Post by Press1269 on Nov 7, 2019 14:39:56 GMT
12/3/2019
Back In The Saddle (Interlude)
The Radford Farm, Jackson, Mississippi
"This is bullshit!" Bobby Benson exclaimed as his 1968 Cadillac El Dorado bounced along the muddy dirt road that led out to the Radford farm.
The rain had stopped two days ago but with the cool fall weather it felt like nothing ever dried up, so the ruts in the dirt that had barely enough gravel to provide traction had him nearly hitting the top of his head off the classic cars roof. A stream of brown water jumped up to hit his drivers side window from a particularly deep puddle, and at that moment he was already regretting his decision on coming here. But...he knew it was the only way he'd get a conversation out of his client, James Radford.
Direct confrontation.
The pair had parted on bad terms. After the AWE closed, Bobby had done everything he could to get James another gig, but the networks weren't really having it. After all, James was a redneck from Mississippi who wore a confederate flag to the ring, and in today's current social climate, that just wasn't a risk worth taking. He had tried to talk his ward out of such decisions, but James refused to bend, especially after their tumulate relationship in AWE. See, despite the outward appearances and sometimes questionable ideology, James Radford was a good guy. He was honest, loyal, hard working. He was the kind of guy you could trust with a key to your house, or to pay off his debts in a timely manner. More than that, he was generous. He couldn't count how many times they had passed by a homeless person in the bigger towns and James would give them money or buy them a meal. One time he had even spent his entire purse on motel rooms for some of the disenfranchised.
Benson curled his nose at the thought. Bunch of lazy bums and leeches as far as he was concerned, but not to James. He could guess that was probably because James understood 'hard times' better than he could. Radford had been the middle child of three when at the age of 14 his father passed. His older brother had to drop out of school to get a regular job, leaving the farm work to James, his mother, and his sister. When his brother became jaded by the arrangement, it was time for James to step up and be the man of the house. After a long hot day in the field, there were two things that gave James some solace; His mother's good home cooking, and professional wrestling.
Wrestling was a hobby, a past time, something to look forward to each week. It wasn't something that James ever saw as a reality, just a dream to keep him going. The seed was there though, ever since his father took him to the shows in town when he was young, and one day while reading one of the 'wrasslin' magazines he saw an ad for a school.
He had kept that ad for nearly two years tucked away in his billfold, until one day his mother was doing the laundry and he had forgotten to take it out of his back pocket. Like any good southern lady would do, she had meddled, and when she came across the ad she was overcome with grief. This life hadn't been fair to James. He was never much of a student in school, but he had been good at sports and could've went to college. He had stayed because of the family and the farm, refusing to give it up despite the fact that bills and debts were always threatening to pull them under. In that moment, holding that faded crumpled ad in her hands, she decided that he was going to have at least one dream realized. So she made the call and paid up front with cash they didn't have for the lessons that would change his life.
James was a naturally good looking fellow, and farm life kept you in pique physical condition. He took to the industry like a fish to water. Soon he was being booked all over the south on the independent circuit, and before long he was picked up by a small promotion known as Pure Amusement Wrestling as an Enhancement Talent. That lasted for a year with James never winning a match, but he gained exposure and a lot of experience, which is when Bobby came into his life. Benson could see that he had something special, and decided that he would take charge of Radford's career and get him better than he could have ever dreamed.
The AWE provided James some real success. Instead of being a punching bag for the main attractions like he was in PAW, he was the draw. He stood at the peak at a time when folks like Dom Dibona, Cosmo Cooper, and Dom Lawson were first starting out. His matches with Anastasia Hayden and his subsequent victories helped to put him on the map. There was only one thing that really seemed like it threatened to hold him back. James was a good guy. The wrestling business just isn't built for 'good' guys. Sure, you could go out there and be a face, get the crowd pumped. Fight for truth, justice, and the American Way. But at the end of the day if you weren't willing to do whatever it takes to win that gold, to get yourself over, then there was really only so far you could ever go.
There isn't any room for integrity in professional wrestling.
Which is where the rift between Bobby and James originated. James wanted to win clean, and Bobby simply wanted to win. There was money on the line. Championships. Not to mention he had spent a considerable amount of time and resources building James up to be the next big thing. For Bobby, 'Country Fine' was a brand to be marketed, sold, and exploited. For James, it was his way of life. The rift grew. So much so that Bobby had to threaten him with a lawsuit to keep James from walking out on their contract.
And then AWE folded, and Bobby couldn't sell the redneck to anyone else. He went back to the indy's, working in crappy outlaw mudshow promotions that sometimes had their last matches on the same night as their first. It got so bad that Bobby stopped even accompanying him to the gigs, the payout not being worth the trip. But James knew that he owed Bobby the money he had spent on travel, ring gear, and promotions, and like previously stated, James Radford paid his debts. Over the next two years he piddled from state to state, town to town, staying in close proximity to Jackson where he had picked back up on the farm life, until one day he paid his last I.O.U. to Benson. Then all contact ceased, and Bobby chalked it up to a complete failure and disappointment.
And then Battleground Network called out of the blue. "We have a spot for a former client of yours if he's interested in making some quick cash...James Radford."
The promotion was Union Battleground, who had already had a successful two seasons on the Network. They didn't expect much out of James, matter of fact, it would be a lot like that enhancement talent gig with PAW. Bobby didn't much like the idea of having to start all over, but he did have to admit that an injection of cash wouldn't hurt right about now. Despite being the #1 manager in all of professional wrestling, he watched as the younger generation started scooping up the talent that couldn't see his vision. Even worse...talent was starting to represent themselves.
Bobby shuddered at the thought, or was that just another pothole? Regardless, the old farmhouse was finally in sight, which lifted his spirits just a bit. At least he'd be off this shit road!
Bobby pulled the El Dorado up beside a beat up '94 Chevrolet truck parked beside the house and swung his door open so he could get out. Immediately his snake skin loafers sunk into the mud and he let out an audible sigh before making his way towards the front porch. Before he could even put his foot on the front step a familiar 'CHICK-CHICK' of a 12 gauge being cocked greeted him from the screen door. Bobby looked up to see a shirtless James Radford standing there with gun in hand and a not so pleased disposition. The slimy manager gulped, making his Adam's apple bob comically under his collar, and he held his hands up defensively.
"Now James..." He tentatively began, "I didn't come here looking for trouble. I just want to talk."
James' expression soured even further. "We got nothing to talk about, Benson. Now get off my property."
Bobby shook his head and despite the threat of being shot, took another step up. "James, I received a call about a job...it's important."
James' expression never changed, his finger absent mindedly tapping the stock of the gun. A million thoughts ran through Bobby's mind as he stood there waiting to find out if he was going to have a hole put in his chest or not. Thoughts like; is this really it? Did I finally write a check that my mouth can't cash? Farm life has really kept James in shape. I wonder if he even has to work out? Did I turn the oven off before I left the house?
Finally, with a resigned sigh, James set the firearm to prop against the door frame and then turned to disappear within the interior of the house. Bobby blew out a long held breath and took that as an invitation, stepping the rest of the way onto the porch and then entering to follow.
The living room was the same as the last time he had been here, full of knick-knacks and doo-dads and a well lived in vibe. There were fresh logs in the fireplace though no one had lit them yet despite the chill in the air, and his eye couldn't help but be drawn to the antlers mounted over the hearth. When he finally looked back over at James, he was leaned against the archway that led into the dining room with his arms crossed over his chest expectantly. Bobby sighed, realizing that a good bit of this tension was his own fault, but not being willing enough to express that out loud. He noticed the hard look that James was giving him and looked down to find that he was nervously patting the brown leather chair that he had been told was Radford's father's, and he quickly took a step back and did his best not to fidget. Finally, he decided it was best to just get this out in the open and break the silence.
"It's a great opportunity, James. I'm sure you've heard of the Battleground Network. They have the broadcast contracts for several hot promotions like 4CW, VPW, Yamashi Pro out of Japan. There's a promotion there called Union Battleground. They've had a successful two seasons and are working on their third, and they said they could use someone like you in their promotion. It's not a great contract, but more than I would have expected, and I was able to negotiate a per diem for road expenses and travel. They've even agreed to a five thousand dollar sign on bonus for new ring gear and anything you might need. I think you really need to thi--"
Bobby was interrupted in his pitch when James blurted out matter of factly, "Thirty-five hundred."
Benson looked confused and it bled into his voice. "What?"
"You still gain thirty percent of whatever I bring in from the wrestling business for the next ten years. If I recall, ironclad contract was what you called it. So when you take your cut I'll only get thirty-five hundred."
Bobby let out a short high pitched laugh, and shook his head with a feigned smile. "If that's what you took away from what I just said, then I'll wave my fee on the sign on bonus, but not the contract. I have expenses too, James, and they didn't call you. They called me. That's how representation works."
"Now Bobby..." James said with a mock smile of his own, "that's what started all of this in the first place. After everything you and I have been through, why the hell would I want to go back?"
It took everything in Bobby Benson to keep from letting the irritation he now felt to spill out in one of his diatribes, but by the satisfaction on Radford's face it was obvious it was still showing through. Bobby nodded now, his lips terse and his eyes narrowing.
"Because, James. You and I both know you need the money. With your mom in assisted living and you being the only one working the farm, you can barely keep your head above water and this money would help to alleviate that."
Bobby watched as James shrank back a bit and, for whatever reason, it brought out a genuine smile from the wily manager. He knew he shouldn't actually feel that way, but sometimes watching James Radford get his self-righteousness thrown back at him felt good. It wasn't ideal for a working relationship, but non-the-less gratifying. When the moment had passed, James' sigh brought him out of his reverie and back to the living room.
"So, what's the gig?" James asked, not sounding nearly as hostile.
Bobby took that to be a good sign as he began, "Enhancement talent. They think you'd be a good fit to be competitive and give a good showing, but really to showcase their stars. I mean, no one is telling you to go out there and lose on purpose, but no one is really expecting you to..." Bobby paused, looking at Radford's face and thinking maybe he should have just left off with 'Enhancement Talent'.
James' jaw was tight as he stared hard at Bobby, spurs rising up the back of his neck.
"Win."
It had come out as a statement rather than a question, and Benson found himself wringing his hands in front of him before sheepishly replying.
"Yeah."
James seemed to take the response with a grain of salt and nodded towards the kitchen before unfolding his arms and stepping that way. Bobby followed while James rounded the island in the center and reached into a cupboard for two mugs. He picked up an old school metal thermos off the stove and poured two cups of coffee before sliding one of them in Benson's direction. He leaned back against the counter, blowing across the top of the hot liquid before looking over the rim.
"I'm not coming back to the business to lose."
"Good. That's the spirit, I mean...that's what I've always tried to get you to see."
James took a sip and shook his head as he sat the mug on the counter beside him. "No, Bobby, that's not what I mean. At the end of the day I know that there's no way of me going into this without you, because you love the spotlight just as much as I do. You'd never allow it." He paused to think on that for a minute, but then shook his head to continue. "But this time it will be different. I think the reason I got so pissed at you before was because I thought you were someone else. The reality is, though, I can't blame you for that. That's on me. Expecting you to not try and take advantage is like asking the bull not to be so ornery. It ain't going to happen. So you do you, and I'm going to do me. That being said, if you get into any trouble like you did in AWE I'm not going to come to the rescue. You're on your own. As for me, I'm going to do my best and hope that there's still some magic left in these bones."
Bobby listened to the speech with little enthusiasm, or rather allowed the prattle to continue so that his client could get it off his chest. Bobby didn't really care if James appreciated his services or not, and he was right, he'd not allow this bumpkin to go out and hog the spotlight for himself. If this was what it took to get the money flowing again then let the fool believe whatever he wanted. He had no doubt that James would be successful again, because he was going to be there to make sure of it. Not James. Him.
"That's great, James! Despite what you may think, I've always believed in you. Now it's time for you to go out there and climb your way through Union Battleground's ranks. They won't know what hit them, Baby! You're going to be the biggest surprise the wrestling industry has ever seen! A mountain among men! A nobody who comes in and becomes a somebody! Union Battleground is about to get countrified!"
James pumped his hand to put a pause to Benson, who was working himself up into a shoot. He reached into the bowl sitting on the island and pulled out his smart phone and then held it up with the camera pointed towards Bobby.
"No reason to waste a promo, Bobby. Say it into the camera..."
Bobby grins big and can't hide the excitement building up inside. "You God Damn Right, Baby! Union Battleground, Here we come!
The rain had stopped two days ago but with the cool fall weather it felt like nothing ever dried up, so the ruts in the dirt that had barely enough gravel to provide traction had him nearly hitting the top of his head off the classic cars roof. A stream of brown water jumped up to hit his drivers side window from a particularly deep puddle, and at that moment he was already regretting his decision on coming here. But...he knew it was the only way he'd get a conversation out of his client, James Radford.
Direct confrontation.
The pair had parted on bad terms. After the AWE closed, Bobby had done everything he could to get James another gig, but the networks weren't really having it. After all, James was a redneck from Mississippi who wore a confederate flag to the ring, and in today's current social climate, that just wasn't a risk worth taking. He had tried to talk his ward out of such decisions, but James refused to bend, especially after their tumulate relationship in AWE. See, despite the outward appearances and sometimes questionable ideology, James Radford was a good guy. He was honest, loyal, hard working. He was the kind of guy you could trust with a key to your house, or to pay off his debts in a timely manner. More than that, he was generous. He couldn't count how many times they had passed by a homeless person in the bigger towns and James would give them money or buy them a meal. One time he had even spent his entire purse on motel rooms for some of the disenfranchised.
Benson curled his nose at the thought. Bunch of lazy bums and leeches as far as he was concerned, but not to James. He could guess that was probably because James understood 'hard times' better than he could. Radford had been the middle child of three when at the age of 14 his father passed. His older brother had to drop out of school to get a regular job, leaving the farm work to James, his mother, and his sister. When his brother became jaded by the arrangement, it was time for James to step up and be the man of the house. After a long hot day in the field, there were two things that gave James some solace; His mother's good home cooking, and professional wrestling.
Wrestling was a hobby, a past time, something to look forward to each week. It wasn't something that James ever saw as a reality, just a dream to keep him going. The seed was there though, ever since his father took him to the shows in town when he was young, and one day while reading one of the 'wrasslin' magazines he saw an ad for a school.
He had kept that ad for nearly two years tucked away in his billfold, until one day his mother was doing the laundry and he had forgotten to take it out of his back pocket. Like any good southern lady would do, she had meddled, and when she came across the ad she was overcome with grief. This life hadn't been fair to James. He was never much of a student in school, but he had been good at sports and could've went to college. He had stayed because of the family and the farm, refusing to give it up despite the fact that bills and debts were always threatening to pull them under. In that moment, holding that faded crumpled ad in her hands, she decided that he was going to have at least one dream realized. So she made the call and paid up front with cash they didn't have for the lessons that would change his life.
James was a naturally good looking fellow, and farm life kept you in pique physical condition. He took to the industry like a fish to water. Soon he was being booked all over the south on the independent circuit, and before long he was picked up by a small promotion known as Pure Amusement Wrestling as an Enhancement Talent. That lasted for a year with James never winning a match, but he gained exposure and a lot of experience, which is when Bobby came into his life. Benson could see that he had something special, and decided that he would take charge of Radford's career and get him better than he could have ever dreamed.
The AWE provided James some real success. Instead of being a punching bag for the main attractions like he was in PAW, he was the draw. He stood at the peak at a time when folks like Dom Dibona, Cosmo Cooper, and Dom Lawson were first starting out. His matches with Anastasia Hayden and his subsequent victories helped to put him on the map. There was only one thing that really seemed like it threatened to hold him back. James was a good guy. The wrestling business just isn't built for 'good' guys. Sure, you could go out there and be a face, get the crowd pumped. Fight for truth, justice, and the American Way. But at the end of the day if you weren't willing to do whatever it takes to win that gold, to get yourself over, then there was really only so far you could ever go.
There isn't any room for integrity in professional wrestling.
Which is where the rift between Bobby and James originated. James wanted to win clean, and Bobby simply wanted to win. There was money on the line. Championships. Not to mention he had spent a considerable amount of time and resources building James up to be the next big thing. For Bobby, 'Country Fine' was a brand to be marketed, sold, and exploited. For James, it was his way of life. The rift grew. So much so that Bobby had to threaten him with a lawsuit to keep James from walking out on their contract.
And then AWE folded, and Bobby couldn't sell the redneck to anyone else. He went back to the indy's, working in crappy outlaw mudshow promotions that sometimes had their last matches on the same night as their first. It got so bad that Bobby stopped even accompanying him to the gigs, the payout not being worth the trip. But James knew that he owed Bobby the money he had spent on travel, ring gear, and promotions, and like previously stated, James Radford paid his debts. Over the next two years he piddled from state to state, town to town, staying in close proximity to Jackson where he had picked back up on the farm life, until one day he paid his last I.O.U. to Benson. Then all contact ceased, and Bobby chalked it up to a complete failure and disappointment.
And then Battleground Network called out of the blue. "We have a spot for a former client of yours if he's interested in making some quick cash...James Radford."
The promotion was Union Battleground, who had already had a successful two seasons on the Network. They didn't expect much out of James, matter of fact, it would be a lot like that enhancement talent gig with PAW. Bobby didn't much like the idea of having to start all over, but he did have to admit that an injection of cash wouldn't hurt right about now. Despite being the #1 manager in all of professional wrestling, he watched as the younger generation started scooping up the talent that couldn't see his vision. Even worse...talent was starting to represent themselves.
Bobby shuddered at the thought, or was that just another pothole? Regardless, the old farmhouse was finally in sight, which lifted his spirits just a bit. At least he'd be off this shit road!
Bobby pulled the El Dorado up beside a beat up '94 Chevrolet truck parked beside the house and swung his door open so he could get out. Immediately his snake skin loafers sunk into the mud and he let out an audible sigh before making his way towards the front porch. Before he could even put his foot on the front step a familiar 'CHICK-CHICK' of a 12 gauge being cocked greeted him from the screen door. Bobby looked up to see a shirtless James Radford standing there with gun in hand and a not so pleased disposition. The slimy manager gulped, making his Adam's apple bob comically under his collar, and he held his hands up defensively.
"Now James..." He tentatively began, "I didn't come here looking for trouble. I just want to talk."
James' expression soured even further. "We got nothing to talk about, Benson. Now get off my property."
Bobby shook his head and despite the threat of being shot, took another step up. "James, I received a call about a job...it's important."
James' expression never changed, his finger absent mindedly tapping the stock of the gun. A million thoughts ran through Bobby's mind as he stood there waiting to find out if he was going to have a hole put in his chest or not. Thoughts like; is this really it? Did I finally write a check that my mouth can't cash? Farm life has really kept James in shape. I wonder if he even has to work out? Did I turn the oven off before I left the house?
Finally, with a resigned sigh, James set the firearm to prop against the door frame and then turned to disappear within the interior of the house. Bobby blew out a long held breath and took that as an invitation, stepping the rest of the way onto the porch and then entering to follow.
The living room was the same as the last time he had been here, full of knick-knacks and doo-dads and a well lived in vibe. There were fresh logs in the fireplace though no one had lit them yet despite the chill in the air, and his eye couldn't help but be drawn to the antlers mounted over the hearth. When he finally looked back over at James, he was leaned against the archway that led into the dining room with his arms crossed over his chest expectantly. Bobby sighed, realizing that a good bit of this tension was his own fault, but not being willing enough to express that out loud. He noticed the hard look that James was giving him and looked down to find that he was nervously patting the brown leather chair that he had been told was Radford's father's, and he quickly took a step back and did his best not to fidget. Finally, he decided it was best to just get this out in the open and break the silence.
"It's a great opportunity, James. I'm sure you've heard of the Battleground Network. They have the broadcast contracts for several hot promotions like 4CW, VPW, Yamashi Pro out of Japan. There's a promotion there called Union Battleground. They've had a successful two seasons and are working on their third, and they said they could use someone like you in their promotion. It's not a great contract, but more than I would have expected, and I was able to negotiate a per diem for road expenses and travel. They've even agreed to a five thousand dollar sign on bonus for new ring gear and anything you might need. I think you really need to thi--"
Bobby was interrupted in his pitch when James blurted out matter of factly, "Thirty-five hundred."
Benson looked confused and it bled into his voice. "What?"
"You still gain thirty percent of whatever I bring in from the wrestling business for the next ten years. If I recall, ironclad contract was what you called it. So when you take your cut I'll only get thirty-five hundred."
Bobby let out a short high pitched laugh, and shook his head with a feigned smile. "If that's what you took away from what I just said, then I'll wave my fee on the sign on bonus, but not the contract. I have expenses too, James, and they didn't call you. They called me. That's how representation works."
"Now Bobby..." James said with a mock smile of his own, "that's what started all of this in the first place. After everything you and I have been through, why the hell would I want to go back?"
It took everything in Bobby Benson to keep from letting the irritation he now felt to spill out in one of his diatribes, but by the satisfaction on Radford's face it was obvious it was still showing through. Bobby nodded now, his lips terse and his eyes narrowing.
"Because, James. You and I both know you need the money. With your mom in assisted living and you being the only one working the farm, you can barely keep your head above water and this money would help to alleviate that."
Bobby watched as James shrank back a bit and, for whatever reason, it brought out a genuine smile from the wily manager. He knew he shouldn't actually feel that way, but sometimes watching James Radford get his self-righteousness thrown back at him felt good. It wasn't ideal for a working relationship, but non-the-less gratifying. When the moment had passed, James' sigh brought him out of his reverie and back to the living room.
"So, what's the gig?" James asked, not sounding nearly as hostile.
Bobby took that to be a good sign as he began, "Enhancement talent. They think you'd be a good fit to be competitive and give a good showing, but really to showcase their stars. I mean, no one is telling you to go out there and lose on purpose, but no one is really expecting you to..." Bobby paused, looking at Radford's face and thinking maybe he should have just left off with 'Enhancement Talent'.
James' jaw was tight as he stared hard at Bobby, spurs rising up the back of his neck.
"Win."
It had come out as a statement rather than a question, and Benson found himself wringing his hands in front of him before sheepishly replying.
"Yeah."
James seemed to take the response with a grain of salt and nodded towards the kitchen before unfolding his arms and stepping that way. Bobby followed while James rounded the island in the center and reached into a cupboard for two mugs. He picked up an old school metal thermos off the stove and poured two cups of coffee before sliding one of them in Benson's direction. He leaned back against the counter, blowing across the top of the hot liquid before looking over the rim.
"I'm not coming back to the business to lose."
"Good. That's the spirit, I mean...that's what I've always tried to get you to see."
James took a sip and shook his head as he sat the mug on the counter beside him. "No, Bobby, that's not what I mean. At the end of the day I know that there's no way of me going into this without you, because you love the spotlight just as much as I do. You'd never allow it." He paused to think on that for a minute, but then shook his head to continue. "But this time it will be different. I think the reason I got so pissed at you before was because I thought you were someone else. The reality is, though, I can't blame you for that. That's on me. Expecting you to not try and take advantage is like asking the bull not to be so ornery. It ain't going to happen. So you do you, and I'm going to do me. That being said, if you get into any trouble like you did in AWE I'm not going to come to the rescue. You're on your own. As for me, I'm going to do my best and hope that there's still some magic left in these bones."
Bobby listened to the speech with little enthusiasm, or rather allowed the prattle to continue so that his client could get it off his chest. Bobby didn't really care if James appreciated his services or not, and he was right, he'd not allow this bumpkin to go out and hog the spotlight for himself. If this was what it took to get the money flowing again then let the fool believe whatever he wanted. He had no doubt that James would be successful again, because he was going to be there to make sure of it. Not James. Him.
"That's great, James! Despite what you may think, I've always believed in you. Now it's time for you to go out there and climb your way through Union Battleground's ranks. They won't know what hit them, Baby! You're going to be the biggest surprise the wrestling industry has ever seen! A mountain among men! A nobody who comes in and becomes a somebody! Union Battleground is about to get countrified!"
James pumped his hand to put a pause to Benson, who was working himself up into a shoot. He reached into the bowl sitting on the island and pulled out his smart phone and then held it up with the camera pointed towards Bobby.
"No reason to waste a promo, Bobby. Say it into the camera..."
Bobby grins big and can't hide the excitement building up inside. "You God Damn Right, Baby! Union Battleground, Here we come!
12/6/2019
Back In The Saddle - Part 1
Norfolk Scope Arena, Norfolk, Virginia
Back In The Saddle - Part 1
Norfolk Scope Arena, Norfolk, Virginia
The scene opens to a shot of James Radford leaning against the hood of a 1968 Cadillac El Dorado parked just outside the front entrance of the Norfolk Scope Arena. He is wearing a black t-shirt with a red plaid over shirt, black denim jeans, and his classic stetson hat. His arms are crossed casually over his chest, and his expression is firm, if not confident. He casts a southern charm grin at the camera when he notices the red light flashing.
"Guerrilla Warfare..."
James allows the words to hang there for a moment, as if trying to get his thoughts around them before continuing.
"My father served in the Marines around the time of Vietnam. He didn't talk much about the war until he got sick, and sometimes in those states of delirium he'd go into what it was like facing the Vietcong. Even though the U.S. had taken most of the significant ground in the conflict, they couldn't peg down the soldiers. This wasn't a war about land, but a war of attrition. And despite the fact that the U.S. was able to kill twice the number of soldiers than the Vietnamese did, that didn't end the war. Because the Vietcong weren't just soldiers, they were Guerrillas. Fighting on their turf, using their tactics, and covertly out maneuvering a stronger fighting force on land they thought they had already conquered."
James shakes his head, looking down at his boots so that the stetson now covers his face.
"War is a nasty business. No one ever comes out of it the same. My father didn't. He took the horrors he contributed to and witnessed with him all the way to his grave. I figure this match, this...Guerrilla Warfare...will be no different, and just like in Vietnam, it only takes three seconds to get your legs blown out from under you."
He looks up now, dark eyes cast just under the brim.
"I'd be lying if I didn't say this match gave me goosebumps. I'm sure you're going to hear about how great the other superstars in this contest are out of their own mouths. All about what they're going to do, how they're going to do it. Hell, more likely than not, they'll just tell you that it's a foregone conclusion. They are the next Union Battleground Champion!"
James chuckles a bit under his breath, lifting his gaze so that you can now see his face more fully.
"But it's not that simple. Don't get me wrong, I'm confident in my abilities, but I can't guarantee you I'll walk out of this match with that title. Hell, most of you don't even know who I am. I've been removed so long from the limelight that you've forgotten me, or more likely, you never knew to begin with. I understand completely. If my head was shoved so far up my own ass I wouldn't know who I was either."
Grin.
"At the end of the day I see this match for what it is. An opportunity for me to make my comeback in a big way. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can walk away with that trophy around my waist. Wouldn't that be the return of the century? No Name comes into Union Battleground and takes out it's biggest and brightest to become their top champion! Sounds like a feel good triumph story on Disney Plus. But alas, that isn't exactly how the world works, is it?"
James sighs, uncrossing his arms so that he can push off the hood of the car and get some use out of his boots.
"I'd like to tell you that I got this too, but I don't know that. Regardless of what kind of convoluted shtick they've gravitated to, my opponents in this match aren't slouches. Each of them has a laundry list of accomplishments that far outshine anything I've ever done in this business, and will more than likely go on to have many more. They've never had contract issues. Probably never had anyone say to them that they didn't have what it takes, that is, except for each other. That's what this business is about, after all. The put down. The comeback. Touting yourself to be the best thing going since sliced bread and telling everyone else that they are garbage."
James sucks air past his teeth and comes to a pause in his pacing to look directly into the camera.
"Well I'm not into that. I may be the new kid on the block, but I don't feel the need to diminish people down to nothing just so I can feel good about myself. I don't need to drag others through the mud just so that I can show everyone my shine. What I will do is fight. Fight with everything I have, never give up, never surrender. I'll come into your house, on your turf. Sabotage your plans, surprise you at the moment of your victories, and drive a wedge between you and that championship.
James says the last in a fire, eyes brimming with intensity. Just as quickly it's swept aside as he lets out a low whistle followed by a deep breath.
"But the reality is, despite all that, it might not be enough. Nineteen other competitors are going to come down to that ring with the same goal, same intention. Win. Under normal circumstances, one on one, that isn't the easiest of goals, but factor in the fact that every ninety seconds a new superstar emerges and the only way to eliminate them is by pinfall or submission in the ring..."
James mind looks blown.
"That's damn near impossible. Especially if you're the unlucky fool that draws one or two to start the thing, but still. Ninety seconds doesn't leave long to come up with much of a game plan. Especially when the very nature of the match says that you can't be counted out or disqualified. How do you prepare to go the distance? How can you be so confident in yourself that you can look right into that camera, the way I am now, and tell everyone that 'YOU' are going to be the one to take home the gold?"
James allows a sly grin before tipping his hat towards the lens.
"And that's why I ain't going to say it. I'm just going to go out there and do my best and pray for a whole lot of luck. Hell, a miracle. But there is one thing out of all of this that I 'can' guarantee..."
The smile fades and James steps up so that only his eyes fill the view.
"By the time this is done, my numbers been called. Champion or no, there won't be a damn person in that arena who can say they don't know who I am. Ye Hear?"
The red blinking light cuts out and the scene for the viewer fades to black. A few feet behind the camera stands Bobby Benson, wearing one of his loud suits and stroking his chin in contemplation. James raises his eyebrows in the man's direction and finally he steps forward and begins to take down the camera.
"Not bad, not bad." He says noncommittally as he puts the pieces back into their respective bags.
James regards the man with a sidelong expression before crossing his arms back over his chest.
"C'mon! Tell me how you really feel?"
Bobby looks up from his task with a little irritation in his voice. "God damn, James. Does it really matter what I think? You know I hate that aw shucks shit. You should be tearing into your opponents. You should be going name by name and ripping them apart. Instead, you're telling them you don't even think you can win!"
His voice was elevated, arms waving around like a wacky inflatable arm man. James continued to watch the comical expression with little mirth.
"You know, if you paid attention to a damn word I said, you'd realize that I'm leaving room for all the possibilities, but all you want to hear is boom, boom, their dead! That ain't me. I'm not going to trash people just to get my hands on a title. It's short sighted, and not what my brand will be built on."
Bobby pauses in his antics as a wave of laughter spews out of his mouth. James' eyes narrow as he watches the man double over, holding his gut, as the laughter continues to boil over.
Eventually he gets control of himself long enough to take some short breaths before he responds. "James...you don't have a brand. The only reason you're in this match is to fill a slot."
James smirks now, sniffing the air as if he just smelled something rotten. He nods to Bobby to acquiesce the point before turning to get into the car.
As he goes he speaks over his shoulder, "You're right Bobby, but this match right here, well, it's the kind of thing that can earn me one and I'll do it my own way. Furthermore, what the hell happened to just a few days ago when you said I was a mountain of a man? That all this was going to be huge? Now you're right back to the same shtick, telling me that what I bring to the table isn't good enough. Well maybe, Bobby, you're just one more person I have to prove something to, and come Guerrilla Warfare, I'm going to do my talking in the ring."
With that he slips in and slams the door shut, leaving the wily manager with a grim look on his face. The expression softens for just a moment as he shoves the camera into the bag and zips it up. He stands there for a moment mulling the comments over in his head, and then shakes his head in disbelief.
"God damn it..."
"Guerrilla Warfare..."
James allows the words to hang there for a moment, as if trying to get his thoughts around them before continuing.
"My father served in the Marines around the time of Vietnam. He didn't talk much about the war until he got sick, and sometimes in those states of delirium he'd go into what it was like facing the Vietcong. Even though the U.S. had taken most of the significant ground in the conflict, they couldn't peg down the soldiers. This wasn't a war about land, but a war of attrition. And despite the fact that the U.S. was able to kill twice the number of soldiers than the Vietnamese did, that didn't end the war. Because the Vietcong weren't just soldiers, they were Guerrillas. Fighting on their turf, using their tactics, and covertly out maneuvering a stronger fighting force on land they thought they had already conquered."
James shakes his head, looking down at his boots so that the stetson now covers his face.
"War is a nasty business. No one ever comes out of it the same. My father didn't. He took the horrors he contributed to and witnessed with him all the way to his grave. I figure this match, this...Guerrilla Warfare...will be no different, and just like in Vietnam, it only takes three seconds to get your legs blown out from under you."
He looks up now, dark eyes cast just under the brim.
"I'd be lying if I didn't say this match gave me goosebumps. I'm sure you're going to hear about how great the other superstars in this contest are out of their own mouths. All about what they're going to do, how they're going to do it. Hell, more likely than not, they'll just tell you that it's a foregone conclusion. They are the next Union Battleground Champion!"
James chuckles a bit under his breath, lifting his gaze so that you can now see his face more fully.
"But it's not that simple. Don't get me wrong, I'm confident in my abilities, but I can't guarantee you I'll walk out of this match with that title. Hell, most of you don't even know who I am. I've been removed so long from the limelight that you've forgotten me, or more likely, you never knew to begin with. I understand completely. If my head was shoved so far up my own ass I wouldn't know who I was either."
Grin.
"At the end of the day I see this match for what it is. An opportunity for me to make my comeback in a big way. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can walk away with that trophy around my waist. Wouldn't that be the return of the century? No Name comes into Union Battleground and takes out it's biggest and brightest to become their top champion! Sounds like a feel good triumph story on Disney Plus. But alas, that isn't exactly how the world works, is it?"
James sighs, uncrossing his arms so that he can push off the hood of the car and get some use out of his boots.
"I'd like to tell you that I got this too, but I don't know that. Regardless of what kind of convoluted shtick they've gravitated to, my opponents in this match aren't slouches. Each of them has a laundry list of accomplishments that far outshine anything I've ever done in this business, and will more than likely go on to have many more. They've never had contract issues. Probably never had anyone say to them that they didn't have what it takes, that is, except for each other. That's what this business is about, after all. The put down. The comeback. Touting yourself to be the best thing going since sliced bread and telling everyone else that they are garbage."
James sucks air past his teeth and comes to a pause in his pacing to look directly into the camera.
"Well I'm not into that. I may be the new kid on the block, but I don't feel the need to diminish people down to nothing just so I can feel good about myself. I don't need to drag others through the mud just so that I can show everyone my shine. What I will do is fight. Fight with everything I have, never give up, never surrender. I'll come into your house, on your turf. Sabotage your plans, surprise you at the moment of your victories, and drive a wedge between you and that championship.
James says the last in a fire, eyes brimming with intensity. Just as quickly it's swept aside as he lets out a low whistle followed by a deep breath.
"But the reality is, despite all that, it might not be enough. Nineteen other competitors are going to come down to that ring with the same goal, same intention. Win. Under normal circumstances, one on one, that isn't the easiest of goals, but factor in the fact that every ninety seconds a new superstar emerges and the only way to eliminate them is by pinfall or submission in the ring..."
James mind looks blown.
"That's damn near impossible. Especially if you're the unlucky fool that draws one or two to start the thing, but still. Ninety seconds doesn't leave long to come up with much of a game plan. Especially when the very nature of the match says that you can't be counted out or disqualified. How do you prepare to go the distance? How can you be so confident in yourself that you can look right into that camera, the way I am now, and tell everyone that 'YOU' are going to be the one to take home the gold?"
James allows a sly grin before tipping his hat towards the lens.
"And that's why I ain't going to say it. I'm just going to go out there and do my best and pray for a whole lot of luck. Hell, a miracle. But there is one thing out of all of this that I 'can' guarantee..."
The smile fades and James steps up so that only his eyes fill the view.
"By the time this is done, my numbers been called. Champion or no, there won't be a damn person in that arena who can say they don't know who I am. Ye Hear?"
The red blinking light cuts out and the scene for the viewer fades to black. A few feet behind the camera stands Bobby Benson, wearing one of his loud suits and stroking his chin in contemplation. James raises his eyebrows in the man's direction and finally he steps forward and begins to take down the camera.
"Not bad, not bad." He says noncommittally as he puts the pieces back into their respective bags.
James regards the man with a sidelong expression before crossing his arms back over his chest.
"C'mon! Tell me how you really feel?"
Bobby looks up from his task with a little irritation in his voice. "God damn, James. Does it really matter what I think? You know I hate that aw shucks shit. You should be tearing into your opponents. You should be going name by name and ripping them apart. Instead, you're telling them you don't even think you can win!"
His voice was elevated, arms waving around like a wacky inflatable arm man. James continued to watch the comical expression with little mirth.
"You know, if you paid attention to a damn word I said, you'd realize that I'm leaving room for all the possibilities, but all you want to hear is boom, boom, their dead! That ain't me. I'm not going to trash people just to get my hands on a title. It's short sighted, and not what my brand will be built on."
Bobby pauses in his antics as a wave of laughter spews out of his mouth. James' eyes narrow as he watches the man double over, holding his gut, as the laughter continues to boil over.
Eventually he gets control of himself long enough to take some short breaths before he responds. "James...you don't have a brand. The only reason you're in this match is to fill a slot."
James smirks now, sniffing the air as if he just smelled something rotten. He nods to Bobby to acquiesce the point before turning to get into the car.
As he goes he speaks over his shoulder, "You're right Bobby, but this match right here, well, it's the kind of thing that can earn me one and I'll do it my own way. Furthermore, what the hell happened to just a few days ago when you said I was a mountain of a man? That all this was going to be huge? Now you're right back to the same shtick, telling me that what I bring to the table isn't good enough. Well maybe, Bobby, you're just one more person I have to prove something to, and come Guerrilla Warfare, I'm going to do my talking in the ring."
With that he slips in and slams the door shut, leaving the wily manager with a grim look on his face. The expression softens for just a moment as he shoves the camera into the bag and zips it up. He stands there for a moment mulling the comments over in his head, and then shakes his head in disbelief.
"God damn it..."