Post by Ace Anderson on Apr 6, 2006 18:22:55 GMT -5
As soon as I open my eyes, I know it is going to be one hell of a day. I still hadn’t contacted Lajon from Sevendust to tell him the date of the charity concert, and he still hadn’t contacted me to tell me if they were even going to do it. To go along with that, I have to make an appearance for PCW, cut a short promo about my match this week against The Byrd. That’s why I feel like going back to sleep. I bury my face into my pillow, and then look up at my alarm clock. Eleven thirty. Just in time for brunch. I drop the blankets from around my body, and walk across the room into the bathroom. I run the water, with it leaning more toward the cold side of things. Gotta wake up somehow. I step in and the cold water comes down on my face, neck, and chest. I jump a little, and all of a sudden I’m completely awake. That sure did do the trick. I wash my hair and finish my shower, and then I step out, water dripping from my body down onto the bathroom floor. I grab a towel, and I dry myself off. I then wrap the towel around my body, and walk over to the sink. I check myself in the mirror. I notice that I have to shave, so I get out a razor and some shaving cream. I methodically shave my face and trim around my goatee, and afterwards I dry my face and throw the towels in the laundry basket in the corner.
“Refreshing.” I say out loud, to nobody in particular. Maybe I was just reassuring myself. I put on a pair of boxers, track pants, socks, a black t-shirt, and grab a track jacket. I walk out of my room, and into the hallway. I walk to the top of the stairs, and I look down them. I pause for a second, building up the strength to carry myself down the flight. Once at the bottom, I slowly move toward the fridge. I open it up, and grab a bottle of water out of it. I start to guzzle it down, when I can hear the melodic ring tone of my cellular phone conveying from my computer room. Why did I leave it in there in the first place? I set the bottle of water down on the counter, and I half run into the room where the sound is coming from. I find my cellular phone, ringing and vibrating, bouncing off my desk like a retard having a seizure. I pick it up, and check the call display. It better not be some idiot with the wrong number.
Lajon Witherspoon
Is what it says on the call display. I guess I couldn’t have awoke at a better time. I open it up, unconsciously crossing the fingers of my other hand.
“Hello, Jason here.” I say, wincing. Good thing he can’t see me.
He replies instantly. His voice is rather upbeat, so I start to breathe a little bit easier. “Hey, Jason. Lajon here. How you doin’?”
“Well I’m not bad. Just woke up a little while ago. How are you?” I ask him, politely. You usually do have to be polite to people who intend to do your favors. Unless you’re Ace Anderson. Good thing I’m only him half the time.
“I’m great. Great news for you, you’ll be happy to here this. The band agrees to do the show. All we need is a date and a time.” he responds, and I almost cry out in exclamation. This takes care of a lot of my problems, so early in the day.
“Well, it’s going to be next Wednesday, April 12th. It’s going to be at Boston Garden.. Some of the Celtics might be there, and there will be a few other celebrities I hope. I really want this to be a success.” I tell him.
“Alright, that sounds great. We’ll be there early that morning to start setting up. See you then.” He says, waiting for my confirmation.
“Alright, that’s cool. See ya then. Bye.” I say, as I wait for him to say bye before I hang up the phone.
“Bye.” He says as he hangs up the phone. I do the same. I can not believe how perfect that went. Didn’t have to convince him, they think that it’s going to be a good time. I think it will be a good time. Only problem is, the publicity. This won’t be good for Ace at all. What can I do? Who in their right mind wouldn’t link the “Jason McDonald Sr. Save the Homeless Foundation” to me? Ace’s whole angle would be destroyed in a matter of seconds. How Mike hooked us up at the Garden is beyond me. He is connected to the very top, or something. Back to the issue of exposure. Any place with celebrities is granted to be booming with media. Maybe if I changed the name, and kept myself as an anonymous benefactor? I guess I’ll just have to worry about that when the time comes. Right now, I need to worry about The Byrd. Well, not worry per say, Ace isn’t worried about The Byrd, but he does have some things he’d like to say. Time to head down to the trainyard, and hopefully find the cameramen that I told to go there in about 30 minutes.. I don’t plan on making this fancy, but I do plan on sending a message to old Byrdie.
I go back into my kitchen, and I finish off the bottle of water that I left there. It’s still cold, which is a plus. I put on my track jacket, and I walk out my front door, locking it behind me. I press the door unlock button my key ring, and I climb in the front seat. I shove the key into the ignition, and give it a turn. The Mustang fires up with a nice roar. I strap on my seatbelt, and back out of the driveway.
While I’m driving to the trainyard, I begin to ponder what I’m going to say. I have a basic idea, but I want it to come across as clear as possible, so Byrd will truly understand. Before I know it, however, I arrive at the trainyard and I still have no idea what I’m going to say. I get out of my car to find a few members of the PCW camera crew waiting for me. I don’t usually say much to these guys. I just kind of wave my hand, and they follow me in. We reach the tracks, there are so many that if all of the trains that traveled on these tracks passed at once it would be as if the world was coming to an end.
“Alright, right over there. Hurry, Greatness doesn’t have all day.” I say, switching over to Ace Anderson mode. After they set up, I wait for a countdown.
5...
4....
3.....
2......
1........
And it’s time for me to shine. I start down the tracks, and there is a train on my right. The camera is zoomed in on me, and I start to make my way toward the camera, talking all the while. “The Byrd must think that he is something else now. He picked up a win over the World Champion. He defeated the almighty Ace Anderson, the first time Ace Anderson has been pinned since August of 2005. You would think that Greatness would be upset, sad, but no, he is only angered by this. Angry that this is how his unpinned streak would have to come to an end. A come from behind roll up with a paid off count. Ace Anderson isn’t sure how much you paid Eddie Lane, but that count was faster than the gold medalist in Olympic speed skating.”
I continue to walk toward the camera, slowly, however. Giving time for me to get near. I like these promos, where it seems as though I’m approaching the camera, as if I’m going to strike when I arrive. My voice intensifies as I draw near, adding that extra element of intimidation.
“Unfortunately for you, Byrd, if that count wouldn’t have been fast, Ace Anderson would have kicked out and Exemplified you, the same way he did after the match was over. However, blaming people will not change what happened. Blaming Al Laiman will not make Ace Anderson seem like more of a man. Instead, now that you have your re-match, Byrd, you get the chance to face Ace Anderson in the ring, and Ace Anderson gets the chance to prove to you what everyone else, including yourself already knows.” I prepare to raise my voice for this part, make it seem like I’m pissed off. Ace is pissed off, so I need to act the part too.
“You defeating Greatness, that was a FLUKE. A once in a lifetime thing, that could only happen when Mr. Anderson, like a fool, let’s down his guard. Come Trauma, his guard will be up, and he has no intentions of under-estimating you, Byrd. He did it once, but never again. Never again will Ace Anderson take any wrestler for granted, because you have proven that even the worst wrestler in the business can take out Greatness if he’s not focused. Focus is everything, and it will be everything to you, Byrd. Focusing on not getting killed.” I stop walking toward the camera now, as I am about 30 feet away. I haven’t prepared any of this. I’m just letting Ace’s words flow. Then the unthinkable happens. My cell phone begins to ring. I like the way this promo is going. I don’t want to have to do it again. Then, inspiration.
“Do you hear that, Byrd? That, is the sound of distraction. What is it with you and distraction, Byrd? Well you know what? All distractions, shall be cast aside.” I pull the phone out of my pocket, and I throw it. As far as I can. I don’t care, I’ll get a new one. I’ll have to find out who that was, and apologize later. As far as Ace is concerned, though, fuck apologies. Ace is who I happen to be at this very moment. I think nothing of it after I realize that.
“This is how it’s going to be at Trauma, Byrd. Nothing will stop Ace Anderson from giving you his undivided attention. Lantlas and the whole HHW crew could come down to ringside, and Ace Anderson would pay no mind to them. His only goal at Trauma is to put you through as much pain as you could ever imagine. It’s one thing to beat Ace Anderson, it’s another thing to end his very impressive streak.” I proceed to walk toward the camera, in slow strides.
“Don’t you understand, Byrdie? The reason Ace Anderson is here right now, in this trainyard, is to prove a point.” I step out onto the tracks.
“At Trauma, you’re going to be the one who is on the tracks. The only difference is, instead of a train you would have rode on before, it’s going to be a six foot six, three hundred and ten pound, sadistic motherfucker with the World Heavyweight Championship around his waist, and he’s going to be coming straight for you. No stopping, no slowing down, no remorse. Get ready for the worst night of your life. Compared to what you’re going to feel at Trauma, you’d wish you got hit by the train, instead of Greatness in the Flesh.” I’m now about 10 feet from the camera, and I let those last words leave my lips with a bit of a trail coming off. They were almost whispered, but they were understandable. The cameraman signals that they are finished recording, and I know that I hit the spot with that one. If I was Byrd, I’d be fleeing the country. I go to find my phone. Hopefully it’s not too broken. I pick it up, and thankfully it’s not damaged. I look at the call display screen.
1 missed call.
No fucking shit. I wonder who it was? I open it up, and I access the menu. I go down to the call history tab, and I select it. I then select the missed calls heading, and it has my agent’s number. Good thing it wasn’t somebody more important. I’ll call him later. Right now, I wanna go home and work out. Those last few hours sure did relieve a lot of stress. Ace may still be a bit stressed out, but me, I feel great. I’m ready to spend the rest of the day preparing for my match against The Byrd, because no matter who my opponent is, Ace Anderson has to be ready. He will be ready. Especially when the World championship is on the line. Nobody is going to take this from Ace, and to sound cliche, if they want to, they’ll have to pry it from his cold, dead fingers.
“Refreshing.” I say out loud, to nobody in particular. Maybe I was just reassuring myself. I put on a pair of boxers, track pants, socks, a black t-shirt, and grab a track jacket. I walk out of my room, and into the hallway. I walk to the top of the stairs, and I look down them. I pause for a second, building up the strength to carry myself down the flight. Once at the bottom, I slowly move toward the fridge. I open it up, and grab a bottle of water out of it. I start to guzzle it down, when I can hear the melodic ring tone of my cellular phone conveying from my computer room. Why did I leave it in there in the first place? I set the bottle of water down on the counter, and I half run into the room where the sound is coming from. I find my cellular phone, ringing and vibrating, bouncing off my desk like a retard having a seizure. I pick it up, and check the call display. It better not be some idiot with the wrong number.
Lajon Witherspoon
Is what it says on the call display. I guess I couldn’t have awoke at a better time. I open it up, unconsciously crossing the fingers of my other hand.
“Hello, Jason here.” I say, wincing. Good thing he can’t see me.
He replies instantly. His voice is rather upbeat, so I start to breathe a little bit easier. “Hey, Jason. Lajon here. How you doin’?”
“Well I’m not bad. Just woke up a little while ago. How are you?” I ask him, politely. You usually do have to be polite to people who intend to do your favors. Unless you’re Ace Anderson. Good thing I’m only him half the time.
“I’m great. Great news for you, you’ll be happy to here this. The band agrees to do the show. All we need is a date and a time.” he responds, and I almost cry out in exclamation. This takes care of a lot of my problems, so early in the day.
“Well, it’s going to be next Wednesday, April 12th. It’s going to be at Boston Garden.. Some of the Celtics might be there, and there will be a few other celebrities I hope. I really want this to be a success.” I tell him.
“Alright, that sounds great. We’ll be there early that morning to start setting up. See you then.” He says, waiting for my confirmation.
“Alright, that’s cool. See ya then. Bye.” I say, as I wait for him to say bye before I hang up the phone.
“Bye.” He says as he hangs up the phone. I do the same. I can not believe how perfect that went. Didn’t have to convince him, they think that it’s going to be a good time. I think it will be a good time. Only problem is, the publicity. This won’t be good for Ace at all. What can I do? Who in their right mind wouldn’t link the “Jason McDonald Sr. Save the Homeless Foundation” to me? Ace’s whole angle would be destroyed in a matter of seconds. How Mike hooked us up at the Garden is beyond me. He is connected to the very top, or something. Back to the issue of exposure. Any place with celebrities is granted to be booming with media. Maybe if I changed the name, and kept myself as an anonymous benefactor? I guess I’ll just have to worry about that when the time comes. Right now, I need to worry about The Byrd. Well, not worry per say, Ace isn’t worried about The Byrd, but he does have some things he’d like to say. Time to head down to the trainyard, and hopefully find the cameramen that I told to go there in about 30 minutes.. I don’t plan on making this fancy, but I do plan on sending a message to old Byrdie.
I go back into my kitchen, and I finish off the bottle of water that I left there. It’s still cold, which is a plus. I put on my track jacket, and I walk out my front door, locking it behind me. I press the door unlock button my key ring, and I climb in the front seat. I shove the key into the ignition, and give it a turn. The Mustang fires up with a nice roar. I strap on my seatbelt, and back out of the driveway.
While I’m driving to the trainyard, I begin to ponder what I’m going to say. I have a basic idea, but I want it to come across as clear as possible, so Byrd will truly understand. Before I know it, however, I arrive at the trainyard and I still have no idea what I’m going to say. I get out of my car to find a few members of the PCW camera crew waiting for me. I don’t usually say much to these guys. I just kind of wave my hand, and they follow me in. We reach the tracks, there are so many that if all of the trains that traveled on these tracks passed at once it would be as if the world was coming to an end.
“Alright, right over there. Hurry, Greatness doesn’t have all day.” I say, switching over to Ace Anderson mode. After they set up, I wait for a countdown.
5...
4....
3.....
2......
1........
And it’s time for me to shine. I start down the tracks, and there is a train on my right. The camera is zoomed in on me, and I start to make my way toward the camera, talking all the while. “The Byrd must think that he is something else now. He picked up a win over the World Champion. He defeated the almighty Ace Anderson, the first time Ace Anderson has been pinned since August of 2005. You would think that Greatness would be upset, sad, but no, he is only angered by this. Angry that this is how his unpinned streak would have to come to an end. A come from behind roll up with a paid off count. Ace Anderson isn’t sure how much you paid Eddie Lane, but that count was faster than the gold medalist in Olympic speed skating.”
I continue to walk toward the camera, slowly, however. Giving time for me to get near. I like these promos, where it seems as though I’m approaching the camera, as if I’m going to strike when I arrive. My voice intensifies as I draw near, adding that extra element of intimidation.
“Unfortunately for you, Byrd, if that count wouldn’t have been fast, Ace Anderson would have kicked out and Exemplified you, the same way he did after the match was over. However, blaming people will not change what happened. Blaming Al Laiman will not make Ace Anderson seem like more of a man. Instead, now that you have your re-match, Byrd, you get the chance to face Ace Anderson in the ring, and Ace Anderson gets the chance to prove to you what everyone else, including yourself already knows.” I prepare to raise my voice for this part, make it seem like I’m pissed off. Ace is pissed off, so I need to act the part too.
“You defeating Greatness, that was a FLUKE. A once in a lifetime thing, that could only happen when Mr. Anderson, like a fool, let’s down his guard. Come Trauma, his guard will be up, and he has no intentions of under-estimating you, Byrd. He did it once, but never again. Never again will Ace Anderson take any wrestler for granted, because you have proven that even the worst wrestler in the business can take out Greatness if he’s not focused. Focus is everything, and it will be everything to you, Byrd. Focusing on not getting killed.” I stop walking toward the camera now, as I am about 30 feet away. I haven’t prepared any of this. I’m just letting Ace’s words flow. Then the unthinkable happens. My cell phone begins to ring. I like the way this promo is going. I don’t want to have to do it again. Then, inspiration.
“Do you hear that, Byrd? That, is the sound of distraction. What is it with you and distraction, Byrd? Well you know what? All distractions, shall be cast aside.” I pull the phone out of my pocket, and I throw it. As far as I can. I don’t care, I’ll get a new one. I’ll have to find out who that was, and apologize later. As far as Ace is concerned, though, fuck apologies. Ace is who I happen to be at this very moment. I think nothing of it after I realize that.
“This is how it’s going to be at Trauma, Byrd. Nothing will stop Ace Anderson from giving you his undivided attention. Lantlas and the whole HHW crew could come down to ringside, and Ace Anderson would pay no mind to them. His only goal at Trauma is to put you through as much pain as you could ever imagine. It’s one thing to beat Ace Anderson, it’s another thing to end his very impressive streak.” I proceed to walk toward the camera, in slow strides.
“Don’t you understand, Byrdie? The reason Ace Anderson is here right now, in this trainyard, is to prove a point.” I step out onto the tracks.
“At Trauma, you’re going to be the one who is on the tracks. The only difference is, instead of a train you would have rode on before, it’s going to be a six foot six, three hundred and ten pound, sadistic motherfucker with the World Heavyweight Championship around his waist, and he’s going to be coming straight for you. No stopping, no slowing down, no remorse. Get ready for the worst night of your life. Compared to what you’re going to feel at Trauma, you’d wish you got hit by the train, instead of Greatness in the Flesh.” I’m now about 10 feet from the camera, and I let those last words leave my lips with a bit of a trail coming off. They were almost whispered, but they were understandable. The cameraman signals that they are finished recording, and I know that I hit the spot with that one. If I was Byrd, I’d be fleeing the country. I go to find my phone. Hopefully it’s not too broken. I pick it up, and thankfully it’s not damaged. I look at the call display screen.
1 missed call.
No fucking shit. I wonder who it was? I open it up, and I access the menu. I go down to the call history tab, and I select it. I then select the missed calls heading, and it has my agent’s number. Good thing it wasn’t somebody more important. I’ll call him later. Right now, I wanna go home and work out. Those last few hours sure did relieve a lot of stress. Ace may still be a bit stressed out, but me, I feel great. I’m ready to spend the rest of the day preparing for my match against The Byrd, because no matter who my opponent is, Ace Anderson has to be ready. He will be ready. Especially when the World championship is on the line. Nobody is going to take this from Ace, and to sound cliche, if they want to, they’ll have to pry it from his cold, dead fingers.
