My Friend Of Misery: Part 1
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Things have really picked up for Maximum Violence as of late. It seems that as soon as he laid down the challenge to Jackie Sweets, people have been taking him much more seriously. Outside of an unprovoked attack from a duck, 2012 has been his year. No one seems to have his number.
It has been said that "getting there is half the fun." If that is the case, then it must be time to get there already, because Max is in real need of some fun. He was already completely enveloped in the challenge he made to Jackie Sweets and now the MWA has decided to start a tournament for the chance at battling in The Hellmouth for the Interim World Heavyweight Championship. Any lesser man would be much too distracted to focus on either of these goals, but this isn't the first time Max's plate has been filled with challenges. As he waits for word from Jackie Sweet's camp about his challenge, he decides to hole himself up at HQ in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Max sits on his porch as the sun begins to prepare for it's big show, an annular solar eclipse. Earlier in the day, he phoned up his newly rehired agent, Brandon "B2" Barajas, to come out to HQ and enjoy the show. It will be the first time the two have met as friends since their falling out some months ago. As he sits, he notices a Chevy Cavalier coming down the driveway kicking up dust in it's wake. Max thinks to himself..
"I don't know anyone that drives a Cavalier.."
He rises from his chair and begins to walk down his steps to the gate. As he approaches the gate, he notices that the car has come to a sputtering stop halfway down the drive. He observes this situation with caution, but is overcome with laughter as he sees his red-haired agent exit the vehicle.
"Worthless piece of shit!"
B2 kicks the side of the vehicle and slips, falling on his ass in the middle of the dirt road. Max wipes away some tears of laughter and enters the code to open the gate. He begins to walk down the drive.
"I haven't seen that car in years. I thought you got rid of it?"
"Yeah, apparently my grandparents put it into storage. They never believed in getting rid of a paid-off vehicle that is in working condition. Good thing, too."
"Where's your other ride?"
"Morrigan took a bat to it. I didn't have a chance to get any insurance on it yet, so it was basically a total loss and a huge hit to my bank account. So, I'm driving the ol' Guinea Pig."
"Guinea Pig?"
"The Cavy man!"
The two men stare at each other. One thinks he has just made the joke of the century while the other is left scratching his head.
"Sometimes your comedy is lost to me."
"I thought it was pretty good."
Max extends his hand to Barajas. Barajas looks down at it, and shakes Max's hand. As B2 is about to let go, Max holds onto his hand.
"I'm welcoming you back into my home with open arms. But know this...if you ever betray me again, you'll think Morrigan going yard on your ride was merciful."
"...I understand Max. Thanks."
Max looks into B2's eyes. He doesn't see any deception in his eyes and smiles.
"Welcome back. Let's head up to the house and take a load off. We have much to discuss."
The two men sit down on the porch. They discuss various things that have been going on. Max's reasoning for challenging Sweets, his chance to become World Champion, and the new season of Game Of Thrones. As the men enjoy their drinks, the talk turns a bit more relaxing and cathartic.
"Do you remember the last eclipse?"
Max takes a sip of his Bombay Gin.
"I remember it very well. That was the day I had my first Pay-Per-View match in my career at New Era Wrestling back in 1994."
"Peas and rice, man! How old were you?"
"I was 22. You insinuating that I'm an old fuck?"
B2 laughs. Its the first time in months that he has had a good laugh with his old friend.
"Not at all. I was 16 when I saw that match at The Pit."
B2 takes a long pull off of his drink and realizes that it is quite empty.
"And it was then that I decided to drop out of school to become a professional wrestler. Granted, that is a cardinal sin for anyone to commit, but that match blew my mind."
Barajas rises from his seat and walks over to the front door of Max's home.
"Don't get pissed, but I invited Noel Standish to come out and watch the eclipse with us. He's a good dude...English guy. He's wanting to get some footage for my documentary."
"You're still doing that shit?"
"You're not the only one that has a chance to enter The Hellmouth Max. I may be your agent again, but I'm still a competitor. Need a refill?"
Max looks at his glass and realizes that it is empty as well.
"Yeah. Make it a double so I'm not getting up every 20 minutes for a refill."
"You got it bud. Don't go wandering off in the woods to find a sacrifice for the eclipse."
"That's what Standish is for.."
B2 stops and looks over at Max. It is always difficult to know if he is joking or not. Max sees the distressing look on his face and sets his mind at ease.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt 'em. I'm not going to be a shining beacon of joy or anything, but he is welcome here."
Barajas lets out a sigh of relief as he was genuinely concerned that Max was going to make an offering to the Gods in the form of his pudgy English follower. As Barajas heads inside to refill their drinks, Max pulls out his cellphone. He was never a big believer in the technological age, but at 38, he decided it was finally time to make the jump to the almighty Android phone. Granted, he didn't fork over the extra for the data plan, he just uses Wi-Fi when it is available. He pulls up his YouTube app and types in "Maximum Violence/The Sic'ness 1994" which brings up only a few videos. He's actually shocked that there is still footage of his match with The Sic'ness still floating around, even on the internet.
"I can't believe it."
He waits for the video to buffer and his thoughts drift into the past.
18 Years Ago...
The wrestling world was much different in the 90's. At least in the indy federations it was. It was never about who was the most marketable or who could sell the most t-shirts. No, it was always about the talent and who could put asses in the seat. This was Max's first federation and he had entered at just the right time as New Era Wrestling had just scored a PPV deal. For the first time ever, NEW talent was going to be able to access homes all across the country. And what more could a green rookie ask for than for the opportunity to show the country what he could do inside the ring?
At the time, Max was wrestling under the ring name of "Malcolm", something only the most hardcore of fans would tell you these days. His mind was on the match, but his stomach was filled with butterflies and cramping up from the night of drinking with the boys a mere 12 hours before. In the locker room, Max was lucky enough to be sandwiched between "Mad" Jack Giles and Chung Li, a man whose gimmick was basically lifted letter for letter from the Jean-Claude Van Damme classic "Bloodsport". Li didn't talk too much, but Jack Giles would fill Malcolm's ear with past stories from the road and "The Good Ol' Days".
"I can remember asking to be paid in painkillers and enough cash to pay for a dive motel and a hoagie."
Malcolm looked up, still trying to quiet the battle going on in his stomach.
"Sounds to me like you lived quite a life, sir."
The old codgers always appreciated the respect from the young guns, but never showed it.
"Damn right I did! And with the exposure I'm going to get tonight, I'm sure to land that contract that will keep me shitting in high cotton for a long time."
Giles rises and grabs his cowboy hat from atop the locker. He carefully places it on his head and looks down at Malcolm.
"You have that same opportunity as well. It's just too bad that you are so young that you probably don't realize the opportunity you have. Ah well..."
Giles twists the ends of his mustache. His mustache would have made villains from the 20's proud.
"Gotta get your dick wet sometime! Good luck out there, kid."
Before Malcolm can thank the vet, "All My Ex's Live In Texas" begins to play in the arena and Giles is off to make his statement to the world. Malcolm knows that his match is next, and stands to get ready as Chung Li puts a hand on his knee, halting him.
"Don't listen to him."
Malcolm was shocked. He had played his gimmick so well that he had no idea he even knew English. Hell, he didn't talk to anybody backstage. Li notices the shock on his face and smiles.
"Pretty believable, eh?"
"You fooled me, man."
Malcolm begins lacing his boots up as Chung Li continues.
"I have noticed great things in you, Malcolm. You are ushering in a new era in wrestling."
"What are you talking about?"
Chung Li begins putting on his makeup for his match.
"You aren't out to please the front office or the fans. You are out strictly for the fight."
Malcolm looks at Li, and Li knows that he is confused.
"It doesn't matter to you who wins or who loses. All you care about is the battle, and I haven't seen that in a long time."
"Well, I've always enjoyed a good fight. As long as I know I left it all out on the mat, then I can sleep the sleep of the righteous."
As Li finishes his face paint for his match later, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a photo. He hands it to Malcolm.
"That's a photo of my brother and myself."
Malcolm looks at the photo and notices how small Li's brother is.
"Your brother is a wrestler as well?"
"Yes and no. He's more of a fighter than a wrestler. He's in his 50's now, but still trains people and occasionally steps in the ring."
Malcolm hands the photo back to Li. Li places the photo back in his bag and grabs a pen and piece of paper.
"I think you could learn a lot from him, Malcolm. I'm going to write down his phone number for you. You should give him a call sometime."
He hands the paper to Malcolm.
"...Kurosawa."
"Max? You alright?"
Suddenly Max is pulled away from his daydream by the dulcet tones of a drunken B2. As Max is collecting himself, Barajas notices the video playing on his cellphone.
"Taking a trip down memory lane, are we?"
"Good evening boys!"
The two men look up and notice that Noel Standish had made his much anticipated arrival. He has two six packs in his hands and an iPad under his arm.
"What are you bringing to the table Standish?"
"Glad you asked, my friend. What I have here is some of the most delicious beer that will ever touch your lips. I have a nice apricot ale and a lovely strawberry Belgian beer."
"If you think you are bring that sissy foo-foo la-la beer into my home, you are sadly mistaken Stanley."
Noel starts to correct Max's mistake, but notices that Barajas is making a cut motion signifying to just let it go. Thankfully, Noel picks up on this.
"My apologies Mr. Violence. I'll just leave this in my Scion."
Noel makes the long shamed walk to his vehicle and deposits the beer in the back. As he returns, he notices B2 has retrieved a chair from inside for him. Noel walks up the steps and takes his seat next to B2.
"Looks like it's starting. Here you go boys."
B2 reaches into his duffel bag behind his chair and pulls out three large welding helmets and passes them out.
"What the fuck are these?"
"They're all I had, man. Can't watch the eclipse without them, unless you want to fight Worthington blind."
"Might level the playing field a bit."
Barajas laughs and the three men put on their helmets to prepare to watch the eclipse.
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In this business, one would say that I have reached my end as far as age goes. I'm nearly 40 and some would say I haven't accomplished much. On paper, how could one argue? My home isn't littered with various titles from the dozens of organizations I've called home over the past two decades. I've never ranked highly on the various "Top 50" lists because I never had the catchphrases or feuds that have captured the minds and the hearts of the wrestling faithful. I don't think I've even had an action figure. The only positive thing that has ever come out of the mouths and the columns of wrestling writers is my win/loss record.
I guess I've forgotten what truly matters in this business.
Let's be honest, it's not Maximum Violence that has forgotten what matters, it is you, the wrestling world, that has really forgotten. You never needed to have a beef with someone to have a good match. If a match is fueled from "I don't like you and you don't like me", it is because their wrestling skill was lacking and they needed something to distract the "fans" from their lackluster efforts. Far be it from me to name names, but I'm fairly certain their glaring lack of wrestling skill make them easier to point out.
When you call out someone for battle, your reasoning had better be damn good. Because if you fail, your reasons are going to be the only thing you have left. Now, my reasons for calling out the MWA Elites has been made more than clear to you all. And I plan to be quite successful in my endeavors. I could have started at the bottom of the totem pole, but what would that have done? I destroyed Sean McBride months ago, and a short time later, he was gone. I could fight former champions and hall of famers all day, but two heads would grow where one was severed. Throwing the challenge down to Jackie Sweets finally made people listen.
Of course, that was over a month ago.
Jackie has really been dragging his feet on this issue, and what does he do? He decides to take up even more of the MWA fan's time by staging this big interview. Is that really necessary, Jackie? Is it possible at all for you to put your ego aside and just say "yes"? There would be no glitz or glamour doing it that way. Honestly, I really don't care how you handle your decision, as long as your decision is yes. I'm sick and tired of waiting in the wings for your response, and you can bet that you will have my full attention. LeBron James would be proud, Jackie.
To make matters even more interesting, we have lost our heralded World Champion to some unknown fate. I figured that, knowing MWA brass, they would just let the man take as much time as he needs to sort out whatever demons he is dealing with while keeping that coveted strap around his wasit. Well, they are still doing that, and have decided to crown an interim champion. The thought of a place having two world champions is enough to make me lose my lunch, but I don't make these decisions so I'm not going to waste too much energy worrying about it. What did get my attention was the man I'm facing for the opportunity to battle for said title.
MWA Hall Of Famer....Tim Worthington.
I had the pleasure of meeting Tim in a tag-team match a few months back. At the time, I'm ashamed to say, I was honored to be facing such MWA regality in the ring. Back then, I felt that was the MWA's way of saying that I was good enough to face the best that they had to offer. Of course, we all know how that match ended. Worthington had to watch as I made his buddy August Joyce submit. It was at this time when I started to realize that the MWA wasn't giving me the best they had. They were sending these Elites my way to try and stop me. Imagine their shock when they failed miserably.
Tim, you have been a Hall Of Famer for close to seven years. Usually when someone is bestowed that honor, they tend to fade into the ether, popping up from time to time just to make sure that wrestling fans still remember who they are and what they have done. But not you, oh no. You've popped back up from time to time thinking you still had something left to prove to everyone. And every time you did, you tucked tail and kicked rocks. What makes you think this go-round is going to be any different? You couldn't get that job done with assistance from Joyce, and you will fail just as miserably on your own. The question on everyone's mind will be "what happens to the great Tim Worthington after this?".
I'm glad you asked...
After you are done having your pity party and whining to whoever will listen to you, you will come out to my ring and inform the masses that your heart just isn't into it anymore. You will thank a handful of people that you feel have really helped you along the way, and then you will take your Elite ass to the back, and out of the minds of wrestling fans. Then the next name of MWA's past will make his or her huge return and try to capture that spark that they had years ago. Jesus, it's like a Pez dispenser filled with washed-up wrestlers. Granted, a Pez dispenser has a bit of personality. I hope I don't get a lawsuit from Pez for libel.
Look at the bright side. While you sit at home in Southampton licking your wounds and drying your eyes, you can watch me enter the Hellmouth and destroy five other competitors. The belt is secondary to the battle. Hell, this belt is always going to be secondary until Steve Pinex returns. And if/when he does, he is going to have quite the battle on his hands. Outside of Jackie Sweets, he is the biggest Elite of them all. Many come and even more go, but there will always be one constant: Maximum Violence.
Believe that..
