Post by Stephen Callaway on Feb 19, 2011 21:03:31 GMT -5
The steel hangs around the ring casting an imposing shadow against the lights it bathes in. The top edge of the steel looking down menacingly on all beneath it. The door may well have a sign over it saying 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here.’ The sell out crowd in the arena is made up of cold, empty, metal chairs. A handful of stagehands provide noise as they chat amongst themselves. Pointless noise about the wife, grocery shopping, how heavy the cage is, the muscle tears from lifting it and what they would do for their team if they were coach.
A silent figure in a black coat walks around the cage. Stretching his neck, he looks at the top of the cage as it towers over him. A look down at the ringside mats. Not much protection if he was to fall from the top. He lets his fingertips touch the cold steel as he continues to walk around the cage. He can hear the crowd. The cheers from them. The boos.
Steel stairs underfoot send a resounding clang across the empty arena as he enters the cell. The soft squeak from rope and turnbuckle as he slips between the ropes. Some call it extra sensory perception; some call it a psychic intuition. He prefers to call it ‘knowing what’s going to happen’. He can see blood on the canvas that isn’t there yet. He can hear bones breaking and bodies slamming on the ground. The sounds of men in pain screaming as cartilage tears. He knows that he will not leave the cage tomorrow as fit as he is now. The dull pains in his knee and wrist he has learned to live with will be fond memory when compared to the blood and carnage he will go through.
Some would say ‘it’s not worth it’. If he’s honest with himself a mid card spot, although full of it’s own pain, would be preferred. The reward beckons him though. A carrot to his donkey. It keeps pulling him in and driving him. Steve Austin once told him ‘’If you’re not in the business to be champion then you had best get out. What is the point of your being in the business taking someone’s spot who does want it?”
He taps the steel with a pen from his pocket. The metallic clang echoes across the arena. He’s heard some say he deserves it for being around for a long time and for improving. Pity support. He wants them to say he deserves it for being better than the rest. Better than Josh Eagles. Better than The Crimson Knight whatever he wants to call himself.
Is he better than them? Luke maybe. Josh? For one night it doesn’t matter. For one night all bets are off and the form book is out the window and shredded against the steel mesh like coleslaw. In twenty four hours when he re-enters the arena, walks to the ring and enters the cage proper; it doesn’t matter who’s a better wrestler. It doesn’t matter who deserves or who wants it more. What matters is who wins. Nothing more than who gets the pin fall. Josh may be a better wrestler, but that won’t make a difference when he’s lying in a pool of blood. Being a better wrestler won’t protect him when Stephen pins Luke.
He leaves the cage. On his own accord, not like tomorrow when officials and paramedics will be trying to get to him to stem the bloodflow.
He walks alone up the isle with his back to the structure. He can feel it watching him as he walks. Just before the curtain, he stops. He turns to face his tormentor. A face to face stare-out Stephen Callaway is defiant. His look tells the cage ‘I do not fear you. I know my future and the pain that awaits me yet I embrace it and look forward to it.’
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single playing card and a cinnamon bagel. The Jack of Hearts looks up at him over the sweet smelling bagel. He takes a bite of the bagel. Has he bitten off more than he can chew? Possibly, yet while he has it he enjoys the flavour so when it is gone he can remember it. He pockets the card again. The number on the back his psychiatrist. A call he’s not ready for yet. Maybe tomorrow. He passes through the curtain on route to his hotel and a good night’s sleep. He has a busy day tomorrow.
END PROMO
A silent figure in a black coat walks around the cage. Stretching his neck, he looks at the top of the cage as it towers over him. A look down at the ringside mats. Not much protection if he was to fall from the top. He lets his fingertips touch the cold steel as he continues to walk around the cage. He can hear the crowd. The cheers from them. The boos.
Steel stairs underfoot send a resounding clang across the empty arena as he enters the cell. The soft squeak from rope and turnbuckle as he slips between the ropes. Some call it extra sensory perception; some call it a psychic intuition. He prefers to call it ‘knowing what’s going to happen’. He can see blood on the canvas that isn’t there yet. He can hear bones breaking and bodies slamming on the ground. The sounds of men in pain screaming as cartilage tears. He knows that he will not leave the cage tomorrow as fit as he is now. The dull pains in his knee and wrist he has learned to live with will be fond memory when compared to the blood and carnage he will go through.
Some would say ‘it’s not worth it’. If he’s honest with himself a mid card spot, although full of it’s own pain, would be preferred. The reward beckons him though. A carrot to his donkey. It keeps pulling him in and driving him. Steve Austin once told him ‘’If you’re not in the business to be champion then you had best get out. What is the point of your being in the business taking someone’s spot who does want it?”
He taps the steel with a pen from his pocket. The metallic clang echoes across the arena. He’s heard some say he deserves it for being around for a long time and for improving. Pity support. He wants them to say he deserves it for being better than the rest. Better than Josh Eagles. Better than The Crimson Knight whatever he wants to call himself.
Is he better than them? Luke maybe. Josh? For one night it doesn’t matter. For one night all bets are off and the form book is out the window and shredded against the steel mesh like coleslaw. In twenty four hours when he re-enters the arena, walks to the ring and enters the cage proper; it doesn’t matter who’s a better wrestler. It doesn’t matter who deserves or who wants it more. What matters is who wins. Nothing more than who gets the pin fall. Josh may be a better wrestler, but that won’t make a difference when he’s lying in a pool of blood. Being a better wrestler won’t protect him when Stephen pins Luke.
He leaves the cage. On his own accord, not like tomorrow when officials and paramedics will be trying to get to him to stem the bloodflow.
He walks alone up the isle with his back to the structure. He can feel it watching him as he walks. Just before the curtain, he stops. He turns to face his tormentor. A face to face stare-out Stephen Callaway is defiant. His look tells the cage ‘I do not fear you. I know my future and the pain that awaits me yet I embrace it and look forward to it.’
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single playing card and a cinnamon bagel. The Jack of Hearts looks up at him over the sweet smelling bagel. He takes a bite of the bagel. Has he bitten off more than he can chew? Possibly, yet while he has it he enjoys the flavour so when it is gone he can remember it. He pockets the card again. The number on the back his psychiatrist. A call he’s not ready for yet. Maybe tomorrow. He passes through the curtain on route to his hotel and a good night’s sleep. He has a busy day tomorrow.
END PROMO
