Post by THE Tristan Slater on May 27, 2018 6:18:09 GMT -5
After another successful outing on Monday Night Brawl, like there was a doubt, most of the crew headed on over to Beijing to promote leading to the next edition of Monday Night Brawl, I elected to fly back to Miami, Florida for a previously booked engagement… and the twenty hour flight was totally worth it.
It’s the morning of Saturday May 26th.
THE Tristan Slater is shown standing in front of a tombstone. It’s unknown who he is standing in front of with the angle that’s being shot as we see the back of the tombstone while Tristan has on a black three piece suit, white dress shirt under his blazer with a black tie and black sunglasses covering his eyes.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It has been a while, brother.”
A light breeze begins to blow as evident by the various leaves blowing in the background in and around other tombstones amongst the neat trimmed green landscaping.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I don’t think I’ve been here since the funeral… I wish I had a clever excuse to give you but I don’t.”
I get choked up as my eyes are locked forward at the writing on the tombstone as I can feel tears start to form within the bottom of each of my eyelids.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “The point is I’m here now and I’m here because I really wanted to let you know something.”
I feel the tears start to slowly roll out of each eye yet hidden from the view of the outside world by the black tinted shades.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I haven’t forgotten about you or about what happened to you nor have I forgotten who did it to you.”
Removing my shades slow tears continue to formulate and drop from my eyes.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Through all the ups and the downs our bond was strong outside of the industry and I am here today to tell you that what happened to you will not be in vein because his day of reckoning is coming much sooner rather than later.”
Finally pulling myself together I am able to continue.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “A plan is in motion that is going to directly affect the course of history and they are going to be carried out in your name here on United States soil before I take this international and finish the job with my own two hands.”
This isn’t something that just sprung into my head overnight. It’s a cold, calculated plan that has been unfolding in slow layers since the tail end of 2017 if you really sit back and think about it; but I doubt you would think that it will go to the degree it’s going to go to.
John Cable isn’t the man he portrays on television.
Everyone has a man behind the curtain; an Oz if you will.
John portrays himself as a charitable guy running a massive nonprofit out of Jacksonville, Florida which you all know as the New Breed Foundation. He likes to stick up for the underdogs or the less fortunate only to have his own agenda in mind.
Nothing is free.
I know a side of John that not many people know exists. I know the cold blooded son of a bitch that will take you behind closed doors and break your arms or legs at a moment’s notice if you opposed him or tried to do anything that he was/is against.
Behind that curtain is a killer.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “John Cable is finally going to get what he’s got coming to him both professionally and personally.”
I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me or has said about me because ultimately I am the first guy to tell you that I am out for self-preservation above anything else and at any costs as my actions at the 2018 West Coast Rumble clearly will dictate; the one thing I don’t do is put up a fucking front about who I am or what I will do in order to insure that MY WILL is done.
I’ve got a big fucking mouth.
I back my shit up and if there’s someone that’s man enough to shut my fucking mouth I’m man enough to give them their respect for it. John Cable has all you sheep fooled into the perception that he puts off of himself on a biweekly basis.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s something in which I’ve been waiting for the right time and place… that time and place is now. You might be gone… but you’re not forgotten.”
The angle of the camera does a fast one hundred eighty degree turn where it zooms in over THE Tristan Slater’s left shoulder where the name WILSON BALDWIN is etched into the tombstone.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s time to fuck some shit up.”
Knowing what is going to transpire there’s a deep breath let out because not knowing of what the end result to this is going to be.
There’s no doubt going to be consequences, yet with my preparations and careful planning of this one event puts me at ease knowing that every possible base I can cover I have covered.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s going to be a long day… I love you, bro.”
There’s a flash of bright white light as our scene leads into the afternoon of May 26th as we join THE Tristan Slater in the back of a limo now dressed in street clothes and wielding the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship in the seat next to him. He has a cheaper model cell phone to his ear as we pick up a piece of the conversation he’s having. There’s no camera’s or recording devices within the limo itself as a thorough sweep of the limo was conducted by private security that are tailing THE Tristan Slater’s every move.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Is everything on schedule on your end?”
Being reassured by the other end of the call leads me to continue to speak.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Perfect.”
This feels great!
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Make it happen in exactly fifteen after four.”
Confirmation is given before ending the call and tucking the secondary phone in my pocket while the limo is shown pulling to a smooth stop. Immediately the door swings open where I’m greeted by Bruce Sherman and Billy The Marlin at a private VIP entrance at Marlin Park in Miami, Florida.
I reach over and grab the belt before getting out of the limo where I’m greeted with a handshake from the owner of the Miami Marlins.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “Bruce Sherman, owner of the Marlins and pleased to meet you.”
Shaking his hand he immediately continues.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “I’m excited that we got the chance to do this given your current schedule.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Sure thing.”
Bruce begins to lead me into Marlin’s Stadium while continuing to talk.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “We’re just about five minutes away from the opening pitch being thrown. We haven’t advertised your appearance, per the request of your people. We advertised a “local talent” to throw out the first pitch today.”
There’s a lot going on with the backstage area as we cruise through to find ourselves walking down a tunnel.
Glancing down at my watch I notice the time is 4:04pm.
I can feel anticipation start to grow in the pit of my stomach which has absolutely nothing to do with throwing a fucking baseball. For the first time in a long time a sense of purpose knowing that within the next eleven minutes the course of history is going to be changed.
Bruce continues to talk but at this point I’ve simply tuned him out completely.
My thoughts totally wrapped around what is about to unfold.
We reach the end of the tunnel before I snap back into my surroundings.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “I’m going to have you wait right here. What’s going to happen is they’re going to introduce you and Billy here is going to go out with you. You give him the belt, throw the pitch, when you try and get the belt back he’ll refuse, you clothesline him, take the belt and do your thing.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Simple enough.”
With that Bruce walks through a door that leads into the dugout of the Miami Marlins. This leaves Billy and I together where I look at the stupid mascot.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Let me guess, the belt thing is all his deal?”
I state with a comedic tone to my voice which draws an up and down head nod from Billy.
“Ladies and Gentleman…”
FLASH ROTTEN?!?!?!?!
Sike.
It’s the official voice of the Marlin’s being heard over the loud speaker.
“If we can have your attention on the field and join the Miami Marlins in welcoming one of Miami’s own. He is the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion, THE TRISTAN SLATER!!”
I hear “Bad Company” from Five Finger Death Punch begin to play and the crowd respond favorably, which is natural considering my God like status in Miami.
Billy opens the door to the dugout allowing me to step through where I shift my attention towards the Miami Marlins roster who some are shocked while other careless. Making my way on to the field there’s a sea of fans standing on their feet clapping and screaming like nobody’s business.
As I reach third base I lift the WGWF World Title up in the air before turning towards the dug out of the Marlins, then towards home plate and finally towards the dugout on the first base side. My attention shifts towards the pitcher’s mound where an umpire and the catcher for the Marlin’s await my arrival.
Billy takes the lead towards the pitcher’s mound with me following behind him as I drape the World Title back over my left shoulder.
Once we reach the mound I do as instructed and give Billy the WGWF World Title who immediately starts to celebrate like it’s his in the background while I shake hands with the umpire and the catcher. I’ve been given a baseball and after some minor small talk the umpire and catcher head towards the plate.
Glancing towards my watch I see the time is now 4:11pm.
Tilting my head back towards the plate they’ve not reached it yet which gives me a moment to really soak in the ovation from my hometown. I close my eyes and clear my head of all but one image… Wilson Baldwin; my brother, my former manager, my friend.
Opening my eyes the catcher and umpire are back behind the plate. I look down placing one foot on the mound before going through a wind up and delivering the opening pitch. It’s a bullet from the arm of the World Heavyweight Champion which grazes the outside corner leading to a called strike by the umpire to a roar from the crowd!!
Catcher pops up taking his mask off as starts walking towards me to which I respond by walking towards him. We meet in the middle with another handshake where he gives me the baseball. There’s another handshake between the two of us before turning my attention back towards Billy the mascot who refuses to give back the belt just as planned.
Shrugging my shoulders I deliver the clothesline knocking Billy down before stepping on him with my right shoe. I reach down picking up the WGWF World Title from the turf hoisting it up in the air one more time to a nice ovation from the crowd.
Another bright flash of white fills the screen and as it fades time has elapsed as it’s now 5:30pm.
We find ourselves sitting on a runway at the Miami International Airport where it’s just THE Tristan Slater on the plane. He’s got two cell phones out. The older style cell phone rings to which Tristan reaches out picking it up and answering it.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s about time!”
The voice on the other end explains several things to Tristan before we hear Tristan.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Is it done?”
A smirk starts to grace my face as I start to lean back into my chair.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I’ll contact you.”
I hang up the phone before immediately turning it over where I separate the back of it and remove the SIM card. I break the phone and put it in a small plastic bag while putting the sim card in my pocket.
It’s then my pilot opens the door from the cockpit where I divert my attention towards him as he states.
PILOT- “Mr. Slater I apologize for the delay on takeoff. Apparently there was an incident in Jacksonville, Florida that caused all airlines to shut down until they can prove it wasn’t an act of terrorism.”
Sounding astonished and surprised I respond.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “What the fuck happened?”
PILOT- “There was an explosion at some nonprofit organization that brought the entire building to the ground with at least eight dead and dozen or more injured.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “No shit? Where was the explosion?”
PILOT- “Some place in downtown Jacksonville; I think the name of it was something like New Bread Foundation? New Breed Foundation? Something like that.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “School shoots and now a bombing… What’s the United States coming to?”
PILOT- “A dangerous place to live.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Ain’t that the truth.”
PILOT- “We should be cleared for takeoff at any moment.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Thanks.”
The pilot returns to the cockpit and closes the door as the scene fades to black.
Ah the memories.
Memories are an incredibly funny thing; wouldn’t you agree, John?
They are what fuels people. It’s one of those things like 9/11 and how everyone will always remember where they were the morning the Twin Towers fell in New York City is just like everyone will remember where they were when THE Tristan Slater stuck the knife in your back and exposed you as the over rated prick you truly are. Sure, I’m a prick myself and make absolutely no bones about it but at least I’m a prick that lives up to expectations and has an incredibly great win/loss record all the while carrying the biggest prize within the company for a second time; which coincidently is two more times than you’ve ever held a World Title throughout your entire career.
Think about that for a second, John.
You’ve been in the business for what? Twenty years? A savvy veteran that spouts off a HUGE game but when push comes to shove you haven’t been able to win the proverbial “big one”. Yeah, I’m sure you’ve heard that one many times before but you know what they say, the proof is in the pudding. Where’s your World Title? Where’s ANYTHING relevant that you can hang your hat on because it damn sure isn’t what even got you to this opportunity you talked yourself into. No, seriously. Let’s go back to Caged In of last year when you lost the Intercontinental Championship or how about the West Coast Rumble where YOU were the guy I elected to defeat to claim the belt that you want to scrap for now or what about Wrestle Wars Twelve in your humiliating loss to MDK? Let’s take it a step further to two weeks ago in Moscow and your loss to who? Me. Do you see the trend? Are you following the trail of breadcrumbs I’m dropping for you to nibble on as I walk you down this long and windy road that is the latest in your professional career.
The fact of the matter when it comes to you in my eyes, you’re on the same level as Alyce Starchylde because you just simply don’t belong in any conversation that revolves around the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship; but you know I’m not even bent about having to waste my time defending MY strap against another undeserving sack of shit… but what I am bent about is you stepping in front of the rightful Number One Contender and the only man on this roster that I give two shits about competing against, MDK. You, you’re nothing special and you’re far from the attraction that you think you are while MDK on the other hand OWNS a legitimate pinfall victory over yours truly and has been avoiding my like a plague. I was seconds away; seconds, John… seconds away from finally getting what I’ve wanted, what I’ve craved for ten goddamn months…Then your music hit. Here you come with your chest poked out like an overweight potato marching down to the ring to insert yourself in a World Title match by citing what, exactly?
A disqualification victory that was HANDED to you by MDK out of nothing more than pity and because he knew it would piss me off.
That’s hardly the way you EARN a shot at something as prestigious as my World Heavyweight Championship; wouldn’t you agree? I mean coming from someone who preaches “do the right thing” turns into the single biggest walking hypocrite on the face of the fucking planet… and you’ll be that single biggest walking hypocrite that I dismantle one more time in order to shut your fucking mouth and punt you to the back of the line right behind Starchylde where you fucking belong. I’m sure you’re going to have A LOT to say about me and A LOT of mud to sling; and its okay, being someone of my stature you’re accustomed to people dragging your name through the dirt in order to make themselves feel better about being less fortunate. This is your case; but something I thought you would have learned by now is that I’m the kind of guy that can crawl through a river of shit and come out cleaner on the other side; I mean I did have to work Alyce at Wrestle Wars and that should be proof enough to the credibility of that very statement.
My point in bringing all this up rests within it doesn’t really matter how you spin your issue because ultimately, you’re bent because you got out played in every sense of the word and you don’t quite know how to handle it even to this day. I mean I could speak VOLUMES on why I ditched you and left you hanging high and dry but ultimately what will it prove? What will it accomplish in the grand scheme other than you popping off at the mouth about how you know what I’m going to say or when I’m going to say it. What I will tell you and what I will talk about is how someone like you; someone that claims to be a Beast can’t bother to stand on his own two feet without dropping the ball. In this business there’s guys that NEED to run with a pack in order to have their shortcomings hidden; that’s you, John. You HAVE to have others around you to boost you up and it’s been that way since the day I met you and even continues through present day as you conveniently chum up to Chris Dorling in an attempt to boost your failing New Breed. It’s cool John, I totally get it; and before you remotely try to compare a possible alignment with Christian Connolly, we would band together because we wanted to not because we have too, therein lies the difference.
So, let’s talk about this notion of a solid Steel Cage that has the top WIDE ASS OPEN for anyone to climb on over that is supposed to be some deterrent for anyone of the usual suspects to get themselves involved in. Why is this even inside a Cage? I’ve beaten John clean and clear, he’s beaten me clean and clear and while he’s still got sand in his vagina over the West Coast Rumble there’s no real issue here; or at least in my eyes, but then again I am the man on top of the mountain looking down at each and every one of you as you all climb towards me for the mere opportunity to be touched by greatness in its purest form. Flash Rotten would suggest that again, it’s going to keep everyone out…
Do I look like I was born yesterday?
Flash, you’re dumber than you look if that’s your rational logic for booking this.
If the Royal Family, if Anarchy, if ANYONE wants to scale that Cage they’re more than capable of doing so; and while I honestly thought that since you do owe me a favor now would be as good as time as any to give John the biggest fuck you of them all by cashing that in and forgoing this entire match. You couldn’t deny it because if you did it would be the single worst day of your entire existence. Then I thought about it and came to the conclusion that Cable isn’t worth that kind of treatment. Instead I’ll walk into this joke of a title defense and I’ll be sure to leave pieces of John’s flesh embedded into the mesh all over that Cage if it means that I can move the fuck on and FINALLY get what I’ve been clamoring for, MDK. Congratulations John, congratulations on being my monthly quota to get what I truly desire and the fact that you are what stands in between me and Tenegra I’ll gladly stab you in the front as opposed to the back; at least that way you’ll see it coming and will STILL be powerless to fucking stop it.
But they say what out Tristan, he’s got a chip on his shoulder.
True.
So let me be perfectly clear for all parties that are following along as I emasculate a Beast.
Given the history between John and I it’s fairly safe to say that he’s going to be rolling into this party with both barrel’s locked, loaded and his crosshairs pinned on yours truly. He’s going to bring a fight, he’s not going to go away easy; I’m never implied that, but John is a glorified loser. He has tendencies of being on the cusp of breaking through the glass ceiling but for some reason always finds himself back peddling before completely falling off the fucking map altogether. What I have implied is that while John talks a huge game he WON’T be backing it up against someone of my stature inside that squared circle.
I don’t give a shit about blood loss.
I don’t give a flying fuck about pain or suffering.
It comes with the territory.
What I do give fucks about is BACKING up my words and continue to establish exactly why I am the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion regardless if my challenger is worthy or not.
… And that’s where we find ourselves today.
I have an incredibly simply philosophy when it comes to situations you find yourself in, and that is “you can bitch about it or do it. Either way it has to get done.”.
You’re that philosophy John and that’s exactly how I equate you. Telling you how undeserving you are isn’t going to get me anywhere, talking about how many opportunities you’ve squandered isn’t going to prove anything considering it’s a known fact. So, all that being said, for your sake please do something outside of the normal and actually give me a goddamn fight and PROVE to me that you belong in the World Title discussion because while you’ve failed with flying colors over the last eight months I’ve risen to the occasion time and time again further backing up my play as being THE premier athlete on this roster. I haven’t had to resort to blindsided attacks; I haven’t used numbers or relied on allies John. I’ve simply shown up and used my two fucking hands, ask Alyce.
While she HAD to use weapons, I did not.
I chose to use a fire extinguisher on you at the West Coast Rumble because I am the ONLY man that knows what kind of shot that fired at you, personally.
Monday Night on Brawl you better make the most out of YOUR opportunity because, brother, I mean this EXACTLY how it sounds, you FUCK this up there’s no more chances, there’s no more opportunities while I am on top of the mountain until you PROVE you actually deserve it. No more charity cases, what the fuck you think this is The New Breed Foundation?
While you’ll parade around pretending to want this contest you know what kind of shitstorm you’re in store for.
Monday Night is shaping up to be an incredible night of action as over seventy thousand fans are going to be on hand in Beijing and goddamn is they’re not going to get a show that they’ll never soon forget. And while there are plenty of quality contests on this card I GUARANTEE you the ONLY thing people are going to be talking about when this show comes to a close is the war that unfolded inside fifteen feet of solid steel and how THE Tristan Slater vanquished the myth that is the Beast.
Everyone has a weakness, John.
Yours has remained the same for all these years and it’s the same weakness that I’m going to continue to exploit because you can’t defend your emotions. Your emotions will lead to your downfall yet again because you’re so blinded that you can’t see straight. Watch what I tell you, John, because you might think you’ve played this human game of chess to perfection; however, you’re playing this game with the master and come the toll of that final bell I’ll be standing over you with one word to say.
Checkmate.
In closing I’ll leave you all with this little nugget to mole over because if Flash Rotten doesn’t give me MDK for Summer Madness then that leaves an open slot for someone to step to the plate and challenge me for the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship as both Cable and Starchylde will be at the back of the line. There are a few names that I could see stealing the show with, John Tolly anyone?
Whoever it is had better be worth my fucking time.
It’s the morning of Saturday May 26th.
THE Tristan Slater is shown standing in front of a tombstone. It’s unknown who he is standing in front of with the angle that’s being shot as we see the back of the tombstone while Tristan has on a black three piece suit, white dress shirt under his blazer with a black tie and black sunglasses covering his eyes.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It has been a while, brother.”
A light breeze begins to blow as evident by the various leaves blowing in the background in and around other tombstones amongst the neat trimmed green landscaping.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I don’t think I’ve been here since the funeral… I wish I had a clever excuse to give you but I don’t.”
I get choked up as my eyes are locked forward at the writing on the tombstone as I can feel tears start to form within the bottom of each of my eyelids.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “The point is I’m here now and I’m here because I really wanted to let you know something.”
I feel the tears start to slowly roll out of each eye yet hidden from the view of the outside world by the black tinted shades.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I haven’t forgotten about you or about what happened to you nor have I forgotten who did it to you.”
Removing my shades slow tears continue to formulate and drop from my eyes.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Through all the ups and the downs our bond was strong outside of the industry and I am here today to tell you that what happened to you will not be in vein because his day of reckoning is coming much sooner rather than later.”
Finally pulling myself together I am able to continue.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “A plan is in motion that is going to directly affect the course of history and they are going to be carried out in your name here on United States soil before I take this international and finish the job with my own two hands.”
This isn’t something that just sprung into my head overnight. It’s a cold, calculated plan that has been unfolding in slow layers since the tail end of 2017 if you really sit back and think about it; but I doubt you would think that it will go to the degree it’s going to go to.
John Cable isn’t the man he portrays on television.
Everyone has a man behind the curtain; an Oz if you will.
John portrays himself as a charitable guy running a massive nonprofit out of Jacksonville, Florida which you all know as the New Breed Foundation. He likes to stick up for the underdogs or the less fortunate only to have his own agenda in mind.
Nothing is free.
I know a side of John that not many people know exists. I know the cold blooded son of a bitch that will take you behind closed doors and break your arms or legs at a moment’s notice if you opposed him or tried to do anything that he was/is against.
Behind that curtain is a killer.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “John Cable is finally going to get what he’s got coming to him both professionally and personally.”
I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me or has said about me because ultimately I am the first guy to tell you that I am out for self-preservation above anything else and at any costs as my actions at the 2018 West Coast Rumble clearly will dictate; the one thing I don’t do is put up a fucking front about who I am or what I will do in order to insure that MY WILL is done.
I’ve got a big fucking mouth.
I back my shit up and if there’s someone that’s man enough to shut my fucking mouth I’m man enough to give them their respect for it. John Cable has all you sheep fooled into the perception that he puts off of himself on a biweekly basis.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s something in which I’ve been waiting for the right time and place… that time and place is now. You might be gone… but you’re not forgotten.”
The angle of the camera does a fast one hundred eighty degree turn where it zooms in over THE Tristan Slater’s left shoulder where the name WILSON BALDWIN is etched into the tombstone.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s time to fuck some shit up.”
Knowing what is going to transpire there’s a deep breath let out because not knowing of what the end result to this is going to be.
There’s no doubt going to be consequences, yet with my preparations and careful planning of this one event puts me at ease knowing that every possible base I can cover I have covered.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s going to be a long day… I love you, bro.”
There’s a flash of bright white light as our scene leads into the afternoon of May 26th as we join THE Tristan Slater in the back of a limo now dressed in street clothes and wielding the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship in the seat next to him. He has a cheaper model cell phone to his ear as we pick up a piece of the conversation he’s having. There’s no camera’s or recording devices within the limo itself as a thorough sweep of the limo was conducted by private security that are tailing THE Tristan Slater’s every move.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Is everything on schedule on your end?”
Being reassured by the other end of the call leads me to continue to speak.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Perfect.”
This feels great!
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Make it happen in exactly fifteen after four.”
Confirmation is given before ending the call and tucking the secondary phone in my pocket while the limo is shown pulling to a smooth stop. Immediately the door swings open where I’m greeted by Bruce Sherman and Billy The Marlin at a private VIP entrance at Marlin Park in Miami, Florida.
I reach over and grab the belt before getting out of the limo where I’m greeted with a handshake from the owner of the Miami Marlins.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “Bruce Sherman, owner of the Marlins and pleased to meet you.”
Shaking his hand he immediately continues.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “I’m excited that we got the chance to do this given your current schedule.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Sure thing.”
Bruce begins to lead me into Marlin’s Stadium while continuing to talk.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “We’re just about five minutes away from the opening pitch being thrown. We haven’t advertised your appearance, per the request of your people. We advertised a “local talent” to throw out the first pitch today.”
There’s a lot going on with the backstage area as we cruise through to find ourselves walking down a tunnel.
Glancing down at my watch I notice the time is 4:04pm.
I can feel anticipation start to grow in the pit of my stomach which has absolutely nothing to do with throwing a fucking baseball. For the first time in a long time a sense of purpose knowing that within the next eleven minutes the course of history is going to be changed.
Bruce continues to talk but at this point I’ve simply tuned him out completely.
My thoughts totally wrapped around what is about to unfold.
We reach the end of the tunnel before I snap back into my surroundings.
BRUCE SHERMAN- “I’m going to have you wait right here. What’s going to happen is they’re going to introduce you and Billy here is going to go out with you. You give him the belt, throw the pitch, when you try and get the belt back he’ll refuse, you clothesline him, take the belt and do your thing.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Simple enough.”
With that Bruce walks through a door that leads into the dugout of the Miami Marlins. This leaves Billy and I together where I look at the stupid mascot.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Let me guess, the belt thing is all his deal?”
I state with a comedic tone to my voice which draws an up and down head nod from Billy.
“Ladies and Gentleman…”
FLASH ROTTEN?!?!?!?!
Sike.
It’s the official voice of the Marlin’s being heard over the loud speaker.
“If we can have your attention on the field and join the Miami Marlins in welcoming one of Miami’s own. He is the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion, THE TRISTAN SLATER!!”
I hear “Bad Company” from Five Finger Death Punch begin to play and the crowd respond favorably, which is natural considering my God like status in Miami.
Billy opens the door to the dugout allowing me to step through where I shift my attention towards the Miami Marlins roster who some are shocked while other careless. Making my way on to the field there’s a sea of fans standing on their feet clapping and screaming like nobody’s business.
As I reach third base I lift the WGWF World Title up in the air before turning towards the dug out of the Marlins, then towards home plate and finally towards the dugout on the first base side. My attention shifts towards the pitcher’s mound where an umpire and the catcher for the Marlin’s await my arrival.
Billy takes the lead towards the pitcher’s mound with me following behind him as I drape the World Title back over my left shoulder.
Once we reach the mound I do as instructed and give Billy the WGWF World Title who immediately starts to celebrate like it’s his in the background while I shake hands with the umpire and the catcher. I’ve been given a baseball and after some minor small talk the umpire and catcher head towards the plate.
Glancing towards my watch I see the time is now 4:11pm.
Tilting my head back towards the plate they’ve not reached it yet which gives me a moment to really soak in the ovation from my hometown. I close my eyes and clear my head of all but one image… Wilson Baldwin; my brother, my former manager, my friend.
Opening my eyes the catcher and umpire are back behind the plate. I look down placing one foot on the mound before going through a wind up and delivering the opening pitch. It’s a bullet from the arm of the World Heavyweight Champion which grazes the outside corner leading to a called strike by the umpire to a roar from the crowd!!
Catcher pops up taking his mask off as starts walking towards me to which I respond by walking towards him. We meet in the middle with another handshake where he gives me the baseball. There’s another handshake between the two of us before turning my attention back towards Billy the mascot who refuses to give back the belt just as planned.
Shrugging my shoulders I deliver the clothesline knocking Billy down before stepping on him with my right shoe. I reach down picking up the WGWF World Title from the turf hoisting it up in the air one more time to a nice ovation from the crowd.
Another bright flash of white fills the screen and as it fades time has elapsed as it’s now 5:30pm.
We find ourselves sitting on a runway at the Miami International Airport where it’s just THE Tristan Slater on the plane. He’s got two cell phones out. The older style cell phone rings to which Tristan reaches out picking it up and answering it.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “It’s about time!”
The voice on the other end explains several things to Tristan before we hear Tristan.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Is it done?”
A smirk starts to grace my face as I start to lean back into my chair.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “I’ll contact you.”
I hang up the phone before immediately turning it over where I separate the back of it and remove the SIM card. I break the phone and put it in a small plastic bag while putting the sim card in my pocket.
It’s then my pilot opens the door from the cockpit where I divert my attention towards him as he states.
PILOT- “Mr. Slater I apologize for the delay on takeoff. Apparently there was an incident in Jacksonville, Florida that caused all airlines to shut down until they can prove it wasn’t an act of terrorism.”
Sounding astonished and surprised I respond.
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “What the fuck happened?”
PILOT- “There was an explosion at some nonprofit organization that brought the entire building to the ground with at least eight dead and dozen or more injured.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “No shit? Where was the explosion?”
PILOT- “Some place in downtown Jacksonville; I think the name of it was something like New Bread Foundation? New Breed Foundation? Something like that.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “School shoots and now a bombing… What’s the United States coming to?”
PILOT- “A dangerous place to live.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Ain’t that the truth.”
PILOT- “We should be cleared for takeoff at any moment.”
THE TRISTAN SLATER- “Thanks.”
The pilot returns to the cockpit and closes the door as the scene fades to black.
Ah the memories.
Memories are an incredibly funny thing; wouldn’t you agree, John?
They are what fuels people. It’s one of those things like 9/11 and how everyone will always remember where they were the morning the Twin Towers fell in New York City is just like everyone will remember where they were when THE Tristan Slater stuck the knife in your back and exposed you as the over rated prick you truly are. Sure, I’m a prick myself and make absolutely no bones about it but at least I’m a prick that lives up to expectations and has an incredibly great win/loss record all the while carrying the biggest prize within the company for a second time; which coincidently is two more times than you’ve ever held a World Title throughout your entire career.
Think about that for a second, John.
You’ve been in the business for what? Twenty years? A savvy veteran that spouts off a HUGE game but when push comes to shove you haven’t been able to win the proverbial “big one”. Yeah, I’m sure you’ve heard that one many times before but you know what they say, the proof is in the pudding. Where’s your World Title? Where’s ANYTHING relevant that you can hang your hat on because it damn sure isn’t what even got you to this opportunity you talked yourself into. No, seriously. Let’s go back to Caged In of last year when you lost the Intercontinental Championship or how about the West Coast Rumble where YOU were the guy I elected to defeat to claim the belt that you want to scrap for now or what about Wrestle Wars Twelve in your humiliating loss to MDK? Let’s take it a step further to two weeks ago in Moscow and your loss to who? Me. Do you see the trend? Are you following the trail of breadcrumbs I’m dropping for you to nibble on as I walk you down this long and windy road that is the latest in your professional career.
The fact of the matter when it comes to you in my eyes, you’re on the same level as Alyce Starchylde because you just simply don’t belong in any conversation that revolves around the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship; but you know I’m not even bent about having to waste my time defending MY strap against another undeserving sack of shit… but what I am bent about is you stepping in front of the rightful Number One Contender and the only man on this roster that I give two shits about competing against, MDK. You, you’re nothing special and you’re far from the attraction that you think you are while MDK on the other hand OWNS a legitimate pinfall victory over yours truly and has been avoiding my like a plague. I was seconds away; seconds, John… seconds away from finally getting what I’ve wanted, what I’ve craved for ten goddamn months…Then your music hit. Here you come with your chest poked out like an overweight potato marching down to the ring to insert yourself in a World Title match by citing what, exactly?
A disqualification victory that was HANDED to you by MDK out of nothing more than pity and because he knew it would piss me off.
That’s hardly the way you EARN a shot at something as prestigious as my World Heavyweight Championship; wouldn’t you agree? I mean coming from someone who preaches “do the right thing” turns into the single biggest walking hypocrite on the face of the fucking planet… and you’ll be that single biggest walking hypocrite that I dismantle one more time in order to shut your fucking mouth and punt you to the back of the line right behind Starchylde where you fucking belong. I’m sure you’re going to have A LOT to say about me and A LOT of mud to sling; and its okay, being someone of my stature you’re accustomed to people dragging your name through the dirt in order to make themselves feel better about being less fortunate. This is your case; but something I thought you would have learned by now is that I’m the kind of guy that can crawl through a river of shit and come out cleaner on the other side; I mean I did have to work Alyce at Wrestle Wars and that should be proof enough to the credibility of that very statement.
My point in bringing all this up rests within it doesn’t really matter how you spin your issue because ultimately, you’re bent because you got out played in every sense of the word and you don’t quite know how to handle it even to this day. I mean I could speak VOLUMES on why I ditched you and left you hanging high and dry but ultimately what will it prove? What will it accomplish in the grand scheme other than you popping off at the mouth about how you know what I’m going to say or when I’m going to say it. What I will tell you and what I will talk about is how someone like you; someone that claims to be a Beast can’t bother to stand on his own two feet without dropping the ball. In this business there’s guys that NEED to run with a pack in order to have their shortcomings hidden; that’s you, John. You HAVE to have others around you to boost you up and it’s been that way since the day I met you and even continues through present day as you conveniently chum up to Chris Dorling in an attempt to boost your failing New Breed. It’s cool John, I totally get it; and before you remotely try to compare a possible alignment with Christian Connolly, we would band together because we wanted to not because we have too, therein lies the difference.
So, let’s talk about this notion of a solid Steel Cage that has the top WIDE ASS OPEN for anyone to climb on over that is supposed to be some deterrent for anyone of the usual suspects to get themselves involved in. Why is this even inside a Cage? I’ve beaten John clean and clear, he’s beaten me clean and clear and while he’s still got sand in his vagina over the West Coast Rumble there’s no real issue here; or at least in my eyes, but then again I am the man on top of the mountain looking down at each and every one of you as you all climb towards me for the mere opportunity to be touched by greatness in its purest form. Flash Rotten would suggest that again, it’s going to keep everyone out…
Do I look like I was born yesterday?
Flash, you’re dumber than you look if that’s your rational logic for booking this.
If the Royal Family, if Anarchy, if ANYONE wants to scale that Cage they’re more than capable of doing so; and while I honestly thought that since you do owe me a favor now would be as good as time as any to give John the biggest fuck you of them all by cashing that in and forgoing this entire match. You couldn’t deny it because if you did it would be the single worst day of your entire existence. Then I thought about it and came to the conclusion that Cable isn’t worth that kind of treatment. Instead I’ll walk into this joke of a title defense and I’ll be sure to leave pieces of John’s flesh embedded into the mesh all over that Cage if it means that I can move the fuck on and FINALLY get what I’ve been clamoring for, MDK. Congratulations John, congratulations on being my monthly quota to get what I truly desire and the fact that you are what stands in between me and Tenegra I’ll gladly stab you in the front as opposed to the back; at least that way you’ll see it coming and will STILL be powerless to fucking stop it.
But they say what out Tristan, he’s got a chip on his shoulder.
True.
So let me be perfectly clear for all parties that are following along as I emasculate a Beast.
Given the history between John and I it’s fairly safe to say that he’s going to be rolling into this party with both barrel’s locked, loaded and his crosshairs pinned on yours truly. He’s going to bring a fight, he’s not going to go away easy; I’m never implied that, but John is a glorified loser. He has tendencies of being on the cusp of breaking through the glass ceiling but for some reason always finds himself back peddling before completely falling off the fucking map altogether. What I have implied is that while John talks a huge game he WON’T be backing it up against someone of my stature inside that squared circle.
I don’t give a shit about blood loss.
I don’t give a flying fuck about pain or suffering.
It comes with the territory.
What I do give fucks about is BACKING up my words and continue to establish exactly why I am the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion regardless if my challenger is worthy or not.
… And that’s where we find ourselves today.
I have an incredibly simply philosophy when it comes to situations you find yourself in, and that is “you can bitch about it or do it. Either way it has to get done.”.
You’re that philosophy John and that’s exactly how I equate you. Telling you how undeserving you are isn’t going to get me anywhere, talking about how many opportunities you’ve squandered isn’t going to prove anything considering it’s a known fact. So, all that being said, for your sake please do something outside of the normal and actually give me a goddamn fight and PROVE to me that you belong in the World Title discussion because while you’ve failed with flying colors over the last eight months I’ve risen to the occasion time and time again further backing up my play as being THE premier athlete on this roster. I haven’t had to resort to blindsided attacks; I haven’t used numbers or relied on allies John. I’ve simply shown up and used my two fucking hands, ask Alyce.
While she HAD to use weapons, I did not.
I chose to use a fire extinguisher on you at the West Coast Rumble because I am the ONLY man that knows what kind of shot that fired at you, personally.
Monday Night on Brawl you better make the most out of YOUR opportunity because, brother, I mean this EXACTLY how it sounds, you FUCK this up there’s no more chances, there’s no more opportunities while I am on top of the mountain until you PROVE you actually deserve it. No more charity cases, what the fuck you think this is The New Breed Foundation?
While you’ll parade around pretending to want this contest you know what kind of shitstorm you’re in store for.
Monday Night is shaping up to be an incredible night of action as over seventy thousand fans are going to be on hand in Beijing and goddamn is they’re not going to get a show that they’ll never soon forget. And while there are plenty of quality contests on this card I GUARANTEE you the ONLY thing people are going to be talking about when this show comes to a close is the war that unfolded inside fifteen feet of solid steel and how THE Tristan Slater vanquished the myth that is the Beast.
Everyone has a weakness, John.
Yours has remained the same for all these years and it’s the same weakness that I’m going to continue to exploit because you can’t defend your emotions. Your emotions will lead to your downfall yet again because you’re so blinded that you can’t see straight. Watch what I tell you, John, because you might think you’ve played this human game of chess to perfection; however, you’re playing this game with the master and come the toll of that final bell I’ll be standing over you with one word to say.
Checkmate.
In closing I’ll leave you all with this little nugget to mole over because if Flash Rotten doesn’t give me MDK for Summer Madness then that leaves an open slot for someone to step to the plate and challenge me for the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship as both Cable and Starchylde will be at the back of the line. There are a few names that I could see stealing the show with, John Tolly anyone?
Whoever it is had better be worth my fucking time.