PROMOL :Never Fade Away."

[Guest Kibagami]

PROMO: “Never Fade Away.”

 

I don’t know why I bothered to come out to Mobile for the show. It’s the second one I’ve missed; I know Andrea’s given me time off for good behavior (or whatever the front office is calling my leaves of injury now), but it still feels like I should be in the ring, bad neck or not. I know I shouldn’t be. I know the doctors are probably right. I should be at home watching Storm, not watching it from backstage. I should be at home recuperating. I should be at home with Angel instead of dragging her out here to Bumfuck, Alabama for a show that I’m not in. I shouldn’t be out here wondering how I’m going to fare in the Clusterfuck next Sunday with a bad neck and a week behind in the ring. I shouldn’t be standing out on the balcony of a third-rate Holiday Inn smoking my last cigarette when I know there’s a beautiful woman inside waiting for me to come back to bed.

 

I’ve really got to quit smoking these. I’ve heard they can kill you.

 

Williams is a tough motherfucker, I’ll give him that. Those elbows hurt like hell. “Cervical radiculopathy” is what the doctors are telling me this time. It explains the lack of feeling in my hands after I got backstage, and they say it can be caused by those damnable bone spurs. I knew I should’ve had somebody do something about those when I was laid up in the hospital after Genesis. Every time something important happens, an injury accompanies it, and it’s always the same goddamn injuries, every time. They want me to come back next week for an x-ray; it seems that cervical whatever-the-hell-it-was can also be caused by some kind of disc herniation. I’m not going back, though. Applewhite would keep me out of the Clusterfuck if he thought I was seriously injured again. And we can’t have that, now, can we?

 

I shouldn’t have lost that match. I know better. I should’ve kicked Williams’ fucking face in as soon as he hit me with that elbow out of the rope break. I could’ve done it. I could’ve beaten him. He’s talented, but he’s not perfect, and he’s not as good as I am…or was, anyway. Williams gets angry in the ring, and when he’s angry, he makes mistakes. I could’ve kept things even, gotten him frustrated, and when he started to get careless, I could’ve broken his roided-up neck into so many little vertebrae fragments. I’ve done it before – Danny might be impressive here, but he’s a dime a dozen overseas.

 

But I didn’t do that. I let Danny dictate the pace of the match, I let him wear me down. I let him beat me. I did the same thing against deKindes. I let him decide where the match was going to go instead of deciding for myself. I let Yuuichiro get inside my head in December, and Angel paid for it instead of me…and there is no excuse for that. Goddamn it, I barely beat Tom’s new recruit when he got bumped, and he’s a rookie. And he’s old. But he almost reinjured my neck all the same, and I had to beat him with a rollup and a handful of tights. That’s not what I do, damn it. I don’t win matches that way. I win matches by…by…

 

Well, I don’t win that many matches anymore. But I used to. And I won them decisively. I won them without rollups, without fluke submissions, and I was able to walk out of the ring under my own power afterwards. I didn’t need anybody to lean on. I didn’t need so many painkillers, I didn’t need to visit the chiropractor once, sometimes twice a week. I didn’t need so much fucking help to get out there and wrestle.

 

I also used to seriously injure my opponents more often than not. It’s a miracle that Alex is still walking around after the two matches he had with me. Sydney Sky isn’t walking yet, I’ve been told. Andrea’s been talking to Raynor on and off, and she says that his shoulder’s been giving him trouble in rehab this month. Xero’s never really recovered from having his arm broken back in the ML, and that Spike Jenkins guy is just now returning to form after wrestling with a herniated disc for I don’t know how long. Yes, I used to win a lot of matches…but I don’t think I want to win them like that, anymore.

 

Besides, people like me now. Most of the boys have forgiven me, as it were, for my sins – even Annie’s been a lot friendlier since I returned, even if she’s friendlier with Angel than she is with me. The fans are just as forgiving – they don’t remember the guy that powerbombed Z off of a steel cage, that went to war three times with Yuuichiro Kaesame, the guy that tried his damnedest to break Edwin MacPhisto’s neck. They’ve forgotten about that. They cheer Angel and I every night. They cheer for me when I win, and they boo the other guy when I lose. It’s nice to be appreciated.

 

But I’m tired of hearing them boo the other guy.

 

I’m tired of losing. I’m tired of limping to the back and hearing Stevens at the announcer’s table talking about my valiant effort and my unfortunate circumstances. I’m sick of that shit. I’m the fucking Silent One, okay? Do you remember him, Mark? I almost beat you within an inch of your life one night to get to your buddy Edwin. You really think I want your fucking pity? I don’t want anybody’s pity. I want to win. I want to be dominant, I want to be the main attraction, I want to be center fucking stage again, like I was at Ground Zero, like I was supposed to be.

 

I’ll send Angel home tomorrow. She’ll understand, I think. I can’t be worried what she’ll think of me if I have to go a little farther, push a little harder, fight a little dirtier than I have in the last few months. I can’t have her standing there at ringside, I can’t stop and think about what she might think of me. I love her; I like to think that she knows that. But if I don’t step it up in that ring, somebody’s going to hand me an injury that I can’t come back from. And if I bow out of the ring one more time because of my neck, what happens then?

 

I’ll tell you what happens.

 

Edwin MacPhisto waltzes right back in to the SWF, right back into the hearts of the fans and right back into the fucking spotlight, and he lives happily ever after.

 

He’ll apologize for what happened to Raynor, of course. He’s got to keep up the illusion of caring; ‘the show must go on’ and all that bullshit that he adores so much. He’ll say he was caught up in the heat of the moment. He’ll say there was nothing else he could do. He’ll say that he’s sorry, he’ll shed a couple of tears, and the scariest part of all that? Part of him might even think that it’s true. And life will go on, and the fans will cheer him again, and the Carnival will take him back, again, and he’ll ride that stupid fucking golf cart down to ringside every night, and nobody will be there to say, “No, this is wrong. This is not who he is.”

 

Angel or not, bad neck or not, I can’t live with that.

 

The Clusterfuck is appropriately named. A bunch of people aimlessly milling around in the ring trying to toss each other out. Some of them have issues with each other, most of them don’t, but they all fight for a little while and eventually only one person’s left. Yeah, that sounds like a Clusterfuck to me.

 

Well, I’ve got to get ready. There’s a house show tomorrow; perfect scouting opportunity. No reason to wake Angel up for that. I’ll send her home when I get back from the show.

 

I’ve really got to quit smoking.

 

Do these people have a goal, outside of the title shot? No. Not really. They want that because they’re told to want it, because there’s nothing else they want. I’m not wrestling in the Clusterfuck for the title shot. That’s incidental. I’m wrestling in it to be the best. Period. Hands down. No arguments. The best in the business. And I will do whatever I think I have to do in order to win this match. Because if I win this match, I get a shot at Magnifico, or maybe Flesher. It doesn’t matter. And if I beat them, that makes me the World champion. And if the man Edwin MacPhisto nearly crippled seven years ago becomes the #1 worker in a federation he left…no, a federation he ran away from…

 

Well, like any deceptive, lying, two-bit sideshow junkie, he’ll come scampering back. Because that means that he’ll have one more shot at being center stage.

 

For the last time, I promise you.

 

But he will be center stage.

 

END

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Beautiful, man. I like to see Edwin's future mentioned, just because it gives me hope that he'll show up again someday. It ties in a lot of stuff, leaves some doubt for your future, and leaves a lot hinging on Clusterfuck. Good to see some real storylines for teh match developing.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

Character motivation much?

 

That's the best thing you've written in a long time. Now back it up with a match. If you write matches with this sort of drive, I'm adding you to the list of Clusterfuck inside favorites.

[Guest 5_moves_of_doom]

Who's this Nathan guy?

[Guest kelloggs]

If you read your cue cards TNT, you'd have been informed that Nathan is justice. Nathan is rule. While not the calibur of the PromolWars string, the Silent One brings goods to the table. Easily the best you've written in a bit.

[Guest Muzz]

Good Promol, BUT DON't WRITE MATCHES, OK?

 

GOOD.

[Guest crusen86]

...Uh, good promol.

[Guest Crowe]

\m/ @ promol. Now write the match and win already.

[Guest HVilleThugg]

Silent is gay.

 

Da "that is all" H

[Guest Kibagami]

I'm gay? Listen, we've both had broken necks before. Who's medium pimpin' and kicking people's faces off, and who's having "Oh my gosh nightmares and stuff"?

 

Da "Somebody's got issues, and it's not me this time" K.

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

I'll second the thought that this doesn't quite trump your PROMOWARS~! promos, but it was quite a goodie

 

You have excellent control over the English language and that's a quality that not many people have in this day and age. Great job, K.

 

- TM