Post by Jamie Krenshaw on Mar 28, 2010 3:55:07 GMT -5
March 21, 2010. After Showdown has gone off the air.
Jamie Krenshaw stands in the ring, having just accepted Saber’s challenge of a Steel Cage Match at Ascension. While some of the crowd slowly file out of the arena many stay to further jeer TWD’s World Heavyweight Champion. He stands in the ring, venomous hatred raining down as he shakes with frustration and rage.
Jamie gazes around himself, around the arena silently and all he sees are smiles. Joyous fans delighting in ridiculing and tormenting him; content members of Saber’s congregation ecstatic at Saber’s upcoming title opportunity; satisfied morons anxiously anticipating Krenshaw’s brutal comeuppance at Ascension.
Jamie sees these smiles and he realises what he’s done. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As the fans still bellow and gloat, Krenshaw exits the ring and slowly makes his way up the entrance ramp to a chorus of spite from the live audience. He disappears behind the entrance curtain and, for another fortnight, he is free of the rabid anti-intellect that comprises a live wrestling crowd.
“Jameson on the rocks.”
I’m sat at the bar of some dimly lit putrid dive in New Mexico and there’s a fat woman fetching my order. It’s nearly three hours removed from Showdown and this was the first place I found that was still open for customers. Being this late on a Sunday night, there’s barely anyone around and those who are want no part of any conversation. They just sit quietly in the dark with their drinks clasped firmly in hand and their dreams spiralling fast down life’s toilet.
Dan offered me a lift after the show, probably to some party Hartnell had lined up. I politely declined. Misery hates company, right?
I hung around backstage for a long time. Much longer than usual. Sat in my locker room picking away at the food that had been provided and trying to gather my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I had a night like this. A long time since I was rattled. A long time since I was successfully goaded into doing something stupid.
I sat and wondered why the night had panned out the way it did. Mostly, I sat trying not to completely lose my shit and punch something. And as hours slowly passed and it became clear my anger and frustration wasn’t going anywhere, I decided I needed to come to a place like this.
The fat woman brings me my drink and I stare at it. It’s beautiful. And it’s been nearly two years since anything like it has touched my lips.
Congratulations, Saber. You did it. You got your rematch. In a Cage no less.
That’s right, lap it up. Gloat and threaten and make your throat hoarse with unbridled confidence. It’s what you do, right?
Me? I’m ashamed. I’m furious with myself. Moreover, I’m disappointed. Disappointed that I allowed you to get under my skin. Disappointed I took offence to Jason Hartnell’s jibe. Disappointed I let a crowd of morons inform such an important decision.
But I did and now you get another title match. Another opportunity in a long line of opportunities which you always fail to capitalize on. You get another Main Event, another Marquee payout while other more deserving competitors sit on the sidelines, shaking their heads and wondering just how many times you have to fail before you cease to be spoon-fed opportunities.
I was goaded, pure and simple. I let my hatred for you blur all rational thought. I allowed my pride to be pricked and my ire to be raised. I allowed you back into an arena you have no right to be in.
You lost at Supercard, Saber. You can spin it any way you like with your twisted Alliance logic that sees all outside interference on your part as justified whilst condemning the involvement of anyone unwilling to have JENT tattoed on their arse. You can say I cheated but at the end of the day you lost. I beat you. I’m still Champion.
If you had any integrity, you would have taken the loss like a man and stepped aside, taken your spot in the Ascension Tumble match so you could earn a rematch whilst somebody else got a chance to knock me off my perch. Hell, if you were the team player you claimed to be, you would have stepped aside so Eno could make a run at me.
But you didn’t. Because it’s all about you, isn’t it, Saber?
You’re consumed by the need to beat me.
Here’s a spoiler for you:
You don’t have the talent to do so.
So make your threats and your bold claims and bring the audience to the verge of collective ejaculation with the false belief that you can dethrone me but at Ascension you’ll be dismissed just like every other time we’ve stepped into the ring together.
It’s more than you deserve.
And speaking of the undeserving, why don’t we touch on your Tag Title match next Showdown, huh?
Saber and Eno versus Krunch and Krenshaw.
Once again you ride my coat-tails to a marquee Main Event. Congrats.
I suppose you expect me to ignore the obvious but I won’t: Eno beat Krunch last week. There, you happy? It happened and I’m sure The Alliance are peeing their pants at the thought of all the momentum that gives them.
Think again.
Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I briefly met with Krunch after Showdown and to say he was angry would be like claiming Hitler was “kinda naughty”. You awoke a monster last week. You took the most physically imposing and dominating man in this company and you made him mad.
Good job.
Because now you don’t just have a match with an undefeatable World Champion. You have a match with an undefeatable World Champion and an enraged monster. You have a match with the greatest team in TWD history.
Saber, you claim that we’re not fighting champions and to that I ask: where are our contenders?
We’ve been parading around with this gold for months while everyone else silently stayed out of our way and hoped to God that we wouldn’t humiliate and destroy them the way we did the Freytag Effect. We have no issue with defending our Tag Team Titles because we know we can’t lose.
We’re a true team, bound by success and mutual admiration. The Alliance? You’re just jumped up hypocrites on a self-serving mission. Do I need to show the replay of Eno Redrum’s unprovoked attack on Ali Khadafi last Showdown? Do I need to point out how ludicrous it is that “good guys” have re-aligned themselves with Marcus T and are paving the way for a returning Kingpin?
Krunch and myself are honest, we’re real and most importantly, we’re the shit. We won’t be beaten at Showdown and I won’t be beaten at Ascension. Last week, I beat myself and I let The Alliance get a foot in the door.
This week I’ll slam that door shut so fast it’ll chop your foot right fucking off.
March 21, 2010. Still at the dimly lit dive.
I stare at the whisky as the blocks of ice slowly disintegrate and I think. I think about Jason Hartnell. I think about Saber. I think about wrestling.
And all I want to do is slam that drink down my throat and follow it with a thousand more. I want to escape, to forget, to retreat from the wretched industry I’ve entombed myself within.
And then I think of Jenna. I think of Emily. I think of the man I was when I left them and the man I promised to be upon my return.
I pick up the glass and hold it close to my lips, allowing the scent to waft up my nostrils.
And then I slam the drink down on the counter, sending whisky and glass spraying everywhere.
“Hey!” the fat woman howls as I get up off my stool and calmly walk away. She screams after me but I don’t hear a word. I’m already on my mobile booking a flight home.
Jamie Krenshaw stands in the ring, having just accepted Saber’s challenge of a Steel Cage Match at Ascension. While some of the crowd slowly file out of the arena many stay to further jeer TWD’s World Heavyweight Champion. He stands in the ring, venomous hatred raining down as he shakes with frustration and rage.
Jamie gazes around himself, around the arena silently and all he sees are smiles. Joyous fans delighting in ridiculing and tormenting him; content members of Saber’s congregation ecstatic at Saber’s upcoming title opportunity; satisfied morons anxiously anticipating Krenshaw’s brutal comeuppance at Ascension.
Jamie sees these smiles and he realises what he’s done. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As the fans still bellow and gloat, Krenshaw exits the ring and slowly makes his way up the entrance ramp to a chorus of spite from the live audience. He disappears behind the entrance curtain and, for another fortnight, he is free of the rabid anti-intellect that comprises a live wrestling crowd.
* * * * *
“Jameson on the rocks.”
I’m sat at the bar of some dimly lit putrid dive in New Mexico and there’s a fat woman fetching my order. It’s nearly three hours removed from Showdown and this was the first place I found that was still open for customers. Being this late on a Sunday night, there’s barely anyone around and those who are want no part of any conversation. They just sit quietly in the dark with their drinks clasped firmly in hand and their dreams spiralling fast down life’s toilet.
Dan offered me a lift after the show, probably to some party Hartnell had lined up. I politely declined. Misery hates company, right?
I hung around backstage for a long time. Much longer than usual. Sat in my locker room picking away at the food that had been provided and trying to gather my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I had a night like this. A long time since I was rattled. A long time since I was successfully goaded into doing something stupid.
I sat and wondered why the night had panned out the way it did. Mostly, I sat trying not to completely lose my shit and punch something. And as hours slowly passed and it became clear my anger and frustration wasn’t going anywhere, I decided I needed to come to a place like this.
The fat woman brings me my drink and I stare at it. It’s beautiful. And it’s been nearly two years since anything like it has touched my lips.
* * * * *
Congratulations, Saber. You did it. You got your rematch. In a Cage no less.
That’s right, lap it up. Gloat and threaten and make your throat hoarse with unbridled confidence. It’s what you do, right?
Me? I’m ashamed. I’m furious with myself. Moreover, I’m disappointed. Disappointed that I allowed you to get under my skin. Disappointed I took offence to Jason Hartnell’s jibe. Disappointed I let a crowd of morons inform such an important decision.
But I did and now you get another title match. Another opportunity in a long line of opportunities which you always fail to capitalize on. You get another Main Event, another Marquee payout while other more deserving competitors sit on the sidelines, shaking their heads and wondering just how many times you have to fail before you cease to be spoon-fed opportunities.
I was goaded, pure and simple. I let my hatred for you blur all rational thought. I allowed my pride to be pricked and my ire to be raised. I allowed you back into an arena you have no right to be in.
You lost at Supercard, Saber. You can spin it any way you like with your twisted Alliance logic that sees all outside interference on your part as justified whilst condemning the involvement of anyone unwilling to have JENT tattoed on their arse. You can say I cheated but at the end of the day you lost. I beat you. I’m still Champion.
If you had any integrity, you would have taken the loss like a man and stepped aside, taken your spot in the Ascension Tumble match so you could earn a rematch whilst somebody else got a chance to knock me off my perch. Hell, if you were the team player you claimed to be, you would have stepped aside so Eno could make a run at me.
But you didn’t. Because it’s all about you, isn’t it, Saber?
You’re consumed by the need to beat me.
Here’s a spoiler for you:
You don’t have the talent to do so.
So make your threats and your bold claims and bring the audience to the verge of collective ejaculation with the false belief that you can dethrone me but at Ascension you’ll be dismissed just like every other time we’ve stepped into the ring together.
It’s more than you deserve.
And speaking of the undeserving, why don’t we touch on your Tag Title match next Showdown, huh?
Saber and Eno versus Krunch and Krenshaw.
Once again you ride my coat-tails to a marquee Main Event. Congrats.
I suppose you expect me to ignore the obvious but I won’t: Eno beat Krunch last week. There, you happy? It happened and I’m sure The Alliance are peeing their pants at the thought of all the momentum that gives them.
Think again.
Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I briefly met with Krunch after Showdown and to say he was angry would be like claiming Hitler was “kinda naughty”. You awoke a monster last week. You took the most physically imposing and dominating man in this company and you made him mad.
Good job.
Because now you don’t just have a match with an undefeatable World Champion. You have a match with an undefeatable World Champion and an enraged monster. You have a match with the greatest team in TWD history.
Saber, you claim that we’re not fighting champions and to that I ask: where are our contenders?
We’ve been parading around with this gold for months while everyone else silently stayed out of our way and hoped to God that we wouldn’t humiliate and destroy them the way we did the Freytag Effect. We have no issue with defending our Tag Team Titles because we know we can’t lose.
We’re a true team, bound by success and mutual admiration. The Alliance? You’re just jumped up hypocrites on a self-serving mission. Do I need to show the replay of Eno Redrum’s unprovoked attack on Ali Khadafi last Showdown? Do I need to point out how ludicrous it is that “good guys” have re-aligned themselves with Marcus T and are paving the way for a returning Kingpin?
Krunch and myself are honest, we’re real and most importantly, we’re the shit. We won’t be beaten at Showdown and I won’t be beaten at Ascension. Last week, I beat myself and I let The Alliance get a foot in the door.
This week I’ll slam that door shut so fast it’ll chop your foot right fucking off.
* * * * *
March 21, 2010. Still at the dimly lit dive.
I stare at the whisky as the blocks of ice slowly disintegrate and I think. I think about Jason Hartnell. I think about Saber. I think about wrestling.
And all I want to do is slam that drink down my throat and follow it with a thousand more. I want to escape, to forget, to retreat from the wretched industry I’ve entombed myself within.
And then I think of Jenna. I think of Emily. I think of the man I was when I left them and the man I promised to be upon my return.
I pick up the glass and hold it close to my lips, allowing the scent to waft up my nostrils.
And then I slam the drink down on the counter, sending whisky and glass spraying everywhere.
“Hey!” the fat woman howls as I get up off my stool and calmly walk away. She screams after me but I don’t hear a word. I’m already on my mobile booking a flight home.