Post by PIC on Mar 3, 2023 11:25:46 GMT -5
.::Some people tell you that losing is good for you. They say the only way to improve is to try and fail. They’ll pull out some inspirational Michael Jordan quote, pat you on the back, and quip, “you’ll get 'em next time, champ.”
Those people are idiots.
I spent 127 days as OCW Champion. Before that, 84 days with the Savage belt. Two-thirds of a full calendar year with championship gold around my waist, redefining the professional wrestling landscape in the process.
During that run, I took out JPD and the HOW invasion. I won the Margarita Mix, defeated not one, not two, but three OCW hall-of-famers, two of which were multi-time world champions. Not too shabby for a paper champion.
I was riding high. I was the pinnacle of this sport. Then came The Great Illuminatus.
Then came Plethora the Perilous.
Vhodka Black.
Then Meyhu. Matt F’n Meyhu.
Lime Time returned showing his true colors at the expense of my face and the belt I redesigned. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was… humbling.
But contrary to popular belief, I didn’t need to be humbled. My confidence may tow the line with pride but at no point do I allow it to cross over. Meyhu will get what’s coming to him soon enough. For now, I’ve got to focus on righting the ship this week.
Massacre. SYNN. Donnie Harris.
The Lost Soul…
A tag team match alongside my original partner with some convoluted #WEAKASSBOOKING, Classic OCW, Baby! stipulation that could only be conjured from the idiosyncratic mind of Marcus Welsh.
I’m supposed to be excited about the prospects of earning a tag title shot when for the better part of a year, they’ve been handed out like Narcan in the back alley of the OCW arena. Nah, no thanks for the consolation prize. Not interested.
But I am interested in winning.
Lots and lots of winning.
I won’t rehash the history between Tommy and myself. It’s well-documented. Some might question our ability to work together given his recent mind games and failed attempt to cash in last month, but that’s just us. We’ve been doing this same song and dance for 24 years. Sometimes he gets the upper hand, sometimes I do. But through it all, between those ropes we’re as well an oiled team as you’ve ever seen.
Unlike SYNN and Donnie Harris who’ve never even met. They have no tag team chemistry; no unspoken visual cues to use in the ring. No intuition. In fact, neither has much experience in the tag team game. All they’ve done is trade wins and losses in the midcard, and now they think they’re ready to step into the ring with two of the most decorated stars in OCW. It’s not going to end well for them. Not. At. All.::.
—February 28, 2023 11:35PM | New York, NY—
~As frustrating as his loss at The Great Illuminatus was, PIC was far more concerned with Sarah and her safety. That’s why he’s spending his 43rd birthday with her at her NYC apartment. Her flight from Greece, where she just wrapped filming a low budget flick for OCW TV, landed just a few short hours before. It seems PIC’s stalker may have only wanted to use video of her on the beach as yet another mind game, but having her back here in the states can at least give him some peace of mind. The two sit in her living room as he fills her in.~
Sarah: What the heck, dad? Why would someone be doing this to you?
PIC: I don’t know Sarbear. But when I found that man dead in his apartment, suicide or not, this whole ‘game’ of his went up a notch. And then the footage of you on the beach—
~Sarah shivers.~
Sarah: I still can’t believe some creep was out there filming me the whole time.
PIC: It’s ok. You’re here now. You’re safe.
Sarah: Am I? If he can find me all the way in Greece, what’s stopping him from doing the same or worse right here? Diric and his brother didn’t have any trouble getting to me and they didn’t have close to the resources this guy must have.
PIC: I didn’t see Diric coming, but I won’t make that mistake again. I want you to travel with Willie and I until I get things figured out.
Sarah: Ok.
~PIC shifts a bit on the faux leather couch across from her.~
PIC: Now, there’s something I want you to listen to.
Sarah: What is it?
~PIC reaches into his pocket and pulls out the smartphone that was hidden inside of the pyramid device left for him at the apartment of Griff Henson.~
PIC: He sent me an audio recording last night. I want to play it for you. If he was really in Greece then maybe he spoke to you. Maybe you’ll recognize his voice.
Sarah: It’s worth a shot.
~PIC places the phone on the coffee table and presses play.~
“By now you know I never had any intentions of harming young Sarah, I just needed you to know how serious I am. I don’t hurt people, Steve. You do. I once looked up to you as a pillar of the industry, but as they say, never meet your heroes. We did meet once, Steve. And it was in that meeting that I realized there was more to you than meets the eye. I saw the hypocrite you truly are that day and I will do everything in my power to expose that truth to the world. You’ll pay for your sins.”
PIC: Do you recognize the voice?
Sarah: Maybe. What’s that accent? Australian? British?
PIC: Could be. He’s using some kind of voice modulation device but not completely disguising his voice.
Sarah: Yeah, I dunno dad. Play it again.
~Steve taps the phone as the message repeats.~
“...I will do everything in my power to expose the truth to the world. You’ll pay for your sins.”
Sarah: There’s something about it that sounds familiar. I did meet a few guys traveling together from Wales. It could be one of them. Play it again.
“...expose the truth to the world. You’ll pay for your sins.”
Sarah: Again.
“You’ll pay for your sins.”
.::Sins?
Sin.
SYNN
What you accomplished in the Arctic Bowl was impressive, handing Egan his first. You outlasted nine others and walked out with a contract for the belt of your choice. That might even be something to brag about if it wasn’t for your most recent failure at The Illuminatus.
You lost.
Bottom tier.
To Tearra Skye.
You were easily defeated by a strung out, self-sabotaging, “sleep with anyone to get their next high” addict that makes Charlie Sheen look like Mother Teresa.
Maybe you weren’t ready. Decided to take the match at the last minute and didn't have time to prepare for your opponent. Or… maybe you just suck. Maybe you’re so busy writhing around the ring trying to get that stupid gimmick over that you can’t focus on the opponent standing right in front of you. Oh, your knee hurts? Cut the excuses.
I’ve had my face bashed in with a wrench, my hand fractured into hundreds of tiny pieces. I’ve been concussed too many times to even count. But I never use that as an excuse. Ever.
I get it, though. You gotta throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. I’m your Super Bowl, after all. You’ve dreamt of stepping into the ring with me since the day you walked into OCW. You’ve had weeks to cultivate the perfect promo. You’ve studied tape trying to look for any glaring weaknesses.
There aren’t any.
I’m used to all of it. That’s what happens when you’re the champ. You take everyone’s best shot. But while you’ve spent all this time thinking about me, I’ve never once thought about you at all. And after this week, I never will again.
TLS and I are winning this week. We’re taking the landscape of the tag division into our hands and will do what Strader and Welsh never could: book it properly. Our PPV plans will be known soon enough. That you can count on… that is a promise!::.
—February 28, 1987 9:27AM | Spartanburg, SC—
~Amick Dogeron is riding high after another successful sales presentation for his pyramid scheme product, Vitaco. He checks out of his hotel and drives a few miles to the Waffle House for a quick bite to eat. A few minutes later he’s cutting into a stack of waffles as a young man approaches his table.~
Man: Amick? Is that you?
~Amick grips the butter knife tightly as he looks up. Being recognized has never ended well for him in the past.~
Amick: Who’s asking?
Man: You don’t recognize me, do you?
~Amick gives him a once over. The slender white man with brown hair in front of him can’t be more than 25 years old. He’s dressed in a plaid button up shirt with a pair of pressed jeans. Not the crowd Amick has typically associated with.~
Amick: Can’t say that I do.
~The man sits down across from him in the booth. Amick pulls back and grips the knife even tighter.~
Man: Easy, man. It’s me.
~The man rolls his sleeve up to reveal a tattoo of Ozzy Osbourne biting the head off of a bat.~
Amick: Ozzy?
~The man nods.~
Amick: Holy hell, man. What happened to you?
Ozzy: I got locked up about three years ago. Things got pretty bad when you left. TK was in prison, Seth OD’d. I was hooked on some pretty hard stuff myself.
Amick: What changed?
Ozzy: Honestly? Jesus.
~Amick shakes his head. Ozzy senses his resistance.~
Ozzy: I get it, man. I thought the same thing for years. But I met this chaplain in jail. He gave me a Bible and man…I’m telling you. It’s real. It’s all real.
Amick: Hey, if it works for you, it works for you. But I saw enough in those foster homes from ‘Christian’ parents to know it’s all a hoax.
Ozzy: I’m sorry about your experiences, but people always let you down. Jesus never does.
~Amick sighs.~
Amick: Let’s change the subject. Aside from Jesus, what else you been up to?
~Ozzy eases up as he shifts in his seat.~
Ozzy: I took classes while I was in there. After I got out I went to a local community college back in Simpsonville. My grades were good enough to get me into Clemson. I graduate next year. I’m gonna be an accountant.
~Amick laughs.~
Amick: An accountant? Man, that’s funny.
~Ozzy chuckles himself.~
Ozzy: Yeah. Who’d have thought? What about you? What are you into?
~Amick’s demeanor changes. What’s this feeling? Shame? He’s never wrestled with guilt before, but something about Ozzy’s new life causes him to reflect.~
Amick: I, uh… I started my own business. Vitaco. We sell supplements and help others make money by doing the same.
Ozzy: How much money?
Amick: Tons, actually.
Ozzy: How does it work?
Amick: I have a wholesaler for the supplements. My clients buy them from me, then turn around and sell them to their clients for a markup. Their clients do the same and I get a cut from all of it. Best part…the supplements actually work!
Ozzy: Dude, that sounds awesome. You think I could get in on it? I really could use some extra cash. Tuition is killing me.
~Amick pauses. He’s never hesitated to rip anyone off. But Ozzy’s a guy he’s known for years; probably the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had. Could he really scam him out of all his money?~
Amick: Sure thing, man. Get ready for the ride of a lifetime.
~Amick smiles as he shakes Ozzy’s hand, thinking to himself “let’s see your Jesus forgive this sin.”~
