Building Trust Part 2
Jan 12, 2023 10:01:40 GMT -5
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"The Peoples GOAT" James Raven likes this
Post by Ezra Gideon on Jan 12, 2023 10:01:40 GMT -5
The scene opens.
As I waited for Slater to come out of the dressing room, I found myself pacing back and forth. I was looking at the new stock of cowboy hats that had come in when his voice rang out, “Are you sure about this, Mac?” I smiled at the city boy’s reaction to the outfit that was picked out for him as I made my way to the entry area for the changing rooms. Well, Hoss, anything was better than what you were wearing. The Garth Brooks shirt was a nice touch, I could tell you were trying.” I said it with a smile so as not to offend him too much. “If you say so,” was his short reply. After a few moments, he finally emerged from the dressing room in an outfit that would have made Ronnie Dunn proud.
I watched as he studied himself in the mirror, and I began to applaud. “I don’t know about this,” he began to say, but I boosted his confidence by telling him, “Bravo! Bravo, Bra-vo!” I stop applauding him and take a hard look at the outfit and how it fits him, “You see, now I can be seen in public with you. Skinny jeans and a Garth Brooks shirt isn’t the business.” Just then a sales associate approached us, “Looking good, gentleman.” Tristan took one more look at himself in the mirror and said to him, “I’ll take it.” The statement was treated with a simple nod, and he excused herself, Tristan looked at me, “What else do you have in mind? We need a way to establish trust, something to bring us closer together. What is there to do here?” I chuckled a bit under my breath, “Drink and fight.” He grimaced a little bit in reaction to my statement, “As fun as both of those things sound, there has to be something else.” If you were seeing this from the outside looking in, you’d think a lightbulb just went off over my head. “Ya know, there is, now that I think of it.” Slater cringes slightly but is willing to hear me out it seems.
Fade
A hunter’s moon shines brightly overhead, you can hear the crickets singing their nighttime serenade. The frogs off in the distance, chattering to each other. Warning of potential predators and such. Standing at the fence, hands on our hips, Tristan looks over at me, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he started to say.
“Nope, dead serious.”
I spit on the ground near the fence and climb over it, this section doesn’t have any barbed wire so it’s an easy climb. Tristan mimics what I do and lands on the other side, “I didn’t think this was a real thing,” he said in a subdued voice. Although he can’t see me, I’m sure he caught the amusement in my voice when I said, “Oh, it's real, and it's fun as hell.” Tristan, “Can we get arrested for this?” Without skipping a beat I say, “Depends on if we get caught.” It doesn’t take too long for us to arrive at the proper spot. He can see the heard off in the distance and looked at me with incredulity written all over his face. “This is a little thing we like to call, Cow Tipping.” He giggled at the thought of it, so I was hoping this would be fun, and help us to build some trust.
“The object is for you to run as fast as you can and drive your shoulder into it’s side with enough force to knock it over.Place all of your disdain for Mark Flynn to use as fuel, and send the cow toppling over to the ground.” In response, I can see him shake his head as I tell him, I’m For real, you plant your weight into the front and I’ll drive my weight into the back and together we will succeed.” Tristan, “I just don’t see how this will bring us together.” I look over at him, “It’s called a bonding experience, don’t you know anything?” He looked at me with the most exasperated expression, “I’m from Miami, Florida, and it’s safe to say we go about things differently. It’s not like I’d take you alligator wrestling or anything.” I chuckled a little under my breath, “But that would be cool as shit!” He drops his hands down by his side, “So, what’s the plan?” I smile, “We’ll need to sneak up a little closer, be very quiet, the slightest noise might spook the cows.” So, we did just that, “Follow me,” I whispered to him. Once we got about twenty feet from the cow I said to him in a low voice, “Three point stance.” Tristan again mimics my movements. “I’ll count us down,” I said in a whisper. I heard him say, “Let’s rock,” and I grinned at his enthusiasm. “3, 2, 1,” we must have looked like we were shot out of a cannon. We hit the cow at the same time, the combined force sent the cow tumbling over on its side, where it voiced its objection with a loud, “MOOOOOOO!” “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed more loudly than he probably intended. We took a few steps back as the cow, being startled, started wallowing before finally finding purchase and clamored back to its feet. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like that,” I said as I flashed him a toothy grin. That was when the amusement left us, a shotgun blast echoed out through the still night air. The sound of shouts and barking dogs soon followed.
“RUN,” I almost shouted at him and we turned to hall ass out of the old farmers field. We didn’t stop until we reached the truck, still laughing.
A short time later at the same dive bar
We got back to the bar and I got us more beer and Jameson to celebrate a little. “Mac, I can’t believe that shit! I’ve never done that before.” I laughed, “The tipping is not where the fun comes in, it’s what happens afterward that’s the fun part.” I slapped him on the shoulder and laughed some more. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? It looks to me like a couple of fake wrestlers.” They had outflanked us with one on each side. “What brings such big spenders to a dump like this?” I toss back what’s left of my beer, “Do you remember how I said, drinking and fighting were what I usually do around here?” Tristan, “Yeah?:” I gave him a sly grin, “Turns out, that I’m out of beer.” I turn and deck the one on my left, sending him sprawling to the floor, while Slater shoves the one on his side back several feet. The guy charges right back in, and Tristan sends him over the bar with a hip toss. Side by side we fought our way to the door, and slipped out as world war three erupted inside.
Walking into the studio once again, I smile at the camera. I take my black stetson off and set it on the desk that serves as the control room for our home studio here in Vegas. I slide out of my denim jacket and hang it on the back of the office chair. My hair hangs loose, feeling it bounce against my shoulders as I approach the microphone.
My first time teaming with Slater, well, sort of. Over this past week, we’ve been able to build quite a bit of chemistry and trust. It was fun, but it also had purpose.
The thought of getting the city boy out of his comfort zone to go cow tipping still has me on the verge of laughter. But, the gravity of the situation we were going into kept that in check. This was not just another match, this was an opportunity to make a statement.
How about you, Freddy? Do you feel comfortable teaming with Mark? Does it give you a warm fuzzy feeling? Hey, it should, right? He’s the XWF Universal Champ! He’s held that title for quite a while now, like 3 or 4 months. That’s quite an accomplishment considering the level of talent that exists in a dying company.
I smile at the camera, in a way that reveals my disdain. You could call it feral. The whole point of that was to splash a little cold water on his wet dream.
You’ve faced me in a four corners match, and we all know you didn’t earn that victory. It was basically handed to you. Having Mark in your corner to tag out is good though. It gives you an excuse and an escape mechanism when things go south. It will go south, I can guarantee that. There is some payback headed your way, son. Those receipts will be collected with interest.
I glare at the camera as I continue to spell things out for Fred but more importantly so Mark knows what to expect when he steps in the ring with us.
Fred led the attack on Slater that busted his arm. Just as he led the attack on John and then later on me. I would call you public enemy number one but you don’t really qualify. You’d have to be relevant in order for me to really go off on you.
Leaning on the podium, I remember each event. The chaos they tried to create, the unapologetic way they tried to take people's livelihoods. The way I felt after my match with JMont. The elation I felt when I dropped him was like a bad habit. That last part was something that made my heart smile.
Funny thing about narcissists is that they crave power and authority but they have the accountability of a toddler. And, the emotional depth of a thimble, don’t worry though I won’t go into your lack of business acumen.
I sigh and shake my head.
That is the whole reason that Chris brought you into the fold. You’re a great mid-card talent but like your boy Joe, you just can’t get past yourself. You look at your partner, do you envy his accomplishments?
You should.
Flynn has been successful everywhere he’s gone. Not just in XWF, but in other circles. You really should try to be more like Mark.There can only be one Mark Flynn, just like there can only be one Peter Vaughn.
I smirk at the camera.
You remember, the guy you didn’t think would be there at the end. Vaughn took care of business when no one else from your crew could. As far as you having wanted to face Mark Cross? Don’t make me laugh, he’ll chew you up and spit you out. Mark Cross is way above your head and out of your league.
I spit on the floor. I know Mark Cross really well, I didn’t say those things so much to insult Fred but to pay a compliment to Cross. He’s an absolute beast and they just don’t know.
As for you, Mark, I already know who you are, I see you very clearly. Why you and Peter decided to help these chumps is beyond my comprehension. But, here we are. You’ve been a member of CCPE for a minute, I’ve always had great respect for you. This is a sad day for me personally. Not because of other members of CCPE being across from me in the ring, it runs much deeper than that.
My eyes narrow and my breathing slows.
See, I’m not like John and Slater, I take care of business in a different way.
I bark a laugh.
John, Slater, Kido, are all great examples to have for your kids. Me and Holden are not. I am the guy who marches to the beat of his own drummer. I’m the paint where there aint supposed to be paint.
I smirk at the camera again. They literally had no idea of who was about to be unleashed on this company. Most of the time, I didn't even know how far I’d go.
The real fans of this company know who I am and the shit I’ve done. When you listen to them during my matches, do you know what the recurring chant is? “Fuck ‘em up Mac, fuck ‘em up!” That is the mantra for my fans since I was 24 years old. They don’t give a shit if I win or not, they just want me to fuck people up. They don’t care whether it’s friend or foe, it’s what they want. They want blood and I’m always happy to oblige them.
I smile at the fondness of the memories that give me. Twenty years in this business, doing whatever it took, makes me proud.
For most of my career I’ve been known for busting stables up, in the first company I ever worked for they called me “The One-Mac Wrecking Crew”, because all it really took was me raising hell, whippin ass and moving on with my day.
I shake my head in amusement, remembering the good old days.
As this business evolved, so did I. The last few years they’ve seen a kinder, gentler Mac Bane. They started calling me “The Gentleman Wolf”.
I sigh and hang my head in mock shame.
I’ve tried to embrace that, it really makes public relations a lot easier. Along with damage control that is. What if I told you I was tired of that shit? What if I told you, again, that I’m not John Cable. It’s fine that he wants to go around trying to be Oprah but that’s not really my style.
Shaking my head, no, I continue along that train of thought.
My style is taking no shit from anyone. Not being nice for the sake of getting along. Calling things like I see them and taking action on that. Going back to a simple mantra, that fits me so much better than this whole fan favorite thing they try to make me do. Back to a time when every fucking time I step into that ring, it’s one plan, one mission. The destruction of whoever stands against me. To hurt whoever that is on the other side, friend or foe. Each strike intended to knock you out, so you don’t want to get back up. Every submission, intended to make you beg, to make you tap out. Making no apologies to anyone or anything.
Fade.