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The Slippery Slope
Topic Started: Dec 25 2012, 08:10 PM (67 Views)
Seth Iser
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Creative Director
[ *  * ]
The bonds that human beings as a whole create can be as strong or fragile as the hearts that help bind them. In wrestling, it is just so much more difficult to do so because of the nomadic tendencies wrestlers tend to possess going from territory to territory over their careers. Hell, there’s so many times in wrestling where you’d break in with someone at one place…and then one person goes to Japan and you’d never see each other for fifteen damn years.


When you’re closer to the end of your wrestling career than the beginning, you think about things like that far more often. Hell, you replay many little things you’ve done in your head so many times. The details of particular big matches you’ve performed in, the particulars of why things turned out the way they did in various stops in your career…it all goes through your mind especially every single time you have to hop into that ice tub to get rid of some aches or pains.


Why think of all this now more than ever? I guess it is the first time I’ve really had a stake in Christmas in my life. It’s taken a couple years…to actually understand what it really is all about because my upbringing really shunned me away from anything like that. It’s not merely the gifts or the jubilation of receiving one…it’s being able to spend time with the ones you care about in an important day. That’s really the core of any holiday…especially Christmas.


All the tougher when you live the nomadic lifestyle of a wrestler.


It is what you signed up to do, though. You can afford to look back and think about it like I’ve done many times and ponder all the variables but one must also need to look ahead to determine what may also happen. I know that up ahead that I’m in a match involving four other competitors with a ‘gift’ going to the winner. Some of these people I’ve crossed with before, some I haven’t…but that’s nothing new in this business. It’s the way of this business.


Thanks in part to learning of what Christmas should be…it really isn’t just fighting for me anymore.


Every wrestler is fueled by some sort of ego. That’s another hard truth among all of us. If someone was to deny that…they’d be a damned liar. Whatever it is that drives them through getting slammed off the hard canvas time and time again is what keeps them going. The lure of gold…well that’s just the ultimate recognition to a wrestler…plus it’s the capper of respect. However…it isn’t merely about respect anymore.


It’s about making one girl smile.


It’s a little more difficult being away from her on the holidays, but considering the circumstances…it just makes me want to dig just that little more to do what I must. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone trying to live up to a family legacy, a young rookie, a volatile tag champion in the midst of a blood feud, or one of the defenders of faith…they can’t endure the pain I’ve gone through…and they’re not willing to do whatever the hell it takes to see one’s daughter smile like she would when she sees that her Dad has a gift and is one step closer to being a champion.


Interstate Twenty is a road I haven’t been down that often the last little while. It isn’t like traveling to New York where you’re bumper to bumper at four in the morning, but I definitely didn’t miss the traffic. Nothing like the illusion of playing pinball with your vehicles while trying to squeeze into the lane you want while going seventy miles per hour to boot! At least I’m not suffering in on this trip alone even if, per usual; I’m the one doing the driving in this arrangement.


“How many god damned times have we done this over the years?” I growl lowly to myself.


I just glance slowly at the passenger seat of my usual Chevy Silverado. Reclined back is my mentor, Noish. He’s donning a heavy black winter coat and heavier black jeans with a multi colored scarf with his blonde hair just combed back. He shoots me a smirk of remembrance as I turn my attention back on the mile markers and the road. I used to be able to pass the dark circles under my eyes on these long road trips for face paint back in the day but not anymore.


“At least we’re both sober. We wouldn’t be able to say that years ago with some of the stupid fucking shit we’ve done. God we were such dumbasses.” the former ‘Promised One’ chuckles, “If either of us ever decided to write a book about our exploits, I doubt they’d believe half the things in it.”


“Reality is always stranger than fiction,” I shake my head.


“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose…” Noish trails off before lighting a cigarette, “…but it really is a bit of a shame that more people don’t treat the sport itself and what some of the wrestlers go through with more respect as a whole sometimes. Stuff like being able to sit in with families in the holidays is a luxury wrestlers sometimes don’t have.”


“That is something that isn’t always stressed to people who want to break in and I wish it was. It’s a great life to live if you can take it…and respect it, but it’s a damn difficult one at times if you don’t know how to handle it,” I reply, continuing to peer ahead on the road.


The weather here is starting to get very slick as I start to drive toward the storm that’s going to impact most of the east for the holidays. The rain splatters relentlessly off the windshield as I instinctually and casually flip on the windshield wipers and ease up on my speed a bit. The vehicle wheel on my hand just feels like it wants to pull more to the right thanks to the slicker conditions though. At least I’m not hydroplaning.


I glance behind me and thankfully the traffic has begun to dissipate a bit. There’s the occasional person driving by that may remember me or Noish from previous stops that might shoot us a dirty look but despite the vehicle wanting to pull a little bit…it’s a rather calm ride in the rain for the holidays. Too bad Allison still isn’t up to par or I’d take her on this trip instead…but beggars can’t be choosers.


“Oh dude…” Noish reacts to one of the signs, “There’s a Waffle House in this next exit.”


“Tch…a fucking Waffle House?” I groan.


“It’s better than that ramen noodle shit you like to eat,” Noish needles as he normally does.


“You didn’t work in Japan enough, did you?” I question.


“The only thing I like about Japan is their women to be honest. I honestly prefer North America from a living standpoint but that’s just me,” Noish replies, snickering slightly.


“To each their own,” I sigh, “As for food…no we’re not stopping until we at least get to the Interstate Fifty-nine merger. You’ll know that when the traffic picks up.”


“Alright, man. Just don’t push yourself. You’ll burn yourself out here before your match down here,” Noish replies, slightly more serious.


I shake my head dismissively, not worried about that. I’ve taken a car ride with Reya before, but the other three are probably more along the lines of new school wrestlers in terms of flying down to Hattiesburg, Mississippi. I guess it’s a generational thing, but what do I know? It just pisses me off though when people like the Finelli clan just live in their damned mansion as if they’re distancing themselves from where the hell they came from.


The thing that pisses me off more than anything is that he should know better since he’s been in this business longer than I have. He’s nothing more than a god damned ignorant fool. I don’t know if it was the people breaking in, or if the success he’s had just went to his head. The man needs a damned humbling because toxic veterans like him are part of why this business that I love too much is mocked lower than even circus levels.


“Tch…don’t worry about me. I’ve damn near seen it all at this point…” I grumble.


“You’ve not changed a damn bit in eight years in some respects…” Noish shakes his head.


“Tigers don’t change stripes that they’ve earned over the years.” I casually reply, “But at the very least, I like the holidays a little more now than I did say…eight years ago.”


“Family does that to a man…” Noish shrugs as he takes a puff out of his lit cigarette, “It’s a good thing. I’m just happier my daughter didn’t pursue wrestling.”


“Some things about certain people change, but I wish that the ideals of respect didn’t change…it wasn’t how either of us was brought up in the business…” I growl, tilting my head, “And no, I’m not a grouchy old man. I’m only thirty-two.”


“You fit the grouchy part at the very least. Wrestling’s own living Grinch!” Noish roars in laughter at his own joke.


“Tch…I’ve been called far worse. If that was the worst thing I’ve ever been called in my life, then I would’ve probably lived a blessed life of pure optimism.” I roll my eyes, “Yeah…optimism and my life go together like logic and end of the world threats.”


After that last sentence, my mind just drifts for a brief moment over toward Orlando Ocean. He’s the other half of that explosive situation that’s brewing in ACW that’s entangled Cross and involved the kidnapping of Alexis. The tag champion is losing his damned mind by letting that particular emotion of hate grip the core of his thought process. He, like Cross, can’t be blinded by what they want to believe because without a clear head…the truth, the core thing any person should always stand for, will just fade into the eternal abyss.


“Speaking of optimism…that Devine chick breaking in has some of it within herself but god damn it isn’t easy being the second in the family in something. That’s why I went with wrestling instead of going into the family practice of being a lawyer. I wanted to be my own person instead of having the weight of someone else’s expectations showered upon me.” Noish cuts in.


“That’s probably another, albeit much smaller, reason why I didn’t choose to be a minister, myself,” I reply, wincing slightly.


“With that shit, I’m surprised you somewhat get along with Reya considering her faith,” Noish sneers.


“She lives and wrestles her way. I do things mine. At least the respect there is mutual in that regard unlike a certain other member of the Court…” I growl.


“Easy, man. You’re starting to break focus on the road with that one. Forget about him for now…” my mentor informs me authoritatively.


As he said that, a vehicle cuts right up in front of me causing me to hit the brakes immediately. There is a slight little slide thanks to the water, but no contact and we all get going as advertised as Noish rolls down his window and I do the same simultaneously to give this idiotic fool in front of me the middle finger for endangering our lives, my livelihood, and my damned car!


“You stupid son of a bitch!” I yell out aggressively, “Where the fuck did you learn to drive?”


“This isn’t the time to be pulling this shit with these conditions you neanderthal!” Noish snaps.


The cold air thanks to the storm quickly defuses our tempers as things go back into sequence on the road. I can just sense Noish just glancing at me just wanting me to go out on an outburst but I keep my focus on what is ahead for the moment to make sure nothing else crazy happens. That same idiot, driving a red ford focus, soon does the same ordeal toward the other lane and that causes a mess to the left before he speeds off.


“Maybe the kid is just a green driver…might explain the mistakes like the assumptions Poison made about you, eh?” Noish shrugs.


“Tch…she’ll get dealt with, too. Don’t give a shit if it’s Poison or the Pope right now at this point,” I hotly reply, still in the process of cooling off.


“After that little incident, first thing I’m doing when I get to the hotel is figure out this Skype thing and contact my daughter to let her know we’re alive…” Noish shakes his head, starting to sweat a little from what I can tell.


“I’ll just call mine because I don’t want to deal with technology…” I growl.


Soon after this…as we drive down to the heart of the Deep South, we start to talk about our families. At this point, though, I know what I have to do. A victory here is just a step toward respect, a step toward a smile from Allison, and a step toward where I need to be as a wrestler. It isn’t anything personal to any of them…hell, I’m looking forward to the challenge of dealing with this situation even as a veteran. They just better be ready for a war worse than the Civil War when dealing with me…and I’ll be more ruthless than Shermen’s march of destruction through the south.


Otherwise, it won’t have been a Merry Christmas or a happy start to the New Year.
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