'Verbal Flamethrower.' || Victory.
Sept 25, 2016 3:04:26 GMT
Valentina Lemay, Jack Owyns, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2016 3:04:26 GMT
So, Victory went the way I said it would: I won.
People can spin it however they want, call it whatever they want, label it and miscategorize it however they would like but there’s no spin here – this is a designated “No Spin Zone”. I won. In front of thousands in the famed Manhattan Center in Manhattan, New York, I did what I said I was going to do when the first ever episode of Victory took place: I cemented my name as one of the biggest stars on the damn roster, and made myself into a surefire, future Ultimate Champion. That’s what I did, and it annoys people to no end.
When you live by the mantra of “the ends justify the means”, you’re not backed into the same ol’ arrogant bullshit of “fighting fair and with integrity”. Rather, you’re free to do whatever you want, without the pressure that someone who claims to be morally upstanding has on their shoulders. Quite frankly, it’s better that way. There’s a sense of arrogance that comes from the people who proclaim to have done things the quote-unquote “right way” that I, quite frankly, don’t wanna ascribe to. Because most of the people you see pulling out that sort of logic all think that they’re better people than most – an air of unearned smugness that makes you wanna headbutt them into a coma. You hear a lot of it from the braying jackasses that populate the Livewire roster but that’s because they’re all a little touched and wanna lap at each other’s asses for an entire show.
You know – that whole lacking of competition and playing itself as to not wanting to go up against the big dogs in the company. But that type of shit? That doesn’t matter; what matters mostly is that I’m on my way to completing my destiny in EOW of becoming EOW Ultimate Champion…once I get through this Championship Series, that is.
Because alongside Jack Owyns (yick), Finn Whelan and Felix Hartley, I’m embroiled in battle to see who will become the undisputed best wrestler on not only the Victory brand, but the entire Epic Online Wrestling as a whole – and that’s gotta piss a lot of people off. That fact that when you see the graphic show up of who’s in the Championship Series and my handsome mug is displayed prominently has to just make sure a lot of people’s stomachs just twist and turn in the most vicious of knots. Why? It’s because someone like me, who represents everything they hate, has a chance to be the first ever Ultimate Champion while they’re stuck on the sidelines, trying (and failing) to prove that they’re better than me.
Lord almighty—that’s gotta suck.
And for a lot of people, that does indeed suck. Like Finn Whelan, my first opponent in the series – no doubt one of the guys you didn’t have on your bracket and one of the guys who was gonna bust your bracket because despite being as good as he is, people underestimate him. Maybe it’s his size and stature but him making it here means a lot to a lot of people who identify with him for some God awful, hubristic reason. Nevertheless, someone like me doesn’t lose to someone like him…ever. And you know why?
Because to let the luck of the Irish prosper over the luck of the Marvelous means to undo the natural order of EOW. And what is that order?
“Marvelous” Matthew Page at the very, very, very top of the mountain…while everyone else fights for scraps deep in the valley.
Pack your cloverleaf, Finn; you’re gonna be in for one bumpy ride.
September 23rd, 2016 || Santa Monica, California.
“You wanna conduct an interview while me? I wanna speak frankly and candidly…so, let’s do both, Hope.”
With a wide, doe-eyed expression of half confusion and half intrigue, Hope Gordon stood in the foyer of my Santa Monica estate, holding her iPhone up with the screen displaying the graphic overlay for the audio recorder. It was clear that despite our earlier interaction on the first episode of Victory that the cute little correspondent for EOW’s Victory brand did not know what to expect from someone like myself as she was probably more used to people who were in essence…“tame and safe” interviewees. The types that would relish having a softball question getting thrown at them because they couldn’t exactly handle being grilled for the entire world to see – especially by someone who looked like she got geeked out over pumpkin spiced lattes returning to the Starbucks menu. Of course, the brunette, who usually had a big smile, probably wasn’t going to be keen to me reverting to my baser misogynistic ways – Liberals her ages were always so finicky when it came to being jokingly called “toots” or “babe” – so I came in peace rather than wanting to have HR set up a “how to talk to your female coworkers” meeting for everyone involved.
As your flagship talent, I do these things for you, you ungrateful bastards.
Professionalism was on the menu for today, and that involved me wearing a freshly pressed white open-collared dress shirt and pinstriped black slacks that worked in concert with her apricot-colored blouse and black pencil skirt as I led her through my home to the living area, gesturing for her to sit while I stood with my hands in my pockets.
“Well…since you ‘wanna talk’, I certainly have a few questions here that I’m sure you’ll be able to answer in your own way, Mister Page.” She said, pointing at the iPad that she had sat down beside her, more than likely loaded with enough gotcha questions to send a politician into cardiac arrest.
Her tone sounded semi-sarcastic and dry, probably wasn’t that way but I was somehow paranoid given how everything had shaken out since Sunday night. And if she wanted the tone of the interview to be that way, then I was, for sure, going to make sure that it was going to be dry, sarcastic, and heavy in ways that weren’t conducive for her to get the answers she wanted. That, or I was gonna steamroll through her questions with my own talking points. Again, this was if I were so inclined to be such an unruly and bad interview – I was feeling like a generous lover.
“Lay it on me, Hope. What’cha got?”
“Okay…” I could’ve sworn I saw her licking her teeth, holding in an inward chuckle as her finger gliding along the surface of her tablet, looking for the right question to ask to start this thing off with a certifiable bang. “Your win at Victory this past Sunday was mired in controversy, with many people believing that you screwed Connor Jacobs out of a chance at taking part in the Championship Series. How do you respond to the claims of many – including Mister Jacobs – that you procured a tainted victory?”
So, that’s how you’re gonna play this…okay.
My lips were pursed and my arms were crossed along my chest, eyebrow arched as I gave off a look of pure dissatisfaction to her line of questioning. This cookie wasn’t just another pretty face that liked Uggs and Juicy Couture sweatpants – she had some bite to her. “People can say whatever the hell they want – doesn’t mean they’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to take their feelings, wants, and needs into consideration; I’m not that guy. Bottom line is, every time we step foot inside that ring, we go out there with one surefire goal in mind: To win. That’s the only goal you need to have; not to wow the crowd with convoluted moves or to make some old bastard with an archaic star-rating feel like he’s being noticed – but to win. Win at all cost. Make sure you win…and I did that. But people don’t like the way I went about winning because it doesn’t line up with their sensibilities, and for that, I’m not sorry, okay? Not one bit.”
If people were looking for some sort of contrition from me for my actions, they’d have better luck waiting on $20 from me because it wasn’t gonna happen. They weren’t getting $20 from me either but still; they’d be more likely to get that than contrition. Oh well.
“I’m not going out to that ring, worried about what others will like. I’m not going out there with this misguided idea of righteousness that directs me throughout life so I can make people feel better when they give out a laundry list of bullshit, self-involved, self-aggrandizing reasons as to why they might like what I do. All I care about is victory. Both the noun and the show. I’m worried about getting that win, and moving on to the next match and next accomplishment because winning? That’s what’s most important to me and my career – not making those people happy. What the fuck does their happiness mean to me and why does it have to mean anything to me? That’s why I’m not giving a good Goddamn about people’s perceptions of me following my match with Connor this past Sunday.”
“But he had you defeated. Multiple times, in fact, and this isn’t just by his own accord; this is documented and supported on video tape – he had you beaten in the middle of the ring, looking to advance to the Championship Series. So it stands to reason that he does have a rightful claim to a shot at the Ultimate Championship.”
“Congrats?” I dismissively and sarcastically said, mockingly clapping at what Hope stated in regards to Connor and his attempts at claiming victory. “Like…does he want a cookie? Does he want a ribbon to go with his consolation prize? He could have me beat as many times as he wants – on the precipice of defeat as many times as he wants. The fact of the matter is this: Who ended up winning? Who ended up taking advantage of the moment as opposed to worrying about other shit? Me; I did. He could say he had me defeated x-amount of times – 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8; however many times – and it doesn’t matter because until you see the referee’s hand hit the mat 3 times,” I slap my palm three times in succession to emphasize my point, “Until you hear him say ‘1, 2, 3’, until you hear the bell ring and the ring announcer announce your name as the victor…it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter how many times you theoretically can beat someone when the one time they have you defeated…they actually put you away. So people like you, Hope, can say I cheated and I’ll merely say that I took advantage of a situation that was gifted to me on a silver platter. And anyone else who says they wouldn’t do the same is a Goddamned liar.”
Find me the guy or girl who would disagree with that sentiment and I’ll show you the arrogant jackass that wants you to believe that they’re high and mighty and are firmly planted on their moral high horse with their nose in the air. Fuck ‘em, in all honesty.
“Bringing the conversation to the Championship Series, you’re one of four people who will be fighting to see who will be Victory’s first ever Ultimate Champion. How does that make you feel, being in the elite group of four?”
“Like it’s meant to be? See, to me, I should be in that spot because I consider myself not only one of the best that Victory has to offer, but also one of the best – if not the best – that EOW has to offer. You almost have to feel that way, and my inclusion in the Championship Series…man, that gets on people’s nerves, doesn’t it? That does something to people – it strikes somethin’ deep within them that they just can’t shake. They see someone like me, and instantly deem that because of how I look, how I act, and how I choose to wrestle, that I don’t deserve to be at the top of the mountain as a World Champion. They hate me and what I represent, and they think I haven’t earned a damn thing; that I haven’t ‘paid my dues’, as if we’re still stuck in the late ‘80’s where you had to either be a promoter’s boy or his cocaine hookup. To me, though? I don’t care.”
“Don’t care?”
“Not one bit. Because when you’re great…all that stuff doesn’t mean anything. Greatness doesn’t wait for things like ‘the line of succession’ – you jump the line and prove that you’re of worth. And when I look at the field that we’ve got in this company, especially on Livewire, I’m the best man for the job. Some offense to certain people – sorry to the champs on Livewire; I don’t have any respect for your titles – but I can mow through the best and brightest this or any company has to offer without breaking a sweat. That’s what separates the champions – the true champions – from the contenders and the pretenders: You gotta know, deep down in your heart, that no matter what they put in front of you, that you’ll find your way through to become the best thing goin’ today. And as it stands right now? I’m the best.”
Holding up my index finger during a pause, I took a seat astride Hope, making sure to carry her attention while doing so, “Like, let’s extrapolate on this – follow me for a second: I could’ve easily cashed in on being better than the majority of the EOW roster and went to Livewire and became the Heavyweight Champion on the first night and have it be that easy. That lazy. But I didn’t do it, why? Because, for some God awful reason, I like a challenge in my professional life. A challenge that sees me beating three of the four best in this company. A challenge that will prove why I am the best thing that EOW has to offer. That’s what I mean when I say I don’t see anything worth a damn about the Heavyweight Championship over on Livewire – because there’s nothing they’ve done to fight for it. It’s just a title that means nothing, and I wouldn’t be proud about that.”
Hope gave me a nod upon understanding my answer, her attention traveling toward her tablet again, going through her set of questions before finding the right one. Her eyebrow furrowed, a pensive expression being shown across her face for a few seconds.
“Switching gears, your opponent for the first set of Championship Series matches is Finn Whelan. Now, you had a close look at Finn this past Victory, and the obvious question is why? I mean you didn’t necessarily know that you would be facing Finn just yet – what was the purpose behind watching him so closely?”
“Why else would I? I wanted to get a good look at the competition. I wanted to scout the people who were in the qualifying matches, and make sure I have a good idea as to what to expect from them during the Championship Series.”
“But you actually came to the staging area to watch; you didn’t do that with Felix or Jack. What was it about him that made you do that?”
“…If you would let me finish, I will gladly give you an explanation as to why that happened.” I shot her a look that could be described as ‘are you done?’ if you were to pay close enough attention. When she relented, raising her hand up to show off that she’s coming in peace. “Thank you. Now, I came to the stage to scout the competition; the reason you saw me only come out for his match was when Felix’s match happened, I was coming down from my match that had happened literally moments before hers. Same reason as to why I didn’t come out for Jack Owyns’ match – because I had to cool down. What I did, though, was watch their matches from closed-circuit television inside the arena, making sure I knew what they were doing in their matches. Granted, I had no idea Finn was going to be my first opponent, but it seems as though I had great timing in getting some much-needed research time on my opponent.”
Shrugging, I inserted a quick pause to my speech in an attempt to gather my thoughts for a few moments, clenching my jaw as my teeth gnawed against one another in some annoyance. I was still annoyed by her earlier question and did my best to shake off any residual ill-tempered feelings as I pressed forward.
“So, I got a good look at Finn Whelan, and despite whatever ‘distraction’ I posed to him, he managed to finish the job and put Jason Kaine away. And what I learned from that match—and what he said in the weeks before it—was that he’s got somethin’ to prove. That man has a chip on his shoulder bigger than all of Ireland, and he carries it around with him wherever he goes. There’s a certain degree of anger behind those eyes; anger that stems from the fact that his career, up to this point, hasn’t exactly evolved the way he wanted it to. It’s sad but unfortunately for some, that’s just how the cookie crumbles for them in this business – they don’t always get what they want, no matter how hard they try. No matter what they do, no matter what lengths they go to prove that they belong, sometimes it just doesn’t add up for them in the long run. He’s an outcast – an outsider. In many respects, that man is the dark horse candidate: The person that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and steals an underdog victory from the favorite so he can shove it in the face of everyone who doubted him before. At least that’s how Finn views it, to be honest. And…well, I don’t mean to be that guy but there’s probably something about his anger that hits a bit too close to home, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I actually don’t know what you mean. Could you please elaborate without being vague, please?” Hope countered matter-of-factly, looking at me expectantly.
…This bitch.
“You want me to be a little less vague? Fine. He’s gotta go home every night, and come to a realization that many of us don’t have to. That he’s not the star of his household. Every night, when he’s gotta look across the dinner table, he’s gotta see his wife – an acclaimed star if there ever was one – and realize that everything he’s done pales in comparison to the laundry list of accomplishments she’s accrued during her career. That he’s not the bread winner; that he doesn’t wear the pants in his relationship. And that’s gotta twist and turn his stomach into the most complicated of knots because he wants the recognition…and he’s mad that he’s not getting it. That he’s seen as Aaron’s husband as opposed to being viewed as his own man. That anger will make the man do things. Things that he would swear up and down he wouldn’t do in order to become champion. And if you think I’m not gonna exploit that, you’re sadly mistaken.”
There was no letting up in what I was going to say, and I think Hope began to realize this a while ago, opting to lay out and just let me steamroll through with my diatribe.
“Fact of the matter is, I hope he gets angry. I hope he does dumb things because of his anger and need to prove himself as a worthy championship competitor. Because guys like him? That’s their ultimate downfall. The ones with a chip on the shoulder, mad at the world for shit that could’ve easily been handled if they hadn’t been blaming their problems on anyone else – they’re the ones who are easy to exploit because you can take their pain and their passion and use it against them. You can use what makes them tick and drive them up a wall in order to break them away from their gameplan and ultimately drive them to lose in the most spectacular of fashions. The mental war between those ropes is won when you know that the man or woman standing across from you is running on emotion as opposed to rational thought. When you can look in their eyes and know beyond a shadow of a doubt they’ve got other things on their mind besides winning, then you’ve already won half the damn battle.”
“I’m gonna kick his ass. From one end of the ring to another, he’s getting his ass handed to him in front of everyone in the Manhattan Center, Hope. Because whether people think my aloof nature is indicative of how I feel or not, I’m not playing games here. This is serious business. That Ultimate Championship is the most important thing in this company whether the idiots on Livewire like it or not – some offense. And at the end of this Championship Series, one person will be left standing in the center of that ring with the title in their hand, and you best believe it won’t be the other three people in this Series. It’s the man you’re lookin’ at right now. Because I’m better than everyone else. Because I’m the man to beat. Because I’m not just the best…I’m ‘Marvelous’ Matthew Page.”
“…Thank you for your time, Mister Page.”
I was vehement in my quest of becoming Ultimate Champion, and that’s what I damn sure needed to be in order to quell the tide that was coming at me with the other three. Of course, it’s easier to bash brains in with one broad swing than to take them all on at once – better strategy, too.
