'The Main Event Attraction.' || Victory.
Sept 9, 2016 20:39:38 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Ernie Parker, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2016 20:39:38 GMT
Before we get back to our regularly scheduled programming, I feel as though I must say this: It’s amazing what happens when you’re in the right place at the right time. I mean that’s what a lot of life truly is, really – just being there.
You could work hard every day of your professional, adult life and you could wind up with nothing but a pity, “glad to have had you in the fold for 30 years” pin that’ll go for $5 on eBay when you get to the age of 65. And more often than not, that’s the kind of thing that happens to people. They get screwed over because they’re worker bees who believe that working hard isn’t the wrong strategy – as if that sort of thing hasn’t been proven to be wrong several times with several different. Why? Because fatal optimism is the crack that the ego of lower level employees overdoes on. For the rest of us, though, just getting there at the right time is the undisputed smartest thing we can do in life.
Now, if you wanted to be that guy (what guy? That guy), you could say that someone was abusing privileges and exploiting the connections with people they know in high places. And you’d be a bitter little bitch. Quite frankly, there’s nothing wrong with doing that move; those of us who have made those connections do so with this very thing in mind: I scratch your back, and you open doors exclusive to people you happen to like and actually give a fuck about. Or slip you a couple big-faced dollar bills underneath the table and you look the other way while an “illegal misdealing” goes on right in front of your eyes. You know – regular shit like that that happens with big business, lobbyists and the federal government all the time.
That’s how I feel about this Ultimate Championship situation on the Victory roster.
There’s eight of us. Eight of us from very different backgrounds with different dispositions and different aspirations when it comes to that title, and only four of us can make it out alive to the Championship Series. By design, this entire thing was going to be a crap shoot based on hedging your bets and trusting that Lady Luck is on your side for several nights until we reached Epic. Like the NCAA Basketball Tournament, it’s about your placement in the bracket and the luck of the draw…if you have an idea where your placement in the bracket is beforehand, yeah.
The inherent randomness of this qualifying system heading into the first episode of Victory doesn’t allow for you to feel confident about your seeding because you’ve got no idea what’s behind door #1 when your music hits and you’re waiting in the ring. I know; it’s a preposterous notion – wanting to know who you’ve got waiting across from you before you have to go out in front of a couple thousand people – but that’s the kind of thing that allows you to know what the hell you’re doing. Otherwise, you’re plummeting into the den of chaos without a net and gasoline dripping from you while wielding a damn flamethrower, which is probably what Miss Valentina Lemay wanted when it came to finding the best people to be the Ultimate Champion.
So that’s where we are: Eight individuals. Some of us beautiful, some of us looking like we just rolled out of a pit of pig feces, and some just regular people. All in a row…looking to be the chosen one for EOW and the Victory brand.
Come to think of it…we’re not like a group of lobbyist trying to curry favor with certain governmental officials at all. We’re more like contestants on The Bachelor, and Valentina is holding out the Ultimate Championship like it’s the elusive rose.
I got the suit and the good looks. Guess you can say I’m destined for this kinda thing.
September 6th, 2016 || Manhattan, New York.
Camera: OFF
Camera: OFF
“Bro, I missed this city. My city.”
For as long as I’ve known Benjamin Newsom, he’s been unabashed about how much New York is so much better than literally everywhere he’s ever been to. So it comes as no shock that my short confidant and heavily relied upon right hand man was more than giddy to find out that we were headed to New York for EOW? My Chief of Staff was damn sure giddy to get the fuck outta LA and on a plane to the Big Apple.
I mean it was good to have someone who was, effectively, going to be a great and loyal tour guide of this rather large and often times congested city. Especially if I was going to be spending an excessive amount of time out here for the company. In any event, my blonde-haired best friend (and judging by the amount of people I’ve cut out of my life or have been cut out of my life for one reason or another, I appreciate this guy’s unwavering loyalty in the face of the news that his friend is kind of a terrible person) knew this city like the back of his hand, which had been used on more than one occasion to set a couple ne’er-do-wells straight before running for his life when the angry mob chased us. So suffice it to say, if I needed to do something in this city to pass the time up between whatever contractually obligated nonsense I was slated for, I knew who to hit up.
“I know. You aren’t shy about telling everyone and their mama how much New York is the best thing ever while lying out at Venice Beach. One day, we’re gonna hear that the East Coast/West Coast beef got restarted, and the catalyst would be because you insulted some rich trust fund kid from Calabasas.” I told him in no uncertain terms, painting what I thought was a rather clear picture in so many words. It was a skill I was blessed with, being the son of a district attorney and a high-in-demand image consultant to the stars.
“So, you mean you? I should be expecting a slap to the face within the next three days if that’s the case.”
Touché, Benjamin. Touché.
Anyway, on this day, we were out having mid-afternoon drink at some bistro with outdoor seating near the sidewalk, made for perfect weather like we’re having today. Only downside was dealing with pedestrians walking by, unless the pedestrian is an insanely gorgeous woman, then it’s an obvious plus. Either way, the day for me was gonna be pretty damn low impact and without much of a care given that there was still about 12 days ‘til everything comes to fruition. And in those 12 days, I had time to strategize, watch film, come up with a plan, devise a backup plan, and generally prepare for all the worst case scenarios that could happen when Victory rolls around. So what was I doing?
Hammering down glasses of cognac in the middle of the afternoon. Probably a better use of my time, if we’re being really honest with ourselves.
“Now, I know I don’t often question your decision-making skills, if ever,” I paused mid-gulp of my drink to side-eye him, anticipating what he was getting ready to tell me, “But you and Sam callin’ it quits might be a bad idea.”
“…I’m gonna slap the shit out you, Benny.” My most unequivocal response to the bullshit my good friend was tryin’ to feed me. Might need a new Chief of Staff. “What did she do, show up to the door wearing a bikini knowing that you get weak in the knees when a D-Cup lightly brushes up against your arm? C’mon, son; you’re better than that.”
Truth be told, he really wasn’t better than that. This is a guy who goes to the pool wearing European banana hammocks, lookin’ like he’s smuggling tangerines in the front of his shorts. He might be more shameless than me, but he gets away with it because he’s sub-5’10” and looks harmless/inoffensive. Short people complain about their disadvantages all the time but don’t know how easy they’ve actually got it—fuckin’ ingrates, man. Fuckin’ ingrates.
“And besides, I’m not worried or worrying about Samantha or anything she does; I’ve got laser focus on my career now and her shit would’ve just fucked with everything. I’ve got titles to win, bro. Titles!” I paused, furrowing my brow before leaning in and saying in a hushed tone, “How did she look? Like I took the best years of her life or something?”
Curiosity kills the cat because instead of saying anything, Benjamin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to flip through and show me a picture of Samantha in a tiny red bikini. Slamming my fist on the table, I shook my head in disbelief. “You asked, Matt.”
“I’m gonna hate-fuck her when I get back to LA in a couple weeks.” Was I talking out of my ass? Most likely but I wasn’t gonna admit it to Benny, and confirm that he was right. Why the hell would I go and do that? I’d rather drink a rat poison cocktail. Speaking of cocktail, I took another long slow guzzle of my drink before adding, “Fuck that, though. I need to gameplan something for this damn qualifying bullshit I’m slotted in. I need to come up with some type of strategy if I’m gonna make it far in that damn Championship Series.”
“What? Is the ever-calm Matthew Page rattled? Is he nervous about the circumstances surrounding the Ultimate Championship?”
“Man, I fucking hate chaos.”
Flabbergasted acrimony left my lips with that statement, silently shaking my head. Being able to control things and know where the next check point would be in your journey is the most ideal thing to have but as I mentioned before, that wasn’t something that was going to be afforded to me this time. Why? Because we gotta make things hard for you, Matt; that’s why. A bigger farce than people not believing that Daphne Oz is in love with me and not knowing about it yet.
“You can’t be nervous. Aren’t you the one who looks at situations where you have multiple opponents and thinks that it’s the most beneficial because you can weasel and worm your way through to victory? Is this not any different?” He asked before taking a sip of his gin and tonic, effectively trying to stump me when he saw fit.
“That’s ‘cause most of those matches are controlled chaos. You know the variables – the who, what, where, when, why, and how – and you can map out what you gotta do in order to navigate through to victory however honorable or shameless you can.” I even went about snaking my hand back and forth to show him the weaving pattern that would be made by someone trying to get through. Hands on, I can be very hands if need be. “That, however, doesn’t happen when you don’t know who you’re facing, how many of them you’re facing, and what type of match you’re facing them in. It’s a fucking crapshoot and I can’t stand it because it makes me nervous as fuck.”
“What, you’re saying you’re gonna lose?” Benny let out this obnoxious sounding laugh, almost unable to believe that I thought about losing, and he’d be right.
“Never said I thought I was gonna lose – don’t think that. I mean have you met me? I’ll kick all their asses if I have to; I got no problem beating up seven people all at once like I’m in the middle of a Goddamn zombie hoard. Trust. I just gotta come up with a plan to beat ‘em all.”
“Even that stacked redhead?”
We shared knowing laughs, even clinked our glasses together upon referencing what some would probably try to negatively label as the female “Marvelous” Matthew Page, Felix Hartley. I leaned forward, shifting my eyes from side to side with a cavalier smirk crawling along my face.
“If it comes down to her and I, and I have no reason to think it won’t, I’m not gonna take it easy on her and I’m damn sure not gonna let her win. Though, if she wanted to wear the title after I win, she’s more than welcome to; she’s got a uh…standing invitation.” Innuendo – Matthew Page, you cad.
“She seems like the type that’ll make you work for it.”
“The juice is worth the squeeze, Benjamin.” I mean who says shit like that and doesn’t laugh? Me, of course.
Now I told you that story to tell you this story…
September 8th, 2016 || Times Square in New York City.
Camera: ON
The Big Apple at night was a beautiful sight. Everything was lit up like a Christmas tree and the nightlife was just buzzing all around you, thus making for a perfect locale for me to just tell it like it is. Hey, EOW; you wanted the best? You wanted to find your flagship? The standard bearer? The guy you want to put on every billboard in creation? Well, you found him, and he’s standing in the middle of Times Square in a pristine, custom-made slate gray suit and his name?
“Marvelous” Matthew Page.
“The sense of the unknown is thick in the air here in EOW. No one knows what’s in store for them – what’s behind the glowing red door – and it’s left every single man and woman on edge, not knowing what the hell to do with themselves. All this chaotic energy building within them as they try to do something to better their position in the days leading up to Victory. To be honest, the way I see it? There are about six out of the eight of us who might’ve just lost their mind when they found out they had a chance at becoming the premiere brand’s top champion. And they truly can’t process this information clearly because it just throws them off completely. So what do they do? Well, they get sent into a state of shock that’s comparable to a college student trying to complete the paper that’s worth a hefty amount of their grade. Not me; I’m too hip to the con for that to happen. Nevertheless, this presents the most enticing of proclamations known to man.”
“Because, let’s face it: We all enter this business for one simple goal, and that’s to become the best. No matter what division you’re in, what weight class you ascribe yourself to, the minute you step foot inside a 20x20 ring? All you want is that title. All you want is to be recognized by the company you’re signed to as one of the best that they have – if not, the best they have. And that’s the type of thing that drives you – oh, it drives you, man. It drives you to look for any type of way to get ahead of the next man or woman; to be better than them or find your way in the slot in front of them. It gives you ambition that you never knew you even had before. This bellicose, caustic, abrasive ambition that gives you tunnel vision – that gives you the idea to buck the status quo, and to go cross the line in order to get what you want. Because guess what? Open mouths don’t get fed, and people who stand far behind the line don’t recognized for Goddamn thing, no matter ‘how good’ they believe they are.”
“I step into a room, people immediately take notice. I speak, people listen. I take action, and people watch; it’s a simple formula. Easy for people to understand if their heads aren’t shoved far up their asses. Because, of course, people want to believe what they wanna believe. They want to believe that someone who was a former multiple-time champion in every organization he went to could be the one to send this show and this company to the next level. They want that credibility because they see a guy like me – someone who’s sure of himself but is a relative unknown in the hearts and minds of just about everyone watching – and they’re turned off. Why? Because I’m sure of myself? Because I know what I want out of this business? Because I make it abundantly clear that, in no uncertain terms, I’m all about that paper and that gold and that nothing else matters? That’s the kind of thing that’ll piss people off, my quasi-nihilism toward the business that so many of you love to death. Guess what? I’m here to turn things upside down and the only way I’m gonna be able to do that is by taking that Ultimate Championship, and turning it into the greatest trophy wife known to man.”
“That’s got to annoy some people, doesn’t it? That I couldn’t possibly care less about the respect and dignity of an elite-level Heavyweight Championship, and only look at it as ‘what can it do for me’. And it can do a lot more for me than it can do for someone who’s ‘trained and fought their entire life to become the main champion in a company’. I don’t give a damn about journeys or quests or how far someone has had to go in order to get their one chance – that one chance – at proving all their doubters wrong and becoming more than what they were before they got the title wrapped around their waist. If you want your life’s work to be worth a damn, go become an artist or a singer as opposed to standing in front of someone whose time is worth a hell of a lot more than yours.”
“You see, that title? The acclaim, the recognition, the notoriety – letting someone like a Mysti Savage or a Jason Kaine get their grubby mitts all over the gold just wouldn’t feel right to me. It wouldn’t. Because to be a champion in wrestling, you need to be a champion in life. You need to be an undisputed, certified winner at everything, and believe you me, I’m a winner at everything in life. So much so, that I don’t need to pull a Jason Kaine where I’m putting all my money on the table and going all in, saying that if I lose, I’ll bolt. I’m confident enough that I don’t need to become that desperate to show people how much this means to me. I don’t need to do that; I’m not that wacked in the head. However, I will gladly be the one who facilities his exit from EOW. I’ll beat his ass from one corner of the Manhattan Center to another before launching him out by his stringy hair onto the street. And when I’m done whippin’ his ass and painting all of Lower Manhattan red with his blood…I’m gonna paint his wife white later on in the night back at the hotel.”
“But then you’ve got someone like Mysti Savage. The most opinionated of us who has something to say to just about everyone on the Victory roster. She’s a bit mouthy—believes that she knows what’s best for not only the Ultimate Championship, not only the Victory brand, but also the entire EOW as a whole. I mean…cool; good for you to have all these thoughts, Mysti. It’s good to keep the mind active and not let it wither away before old age; kinda smart, actually. Not your thoughts, they’re plain ol’ idiotic, to be honest. She’s the type of girl wrestler that’s all about rasslin’. The alternative look, the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude – she wants to fight while looking like she’s just gotten a fresh batch of shitty weed to give to the seventh graders under the bleachers during the assembly about saying ‘no’ to drugs. She thinks wanting to be a star shouldn’t be one of the criteria for someone who wants to become Ultimate Champion. Let me assist you in being hip to the con: You could be the greatest rassler of all time and it won’t make a damn difference – it won’t move the Goddamn needle. You know why? Because the people don’t tune in to see good little rasslers hone their craft; they tune in to see the big, larger-than-life stars dazzle and amaze with their star power and prowess. And Mysti? I’m the star; you’re the person who complains about the star getting all the airtime and sponsorships. You’re a lowly rassler, and I’m bigger than wrestling. Know your place in the pecking order, okay toots?”
“Now, a guy like Jack Owyns, though…heavy yikes. He’s angry all the damn time, wanting to rip people’s faces apart for no reason other than he hasn’t been laid since between the first Bush administration and Ross Perot’s failed run for presidency. So, at least 20-something years. Nevertheless, he’s been weeping and moaning for some God awful when he’s on the precipice of being the Ultimate Champion. He should really take a lesson from Bryan Williams, and go gung ho into this match. Because Bryan’s been a champion everywhere he’s went, and he knows what he’s doing – so you would think he might be the frontrunner in the match…and that would be the case, in a world where ‘Marvelous’ Matthew Page doesn’t exist. Both of them want to prove themselves on the grand stage, and that’s great and all but the difference between me and them? I’m looking to use them as a stepping stone to the next level.”
“Kinda like how I wanna use Connor Jacobs and Finn Whelan to get to the next level. Those two are gonna wanna get to the main stage and dazzle the crowd with their technique and grit but guess what? All that won’t matter when you’re in the ring with a man who’s a Goddamn juggernaut. Like DJ Khaled says, I’ve got the key to success because I’m the best. And I’ll have no problem with crushing their dreams in front of everyone in the Manhattan Center on the 18th. But uhh…Felix Hartley?”
“Darling? It’s gonna come down to you and me in this, isn’t it? Like we’re destined for this moment. If that’s the case, then hey…the pleasure, and the title, will be all mine. It’ll be down and dirty and raw; two beautiful people will walk into the Manhattan Center and one will walk out wearing the gold. And quite frankly, it’ll show the entire what perfection would truly look like if it melded right in front of their eyes. It’d be like if Bradley Cooper, Chris Pine, Margot Robbie and Scarlett Johansson all got together and had the most gorgeous baby that went on to rule Victory and EOW as the Ultimate Champion.”
