slid in the ring, absorbing the energy the crowd was giving me. The thumping bass from Rayfield’s music hit, and I focused, trying to remember the promo I delivered him earlier in the week. The words I said that made me feel so focused…
“Perhaps I'm a professional dreamer, sitting under the moon in the dead of night and savoring the senses of peace and silence. So call me a freak for being out in the middle of the night; it's when the world most of you know disappears into their slumber. The arrogance and conceit of typical members of society vanish, and you're left with the luminaires decorating the skies; your path lit by the full moon as the only sounds you hear are the leaves crunching beneath your feet, and the cold wind numbing your cheeks. I'd prefer finding my own measure of peace rather than sleep during the night because that's what society says is the right thing to do. Fuck the norms, I'm sick of living by standards. I'm also sick of being judged by them.
Rayfield, I stand before you a man of integrity and honor. I’ve gotten this far in my rookie year in the business, and it isn't just pure luck that I'm still able to stand here. I'm not some naive little kid who wandered down the wrong alley; I know exactly what I'm getting myself into, but I don't believe you do. I've acknowledged the fact that I'm in for a helluva fight, and I know damn well you're not a random walk-in either. Your blindness will be your downfall, Rayfield. When I first debuted, it was that I was too young and stupid to possibly compete with these so-called professionals. What happened? Fury and I defeated one of the best tag teams in the country in our first match. And I believe you were a member of that tag team, weren’t you? And oh yeah, didn’t we beat you again for the tag team titles a few weeks later? Call me nostalgic for remembering the past, but that's how I got here. It intrigues me how you're so ambivolent about me reflecting on mine, yet you gave more detail than I did. Perhaps there's a burden on your soul that you're just not willing to acknowledge, even though you claim to be quite content with yourself.
You don't know a thing about me, Rayfield! I don't give a damn if you agree with what I say or not; how someone talks has no reflection of what they can do in the ring, especially when given the motivation I have. You've belittled my talent, my intelligence, and my friends. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you've set yourself up for a helluva beatdown there, Rayfield. I'm sick of playing nice, believing that you were someone I could shake the hand of after the match. You wanna talk about me being like everyone else? Take a look in the mirror, dude... Disperse that cloud of ignorance out from your egotistical little mind; and if you're going to criticize me for doing something, use a few brain cells and don't do the same thing yourself, you fucking hypocrite.
What kind of standards will you hold yourself to then, if some dimwit with no talent can come to the ring and defeat the almighty you? Your ego will crash faster than a fat woman on Slim Fast, won't it? Now, should you actually realize that you're not getting away with an easy win, maybe it won't be so bad for you, provided you can deal with physical pain in a rational way. I give every match one hundred percent, no matter who I'm facing, and you're not keeping me down. Not after the bullshit you've thrown at me, no fucking way. I will make you respect me before this is all said and done.
The truth is a virus, Rayfield. This virus is a silent killer; one that'll sneak into your brain when you're not looking and destroy you from the inside out. Ignorance isn't bliss anymore, dude. I really don't care what you think of my company and me, but you can be damn sure that inside that rin, you will be BURNED OUT! And make all the remarks you want, but there's no lies going along with this truth. I don't need to sputter out random sentences that expose my ignorance and lack of intelligence to attempt to better a promo that should've just been left as an acceptable tag title loss. At least then, you appeared somewhat intimidating. Call your brain cells back, you're gonna need them for this fight. Bring all the classy, random, high-risk moves you want. Convince yourself that they're original when you probably stole them from some random wrestler with actual talent in Japan or something. Bring that whole arsenal of so-called interesting things you can do, and while mine may not be as high-risk, or in your case, utterly stupid... I'll bring what I've got to the ring. Moves that'll break that false determination you claim, and that will consume your body with pain until you can't break out of a pin-fall.
I suppose your intention is to break my spirit somehow. Yeah, it's funny how that works, isn't it? Somehow even if he wins this match, he's gonna break my spirit? Losing my parents before I was ten years old didn't break my spirit. Losing the girl I loved in a car accident didn't break my spirit. Entering the business at sixteen years old didn't break my spirit. And most of all, nine years of busting my ass to earn every ounce of respect those who know me have given didn't break my spirit. Suddenly Rayfield comes along and views me like he has? He doesn't know what's going on in his own ranks, not to mention mind, and has the gall to attack my credibility? I have respect for him, but I'm growing a bitter distaste towards him because of this ego and greed I've noticed. A greed that's so insane that even the politicians would stand there and go "wow, that's fuckin' greedy."
Believe it for what you will, Rayfield. I have nothing to prove to you, and even if I did, I'd get it done in the ring. Call it an undeserved title shot, but there’s nothing you can do to change it. And if this is your last match in this business, I'd feel no remorse whatsoever. Take it as you will, so be it.”
…
BAM! I winced in pain as my spine was slammed into the turnbuckle. I’d managed to get in some offense, but Rayfield and his anger were getting the upperhand. His right hands were crumpling me in the corner, and the crowd was quick to alert him of their dissatisfaction. I could hear Fury cheering me on from the outside, but my head was spinning to the point that I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Rayfield whipped me into the ropes, and I managed to duck his clothesline. I kicked out, hoping I would hit something. He grabbed my leg, and with all the strength I had, I kicked up with the other leg and caught him right in the jaw! I crashed to the mat, trying to catch my breath as a “Lai-man! Lai-man!” chant erupted from the crowd. The ref began the ten count, and I knew if I didn’t get up, my first title shot would go down in the books as being a countout. I pushed up, crawling towards the ropes and pulling myself up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rayfield preparing to charge. I turned around, and at the last second, dropped to the ground. I heard a groan from the crowd, but I wasn’t sure why. I jumped Rayfield with a series of right hands, and dropped him with a jackhammer suplex! I knew after that, I could hit the BURNOUT! and win the title! I whipped Rayfield into the ropes, then suddenly I felt a really sharp pain in my groin…
…
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing here, Pierre! Geno is attacking his friend Al Laiman!”
“And the ref was knocked out, Bob, so he’s missing all of this!”
Geno slips out of the ring. Bryan Fury tries getting involved, but Vincent Stecchino grabs his leg and trips him up on the ropes. Geno runs to the side Fury’s on, grabs a steel chair, and smashes it over his head.
“The sound of steel on a human spine is sickening!”
“What’s going on here? I thought these guys were friends!”
Rayfield drops Laiman with a powerbomb, and the ref wearily begins to count. 1…2…3!
“Here is your winner and still the EWF Heavyweight Champion, Steven Rayfield!”
“This is unbelievable, this deception that we’ve witnessed this evening.”
“It’ll go down as one of the biggest shocks in EWF history, that’s for sure! Young rookie Al Laiman, at only seventeen years of age, surprised everyone by winning the shot at the EWF Heavyweight championship, but it appears due to the interference of his former friends, this just isn’t his time quite yet.”
…
July 23rd, 2004
Once again returning to the silent comforts of the midnight cemetery walks, Al Laiman scans the names along the graves, subconsciously and internally looking for a certain name to jump out at him. Memories of the past have been scattered and frequent, but the most recent visions in his mind haven't been of training days with Danny Zorich, the days when Vinny and Sean died, or even back before then. Merely replaced by a little four-year-old girl haunting his thought, and a melody playing through his head.
In the days of hypocrisy and ignorance, so few things are true and concrete. Blocking out the sting of bad memories can only be somewhat temporary, though they seem to be returning in filters. Names cannot be established, times cannot be marked, and emotions cannot be felt. Laura Laiman sits quietly along the edge of the cemetery, knowing what he's looking for but waiting for the right time to speak up about the truth.
…
“You find anything yet?”
Laura’s ever-familiar voice broke my concentration as I scanned another row of graves. It was driving me crazy. “Not yet.”
“Do you even know what you're looking for?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what exactly are you doing here?”
Although incredibly frustrated, I knew it wasn’t her fault. “I honestly don't know. Something's been bringing me here for the past few months. Call it a feeling in my heart, but I feel as if I'm supposed to be looking for something.”
“Or someone, perhaps?”
Something about the way she said that made me think that she knew something. I really began to wonder what my sister wasn’t telling me. “I guess I won't know until I find it.”
A few minutes later, I stumbled over a grass-covered marker near the corner of a row. Feeling like an idiot, I began to pull myself up, but I noticed the marker I tripped over. I parted the grass away from the stone to uncover the marker of a little girl who died at the age of two. That name Lilian, for some reason rang a bell in my head. “Lily?”
“No way, you wouldn't have found her in this cemetery.”
Whoa, back it up here. I knew she wasn’t telling me something. “Wait a minute... What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Er.. Nothing.” She stuttered over herself.
“No, hell no. You don't just make a remark like that and then not explain it.”
“Come get in the car, we'll drive back to the arena, and I'll tell you exactly what I know.”
…
A blinding light made me squint, and all’s I could hear was crowd noise and several people laughing. I turned my head and saw Bryan Fury trying to get in the ring, but failing miserably. I heard a faint cheer from the crowd, and I saw Joey Cranston running to the ring. He slid in and nailed Stecchino with a superkick to the jaw, but another loud bang was heard, and Geno appeared behind Cranston with a steel chair as he fell to the ground. All’s I could do was think “why, Geno? Why?”
As Geno celebrated, a familiar song came over the PA, but I couldn’t remember where I heard it. An ovation erupted from the crowd, and I heard someone yelling. Someone snuck in the ring behind Geno, and I felt the ring bounce as whomever it was nailed a high-impact move on my former friend. I felt a hand grab on my arm, pulling me to my feet, and I staggered and grabbed the ropes for support. I turned, and saw none other than Daniel Zorich in full wrestling gear. Z grabbed me and raised my hand in the air, and the crowd stood in unison cheering.
“You will be the champion someday, Al,” Z whispered to me. “I know it.”
I was moving swiftly through the hall, and I know I had sinister intention.
“Guerra? Where the hell are you?!”
After every slamming door, looking for Gina Guerra, I felt my anger rising. I burst into one room that was completely dark, but for some reason I was curious. I flipped on the lights, and it was Gina Guerra's locker room. Gina, however, seemed to have vacated the premises, and I was just about to leave when I noticed some pictures on a table. Once again out of curiousity, I picked them up. I could feel my face turning completely white as I scanned through the four photographs of Val conversing with Vincent Stecchino. The odd thing about them was that Vince was wearing the same clothes in the picture that he was wearing when I had to identify him at the morgue.
“It was her! Son of a bitch...”
“Lose the "son of a", and you got it right.” I heard the voice behind me, and I knew exactly who it was. I spun around and saw Gina Guerra herself standing there. “Surprised to see me?”
Feeling incredibly stupid, I asked; “What are these pictures?”
“Things aren't always what they seem, Laiman.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think I was tailing you because I like you or something? You men are so thick-headed.”
Interesting… “Explain yourself,” I replied.
Gina rolled her eyes. “Val had Stecchino set up. She was involved with some people that Stecchino wasn't on good terms with, but your boy Vince was talked into meeting her right in the middle of their territory. Like an idiot, he did so, and here you have it.”
“How did you get the pictures of it? I mean, how did you know?”
“Stecchino told me.”
“He did?”
“You weren't around, so he told me to give you the message that he was headed for the Heights. I knew Stecchino's background, and I could tell that it couldn't be anything good. Then, I saw you involved with the same wench, so I figured out a way to get her the hell out of here.”
“Why, though? You could give a damn less about what happens to me?”
“Possibly true, but you are human. Not to mention, if anything happened to you, Uncle Z would have several cases of homicide before the week ended.”
“So what does this mean?”
“Essentially, you owe me one sometime, sooner or later.”
“You're not so bad after all.”
“If only you knew…” Typical Gina fashion. It was hard to argue with her, so I felt it was my time to leave. After all, I was in her locker room. After I walked out the door, I felt myself say out loud; “What the hell was that?”
…
I heard the power chords blast over the PA system, and I heard the roar of the crowd from the sold-out arena. I looked over at Bryan, who was still in wrestling gear after his victory earlier in the evening.
“You’re on, bro!”
I shook my head and looked out towards the stage. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
“Tonight’s your night. Take it.”
I jumped in the air and let out a sigh. I jogged towards the arena, and I heard the crowd’s cheer increase.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your main event for this evening is scheduled for one-fall, and it is for the EWF Heavyweight Championship! Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Bryan Fury, the challenger from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 220 pounds, AL LAIMAN!”
I slid in the ring, absorbing the energy the crowd was giving me. The thumping bass from Rayfield’s music hit, and I focused, trying to remember the promo I delivered him earlier in the week. The words I said that made me feel so focused…
“Perhaps I'm a professional dreamer, sitting under the moon in the dead of night and savoring the senses of peace and silence. So call me a freak for being out in the middle of the night; it's when the world most of you know disappears into their slumber. The arrogance and conceit of typical members of society vanish, and you're left with the luminaires decorating the skies; your path lit by the full moon as the only sounds you hear are the leaves crunching beneath your feet, and the cold wind numbing your cheeks. I'd prefer finding my own measure of peace rather than sleep during the night because that's what society says is the right thing to do. Fuck the norms, I'm sick of living by standards. I'm also sick of being judged by them.
Rayfield, I stand before you a man of integrity and honor. I’ve gotten this far in my rookie year in the business, and it isn't just pure luck that I'm still able to stand here. I'm not some naive little kid who wandered down the wrong alley; I know exactly what I'm getting myself into, but I don't believe you do. I've acknowledged the fact that I'm in for a helluva fight, and I know damn well you're not a random walk-in either. Your blindness will be your downfall, Rayfield. When I first debuted, it was that I was too young and stupid to possibly compete with these so-called professionals. What happened? Fury and I defeated one of the best tag teams in the country in our first match. And I believe you were a member of that tag team, weren’t you? And oh yeah, didn’t we beat you again for the tag team titles a few weeks later? Call me nostalgic for remembering the past, but that's how I got here. It intrigues me how you're so ambivolent about me reflecting on mine, yet you gave more detail than I did. Perhaps there's a burden on your soul that you're just not willing to acknowledge, even though you claim to be quite content with yourself.
You don't know a thing about me, Rayfield! I don't give a damn if you agree with what I say or not; how someone talks has no reflection of what they can do in the ring, especially when given the motivation I have. You've belittled my talent, my intelligence, and my friends. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you've set yourself up for a helluva beatdown there, Rayfield. I'm sick of playing nice, believing that you were someone I could shake the hand of after the match. You wanna talk about me being like everyone else? Take a look in the mirror, dude... Disperse that cloud of ignorance out from your egotistical little mind; and if you're going to criticize me for doing something, use a few brain cells and don't do the same thing yourself, you fucking hypocrite.
What kind of standards will you hold yourself to then, if some dimwit with no talent can come to the ring and defeat the almighty you? Your ego will crash faster than a fat woman on Slim Fast, won't it? Now, should you actually realize that you're not getting away with an easy win, maybe it won't be so bad for you, provided you can deal with physical pain in a rational way. I give every match one hundred percent, no matter who I'm facing, and you're not keeping me down. Not after the bullshit you've thrown at me, no fucking way. I will make you respect me before this is all said and done.
The truth is a virus, Rayfield. This virus is a silent killer; one that'll sneak into your brain when you're not looking and destroy you from the inside out. Ignorance isn't bliss anymore, dude. I really don't care what you think of my company and me, but you can be damn sure that inside that rin, you will be BURNED OUT! And make all the remarks you want, but there's no lies going along with this truth. I don't need to sputter out random sentences that expose my ignorance and lack of intelligence to attempt to better a promo that should've just been left as an acceptable tag title loss. At least then, you appeared somewhat intimidating. Call your brain cells back, you're gonna need them for this fight. Bring all the classy, random, high-risk moves you want. Convince yourself that they're original when you probably stole them from some random wrestler with actual talent in Japan or something. Bring that whole arsenal of so-called interesting things you can do, and while mine may not be as high-risk, or in your case, utterly stupid... I'll bring what I've got to the ring. Moves that'll break that false determination you claim, and that will consume your body with pain until you can't break out of a pin-fall.
I suppose your intention is to break my spirit somehow. Yeah, it's funny how that works, isn't it? Somehow even if he wins this match, he's gonna break my spirit? Losing my parents before I was ten years old didn't break my spirit. Losing the girl I loved in a car accident didn't break my spirit. Entering the business at sixteen years old didn't break my spirit. And most of all, nine years of busting my ass to earn every ounce of respect those who know me have given didn't break my spirit. Suddenly Rayfield comes along and views me like he has? He doesn't know what's going on in his own ranks, not to mention mind, and has the gall to attack my credibility? I have respect for him, but I'm growing a bitter distaste towards him because of this ego and greed I've noticed. A greed that's so insane that even the politicians would stand there and go "wow, that's fuckin' greedy."
Believe it for what you will, Rayfield. I have nothing to prove to you, and even if I did, I'd get it done in the ring. Call it an undeserved title shot, but there’s nothing you can do to change it. And if this is your last match in this business, I'd feel no remorse whatsoever. Take it as you will, so be it.”
…
BAM! I winced in pain as my spine was slammed into the turnbuckle. I’d managed to get in some offense, but Rayfield and his anger were getting the upperhand. His right hands were crumpling me in the corner, and the crowd was quick to alert him of their dissatisfaction. I could hear Fury cheering me on from the outside, but my head was spinning to the point that I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Rayfield whipped me into the ropes, and I managed to duck his clothesline. I kicked out, hoping I would hit something. He grabbed my leg, and with all the strength I had, I kicked up with the other leg and caught him right in the jaw! I crashed to the mat, trying to catch my breath as a “Lai-man! Lai-man!” chant erupted from the crowd. The ref began the ten count, and I knew if I didn’t get up, my first title shot would go down in the books as being a countout. I pushed up, crawling towards the ropes and pulling myself up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rayfield preparing to charge. I turned around, and at the last second, dropped to the ground. I heard a groan from the crowd, but I wasn’t sure why. I jumped Rayfield with a series of right hands, and dropped him with a jackhammer suplex! I knew after that, I could hit the BURNOUT! and win the title! I whipped Rayfield into the ropes, then suddenly I felt a really sharp pain in my groin…
…
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing here, Pierre! Geno is attacking his friend Al Laiman!”
“And the ref was knocked out, Bob, so he’s missing all of this!”
Geno slips out of the ring. Bryan Fury tries getting involved, but Vincent Stecchino grabs his leg and trips him up on the ropes. Geno runs to the side Fury’s on, grabs a steel chair, and smashes it over his head.
“The sound of steel on a human spine is sickening!”
“What’s going on here? I thought these guys were friends!”
Rayfield drops Laiman with a powerbomb, and the ref wearily begins to count. 1…2…3!
“Here is your winner and still the EWF Heavyweight Champion, Steven Rayfield!”
“This is unbelievable, this deception that we’ve witnessed this evening.”
“It’ll go down as one of the biggest shocks in EWF history, that’s for sure! Young rookie Al Laiman, at only seventeen years of age, surprised everyone by winning the shot at the EWF Heavyweight championship, but it appears due to the interference of his former friends, this just isn’t his time quite yet.”
…
July 23rd, 2004
Once again returning to the silent comforts of the midnight cemetery walks, Al Laiman scans the names along the graves, subconsciously and internally looking for a certain name to jump out at him. Memories of the past have been scattered and frequent, but the most recent visions in his mind haven't been of training days with Danny Zorich, the days when Vinny and Sean died, or even back before then. Merely replaced by a little four-year-old girl haunting his thought, and a melody playing through his head.
In the days of hypocrisy and ignorance, so few things are true and concrete. Blocking out the sting of bad memories can only be somewhat temporary, though they seem to be returning in filters. Names cannot be established, times cannot be marked, and emotions cannot be felt. Laura Laiman sits quietly along the edge of the cemetery, knowing what he's looking for but waiting for the right time to speak up about the truth.
…
“You find anything yet?”
Laura’s ever-familiar voice broke my concentration as I scanned another row of graves. It was driving me crazy. “Not yet.”
“Do you even know what you're looking for?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what exactly are you doing here?”
Although incredibly frustrated, I knew it wasn’t her fault. “I honestly don't know. Something's been bringing me here for the past few months. Call it a feeling in my heart, but I feel as if I'm supposed to be looking for something.”
“Or someone, perhaps?”
Something about the way she said that made me think that she knew something. I really began to wonder what my sister wasn’t telling me. “I guess I won't know until I find it.”
A few minutes later, I stumbled over a grass-covered marker near the corner of a row. Feeling like an idiot, I began to pull myself up, but I noticed the marker I tripped over. I parted the grass away from the stone to uncover the marker of a little girl who died at the age of two. That name Lilian, for some reason rang a bell in my head. “Lily?”
“No way, you wouldn't have found her in this cemetery.”
Whoa, back it up here. I knew she wasn’t telling me something. “Wait a minute... What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Er.. Nothing.” She stuttered over herself.
“No, hell no. You don't just make a remark like that and then not explain it.”
“Come get in the car, we'll drive back to the arena, and I'll tell you exactly what I know.”
…
A blinding light made me squint, and all’s I could hear was crowd noise and several people laughing. I turned my head and saw Bryan Fury trying to get in the ring, but failing miserably. I heard a faint cheer from the crowd, and I saw Joey Cranston running to the ring. He slid in and nailed Stecchino with a superkick to the jaw, but another loud bang was heard, and Geno appeared behind Cranston with a steel chair as he fell to the ground. All’s I could do was think “why, Geno? Why?”
As Geno celebrated, a familiar song came over the PA, but I couldn’t remember where I heard it. An ovation erupted from the crowd, and I heard someone yelling. Someone snuck in the ring behind Geno, and I felt the ring bounce as whomever it was nailed a high-impact move on my former friend. I felt a hand grab on my arm, pulling me to my feet, and I staggered and grabbed the ropes for support. I turned, and saw none other than Daniel Zorich in full wrestling gear. Z grabbed me and raised my hand in the air, and the crowd stood in unison cheering.
“You will be the champion someday, Al,” Z whispered to me. “I know it.”