Promo: Pushing the Sky

[Justice 0]

“Damned snow..." says the voice of one William Hearford III as his Buick travels down a snow-shrouded I-94. The old man squints to see ahead of him at the exit signs as he tries to get to the gym. I really wish I hadn’t left the party so early, he thinks as he remembers back to last night at the celebration Ejiro and his family threw at the hotel.

 

*****

 

“Hey, Bill, get over her!” yelled the intoxicated World Champion, walking around with more than a bit of his coordination missing, “You gotta meet my grandparents!”

 

Hearford doesn’t respond as he sits at his own table away from most of the festivities, staring at a glass of Smirnov in front of him. His eyes are sullen, distant as he continues to stare at the same drink that he poured himself at the beginning of the party, but he just hasn’t been able to drink at all; with so many things running through his head right now he wants to just down an entire fifth, but he can’t even bring himself to take one drink.

 

“Okay,” responds Ejiro, pulling two older Japanese people from the current circle he’s speaking and guiding them over towards the despondent old man, “I’ll bring ‘em to ya!”

 

The inebriated Ejiro stumbles over to William, dragging along two shorter and wrinkled relatives with him. Fasaki lets them go as he puts both hands on Hearford’s chair to stop himself.

 

“Hey Bill, meet the grandfolks!” he says as he pulls his partner up to his feet, “My Ojiisan and Obaasan!”

 

The two natives of Japan bow, to which Hearford puts on a courtesy smile and returns the favor. The man, his hair grey and squinting his eyes with to see William in detail, is the first to speak up.

 

“You are far bigger than our son has let us to know!” he says with a polite smile, and indeed he nearly dwarfs the old man by a foot. “It is a great honor to meet you, sir.”

 

“Yes, the feeling is mutual,” says William, trying not to let his depression show through.

 

“It was very interesting to watch you wrestle earlier. You fought very hard. We are sorry for your loss, though,” says the kindly old woman, and Bill stammers for a moment.

 

“Yes, um... thank you very much. I appreciate the compliment,” he responds, landing on his feet after an awkward moment. But before the conversation can move any further, Ejiro decides to interrupt.

 

“Ojiisan, Mom wanted to see ya. I think she’s over there near Uncle Saraguchi,” says Ejiro, starting to show concern for Bill even through his alcoholic-induced stupor. The two move off to the other side of the hall as Ejiro slides out of chair and sits down sloppily. Hearford sits down as well and goes back to staring at the glass.

 

“That the same glass I saw an hour and a half ago, man?”

 

“Yep,” Hearford says, nodding his head, “That would be it.”

 

“What’s wrong, man? Don’t be fricken down about Danny, Bill; he’s beaten me twice before. It happens.”

 

“It’s not that, ‘Jiro, it’s...” starts Hearford, but even he doesn’t really know the answer. He just trails off, staring at the glass for a few more moments. Then he pushes his chair back and stands up, lifting his coat off the chair. Ejiro shakily stands back up as well, putting his hand on his buddy’s shoulder.

 

“Man, don’t leave, the party is still just getting started. Seriously, just sit down, drink that down, and then-“

 

“Ejiro,” Hearford says with resignation, “I can’t stay here. I feel too... out of place. I’m going to head out home. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

 

Ejiro gives a sigh. “Man, if you want to go home, that’s cool. Drive safe, okay?”

 

“I will.”

 

The two give a quick handshake and hug before they go on their separate ways. Ejiro looks back at the old man, who puts on his charcoal black fedora on as he walks out, and shakes his head before returning to the festivities.

 

*****

 

“Christ, I probably shouldn’t have gone at all,” he tells himself, “But that would have been rude to Ejiro. Not as though leaving early wasn’t enough, though...”

 

He gives a long sigh as he concentrates harder on seeing through the snow, the visibility continuing to go lower and lower as he approaches he travels along the highway; even at midday the snow is making it almost impossible to see. He’d better have someone good for me today, thinks the old man, Otherwise I’ll be more than angry with him. Deep down, though, Hearford knows he’d be driving out here anyways; he can’t rest right now.

 

“There we go...” he says as he sights the exit he needs, changing lanes and exiting into Detroit. He makes a quick right, entering a neighborhood that would make 1944 Berlin look lovely. The snow continues to make him almost blind as he searches around, looking for what he wants. Finally, he catches it through the whitewash:

 

X. P. Milligan’s Gym.

 

****

 

“Mill!” says Hearford as he enters with his trenchcoat and fedora, his duffelbag hanging off at his side.

 

“Bill! Christ, I can’t believe you made it out here today!” responds the brown-greying haired man. He walks over, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants as he puts his clipboard under his arm to give his old friend a quick handshake and pat on the back. “Yeah, we got some youngins’ that are really ready to get an assbeating from someone who knows what they are doing.”

 

Hearford gives a small chuckle, “You know, though, how I’ve been wrestling as of late one might be able to put me down.”

 

“Ha!” Mill gauffs, “Nothing on these guys, but you on a bad day could make mincemeat out of these punching bags. I got a few with instinct, but nothing you can’t handle.”

 

“We’ll see, Mill...” he says, and Mill looks at him funny.

 

“You okay, man? You don’t sound right,” he says, putting his arm on his shoulder as the two begin walking towards the gym’s ring as some of the rookies lift weights near the walls.

 

“You know, as of late I’ve just been, well,” he stammers, trying to find the right words, “Well, I’ve been wondering if I’m getting too old for this. I’ve only been in this league a year and I’m starting to feel ragged...”

 

“Bill, I’ve been watchin’ your matches as of late. You’re just lettin’ your losses get to ya. Now you know what’ll fix that?”

 

“What?”

 

“Beating the ever-loving crap out of these meatheads!” he says, pointing to the half-dozen or so guys leaning up against the wall, “Grif! Get your ass over here!”

 

A young man in blue tights looks over at him and jogs over. He’s at least a good 6'4" and looks in his early 20's. “Yeah, whatdaya need?”

 

“This, Grif, is William Hearford III,” says Mill, “And he’s what we call a ‘real wrestler’, and you are gonna learn something from him.”

 

*****

 

The kid was tough, that’s for sure. What he lacked in brains and instinct he made up for in athleticism and power. It didn’t help that William was still aching from his match last night, but Hearford was still able to keep the kid off-balance in-close. He ducked under another punch and hit home with a vicious chop, knocking the kid back...

 

“Hey, who is the old man in the ring?” asked Will, looking over at Alley. In the ring, the old man , struck another chop on the young jobber he was facing off against.

 

“That’s Gary Loman. And show some respect; I don’t know another guy who is still wrestling who can remember seeing Thesz when he was in his prime. Hell, I remember going against this guy back in the day.”

 

“Really? He’s that old?”

 

“Yeah, he is. The guy just refuses to quit.”

 

Loman moved in for a grapple, his frame muscled yet obviously straining to keep up with the younger man. He moves in for a grapple, but the young kid recovers quickly from the sharp blow and fires off an open-hand blow of his own, knocking him back...

 

William staggers back from the force, but as Grif goes for a follow-up hook he ducks under the swing, allowing him to cinch a waistlock. He tries to quickly lift him up, but his weary and wounded body doesn’t follow immediately.

 

“Damn it...” he mutters as Grif tries to throw back an elbow or two to dislodge Hearford, who is able to keep them away from his head. He tries to lift again for the German Suplex... but his arms are too tired after the combined beatings of this match and his match with Danny only yesterday. He puts him back on the ground and immediately receives and elbow to the head from Grif, followed by another, finally getting Hearford off his back. He quickly spins around and goes for a lariat... but Hearford instinctively ducks under and hits the mat, reaching back and pulling the young man down to the mat with a school-boy roll-up!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH-NO! He kicks out, and Mill immediately reams him out.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Grif?! Wake the hell up and stop going through the damn motions!”

 

“Christ, he nearly got him there.”

 

“Yeah, he’s gotta bunch of tricks up his sleeve, but he never lets his age get to him. That’s why he’s still up there; he doesn’t care if he’s 21 or 41, he’s there to win.”

 

The young man gets starts to get back up to his feet as the old man takes a knee for a second to catch his breath. The two rise up together and lock-up, with the young man quickly taking the advantage with his strength.

 

Alley shakes his head as he watches. “Stupid mistake. Loman should have never tried getting back in close while he’s tired like that. He’s not a young guy like he used to be...”

 

Prophetic as always, Alley is right as the young man quickly brings Loman into a raised knee, quickly doubling him over. He puts him in a head-scissors, putting his arms around Loman’s waist...

Hearford tries to block what’s coming, but his muscles just won’t function; he’s too tired to do it anymore, he can’t pull himself through. Despite his attempts to block it, William can’t stop Grif from lifting him up onto his shoulders shakily. Mill immediately gets up onto the apron.

 

“Christ, Grif, don’t-!”

 

But before the jobber can process what Alley wants him to do, he haphazardly tosses Loman down on his side with incredible force...

 

*CRACK*

 

Hearford yells out in pain as his world turns inside out with pain from his side. Mills goes through the ring ropes and goes over to check on Hearford, turning him over...

 

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE THE POWERBOMB, DAMN IT! YOU HAVEN’T LEARNED HOW TO DO IT RIGHT YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Alley yells at the young kid as a few more trainers hop into the ring, as well as William. He looks down at the man, his face a mask of utter agony as his entire shoulder hangs lower and just out more than it should. He yells out again in pain as Alley and the trainers try to calm him down.

 

“Get a damn ambulance!” the grizzled old trainer yells at one of his assistants, trying to move the shoulder back into place and eliciting a bone-chilling yell...

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bill, does anything else hurt?”

 

“My side...” Hearford says between another yell of pain. His body is almost shivering from the pain wracking him.

 

“Christ, he might have broken ribs to boot...” says a worried Mills, getting back up and grabbing Grif around the neck.

 

“YOU MORON!” he yells as he drags him out of the ring and into a corner, “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

 

“I- I was just caught up in th-“

 

“I don’t fucking care what you were caught up in! Do you realize what you just did?...”

 

 

 

 

 

Alley glares at the young man, fire in his eyes. “You just might have ended that man’s career, God damn it...”

[Ace309 0]

Jesus, Judge. I always knew you were a good writer, but whenever I forget, you throw something like this up.

 

I love the weaving between the stories, the recurrence of events and the utter depression that Hearford's feeling. I've always thought he was a very interesting character, and you're doing a great job with him.

[muzz 0]

Fantastic work, Judgems.

 

I'd love to see more.

[Kaertos 0]

Very nice Judge. Maybe in some fantasy universe, Grand Slam and Judge could be an "old guys"

tag team and show all these youngsters how it is done.

 

I like the story very much, and I think it makes Judge that much more a real person. Way to go.

[Guest Beingz0wningj00]

Well Judge, a good promo where you were able to acknowledge your relationship with Ejiro the champ, giving respect to your tag buddy.

 

However you hinted at signs of depression due to his success, even despite his admittance to two losses to the same guy. A good way to get Danny over, while keeping the champ and himself at bay.

 

Keeping that stuff at mind, the possible depression doesn't allow him to see a simple finale, some broken ribs and some time off just might give Judge the time he needs to collect his thoughts. Many directions for him to go.

 

Good stuff Sir Big Willy H.